"Well, what'll you have, gentlemen?" asked Joseph the butler, always
appearing at just the right moment. "We have Chateau Margaux,
Chambertin, Beaune, Veuve Clicquot, Pommery, Amontillado, Chianti,
Johannisberger, Tokay, and a number of others in the wines;
Muenchener, Culmbacher, and Dortmunder in the imported beers;
Coleraine whiskey, and----"
"Say, hold on a minute, till I get my breath, will you?" pleaded
Holmes. "I think you may crack me a bottle of that Tokay over there. I
have a weakness for the Hungarian wine."
Harrigan administered the Tokay to Holmes, and then turned to me:
"What'll you have, Doctor Watson?"
"Well, they all look alike to me," I replied, as I stood there rubbing
my chin and sizing up the immense array of wet goods in bottles and
casks that stretched along this part of the cellar,--on shelves and on
the cement floor; "I guess I'll take a little of each."
"Shame on you, Doc, both for your indiscriminate taste and your too
great thirst," chided Holmes, as everybody else laughed.
Harrigan was kept busy for a while uncorking and pouring out the
libations, while we all drank to the recovery of the three
cuff-buttons, and wished the old boy from Baker Street good luck in
getting back the rest of them.
Uncle Tooter was just lifting up a glass of madeira to propose a new
toast, when all of a sudden there came a terrible noise from the
kitchen above us, a clatter of pots and pans, the overturning of a
table, and the sound of angry voices.
"I guess Louis and Ivan must be breaking up housekeeping. Let's go up
and see what the difficulty is," said the Earl.
And we all beat it upstairs to the kitchen. Arriving there, we found
that the excitable French chef had treed his Russian assistant on top
of a tall cupboard that ran along one side of the room, while various
kitchen utensils strewn over the floor testified to a preliminary
skirmish. As we entered the door leading from the cellar stairs Ivan
jumped down and ran out the rear door, while La Violette grabbed up a
butcher-knife from a table and gave chase to him.
"For the love of Mike, now what?" exclaimed Holmes.
Following our leader we piled out the rear door after the two cooks.
Running down the flight of stone steps to the rear lawn, the two
started a grand chase along the brick walk leading to the stables; but
Holmes's long legs were too much for them, and in a trice he had
captured Louis and disarmed him, while Ivan hid behind a tree.
Blumenroth, the gardener, digging up a flower-bed with a trowel
nearby, put down his implement, and stared at the two cooks
sardonically.
"O that miserable barbarian! I'll kill him yet!" shouted the enraged
Louis, as we gathered round him. "He had the audacity to take my very
best kettle to boil onions in, after I had told him repeatedly not to
do so. I hate onions, anyhow; and besides, I was just going to use
that kettle to prepare some peas in!"
"Oh, is that all? I thought maybe he tried to murder you," ventured
Holmes, coolly testing the edge of the butcher-knife with his finger.
"Is that all? I should think it was enough," cried Louis. "What are
you doing with Luigi's clothes on, by the way? Don't think that such a
ridiculous disguise could fool _me_."
"Far be it from me to attempt to put over anything on such an astute
person as yourself," replied Holmes suavely, while his observant eyes
caught every movement of the recreant Galetchkoff, who dodged behind
the tree every time the great detective looked in that direction. "Do
you think it probable that your friend Ivan could be implicated in the
theft of the diamond cuff-buttons, in addition to his crime with the
onions?"
"Mr. Holmes," replied Louis earnestly, "that fellow Ivan is capable of
anything. If I were you I'd search him right now. I remember now that
I saw him put something back in his pocket very hastily a little while
ago, when we were in the kitchen,--and he noticed me looking at him."
"Hum, this sounds interesting," muttered Holmes musingly. Then he
called aloud: "Ivan, come over here, and Louis will forgive you for
spoiling his best kettle with onions!"
The unsuspecting Ivan joined our little group there near an apple
tree, about halfway from the castle to the stables; and Holmes
instantly pulled out his revolver, covered him with it, and bade me
search him.
