The bald-headed secretary led the discomfited Egbert outside, and, at
Holmes's request, returned with Donald MacTavish, the second footman.
"Well, Donald, I don't suppose it makes any difference how old you
are, and your name I already know. I only asked those routine
questions of the first three servants to humor my fat friend from
Scotland Yard here, Inspector Barnabas Letstrayed, who represents the
slow and beef-witted majesty of the London police." And Holmes winked
at me, as he added: "Now, Mac, have you ever been in prison?"
The second footman, who seemed just as embarrassed as the first
footman had been, shifted his feet uneasily and answered:
"Well, I suppose you might call it that, Mr. Holmes. About three years
ago, when I was employed at Balmoral Castle, in Scotland, I was taken
before the village squire and given three days in jail for having been
caught with a bottle in my pocket."
"It isn't a crime in Scotland to carry a bottle, is it?" said Holmes,
grinning.
"No; but they claimed that it was half full of Scotch 'smoke,' and
that I had been found totally unconscious up in the hayloft at the
time," said MacTavish, with downcast eyes.
"Whom do you suspect of having stolen the cuff-buttons?"
The man from Balmoral brightened up, as he answered:
"I am inclined to believe that my partner, Egbert Bunbury, stole them,
sir. When he went to propose to Miss Olivano, the Countess's maid,
yesterday afternoon, I saw something sparkling in his hand."
"Think he intended to give her a diamond cuff-button, instead of a
diamond ring, Donald?" queried Holmes.
"Well, who can say? Perhaps he was going to have it taken out, and
then reset in a ring."
"You're an original cuss,--aren't you, Donald? Also pretty good at
passing the buck. The Italian valet we examined first accused _you_ of
having stolen the Earl's precious heirlooms. Now, go and fight it out
with him. Thorneycroft, you may bring in the butler."
"Ah, that reminds me," said the Earl, "I feel pretty dry. Harrigan,
you may pour me out a glass of wine before you answer any of Mr.
Holmes's questions," he added as the genial butler stood before us.
When the Earl had been sufficiently refreshed from a bottle that stood
handy on a nearby table, Holmes began:
"What is your full name?"
"I have no full name. Despite the fact that I belong to the
Bartenders' and Butlers' Union, I am always sober," said Harrigan,
with a wink.
"Well, Mr. Smart Alec, what's your entire name?"
"Joseph Patrick Harrigan, and I can lick the first son-of-a-gun that
says I stole those darned cuff-buttons!"
"Nobody said you stole 'em. Where were you born, and how did such an
able man as yourself come to be working in this menagerie of
lowbrows?"
"I was born in little old New York, in the Ninth Ward. I used to be a
waiter in a Bowery hash-foundry, and afterwards graduated into one of
the Broadway lobster-palaces. I have the reputation of being one of
the best living judges of rare wines; and the Earl has said many a
time that he could not possibly do without my talents."
"Is that the reason the Earl hired you,--because you are so good at
looking upon the grape-juice when it is red?" asked Holmes with a
smile, as he winked at His Lordship.
"Your perspicacity is marvelous, Mr. Holmes," replied Harrigan. "My
reputation having crossed the ocean, through the men who knew me on
Broadway coming over to visit friends in London, the Earl heard of me,
and cabled me my expenses and an offer of double the salary I was
getting there; so I snapped it up immediately, and here I am, in full
charge of the ancient Puddingham wine-cellars."
And Harrigan cleared his throat, threw out his chest, and winked at
me.
"Well, Joe," continued Holmes, "what do you know about the lost and
lamented cuff-buttons,--if anything?"
"Not a darned thing, and that's the Gospel truth. And as to whom I may
possibly suspect of having cabbaged them, I'll come right out
flat-footed and say that I wouldn't put it past a single person in the
place, with the sole exceptions of Louis La Violette, the French cook,
Heinie Blumenroth, the German gardener, and myself! Nothing backward
about _me_, you know. I lay the whole crowd under a blanket suspicion,
on general principles; and I'll say, furthermore, that I have
particular reason to suspect Bunbury, the first footman, of having
stolen the cuff-buttons, because he tried to steal a necktie from my
room last week, and I only caught him in the nick of time, helping him
out of the room with a couple of well-placed kicks!"
"It's sad, indeed, Harrigan," said Holmes, "to contemplate what one's
fellow-man will stoop to. Well, I guess I'll excuse you from any
further questions. Thorneycroft, call in His Excellency, Monsieur La
Violette, the Chief Cook of this noble castle."
"Harrigan, you may pour me out another glass of wine," interposed the
Earl before the butler had a chance to leave the room.
After His Lordship had been refreshed and Harrigan had departed, the
Earl said to Holmes:
"Now go on with the bad news. Let's see what kind of an alibi Louis
the soup-maker, pancake-tosser, and egg-breaker, has to offer."
