My Dearest Holmes (9 page)

'Do you know this sister?'

'Not well, but enough to believe that she would never stoop to blackmail. And what reason would she have? She is rich enough, since her brother's death; and I am certainly not aware of any grudge she may bear against me.'

'Her name?'

'Mrs Cecil Forrester.'

'Ah, she has a husband.'

'She has been a widow these three years. Her husband died in India.'

'I see. And have there been subsequent suitors?'

Lord Carstairs seemed somewhat embarrassed by the question.

'Well...as to that,' said he, stroking his moustache with a look of indecisive amusement upon his face, 'there... appears to have been a development in the lady's life. Rather a topical one, I suppose, under the circumstances. Rumour has it that she has been heard on more than one occasion to declare herself utterly opposed to anything of the kind. She appears to prefer the company of her intimate friends. I'm sure, under the circumstances, that I need explain no further...'

He must have thought it very prim of me (under the circumstances) to blush, but blush I did.

Sherlock Holmes opened his eyes very wide, and leaned forward in his chair.

'Good heavens, Lord Carstairs, do I understand you to imply that this Mrs Forrester moves in circles in which she could well have made the acquaintance of Miss Kirkpatrick and of your--well, and of Miss D'Arcy, for example?'

'Ah, I have forestalled you there, Mr Holmes,' said Lord Carstairs with a wry chuckle. 'I have discussed the whole thing with Maria. She has heard of Mrs Forrester, she says, but she has not actually met her; even though, coincidentally, she also resides in Camberwell. No, the problem must definitely be approached from my end, Mr Holmes. However the blackmailer obtained the letters from Mrs Forrester, he is definitely not on Maria's trail. If he knew that my son was also hers, he would certainly make no secret of the fact, as it would add scandal to scandal.'

'Hmm.' Holmes lit a second cigarette. The firelight played across his tense features, giving them an unearthly, almost a threatening quality, I thought. 'Mrs Cecil Forrester is definitely the link in the chain, however,' he said. 'It may be true, as you say, that she herself would not blackmail her brother's old friend, especially as her own social position appears to be somewhat unsteady. Who would be most likely, therefore, to have had access to Mrs Forrester's papers over the last few months? Clearly someone with whom she is intimate. From what you say, Lord Carstairs, that person is unlikely to be of the male gender. The chances of the blackmailer being a woman are therefore very high.

'There is always the possibility, of course, that those letters have been stolen from her; so we must not exclude the male gender entirely from our enquiry...Surely, Lord Carstairs, your natural curiosity must have led you to try and contact Mrs Forrester? I am assuming from what you have said, that you have not been successful in this.'

Lord Carstairs gave a short laugh. 'Upon making enquiries, I found that Mrs Forrester is out of the country. I believe that she intends to spend the rest of the winter in Paris, where she has a friend; but exactly where in Paris, and with which friend, I have been unable to ascertain. Obviously the letters I have received do not come from Paris! And now there is no more time.'

Sherlock Holmes rose briskly from his chair.

'There are forty-eight hours, Lord Carstairs,' he said. 'And those forty-eight hours may be everything. Thank you for this late interview--I trust you will have no reason to regret it. I will be in touch with you again by the morning of the 24th at the very latest. In the meantime, I would advise you to do nothing yourself, and to discourage Miss and Mr Kirkpatrick from any further attempts at burglary. Good evening to you, Lord Carstairs.'

He had already shaken hands with the bemused gentleman and was halfway to the door before our host had time to express the bewilderment caused by these parting words.

'Burglaries?' he faltered. 'What burglaries, Mr Holmes?'

I hastened to reassure him as I shook his hand.

'Mr Maurice Kirkpatrick made an attempt to procure his birth certificate from his mother's house at Camberwell this morning,' I said. 'I'm afraid he was unsuccessful; the housemaid interrupted him, and the document was eventually found by Miss D'Arcy and myself. I must confess, I don't see that the possession of it would have done him much good.'