I did so, and in the Russian's hip pocket found the fourth
cuff-button, glistening and shining as brilliantly as ever!
"Well, here you are, Holmes," I said, handing it to him. "This one was
found in between finds, I guess."
The seven of us collared Ivan immediately, and I feared the Earl was
about to do him bodily harm, when Holmes interposed with a plea for
leniency, and for permission to let the assistant cook tell his story.
"That man William Budd, he took the cuff-button, and he gave it to me
to hide for him," claimed Ivan; "so I am not the original thief; and I
don't know a thing about the others."
The Earl eyed his second hash-mixer sardonically, while we gathered
round him there under the apple tree, and said with a snort: "This
stuff about Billie Budd and not yourself being the culprit is getting
to be kind of a chestnut. You're the fourth person who has handed in
that alibi so far, and I guess the Australian sport didn't have to get
down on his knees to make you keep the stolen cuff-button for him,
either. But inasmuch as the gem has been recovered in good condition,
I suppose I can let you off, instead of having Monsieur La Violette
chop you up for Hamburg steak,--a fate you richly deserve. Now beat it
back into the kitchen, and don't let your boss there catch you using
his favorite kettles again, to say nothing of keeping your hands off
the ancestral cuff-buttons."
Ivan was released and Heinie Blumenroth went back to his gardening
disgustedly; while we returned to the wine-cellar for a few more
drinks, while the Earl lovingly patted his vest-pocket, where he had
stowed away the four gems, all recovered that morning by my lucky as
well as resourceful partner.
It was now half-past ten, and after we had helped to decrease for a
quarter of an hour longer the visible supply of vinous, malt, and
spirituous liquors in Normanstow Towers, Holmes suggested we go up to
the fourth floor and shoot a few games of pool before luncheon.
Everybody readily agreed, and in a little while we were engaged in a
game up there in the spacious billiard room, Letstrayed evidently
having wandered away from his sleeping-quarters on top of one of the
tables. Holmes "bust," and put three balls in the pockets. As he
reached into the third pocket to take out the pool-ball, his jaw
dropped, and his face showed great surprise.
"Well, what do you know about that, fellows! Darned if here ain't the
fifth diamond cuff-button!" And he held it up to view. "Now how in
Tophet did that get into a pocket of the pool-table? I must freely
confess that I hadn't expected it. Wait a moment, here comes somebody
along the corridor."
In a minute more, the reddened and anxious face of Egbert Bunbury, the
first footman, appeared in the doorway.
"Well, what's on your mind, Eggie? Nothing but hair, as usual!"
inquired Holmes, as sarcastic as ever.
Egbert, however, didn't wait to reply when he saw who was inhabiting
the billiard-room; but turned and ran for dear life back along the
corridor.
Holmes brought his Marathon legs into play then, and soon captured the
obese footman, who puffed like a porpoise in the firm and muscular
grasp of the detective, who nabbed him just at the head of the stairs.
"Now, Eggie, the game is up for you as well as for the other four
culprits, so you might as well begin to spill out your little
narration of how it happened that you absent-mindedly left a valuable
gem in a pool-table pocket," Holmes admonished, giving the gem to the
Earl and jerking the perspiring footman into a more erect posture.
The Earl was contemplating his hireling, his face expressive of mixed
emotions, the rest of us filling up the background as usual.
"Well, that man Billie Budd, 'e swiped the shiners, so 'e did,"
stammered Egbert, his eyes avoiding his master's, "and 'e prevailed
hon me to 'ide one of them for 'im. Said 'e would reward me when 'e
came back to dispose of them. But Hi didn't mean any 'arm by it, Your
Lordship,--er, Mr. 'Olmes. The reason Hi lost the cuff-button in 'ere
was because Hi was shooting a little game of pool by myself just now,
with the thing in my 'and, so Hi could hadmire it, and when Hi made
the last shot, it rolled away. Hi didn't know which pocket it went
into, and just then Hi 'eard some one coming, so Hi beat it."
