"I wondered what you were going to do with the necklace," I said.
"So did I--for three days," said Holmes, "and then, when I realized that I
was a single man, I decided to give it up. If I'd had a wife to wear a
necklace--well, I'm a little afraid the Raffles side of my nature would have
won out."
"I wonder whatever became of Darlington," said I.
"I don't know. Sommers says he left town suddenly that same Wednesday night,
without paying his bill," Holmes answered.
"And Cato?"
"I didn't inquire, but, from what I know of Bob Hollister, I am rather
inclined to believe that Cato left the Powhatan by way of the front window,
or possibly out through the plumbing, in some way," laughed Holmes. "Either
way would be the most comfortable under the circumstances."
X
THE MAJOR-GENERAL'S PEPPERPOTS
I had often wondered during the winter whether or no it would be quite the
proper thing for me to take my friend Raffles Holmes into the sacred
precincts of my club. By some men--and I am one of them--the club, despite
the bad name that clubs in general have as being antagonistic to the home,
is looked upon as an institution that should be guarded almost as carefully
against the intrusion of improper persons as is one's own habitat, and while
I should never have admitted for a moment that Raffles was an undesirable
chap to have around, I could not deny that in view of certain
characteristics which I knew him to possess, the propriety of taking him
into "The Heraclean" was seriously open to question. My doubts were set at
rest, however, on that point one day in January last, when I observed seated
at one of our luncheon-tables the Reverend Dr. Mulligatawnny, Rector of
Saint Mammon-in-the-Fields, a highly esteemed member of the organization,
who had with him no less a person than Mr. E. H. Merryman, the railway
magnate, whose exploits in Wall Street have done much to give to that golden
highway the particular kind of perfume which it now exudes to the nostrils
of people of sensitive honor. Surely, if Dr. Mulligatawnny was within his
rights in having Mr. Merryman present, I need have no misgivings as to mine
in having Raffles Holmes at the same table. The predatory instinct in his
nature was as a drop of water in the sea to that ocean of known
acquisitiveness which has floated Mr. Merryman into his high place in the
world of finance, and as far as the moral side of the two men was considered
respectively, I felt tolerably confident that the Recording Angel's account-books
would show a larger balance on the right side to the credit of Raffles
than to that of his more famous contemporary. Hence it was that I decided
the question in my friend's favor, and a week or two later had him in at
"The Heraclean" for luncheon. The dining-room was filled with the usual
assortment of interesting men--men who had really done something in life and
who suffered from none of that selfish modesty which leads some of us to
hide our light under the bushel of silence. There was the Honorable Poultry
Tickletoe, the historian, whose articles on the shoddy quality of the modern
Panama hat have created such a stir throughout the hat trade; Mr. William
Darlington Ponkapog, the poet, whose epic on the "Reign of Gold" is one of
the longest, and some writers say the thickest, in the English language;
James Whistleton Potts, the eminent portraitist, whose limnings of his
patients have won him a high place among the caricaturists of the age,
Robert Dozyphrase, the expatriated American novelist, now of London, whose
latest volume of sketches, entitled _Intricacies_, has been equally the
delight of his followers and the despair of students of the occult; and,
what is more to the purpose of our story, Major-General Carrington Cox,
U.S.A., retired. These gentlemen, with others of equal distinction whom I
have not the space to name, were discussing with some degree of simultaneity
their own achievements in the various fields of endeavor to which their
lives had been devoted. They occupied the large centre-table which has for
many a year been the point of contact for the distinguished minds of which
the membership of "The Heraclean" is made up; the tennis-net, as it were,
over which the verbal balls of discussion have for so many years volleyed to
the delight of countless listeners.
Raffles and I sat apart at one of the smaller tables by the window, where we
could hear as much of the conversation at the larger board as we wished--so
many members of "The Heraclean" are deaf that to talk loud has become quite
de rigueur there--and at the same time hold converse with each other in
tones best suited to the confidential quality of our communications. We had
enjoyed the first two courses of our repast when we became aware that
General Carrington Cox had succeeded in getting to the floor, and as he
proceeded with what he had to say, I observed, in spite of his efforts to
conceal the fact, that Raffles Holmes was rather more deeply interested in
the story the General was telling than in such chance observations as I was
making. Hence I finished the luncheon in silence and even as did Holmes,
listened to the General's periods--and they were as usual worth listening
to.