Lord Carstairs gave a rueful laugh of relief.

'Good heavens, Dr Watson! I suppose they wanted to forestall any similar attempts on the part of the blackmailer. But as I have said, I am sure there is no reason to fear an approach from that side. So, Miss D'Arcy holds the document?'

'Well--' I hesitated. 'No, actually it is in Mr Holmes' possession. But I assure you that it will be returned to Miss Kirkpatrick once this affair is all over. I have every confidence,' I added reassuringly, 'that Mr Sherlock Holmes will soon have the matter cleared up.'

Lord Carstairs shook my hand warmly.

'My dear Dr Watson,' he said, 'I really am most grateful both to Mr Holmes and to you. I must say that I read your account of Mr Holmes' handling of the Mormon business with the greatest interest, and like you, I have every confidence in him. I only wish I had the good sense to consult him at the beginning of this affair.'

With that, he bade us a hearty farewell, and we left him a much more cheerful man than we had found him.

--
VIII
--

I
T WAS PAST midnight by the time we reached Baker Street. Holmes made straight for the spirit flask on the sideboard.

'You're not tired, Watson?' he said, as he poured two very large whiskies and soda.

I was, in fact, at the stage where one is too tired for sleep; my excesses of the previous evening (was it only the previous evening?), my broken night, followed by the excitement of the last fourteen hours or so, had reduced me to a state of remarkable lucidity. The adrenaline pulsed through my veins, and my whole body felt light and transparent.

'Not at all, Holmes,' I murmured; and accepting the proffered glass, I sank into the armchair with a sigh.

Holmes curled himself up in his chair and lit a pipe. For some time he stared at the contents of his glass as though he expected to read there the identity of the mysterious 'Q.B.'

'Well, Watson,' he said at last, removing his pipe from his mouth and downing half of his whisky at one gulp, 'what do you make of it?'

'It is certainly...unusual,' I said dreamily, holding up my glass to catch the light, as though it were the whisky we were discussing.

'Q.B., Q.B.,' muttered Holmes. 'Somewhere in my memory, Watson, is the key that will unlock the door to Q.B.'s identity. I know it. I sense it; and yet I cannot--quite--reach it.'

He remained curled cat-iike in the chair, shrouded in smoke from his pipe.

'So,' he continued, 'we will have to take the long road. We will have to start with Mrs Cecil Forrester. By all accounts, a very interesting lady.'

'But she is in Paris!'

'Quite so. Your capacity to absorb information, my good Watson, never ceases to amaze me. I, too, had registered the fact that she is in Paris, as Lord Carstairs so kindly informed us.'

'All right, all right,' I interrupted peevishly. 'I was only thinking aloud. I suppose that, geographically speaking, we should begin our search somewhere in the region of Dulwich Village.'

'My dear fellow, you scintillate tonight!'

'We could enquire first at Mrs Forrester's Camberwell address, of course,' I continued, ignoring him, 'or we could enquire among her friends. Obviously Miss Kirkpatrick is not of her circle, but I wonder if Miss D'Arcy herself would be able to help us? She said to me that some of her best friends had been married women.'

'My dear Watson--' began Holmes, and stopped short. Since I had determined, in my elated state, to ignore him, I took no notice.

'Of course, if we were to approach Miss D'Arcy we would have to disclose the whole situation to her; Lord Carstairs' role in the matter, I mean. And that could be painful for her. On the other hand, surely the truth cannot be kept from her now; she is bound to put the question to Miss Kirkpatrick in no uncertain terms when she returns--'

'Be quiet, man, for heaven's sake!' cried Holmes, uncurling himself with swift agility and springing up from his chair. I looked at him reproachfully, as he downed the remainder of his glass and began to pace the room.

'There is no need, Holmes--'I began, but he cut me short with an impatient wave of his hand.

'Shush, Watson. You have given me the clue. What a blind fool I was not to think of it immediately! Pass me the reference book.'