"Well, you can beat it again, Bunbury. Back to the woods for you! I'll
sentence you to help Yensen clean out the horses' stalls for your
theft," said the Earl.
The fat footman, glad to be rid of the inquisition, went downstairs in
a hurry.
Our little party now returned to the billiard room and finished our
game, also a few more, playing until Donald MacTavish, the second
footman, came in and announced luncheon, it now being twelve o'clock.
After luncheon, during which Holmes made several more cracks about the
possible guilt of others in the diamond robbery, we adjourned to the
library, and Holmes settled himself in the best chair, still wearing
Luigi Vermicelli's light green livery, consulted his old chronometer
again, and yawned.
"Well, it's still only a quarter of one. Hi! Ho! Hum! Nearly four
hours yet before I am to go down to the village and grab the second
gardener with his stolen pair of diamonds!" he remarked. Then turning
to me, he added: "Doc, I believe the reaction is on me now. I haven't
had a shot in the arm since yesterday morning. Have you got the
dope-needle with you? No, that's right,--I have it here in my pocket."
And before I could prevent him, the hardened old "coke"-fiend had
pulled out his famous needle and inoculated himself again in the arm
with the poisonous cocaine, and right in front of all the five people
in the library, too,--the Earl, Thorneycroft, Launcelot, Tooter, and
Hicks,--who stared at him as if he were a dime-museum freak; which
indeed he was, to a certain extent.
The seven of us managed to kill time some way or another that
Wednesday afternoon, while the sun shone through the ancient windows,
and the birds sang their springtime songs in the trees outside, the
Countess having retired to the music room to hammer Beethoven,--or
maybe it was Mendelssohn,--out of the piano.
I had grown considerably interested in a very romantic novel by Xavier
de Montepin, and took no note of the passage of time until suddenly my
unconventional partner jumped up and yelled:
"Arise and depart with me, John H. Watson, M. D.! The time now
approaches when we shall accomplish the recovery of the sixth and
seventh stolen piece of glass for His Nibs the Earl!"
And Holmes grabbed me by the shoulder so sharply that the book fell
out of my hands.
"You don't need to throw a fit about it, anyhow," I grumbled, as I
hastened to accompany him out of the castle and down the somewhat
dusty road to the village of Hedge-gutheridge.
The darned village was three-quarters of a mile from Normanstow
Towers, and I didn't feel like taking a tramp just then, but Holmes
seemed to be in high spirits as we passed along the ancient and
dilapidated main street of the village, sizing up the signs above the
stores until we came to one that read:
WILFRED WUXLEY
FLOUR and FEED
It didn't look very inviting, being only a hundred feet away from the
grimy railroad station by which we had first come here, with cinders
blown all over it, and if the building had been back in the U. S. A.
and I was a deputy state fire marshal, I would have ordered it torn
down at once. Of course none of the constables were in sight anywhere,
probably being asleep in some back room!
Holmes led the way into the feed store, and we met the proprietor, who
strongly reminded me of Inspector Letstrayed and Egbert Bunbury by his
general air of sleepy incompetence. It was now five minutes to five,
and after Holmes had warned old man Wuxley of his identity beneath the
valet's livery, we decided to hide behind one of the barrels of bran
that stood on one side of the store, and there await the coming of
Demetrius with his booty.
We didn't have long to wait, for he soon showed up in the
doorway,--with his swarthy face and shifty eyes,--and asked Wuxley if
Luigi had arrived yet to meet him. Suppressing a smile, Wuxley
motioned him in, saying that Luigi was in a back room.
As he passed the bran barrels Holmes and I jumped out and nailed him,
and Holmes exclaimed:
"Well, here I am, Mr. Xanthopoulos. We'll catch the next train in to
London and sell the diamonds,--maybe!"