"It was in the early eighties," said General Cox. "I was informally attached
to the Spanish legation at Madrid. The King of Spain, Alphonso XII, was
about to be married to the highly esteemed lady who is now the Queen-Mother
of that very interesting youth, Alphonso XIII. In anticipation of the event
the city was in a fever of gayety and excitement that always attends upon a
royal function of that nature. Madrid was crowded with visitors of all
sorts, some of them not as desirable as they might be, and here and there,
in the necessary laxity of the hour, one or two perhaps that were most
inimical to the personal safety and general welfare of the King. Alphonso,
like many another royal personage, was given to the old Haroun Al Raschid
habit of travelling about at night in a more or less impenetrable incognito,
much to the distaste of his ministers and to the apprehension of the police,
who did not view with any too much satisfaction the possibility of disaster
to the royal person and the consequent blame that would rest upon their
shoulders should anything of a serious nature befall. To all of this,
however, the King was oblivious, and it so happened one night that in the
course of his wanderings he met with the long dreaded mix-up. He and his two
companions fell in with a party of cut-throats who promptly proceeded to
hold them up. The companions were speedily put out of business by the
attacking party, and the King found himself in the midst of a very serious
misadventure, the least issue from which bade fair to be a thorough beating,
if not an attempt on his life. It was at the moment when his chances of
escape were not one in a million, when, on my way home from the Legation,
where I had been detained to a very late hour, I came upon him struggling in
the hands of four as nasty ruffians as you will find this side of the
gallows. One of them held him by the arms, another was giving him a fairly
expert imitation of how it feels to be garroted, which the other two were
rifling his pockets. This was too much for me. I was in pretty fit physical
condition at that time and felt myself to be quite the equal in a good old
Anglo-Saxon fist fight of any dozen ordinary Castilians, so I plunged into
the fray, heart and soul, not for an instant dreaming, however, what was the
quality of the person to whose assistance I had come. My first step was to
bowl over the garroter. Expecting no interference in his nefarious pursuit
and unwarned by his companions, who were to busily engaged in their
adventure of loot to observe my approach, he was easy prey, and the good,
hard whack that I gave him just under his right ear sent him flying, an
unconscious mass of villanous clay, into the gutter. The surprise of the
onslaught was such that the other three jumped backward, thereby releasing
the King's arms so that we were now two to three, which in a moment became
two to two, for I lost no time in knocking out my second man with as pretty
a solar plexus as you ever saw. There is nothing in the world more
demoralizing than a good, solid blow straight from the shoulder to chaps
whose idea of fighting is to sneak up behind you and choke you to death, or
to stick a knife into the small of your back, and had I been far less expert
with my fists, I should still have had an incalculable moral advantage over
such riffraff. Once the odds in the matter of numbers were even, the King
and I had no further difficulty in handling the others. His Majesty's quarry
got away by the simple act of taking to his heels, and mine, turning to do
likewise, received a salute from my right toe which, if I am any judge, must
have driven the upper end of his spine up through the top of his head. Left
alone, his Majesty held out his hand and thanked me profusely from my timely
aid, and asked my name. We thereupon bade each other good-night, and I went
on to my lodging, little dreaming of the service I had rendered to the
nation.
"The following day I was astonished to receive at the Legation a
communication bearing the royal seal, commanding me to appear at the palace
at once. The summons was obeyed, and, upon entering the palace, I was
immediately ushered into the presence of the King. He received me most
graciously, dismissing, however, all his attendants.
"'Colonel Cox,' he said, after the first formal greetings were over, 'you
rendered me a great service last night.'
"'I, your majesty?' said I. 'In what way?'
"'By putting those ruffians to flight,' said he.
"'Ah!' said I. 'Then the gentleman attacked was one of your Majesty's
friends?'
"'I would have it so appear,' said the King. 'For a great many reasons I
should prefer that it were not known that it was I--'
"'You, your Majesty?' I cried, really astonished. 'I had no idea--"
"'You are discretion itself, Colonel Cox,' laughed the King, 'and to assure
you of my appreciation of the fact, I beg that you will accept a small gift
which you will some day shortly receive anonymously. It will not be at all
commensurate to the service you have rendered me, nor to the discretion
which you have already so kindly observed regarding the principals involved
in last night's affair, but in the spirit of friendly interest and
appreciation back of it, it will be of a value inestimable.'
"I began to try to tell his Majesty that my government did not permit me to
accept gifts of any kind from persons royal or otherwise, but it was not
possible to do so, and twenty minutes later my audience was over and I
returned to the Legation with the uncomfortable sense of having placed
myself in a position where I must either violate the King's confidence to
acquire the permission of Congress to accept his gift, or break the laws by
which all who are connected with the diplomatic service, directly or
indirectly, are strictly governed. I assure you it was not in the least
degree in the hope of personal profit that I chose the latter course. Ten
days later a pair of massive golden pepper-pots came to me, and, as the King
had intimated would be the case, there was nothing about them to show whence
they had come. Taken altogether, they were the most exquisitely wrought
specimens of the goldsmith's artistry that I had ever seen, and upon their
under side was inscribed in a cipher which no one unfamiliar with the affair
of that midnight fracas would even have observed--'A.R. to C.C.'--Alphonso
Rex to Carrington Cox being, of course, the significance thereof. They were
put away with my other belongings, and two years later, when my activities
were transferred to London, I took them away with me.