Meekly I extracted the bulky volume from its place on Holmes' bookshelf and handed it to him. I watched him as he sat perched on the edge of his chair, balancing the book on his knees, hunched over it in a hungry attitude like a bird of prey ready to swoop and devour. He turned the pages swiftly, until he froze suddenly, drawing in his breath in a low hiss of excitement.

Well?' I asked impatiently.

He raised his eyebrows and surveyed me long and searchingly.

'Watson,' he said, 'tell me truthfully, has it ever occurred to you that I may be past my prime? Is it possible, do you think, that I am losing my grip? That I could be experiencing softening of the brain?'

'Never, Holmes!' I cried loyally, much amazed. 'Unless,' I added cunningly, after a moment's thought, 'it could be that your indulgence in the cocaine habit has had a dulling effect upon--'

'Never mind, Watson,' he interrupted with a dismissive gesture. 'Let us stick to the point. If my suspicions are correct, this is a most extraordinary--however, it is always a mistake to theorise in advance of the evidence. One thing is certain, however, Watson. We are looking for a woman who calls herself the Queen Bee.'

For a moment, I wondered whether he might not really be experiencing softening of the brain after all. I stared at him in a questioning manner. He chuckled, and tapped with his long finger at the open page on his knee.

'The Queen Bee, my dear Watson, is an adventuress of doubtful reputation whom it has not yet been my privilege to encounter, but whose details I thought it worthwhile to enter here, having heard her mentioned in several interesting contexts in the course of my career. She is known to be of good family, though they have long since ceased to recognise her, and she does not use the family name. She appears to have several questionable sources of income, and to operate with what I gather to be considerable charm and flair, in the circles to which the French give the interesting designation of the
demi-monde.
She takes the greatest pleasure in bringing the wealthy and respectable to account for their past misdeeds; no doubt her past treatment at the hands of respectable society has something to do with that. She is known to reside in South London.

'That she is the blackmailer of Lord Robert Carstairs is entirely plausible. In fact it is more than plausible; it is certain.'

I walked across to the sideboard and absent-mindedly poured myself a second whisky and soda.

'I have never heard of her,' I said thoughtfully.

'I would hardly expect you to have heard of her. You do not move in the right circles, my dear Watson.'

I gave a short, harsh laugh which caused my friend to raise his eyebrows. 'At any rate,' I said, taking a hasty gulp from my glass, 'I would be surprised if Miss D'Arcy has not heard of her.'

Holmes leaned back and surveyed me coolly.

'How your thoughts do run on that young lady,' he remarked drily. 'She seems to have quite a hold over you. I hope that you have not taken her too far into your confidence.'

'Don't be ridiculous, Holmes,' I said, blushing hotly. Something in his tone made me feel uneasy.

He continued to regard me from his chair. 'Well, well,' he said at last, 'I shall investigate the activities of the Queen Bee tomorrow. And I think, Watson, that it would be better
not
to approach Miss D'Arcy at this stage. In fact, I would strongly advise complete discretion where that lady is concerned.

'It really is most gratifying,' he continued, rising and sauntering slowly across to the sideboard, 'to have such an opportunity to investigate the activities of a person who has hitherto remained in the wings, as it were, in every drama in which I have participated so far. Most gratifying,' he repeated, crossing to the mantelpiece, glass in hand, to refill his pipe. 'And most thought-provoking.'

I could see that he was determined to ignore me until I took the hint and went to bed. He himself was preparing for an all-night sitting. What could I do then, but take the hint? With one last, meaningful glance at the morocco case which still lay upon the mantelpiece, I bade him good night and retired, giddy and exhausted from lack of sleep and emotional strain.

When I descended to breakfast the next morning, feeling considerably refreshed and in a stronger frame of mind, I found Sherlock Holmes standing by the window, hastily drinking a cup of coffee. I had to look twice to be sure that it was really he, for he was dressed as a young man of the respectable working class, in a threadbare dark suit, somewhat shiny at the elbows, with a red muffler at his throat. A cloth cap lay upon the chair.