The striking of the clock aroused him at last. "Let us have the lamp, Watson. I thought we might indulge in a game of whist before we go to bed."
"You astound me, Holmes."
"Do I? I won't when I inform you we've been invited for a hand tomorrow afternoon at Grosvenor Square. I need to freshen up my knowledge of the rules."
"I gather you've succeeded in making the acquaintance of Charles Abernetty."
"Indeed I have. He's quite the shining light of the Footlights Amateur Dramatic Society. A dapper little man, Watson, but somewhat nondescript in feature and colour which would I think give him the opportunity to play many roles. Quite theatrical in his approach to acting, but he has a few subtle nuances which are quite interesting."
"In personality or stage presentation?"
Holmes chuckled. "You always come straight to the point with
these little pragmatisms of yours. Yes, where does one leave off and the other begin? After I had watched the rehearsal I begged to be introduced to him by the President of the Society, whose acquaintance I had previously made. I praised Mr Abernetty's performance extravagantly and he became quite enchanted with me with what seemed mingled vanity and a need for self-reassurance. Such was the rapport we established he invited me to accompany him to Drury Lane one evening where an artist he greatly admires is presently performing.
"The subject of whist somehow crept into the conversation. When I said I played he immediately invited me for tomorrow afternoon. Did I have a friend? he asked. Indeed I did, said I. Then his sister Miss Sabina Abernetty would make a fourth."
"Well, you've got us over the doorstep. Well done, Holmes."
My companion shrugged his narrow shoulders. "I wonder if I have done well." He turned the conversation abruptly. "How did you fare with Dr Royce Miles?"
"I had feared he might be rather reticent about a former patient, but he was quite loquacious on the subject of Lady Abernetty. Glad to have her off his hands and wished me all the luck in the world. She is apparently one of those irascible patients all doctors dread to treat."
"And her ailment?"
"Congestion of the lungs which is placing quite a strain on the heart. Embarrassed left ventricle. Can't survive much longer, which will be a blessing for the children. She is, according to Miles, a cold woman who treats and has always treated her son and daughter like servants rather than loved children. Miles was full of praise for the care and attention they lavish on her."
"When neglect might carry her off sooner?"
"That's a harsh observation, Holmes."
"It's what Mrs Bertram says she fears."
"Miles was surprised at her apparent concern. She has made only one enquiry about her stepmother's health which was when she discovered the doctor had been dismissed. In his many visits to Grosvenor Square he never once saw her at the house."
"It's possible her visits didn't coincide with his. And what is the appearance of this Dr Royce Miles?"
"A bluff, somewhat florid man. Though I shouldn't venture such a remark about a fellow medico I fancy he likes his port."
"Which could be the reason for his dismissal."
"I'm sure he's competent enough." I hastened to the defence of my colleague.
My friend's only reply was a grunt.
"I must confess I'm baffled, Holmes. Do you believe Mrs Bertram's anxiety is genuine?"
"I believe Lady Abernetty's health is a subject of immense concern to quite a few people. The question is why."
"You surely give no credence to Mrs Bertram's suspicion that she's met with foul play. Having met Charles Abernetty…"
"Did I envisage him as capable of matricide, that vilest of crimes? Did Alice Abernetty, like Clytemnaestra, dream she had given birth to a serpent who suckled blood from her breast?" He threw away his mood with his cigar.
"Come, Watson, deal the cards."
The house in Mayfair, that most discreetly elegant of London districts was Georgian with a protective railing of iron spikes, double doors with flanking Doric pillars, large bay windows, a set of steps on the left leading down to the servants' entrance and mews leading to stable and coach-house.
"How much do you think this would fetch in realty?" murmured Sherlock Holmes. He had resumed his disguise of the previous day with luxuriant locks and moustache. "Sebastian Flood and John Watson," he announced to the elderly butler who answered the door. "I believe Mr Charles Abernetty is expecting us."
The small salon to which we were conducted had the furnishings of an earlier era with its marble Adam fireplace, its Chinese wallpaper and carpet and Chippendale furniture. Charles Abernetty greeted us enthusiastically. His sister, dressed in a dark cashmere gown, rose from a wing chair and glided across the floor to meet us. Her manner was more restrained, but no less welcoming. They were a singularly colourless pair, when one recalled the vivacity of their half-sister, both slight of build and with scarcely a year between them in age. They were so alike that the only differences between them were those determined by gender and a certain variance of personality. What soon became apparent was their deep affection for each other.
"You must forgive our old-fashioned furnishings," said Charles when introductions were exchanged. "This was how the rooms were originally when the house came into the family's possession, and Mother has always preferred it this way."
"Ah, you have a parent in residence," observed Holmes. "Will we have the pleasure of meeting Mrs Abernetty?"
"Our mother is an invalid and does not receive visitors," interposed Sabina. "The cold weather disagrees with her."
"Perhaps you would care to have my friend take a look at her." At their startled look he hurried on. "Watson here is a fully qualified medical practitioner. I'm sure that at any time he'd be happy to give you his professional opinion."
As I murmured acquiescence I saw Charles dart a look at his sister. She maintained an impeccable composure.
"Thank you, you're very kind, but we have our own family doctor who takes care of Mother's needs."
"Perhaps you might know him, Watson. What is his name?"
"Dr Halliwell," she replied, after a brief hesitation. She was beginning to look a trifle annoyed, as well she might, by Holmes's persistence.
"I'm sure he's a very good man," I said soothingly. "And pray don't apologize for your furnishings. This is a charming room."
"You are most fortunate," added my friend, in the irrepressible role he had adopted, "in owning this delightful residence in such an elite location. Its worth must be prodigious."
Charles flushed up to the eyes. "Mother would never consider selling up. It's quite impossible."
"I've offended you," said Holmes. "My candour runs away with my discretion at times. Ah, I see the cards are on the table. I enjoy nothing so well as a good game of whist with friends."
"Shall we play?" said Charles, eagerly, drawing out a chair.
As the game progressed companionably, I felt a sense of awe at the expertise in which Holmes sustained the bogus personality of Sebastian Flood. It was evident that Charles Abernetty admired him immensely and hung on his every word. It was equally apparent that Sabina Abernetty was reserving her judgement on their new acquaintance. She was pleasant, but decidedly cool.
At four o'clock she rose from the table and pulled on a bell-rope hanging beside the fire-place.
"Are you calling for tea, Sabie?" asked Charles. "That would be welcome."
Miss Abernetty's change of position had allowed her to see the fire had fallen low. "We must ask Minter to throw on more coal," she remarked.
"No need to bother Minter. He has enough work to do. I'll attend to the fire myself," responded her brother.
Another bell rang somewhere in the house. A look of vexation crossed Charles Abernetty's face. "There's Mother," he said, tersely.