His head was momentarily enveloped in a cloud of grey smoke. When it cleared, I could see that he was smiling. "I object to being
treated like a pet dog who will fetch and carry at the owner's
whim. The privileged classes all too often forget the niceties of please and thank you. On this occasion it satisfied me to exercise
my perogative to act when I saw fit." He threw himself down in his chair. "Besides, it is a straightforward matter and I'm sure that we shall clear it up within the next twenty-four hours."
In this instance, Sherlock Holmes was wrong. The disappearance of Lord Darlington's painting turned out to be far from a straightforward matter.
The following morning we arrived as arranged at Lord Darlington's Mayfair town house a few minutes after ten. We were shown into the drawing room where his lordship greeted us in a most jovial manner. His demeanour was quite different from that of the night before. He introduced us to his wife, Sarah, a small, blonde-haired woman of about the same age as her husband. She seemed nervous in our company and soon made an excuse to leave us to our "business".
"I am sorry to have troubled you last night, Mr Holmes," said his Lordship, "and it was remiss of me not to wire you this morning to save you a wasted journey. Nevertheless I am happy to pay whatever fees you deem appropriate for the services rendered."
"Indeed. Then the painting has reappeared."
"Yes. It is wonderful. I went into the gallery this morning and almost out of habit I pulled back the curtain and the de Granville was back in place as though it had never been missing."
"But it was missing yesterday," said my friend sternly, not sharing his client's glee.
"Yes, yes, it must have been, but that hardly matters now."
"I would beg to differ," snapped Holmes.
"You are sure that it is the genuine article?" I asked.
Lord Darlington looked puzzled for a moment. "Why, yes," he said slowly, with faltering conviction.
"What my friend is suggesting," said Holmes, "is that it is possible that the thief who stole the painting may well have replaced it with a very good copy, unaware that you knew of its disappearance. You were due to be in France when you discovered its loss, were you not?"
"Why, yes, but…"
"Come, come, Lord Darlington. There has been a theft. There must have been a reason for it. You cannot disregard the felony just because your painting has been returned to you."
Some of the sparkle left our client's eyes and he sat down on the sofa. "I suppose you are right. However, I am convinced that the picture resting in my gallery at this moment is the genuine article, but I will contact my friend Hillary Stallybrass, the art expert at the Royal Academy who verified the painting originally, to confirm my belief."
"You would be wise to…"
Holmes was cut short by the sudden entrance into the room of a tall young man with wavy blond hair and young,
eager eyes. "Father, I must…" he cried and then on seeing us he faltered.
"Not now, Rupert. I am sure whatever it is you wish to see me about can wait."
The young man hesitated, uncertain whether to heed his father's injunction or proceed. His mouth tightened into a petulant grimace and he turned on his heel, leaving the room as swiftly as he had entered it.
"The impatience of youth," observed Lord Darlington mirthlessly.
"I should like to see your gallery," said Holmes as though the brusque interruption had not occurred.
With some reluctance Lord Darlington took us into his inner sanctum. It was a long chamber whose ceiling was studded with skylights, none of which, we were informed, could be opened. Down the two long walls were a number of red velvet curtains covering a series of paintings. In the centre of the room was a comfortable swivel chair and a table containing a tantalus and an ornate cigar box.
"May we see the de Granville?" asked Holmes.
Without replying, his Lordship pulled back the cord on one of the curtains to reveal the masterpiece. I have only a layman's appreciation of art, but even I could see that this was a work of great beauty and skill.
"It is magnificent," said Lord Darlington, almost caressing the frame.
"Indeed," said Holmes, examining the canvas closely with his lens. "Tell me, Lord Darlington, do you keep a dog?"
"A dog?" our client's mouth dropped open. "No. Why do you ask?"
Holmes shrugged. "It is no matter at the moment."
Lord Darlington seemed irritated at Holmes's vague response. He consulted his watch. "Gentlemen, I have an important appointment in the House at eleven-thirty…"
"Perhaps you could leave us in the capable hands of your wife. I should like to ascertain some details concerning the domestic arrangements."
"Very well, if you think it is important."
We were left in the hallway while our client arranged for his departure and informed his wife of our request. Holmes casually examined the calling cards in the tray. His face grew taut with excitement as he caught sight of one. He grinned. "Muddy waters grow clearer, my dear fellow," he said cheerily.
Once more we found ourselves in the drawing room. Lady Darlington had arranged coffee for us. She seemed to have lost her nervous edge and appeared composed and fully at ease, sitting on the edge of the sofa, hardly touching her drink.
"You do not share your husband's love of painting, Lady Darlington?"
"It is his passion. I could never match his devotion to art. He leads a difficult public life and his paintings afford him relief and a respite."
"You never visit the gallery?"
"Never."
"What about your son?"
"Rupert?" Her face softened at the mention of her son and a loving smile touched her lips. "He has a young man's interests, and old paintings form no part of those. Rupert and I are alike in that respect."
"He is a member of the Pandora Club."
Lady Darlington looked askance at Holmes. "He… he may be. I am not aware of all my son's leisure haunts."
"Or his acquaintances – like Lord Arthur Beacham, for example?"
"Lord Arthur, what of him?"
"He does not possess a very high reputation."
"Perhaps not in the circles in which you mix, Mr Holmes. You must not listen to the gossip of maids and gardeners. Lord Arthur is a pleasant gentleman, but only one of many among Rupert's associates. Now if you have no further questions…"
"Just one more, Lady Darlington. Who has a key to the gallery?"
"There is only one and it never leaves my husband's possession. He carries it on his watch chain."
"Thank you. Thank you very much."
As we were being shown out of the house by a dour and decrepit butler we encountered a florid-faced, rotund man on the doorstep. He gave Holmes a polite smile of recognition and shook his hand. Holmes leaned forward and whispered some words in his ear before we set off down the street.
"Let us walk back to Baker Street," said my friend vigorously, "I am in need of fresh air and exercise."
"By all means," I agreed, falling in step with him. "I gather that rather red-faced gentleman was Hillary Stallybrass come to verify the de Granville."
"Indeed, it was, and I passed on a little advice that may be beneficial to him and certainly to us. Time will tell on that account."
"What is all this business of Lord Arthur Beacham and the Pandora Club? Your remarks were rather pointed in that direction."
Holmes beamed. "They were, weren't they? Someone was rather careless in leaving his calling card on show in the hall. Contrary to Lady Darlington's opinion, Lord Arthur has rather a doubtful reputation: he is a dissolute fellow whose activities sometimes stray into the realms of criminality. And Scotland Yard have had their eye on the Pandora Club, Beacham's office of operations, for some time. It is the centre for a number of somewhat nefarious dealings."
"How naïve of Lady Darlington to consider him a suitable companion for her son."