"How naïve of you, Watson, to think so."
I ignored my friend's riddle. "Do you think Beacham is mixed up with the missing picture?"
"I do. I am not sure yet what he is up to and quite who else is involved, but I have my theory which I will put to the test later today."
After a simple lunch provided by Mrs Hudson, Holmes busied himself with some malodorous chemical experiments, while I caught up with correspondence and prepared some case notes ready for publication. As dusk was falling, he retired to his room, emerging some forty-five minutes later in disguise. He was attired in evening dress, but he had padded out his lithe shape so that he appeared quite plump. His face was flushed and a large moustache adorned his upper lip, while a monocle twinkled in his left eye.The touches of disguise were light, but at the same time they transformed the familiar figure who was my friend and fellow lodger into a totally different character.
"I am ready for a night at the Pandora Club," he announced, his own voice seeming unnatural emanating from this stranger standing in our rooms. "After all my admonishments to you about the cavalier manner in which you throw your wound pension away on the guesses of the turf, I shall be very careful not to lose too much."
"You do not require my services, then?"
"Later, m'boy, but tonight I need to act, or rather observe, alone."
At this moment, Billy arrived with a telegram. Holmes ripped it open with gusto. "Aha," he cried, reading the contents and then throwing the missive over to me. It was from Hillary Stallybrass. It read: "de Granville is genuine. Some of the other works are not."
It was at breakfast the following morning when I next saw Holmes. He emerged, without disguise, clad in a purple dressing gown and beaming brightly.
"I gather from that grin," said I, tapping the shell of my boiled egg, "that your excursion to the Pandora Club was fruitful."
"The process of deduction is catching," he grinned, joining me at the table and pouring himself a cup of coffee. "One day I must pen a monograph on the importance in the art of detection of developing a knowledge of international crime and criminals."
"Riddles at breakfast? Come now Holmes, speak your mind." "Does the name Alfredo Fellini mean anything to you?"
I shook my head.
"You prove my point," my friend replied smugly. "Now I happen to know that he is the right hand man of Antonio Carreras, one of the biggest gangland chiefs in the New York area. Blackmail and extortion are his methods and he has grown fat on them. So much so that he has been able to build up quite an impressive art collection. So my friend Barnes at Pinkerton's informs me in his regular reports."
"Art collection?" I dabbed my chin with the napkin and, pushing my half-eaten egg away, gave Holmes my full attention.
"Yes. Now I observed Fellini last night at the Pandora Club where he spent a great deal of his time deep in conversation with a certain member of the Darlington household."
"His Lordship's son, Rupert."
"Precisely. And the conversation was animated, not to say acrimonious at times. And all the while that sly cove Lord
Arthur Beacham hovered in the background like a concerned mother hen."
"What does it all mean, Holmes?"
"To use a painting metaphor, which in this case is somewhat appropriate, I have sketched the outlines of the composition but I still need more time to fill in the detail and work on the light and shade. However, it is clear that Rupert Darlington is involved in some underhand deal which involves the unscrupulous Beacham and one of the most dangerous criminals in America – a deal that involves the theft of the de Granville canvas."
"But the painting was returned unharmed."
"It had to be. That is Rupert Darlington's problem."
Holmes loved to throw enigmatic statements at me to catch my reaction. I had long since learned that no matter how I responded he would not impart any information he held until he thought it the appropriate moment to do so. I had no conception of what Rupert Darlington's problem might be but I knew that should I press my friend to explain this conceit he would in some manner refuse. Therefore I tried to take our conversation in another, more positive direction, only to find it blocked by further enigma.
"What is our next move?" I asked.
"We visit 'the dog man'," he replied with a grin.
Within the hour we were rattling in a hansom cab eastwards across the city. I had heard Holmes give the cabbie an address in Commercial Street near the Houndsditch Road, a rundown and unsavoury part of London. He sat back in the cab, his pale, gaunt features wrapped in thought.
"Who or what is 'the dog man' and what is the purpose of our visit? Since you requested my company on this journey it would seem sensible to let me know its purpose," I said tartly.
"Of course, my dear fellow," grinned my companion, patting my arm in an avuncular fashion, "what am I thinking of, keeping you in ignorance? Well now, 'the dog man' is my own soubriquet for Joshua Jones whose house is over-run with the beasts. His fondness for canines has driven both his wife and children from his door. He lavishes love and attention on the various mutts he takes in, far more than he does upon his own kith and kin. However he has a great artistic talent." Holmes leaned nearer to me, dropping his voice to a dramatic whisper. "He is one of the greatest copy artists of all time. Only the keenest of experts could tell the real 'Mona Lisa' from a Jones copy. I have used the fellow on a couple of occasions myself when fake works of art were required to help clear up a case.You see where he might fit into our mystery?"
"Not precisely."
"I suspected Jones was involved in the matter yesterday morning.You may recall that when I examined the de Granville, I asked if Darlington kept a dog?"
"Yes. I do."
"That was because through my lens I observed several dog hairs adhering to the frame – hairs of at least three different breeds. It seemed quite clear to me that the painting had at some time recently been lodged in premises where several dogs had been able to brush past the canvas. Where else could this occur but in the home of Joshua Jones?"
"Because he was copying the canvas…"
Holmes nodded.
"I see that, but why then was the real painting returned and not the copy?"
"Ah, that is the crux of the matter and I wish to test my theory out on my friend Mr Joshua Jones."
Commercial Street was indeed an unpleasant location. The houses were shabby and down-at-heel with many having boarded windows.The cab pulled up at the end of the street and Holmes ordered the cabbie to wait for us. With some reluctance he agreed. We then made our way down this depressing thoroughfare. A group of ragged, ill-nourished children were playing a ball game in the street and ran around us with shrill cries, taking no notice of our presence, their scrawny bodies brushing against us.
"If this Jones fellow is such a succesful artist," I said, "why does he not live in a more salubrious neighbourhood?"
"I believe he has another house in town where his wife and two children reside but she has forbidden him to bring a single dog over the threshold, so he seems quite content to stay here for most of the time with his horde of hounds. Ah, this is the one."
We had reached number 23: a house as decrepit as the rest with a dark blue door and a rusty knocker. The curtains at the window were closed, shunning the daylight and the outside world. Holmes knocked loudly. As the sound echoed through the house it was greeted by a cacophony of wailing, yapping and barking cries as though a pack of hounds had been let loose.
"I trust these dogs are not dangerous" I said with some unease.
"I trust so too," replied Holmes, knocking loudly again and setting off a further fusillade of canine cries. Mingled with these came the sound of a human voice. Within moments the lock turned and the door creaked open a few inches; a beady eye and a beaky nose appeared at the crack.