The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures - Mike Ashley [83]
“Mrs Formartine’s brooch!” cried MacLeod, almost beside himself with joy.
Some two hours later, after lunch, we were all seated in the drawing-room of the hotel. The Mortons were safely under guard at the local police station, awaiting an escort to take them to Inverness. Doctor Oliphant and Mrs Baird Duthie had long since departed, and the Loch Echil Hotel had returned to an atmosphere of normality.
“I cannot thank you enough,” said Alexander Grice Paterson to Holmes. “Without your intervention, I dread to think what might have become of us.”
“I regret I was a little heated,” said MacGlevin in a sheepish tone, holding out his hand to the man he had accused. “I just couldna’ think how anyone could’ve taken it but you.”
“That is all right,” said the other, accepting MacGlevin’s hand. “Let’s forgive and forget. What I’d like to know is how you got to the bottom of the matter so quickly, Mr Holmes.”
“It was not difficult. I will give you a full explanation when Constable … Ah! MacPherson! We were just speaking of you.”
“Please excuse the delay, Gentlemen,” said the policeman briskly. “I have had a busy time of it. I wired details of the Mortons down to Glasgow, and I have their reply here. We’ve landed bigger fish than we realized, Mr Holmes! They’re fairly certain that the man calling himself Hamish Morton is in fact Charlie Henderson, wanted in connection with the Blythswood Square burglary, earlier this year – ”
“– in which the thieves got away with works of art worth thousands,” interjected Holmes, “and left the owner of the house seriously injured. I recall it very well.”
“And the woman, who has used so many names in her career that it’s hard to keep track of her, is wanted under the name of Mary Monteith, for a long series of frauds and forgeries. Apparently she has real artistic gifts, but she’s used them only in the cause of crime. She’s suspected of being behind some of the most brilliant art forgeries of the last dozen years.”
“Well, I never!” ejaculated Grice Paterson. “But come, Mr Holmes, tell us how you got on to them.”
“My interest was first aroused,” said Holmes after a moment, “by Morton’s report of his boating accident. He declared that all his fishing equipment had sunk without trace, yet when I had seen it the previous evening in this very room, I had observed, without giving it any special attention, that his rod was of the sort which is fitted with a large cork handle. It seemed unlikely that such a rod should have sunk. It might, of course, have become entangled with some other equipment, and been dragged down by it, but Morton merely said it had sunk. It seemed to me that he was lying, but I could not think why, unless he merely wished to swindle the hotel out of a few pounds by way of compensation. It was a petty matter, and I gave it little more thought.
“When we went out to Uffa, to investigate the theft, I had no pre-conceived ideas as to what had taken place there. For all I knew, the result of my examination might have been to confirm Mr Grice Paterson’s guilt. You did not look a very likely pair of thieves,” he remarked, turning to the Grice Patersons with a chuckle; “but I have known many criminals in my time, and a good half of them did not appear capable of the crimes they had committed; so I preserved a professional detachment on the matter, and reserved my judgement.
“My examination of the museum revealed, as you saw, a small tear in the cushion upon which Mr MacGlevin’s Buckle had been lying when last he saw it, which at once suggested to me that some hook, or other sharp device, had been used to lift the buckle. This in turn suggested, of course, that the thief had not been in a position to reach it with his hand. The obvious conclusion