"In London I chose to live in chambers, and was soon established at No. 7
Park Place, St. James's, a more than comfortable and centrally located
apartment-house where I found pretty much everything in the way of
convenience that a man situated as I was could reasonably ask for. I had not
been there more than six months, however, when something happened that made
the ease of apartment life seem somewhat less desirable. That is, my rooms
were broken open during my absence, over night on a little canoeing trip to
Henley, and about everything valuable in my possession was removed,
including the truly regal pepper-pots sent me by his Majesty the King of
Spain, that I had carelessly left standing upon my sideboard.
"Until last week," the General continued, "nor hide nor hair of any of my
stolen possessions was every discovered, but last Thursday night I accepted
the invitation of a gentleman well known in this country as a leader of
finance, a veritable Captain of Industry, the soul of honor and one of the
most genial hosts imaginable. I sat down at his table at eight o'clock, and,
will you believe me, gentlemen, one of the first objects to greet my eye
upon the brilliantly set napery was nothing less than one of my lost pepper-
pots. There was no mistaking it. Unique in pattern, it was certain of
identification anyhow, but what made it the more certain was the cipher
'A.R. to C.C.'"
"And of course you claimed it?" asked Dozyphrase.
"Of course I did nothing of the sort," retorted the General. "I trust I am
not so lacking in manners. I merely remarked its beauty and quaintness and
massiveness and general artistry. My host expressed pleasure at my
appreciation of its qualities and volunteered the information that it was a
little thing he had picked up in a curio shop on Regent Street, London, last
summer. He had acquired it in perfect good faith. What its history had been
from the time I lost it until then, I am not aware, but there it was, and
under circumstances of such a character that although it was indubitably my
property, a strong sense of the proprieties prevented me from regaining its
possession."
"Who was your host, General?" asked Tickletoe.
The General laughed. "That's telling," said he. "I don't care to go into any
further details, because some of you well-meaning friends of mine might
suggest to Mr.--ahem--ha--well, never mind his name--that he should return
the pepper-pot, and I know that that is what he would do if he were familiar
with the facts that I have just narrated."
It was at about this point that the gathering broke up, and, after our
cigars, Holmes and I left the club.
"Come up to my rooms a moment," said Raffles, as we emerged upon the street.
"I want to show you something."
"All right," said I. "I've nothing in particular to do this afternoon. That
was a rather interesting tale of the General's, wasn't it?" I added.
"Very," said Holmes. "I guess it's not an uncommon experience, however, in
these days, for the well-to-do and well-meaning to be in possession of
stolen property. The fact of its turning up again under the General's very
nose, so many years later, however, that is unusual. The case will appear
even more so before the day is over if I am right in one of my conjectures."
What Raffles Holmes's conjecture was was soon to be made clear. In a few
minutes we had reached his apartment, and there unlocking a huge iron-bound
chest in his bedroom, he produced from it capacious depths another gold
pepper-pot. This he handed to me.
"There's the mate!" he observed, quietly.
"By Jove, Raffles--it must be!" I cried, for beyond all question, in the
woof of the design on the base of the pepper-pot was the cipher "A.R. to
C.C." "Where the dickens did you get it?"
"That was a wedding-present to my mother," he explained. "That's why I have
never sold it, not even when I've been on the edge of starvation."
"From whom--do you happen to know?" I inquired.
"Yes," he replied. "I do know. It was a wedding-present to the daughter of
Raffles by her father, my grandfather, Raffles himself."
"Great Heavens!" I cried. "Then it was Raffles who--well, you know. That
London flat job?"
"Precisely," said Raffles Holmes. "We've caught the old gentleman red-
handed."
"Well, I'll be jiggered!" said I. "Doesn't it beat creation how small the
world is."
"It does indeed. I wonder who the chap is who has the other," Raffles
observed.
"Pretty square of the old General to keep quiet about it," said I.
"Yes," said Holmes. "That's why I'm going to restore this one. I wish I
could give 'em both back. I don't think my old grandfather would have taken
the stuff if he'd known what a dead-game sport the old General was, and I
sort of feel myself under an obligation to make amends."
"You can send him the one you've got through the express companies,
anonymously," said I.
