It was later, on the train back to London, after Milly Hogan had confessed, that I remarked to Holmes, "We never did meet Vittoria, the Circus Belle."
"No," he agreed. "But we met Milly Hogan twice, and in my profession I find a murderess more fascinating than a Circus Belle."
The Darlington Substitution Scandal – David Stuart Davies
By late 1886 Holmes's caseload was increasing substantially, allowing him to be more selective in the work he took on, and this occasionally made him rather cavalier to those clients whom he felt were wasting his time. Some of these cases Watson did not write up, either because they seemed trivial or because Holmes wished to keep his clients' details confidential. Occasionally certain incidents were later remembered and one such case was "The Darlington Substitution Scandal"which Holmes refers to in "A Scandal in Bohemia". This case has been highly problematic to restore and even now the story may not be complete. Holmes was reminded of the case by his use of a fire alarm to unearth items of value, but it transpires it wasn't fire but a similar cause for alarm that helped Holmes resolve the matter.
Sherlock Holmes and I returned late one evening to our Baker Street rooms after spending some time in the realms of Wagner. My friend was still singing Siegfried's horn call even as we let ourselves in through the door of 22 lb. His recital was interrupted somewhat abruptly by the appearance of Mrs Hudson at the foot of the stairs. She was wearing a long grey dressing gown and appeared to be quite perturbed.
"You have a visitor, Mr Holmes," she whispered with a kind of desperate urgency. "He refuses to leave until he sees you. He is most insistent."
"Is he?" said Holmes, "Then we had better oblige the gentleman. Off to bed with you. Friend Watson and I will deal with the matter."
She gave an understanding nod, threw a brief smile in my direction and disappeared behind her door.
The visitor was a short, burly figure of some sixty years. He possessed a high, bald forehead, a shiny face and fierce blue eyes. He almost ran towards us as we entered our sitting room. "At last," he cried.
Holmes gave a gentle bow of the head in greeting as he flung off his coat and scarf. "Had his Lordship taken the courtesy to arrange an appointment he would not have had to wait over two hours to see me – the cigar butts in my ashtray indicate the length of time."
"You know me?"
"It is my business to know people. Even in this dim light it is not difficult to recognize the Queen's minister for foreign affairs, Lord Hector Darlington. Now, pray take a seat and tell me about the theft."
Lord Darlington dropped open-mouthed into the wicker chair. "Who has told you?"
Holmes gave a brief chuckle. "A brandy night cap for us all, eh,Watson?" he said, before replying to his Lordship's question. "You would not be here alone at this time of night if your errand concerned government business. Therefore, it is a private affair which brings you to my door. A very private affair if the official police are not to be involved. It is well known that you are an avid collector of priceless paintings and possess a very rich collection. It does not need Sherlock Holmes to deduce that the matter on which you wish to consult me concerns your paintings or more likely one of your paintings. The matter is urgent and so therefore it relates to loss rather than damage. Ah, thank you Watson." He retrieved a brandy from the tray and took a sip.
Lord Darlington shook his large head in disbelief. "By Jove, you are right, sir. If only you can unravel the mystery as easily as you have guessed at its nature, I will be in your eternal debt."
Holmes raised an admonishing finger. "I never guess. It is an impractical pastime. Now, if you would be so kind as to familiarize me with the facts of the matter, I may be able to shed some light on your particular darkness." So saying he sat back in his chair, both hands cradling the brandy glass, and closed his eyes.
Lord Darlington cleared his throat and began his narrative. "As you rightly stated, my passion in life is art and over the years I have built up what I believe is an enviable collection, one of the finest private galleries in Europe. It is not for their financial value that I treasure my canvases, you understand: it is for their beauty and power, their vivid interpretation of life."
"Quite," remarked Holmes dryly.
"Recently I took possession of a seventeenth-century painting by Louis de Granville, his 'Adoration of the Magi.' It is the most magnificent painting."
"Louis de Granville – didn't he die very young?" I said.
His Lordship gave me a brief smile. "Indeed. He died of consumption at the age of twenty-seven. There are only thirty known canvases of his in existence and 'The Adoration' is regarded as his best. I was so fortunate to acquire this wonderful painting."
"Where did you obtain it?" asked Holmes
"For years it was deemed a lost masterpiece and then it turned up in a Paris auction house last spring. The bidding was fierce but I was determined to have it. One American bidder chased me all the way, but I managed to shake him off in the end."
"And now it has disappeared."
Lord Darlington's face crumpled at this reminder of his loss. "I use my gallery as some men use tobacco or alcohol. Sitting alone with my pictures I am able to relax and allow the stresses and strains of the day flow out of me. Today I was due to make a visit to see my counterpart in the French government but at the last moment the trip was called off, so instead of catching the night train to Paris, I went home. Both my wife and my son were out on various social engagements, so I took myself to my gallery for a few hours peace and relaxation. Imagine my horror when I pulled back the cord on my beloved de Granville to find that it was missing."
"The frame also?"
"Yes. There was no signs of forced entry and nothing else was disturbed. All my other pictures were there."
"How big is the painting?"
"It is about two foot by sixteen inches."
"Who has a key to the gallery besides yourself?"
"No one."
"No one?" I found myself repeating our visitor in surprise. "My wife and son have no interest in my paintings and I welcome that. The gallery is my private domain."
"Who cleans and tidies the room?" asked Holmes languidly. It was clear that Lord Darlington's dilemma did not excite a great deal of interest within his breast.
"I do. It is a simple task. I perform it once a week."
"When did you last see the painting?"
"The previous evening. The charm of it is still so fresh for me that I rarely let a day go by when I don't spend some time with
it. I know you may find it strange, gentlemen, but I was actually dreading my trip to France, knowing I would be deprived of my paintings for some days."
Sherlock Holmes drained his brandy glass and rose to his feet. "It is my experience that when the situation is so mysterious with
no apparent clues, the solution must be quite simple. Do not lose sleep over it. I feel sure that we can recover your painting." Our visitor beamed. "I do hope so."
"Watson and I will call around tomorrow morning to examine the scene of the crime and see if we can glean some suggestive facts."
"Won't you come now, gentlemen?"
Holmes yawned and stretched. "It is late, Lord Darlington. There is no danger in waiting for a new day before commencing our investigation. Shall we say at ten o'clock tomorrow morning? Watson will show you out."
When I returned, my friend was standing by the fireplace lighting up his pipe with a cinder from the grate clamped in the coal tongs. "You treated your new client in a rather cavalier fashion, Holmes," I said.