I was distracted to find that my brother was continuing to lecture me.
"I know you, Sherlock. You are an extremely lazy and undisciplined fellow. If a subject doesn't interest you, you just ignore it. It is a wonder that you have achieved this demyship, for I did not expect you to gain a degree at all."
I turned to my elder brother with a chuckle.
"Because we are brothers, Mycroft, we do not have to share the same concerns.Your problem is your love of good food and wine. You are an indulger, Mycroft, and physical inertia will cause the body to rebel one of these days."
I spoke with some conceit for during my time at Trinity I had taken several cups for swordsmanship, for boxing and was acknowledged a tolerable singlestick player.
"But you must consider what you will do with your career, Sherlock. Our family have always been in government service, law or academic spheres. I fear you will fail your qualifications because of being so easily distracted by minutia…"
"But minutia is important in life…" I began.
At that moment we were interrupted by a disturbance at the door of the dining room.
The pale-faced waiter hurried into the room and made his way to where the elderly Duke of Cloncury and Straffan had been sitting. I watched in bemusement as the man first scrutinized the table carefully, then the top of the seats around the table and then, I have never witnessed such a thing before, the waiter actually went on his knees and examined under the table before, finally, his cadaverous features slightly reddened by his exertions, he hurried back to the door where the head waiter had now entered and stood with a troubled face.
There was a lot of shaking of heads and shrugs that passed between the two. The head waiter left the room.
As the waiter, who had conducted the search, was passing our table, I hailed the fellow much to Mycroft's astonished disapproval.
"Has His Grace mislaid something?" I queried.
The waiter, the same individual who had conducted us to our table when we entered, turned mournful eyes upon me. There was a glint of suspicion in them.
"Indeed, he has, sir. How did you know?"
"I observed that you were searching on and around the table where he had recently been seated. From that one deduces that he had lost something that he thought he had with him at that table."
The man's gaze fell in disappointment at the logic of my reply.
"What has he lost?" I pressed.
"His toilet case, sir."
Mycroft gave an ill-concealed guffaw.
"A toilet case? What is a man doing bringing a toilet case into a dining room?"
The waiter turned to Mycroft.
"His Grace is a very fastidious and eccentric person, Mister Holmes."The man evidently knew Mycroft by sight. "He carries the case with him always."
"A valuable item?" I hazarded.
"Not really, sir. At least, not financially so."
"Ah, you mean it has great sentimental value for the Duke?" I suggested.
"It was a gift which King William gave to one of His Grace's ancestors as a personal memento when the man saved his life during the battle at the Boyne. And now, gentlemen, if you have not seen the item…"
He went on his way.
Mycroft was passing his napkin over his mouth,
"Now how about a port or brandy in the hall?"
The lofty hall of the club, with its big game trophies and blazing fire and staircase of elaborately carved stonework, was where members gathered for their after luncheon drinks and cigars.
We rose and made our way out of the dining room. Our path led us by the table of Colonel Moran and as we passed by I noticed that the colonel's dark suit was ill-chosen for it showed up his dandruff. I grant you it is such small observations that sometimes irritate my fellows. But if one is prone to dandruff at least one should have the good sense to wear a light colour in which the tell-tale white powder and silver hairs would be less noticeable.
As we made our way into the hall we saw the elderly Duke of Cloncury and Straffan standing with the head waiter and a gentleman whom Mycroft informed me was the chairman of the directors of the club. His Grace was clearly distressed.
"It is priceless! A value beyond measure!" He was almost wailing.
"I cannot understand it, Your Grace. Are you sure that you had it with you in the dining room?"
"Young man," snapped the elderly duke, "do you accuse me of senility?"
The "young man", who was about fifty years of age, blanched, and took a step backward before the old man's baleful gaze.
"Not at all,Your Grace, not at all. Just tell me the facts again."
"After finishing my luncheon, I went into the wash room. I washed my hands and then brushed my hair. It is my custom to do so after luncheon. I took my silver hairbrush from my leather case, which I always carry with me. I remember clearly that I returned it to the case. I left the case on the wash stand and went into the toilet. I came out, washed my hands and then realized that the case was no longer there."
The head waiter was looking glum.
"I have already suggested to His Grace that the case might have been left in the dining room and sent one of the waiters to check. It was not there."
The old man bristled.
"Knew it would be a damned waste of time. Said so. I know where it went missing. I'd start interrogating your employees, sir. At once!"
The club chairman looked unhappy.
"Your Grace, please allow us time to search the premises before we start anything so drastic. Perhaps it has simply been mislaid…?"
"Mislaid!" The word was an explosion. "Dammit! Mislaid!
Do you take me for a fool, sir? I demand that an interrogation
of your employees begin at once. I suggest that you now send
for the DMP!"
The mention of the Dublin Metropolitan Police had made
the chairman slightly pale.
"Your Grace, the reflection on our reputation…"
"Damn your reputation, sir! What about my hair brush!"
quivered the old man.
It was then I felt I should intervene.
"Excuse me,Your Grace," I began.
Rheumy blue eyes turned on me and assessed my youthful
years.
"And who the devil are you, Sir?"
"My name is Holmes. I might be able to help you."
"You, you young jackanapes? What do you mean?"
I heard my brother "tut-tutting" anxiously in the background
at my effrontery.
"With your permission, I think I might be in a position to
recover the lost item."
Cloncury's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Do you have it, you impudent whippersnapper?" he
demanded. "By God, if you are responsible…"
Mycroft came to my help.
"Excuse me,Your Grace, this is my younger brother, Sherlock Holmes."
Cloncury glanced up and recognized Mycroft, knowing him to have the ear of the Viceroy. He looked slightly mollified.
"Why didn't he introduce himself properly then, hey? Very well, young Holmes, what do you mean by it?"
"With your permission, sir," I went on, unperturbed, "I would like to put a few questions to the chairman of the club." The chairman began to flush in annoyance.
"Go ahead, then, Mister Holmes," instructed Cloncury. "I am sure that the chairman will be in favour of anything that stops the incursion of the police into this establishment."
It seemed that the chairman, albeit reluctantly, was in favour. "Well, sir, if I remember correctly, the wash room is next to the cloak room, is it not?"