And he nudged the fatuous Inspector Letstrayed in the ribs. That
worthy, who had been thoughtfully regarding the ceiling for some time,
jumped back in surprise.
Just then Thorneycroft returned with the cook,--a short, fat, and
irascible-looking man, with black eyes that seemed to snap fire as he
returned the stare of the phlegmatic Letstrayed, black hair, and a
black mustache and imperial, _a la_ Napoleon III.
"Ah, Monsieur La Violette, what do you know concerning the recent sad
affair here at the castle,--the theft of the diamond cuff-buttons, you
know?" said Holmes, as the Frenchman faced him.
"The diamond cuff-buttons, I know, eh? _Sacre bleu!_" shouted the
Frenchman, his face blazing red with anger, as he nearly hit the
ceiling in his wrath. "You mean to insinuate that I know where they
are, you--you! If you were a gentleman, I'd challenge you to a duel
for that!"
"Here, here, keep your shirt on a minute, Louis," Holmes advised
reassuringly. "I didn't mean to insinuate anything at all. I was just
looking for information."
La Violette regarded Hemlock Holmes for a moment with the bitterest
disdain, then he answered:
"Well, if you're such a smart and sagacious detective as you have been
cracked up to be, you could ascertain who pilfered those accursed
cuff-buttons without using such common methods as lining up the
servants, and asking them if they stole them or not. Any one of the
servants is likely to be guilty, except only Harrigan, Blumenroth, and
myself. All the others are unspeakable imbeciles! Go ahead, then, and
get your information, without casting your despicable insinuations
upon me."
Holmes shrugged his shoulders, and looked at the Earl.
Barnabas Letstrayed at this point evidently thought it was up to him
to pull off something; and he did,--more than he thought.
"Er, Hi say," he began, with great importance, as he motioned to the
cook's cuffs, "aren't those the lost cuff-buttons this fellow is
wearing now? They look just like them, Hi think."
Every one stared at La Violette's cuffs, and that worthy nearly had an
apoplectic fit, as the Earl, after having taken one look at the cook's
jewelry, leaned back in his chair and laughed.
"Say, Inspector, those aren't the lost Puddingham cuff-buttons by some
lengths. They're diamonds, all right, but the resemblance ends there.
The stolen ones are at least twelve times bigger; that's all."
And the Earl laughed again.
Louis La Violette didn't laugh, however, but made a mad rush at the
obese police inspector from London, who had so grievously and wrongly
accused him.
"Pig-dog, scoundrel, liar!" he yelled at the top of his voice. "I'll
carve you up into ribbons for that! Take that, you big heap of
over-grown beef-fat!"
And the infuriated Gaul launched a blow with his fist at Letstrayed
that knocked that astonished person out of his chair and tumbled him
flat on the floor, with the chair upside down on top of him.
"Here, don't let's have another attempted murder in the castle, La
Violette," remonstrated Holmes, as he pulled back the enraged cook
from a further assault on Letstrayed; "contain yourself. Letstrayed is
only a rumdum, anyhow, as I have found out from long experience with
him. He's always making bad breaks like that. You really mustn't mind
him."
Louis shook off Holmes's grasp, and faced the Earl, crying out:
"But I _will_ mind him. I have been insulted. I shall avenge it. I
shall throw up my job, and return instantly to that dear Paris! Why
did I ever leave it?"
"Good Heavens, Louis!" shouted the Earl in alarm, "you mustn't think
of doing that! I couldn't get along without you and Harrigan, the
butler. Doggone it, Inspector," he added, as that personage slowly and
painfully arose from the floor and brushed himself off, "now you
_have_ done it. Offended the chef,--and the best chef in the whole
country, too! You'd better go outside, and take a walk for your health
until Louis cools off. Your further presence here will only tend to
aggravate him. Louis, I'll double your salary if you'll agree to stay.
It wasn't my fault, you know."
"Well, all right, Your Lordship," agreed La Violette, after some
hesitation, "I guess I'll pocket my outraged pride, also the one
hundred per cent increase in salary, and let you have the further
benefit of my services. But I want it distinctly understood by every
one present," he added, as he faced around to the others, "that I
wouldn't have those pestiferous Puddingham cuff-buttons as a gift!
_Comprenez vous cela_, Mr. Hemlock Holmes of Baker Street, London, and
Broadway, New York?"
"Yes, I get you, Louis," replied Holmes, as he glanced at his watch
impatiently. "It's five minutes after ten already, and the diamond
baubles haven't been found yet. If you'll kindly stand aside, and let
somebody else without such a large supply of easily outrageable pride
have the floor, I'll examine them."
The Frenchman, with a sniff and with head in air, walked out of the
library; and my friend summoned in the seventh servant so far, the
Russian second cook.