"No," said Holmes. "The General left them on his sideboard, and on his
sideboard he must find them. If we could only find out the name of his host
last Thursday--"
"I tell you--look in the _Sunday Gazoo_ supplement," said I. "They
frequently publish short paragraphs of the social doings of the week. You
might get a clew there."
"Good idea," said Holmes. "I happen to have it here, too. There was an
article in it last Sunday, giving a diagram of Howard Vandergould's new
house at Nippon's Point, Long Island, which I meant to cut out for future
reference."
Holmes secured the _Gazoo_, and between us, we made a pretty thorough search
of its contents, especially "The Doings of Society" columns, and at last we
found it, as follows:
"A small dinner of thirty was given on Thursday evening last in honor of Mr.
and Mrs. Wilbur Rattington, of Boston, by Mrs. Rattington's brother, John D.
Bruce, of Bruce, Watkins & Co., at the latter's residence, 74-- Fifth
Avenue. Among Mr. Bruce's guests were Mr. and Mrs. W. K. Dandervelt, Mr. and
Mrs. Elisha Scroog, Jr., Major-General Carrington Cox, Mr. and Mrs.
Henderson Scovill, and Signor Caruso."
"Old Bruce, eh?" laughed Holmes. "Sans peur et sans reproche. Well, that is
interesting. One of the few honest railroad bankers in the country, a pillar
of the church, a leading reformer and--a stolen pepper-pot on his table!
Gee!"
"What are you going to do now?" I asked. "Write to Bruce and tell him the
facts?"
Holmes's answer was a glance.
"Oh cream-cakes!" he ejaculated, with profane emphasis.
A week after the incidents just described he walked into my room with a
small package under his arm.
"There's the pair!" he observed, unwrapping the parcel and displaying its
contents--two superb, golden pepper-pots, both inscribed "A.R. to C.C."
"Beauties, aren't they?"
"They are, indeed. Did Bruce give it up willingly?" I asked.
"He never said a word," laughed Holmes. "Fact is, he snored all the time I
was there."
"Snored?" said I.
"Yes--you see, it was at 3.30 this morning," said Holmes, "and I went in the
back way. Climbed up to the extension roof, in through Bruce's bedroom
window, down-stairs to the dining-room, while Bruce slept unconscious of my
arrival. The house next to his is vacant, you know, and it was easy
travelling."
"You--you--" I began.
"Yes--that's it," said he. "Just a plain vulgar bit of second-story
business, and I got it. There were a lot of other good things lying around,"
he added, with a gulp, "but--well, I was righting a wrong this time, so I
let 'em alone, and, barring this, I didn't deprive old Bruce of a blooming
thing, not even a wink of sleep."
"And now what?" I demanded.
"It's me for Cedarhurst--that's where the General lives," said he. "I'll get
there about 11.30 to-night, and as soon as all is quiet, Jenkins, your old
pal, Raffles Holmes, will climb easily up to the piazza, gently slide back
the bolts of the French windows in the General's dining-room, proceed
cautiously to the sideboard, and replace thereon these two souvenirs of a
brave act by a good old sport, whence they never would have been taken had
my grandfather known his man."
"You are taking a terrible risk, Raffles," said I, "you can just as easily
send the tings to the General by express, anonymously."
"Jenkins," he replied, "that suggestion does you little credit and appeals
neither to the Raffles nor to the Holmes in me. Pusillanimity was a word
which neither of my forebears could ever learn to use. It was too long, for
one thing, and besides that it was never needed in their business."
And with that he left me.
"Well, General," said I to General Cox, a week later at the club, "heard
anything further about your pepper-pots yet?"
"Most singular thing, Jenkins," said he. "The d----d things turned up again
one morning last week, and where the devil they came from, I can't imagine.
One of them, however, had a piece of paper in it on which was written
'Returned with thanks for their use and apologies for having kept them so
long.'"
The General opened his wallet and handed me a slip which he took from it.
"There it is. What in thunder do you make out of it?" he asked.
It was in Raffles Holmes's hand-writing.
"Looks to me as though Bruce also had been robbed," I laughed.
"Bruce? Who the devil said anything about Bruce?" demanded the General.
"Why, didn't you tell us he had one of 'em on his table?" said I, reddening.
"Did I?" frowned the General. "Well, if I did, I must be a confounded ass. I
thought I took particular pains not the mention Bruce's name in the matter."
And then he laughed.
"I shall have to be careful when Bruce comes to dine with me not to have
those pepper-pots in evidence," he said. "He might ask embarrassing
questions."
And thus it was that Raffles Holmes atoned for at least one of the offences
of his illustrious grandsire.