But the wily Greek was quicker than I thought he would be; he jerked
loose as soon as he heard the tones of Holmes's well-remembered voice
that had bawled him out at the inquisition the day before, and in a
second had escaped by the back door, leaving Holmes with a shred of
cloth out of his coat-tail held between his fingers.
We two gave chase at once; out of the rickety old back door of the
feed store we sped, nearly breaking our necks in our stumble down the
uneven steps that led to a weedy yard. There was a gate in the picket
fence surrounding the yard, and through this we dashed madly after the
swiftly retreating Demetrius, who led us down a narrow lane back of
the stores fronting on the main street for several hundred feet, until
we arrived at a small creek that paralleled the railroad tracks,--a
stream that I had not noticed on the way out from London the previous
Monday.
As our ill luck would have it, Demetrius found a couple of dingy
rowboats at the edge of the creek, and into one of them he jumped,
grabbed the oars, and paddled himself down-stream at a pretty good
clip. Holmes swore, both in English and French, but quickly grabbed
the other boat, shoved me into it, and started to row after the
gardener down the turbid and muddy waters of the creek, which was
about sixty feet wide. As we rounded a sharp left bend in the creek,
Holmes ran our boat in near the opposite shore and succeeded in
hitting the side of Demetrius's boat with the prow of our own.
Demetrius yelled something unintelligible,--in his native Greek, I
guess,--and the collision threw him overboard, on the outer side of
his boat, whereupon he began to swim across the creek to the farther
side.
"Come back here, or I'll throw this oar at you!" yelled Holmes,
pulling it out of the row-lock, too excited to think of the revolver
in his pocket, while I strove to row the boat as well as I could with
the one remaining oar.
Owing to Holmes's gyrations with the other oar, our boat capsized too,
and the three of us were now struggling in the cold, muddy water,
which, fortunately, was only shoulder-deep. We found it quicker to
wade out than to swim out, and as Demetrius scrambled up the opposite
bank of the creek, Holmes was upon him, and grabbed him this time with
an unbreakable grip.
"Here are the two cuff-buttons, Mr. Holmes," faltered the gardener, as
he nervously fumbled at his vest-pocket and handed over the two gems,
none the worse for the wetting they had received. "Please don't kill
me now. Billie Budd made me and Vermicelli keep the cuff-buttons for
him, after he said he stole them; and as he didn't come back yet, we
thought we'd sell 'em ourselves. And I'm liable to catch pneumonia
from all this, anyhow!"
"We'll see about that when we get back to the castle,--I've got seven
of them now out of the eleven. Seven, come eleven!" said Holmes with a
grim smile, as he put the two causes of Demetrius's downfall in his
own pocket.
The strangely assorted trio now walked back to the castle, the few
villagers we met at the edge of Hedge-gutheridge staring at us in
surprise on seeing our drenched and streaming condition.
The golden April sun was low in the western sky as we turned in at the
castle grounds, and I felt good and hungry, I can tell you, after all
the excitement. After explaining what had happened to the gaping
habitues of the castle, I hustled upstairs with Holmes, and we changed
our wet clothes immediately, putting on dry ones, after advising
Demetrius to do the same. I prescribed a hot drink of whiskey-punch
apiece for us in order to ward off pneumonia; and by half-past six we
were ready for dinner.
Everything passed off as well as before, and Holmes was effusively
congratulated by the Earl for his recovery of the sixth and seventh
diamond cuff-buttons, His Lordship deciding at length that the second
gardener had been punished enough for his theft by being dumped into
the creek. They all echoed Holmes's slogan of: "Seven, come eleven!"
for the recovery of the four remaining gems; and after an evening
spent in listening to Lord Launcelot play the mandolin, and to Uncle
Tooter telling some more extravagant tales of his adventures in India,
we retired at ten o'clock, and I soon fell asleep.
Then I dreamed that I was back in the United States, on a Mississippi
River levee, throwing dice with several colored boys, who kept
shouting: "Seven, come eleven!" when Hemlock Holmes came along and
pinched us all for crap-shooting!