‘It is the sporting page,’ he said. ‘You read the sports news, Watson, I do not. What sort of item might be in that missing space?’
‘It is a sort of miscellany of matters which may interest sportsmen,’ I said, ‘a sort of gossip column, if you like, about who is preparing what horse for a big race, who has changed his trainer and so on.’
‘So it might mention the proposed appearance of the Tzar’s cousin at some sporting event?’ I nodded.
‘What sporting events are there today?’
I went through the paper’s sporting pages. ‘None that I can see,’ I reported.
‘Then it is clear what happened here this morning,’ Holmes said, in tones of intense frustration. ‘Miss Wortley-Swan rose early and took in the milk and the newspapers. In reading her paper she came across an item about the count and promptly decided to act upon the information. She telegraphed the professor and someone else, asking them to gather at Paddington, left a note for her staff that they would not be needed, and set out for London. We know not what it was that she saw in the newspaper, so we cannot follow.’
Twenty-Six
The Missing Piece
We returned to London by the next train. Our last chance was that the little newsagent by Burriwell Station might have a copy of the relevant paper left. But it was too late in the day. The early editions of the evening papers had already arrived.
At Victoria, Poliakoff announced that he was going to Paddington anyway, to see if he could find Miss Wortley-Swan, the professor or Anna.
‘I understand your motives, Mr Poliakoff,’ said Holmes, ‘but I sincerely doubt that you will find any of them at Paddington. If you do, I advise you to be very careful. That they have a plan amongst themselves is plain, but we have no idea how they propose to carry out their intention.’
We shook hands and parted, Holmes and I to the freight warehouse of the station, where our transport awaited us. We were soon concealed among empty crates on the carter’s dray and rattling through the streets back to our hotel.
We arrived without incident, Holmes remaining completely silent all the way. Once inside the hotel he asked the staff for copies of that morning’s papers and we withdrew to our shared sitting room.
When the newspapers were brought up, Holmes fell upon them eagerly, skimming through them in
search of the missing item.
‘I have it!’ he exclaimed suddenly. ‘I was right. The fools have gone in pursuit of the count.’
He showed me the paragraph he had found:
WARWICKSHIRE JUBILEE SALE TODAY
Mr Harry Barnton, the Warwickshire breeder, has decided to take advantage of the numbers of foreign sportsmen who are in England at present for the Jubilee celebrations.
At his Jubilee Sale today he is presenting a fine array of carefully chosen livestock, collected from all over the country and from the continent, in the hope of attracting the best prices.
Among the animals offered is ‘Golden Spirit,’ winner of the Exeter Gold Cup and the Wolverhampton Trophy. This outstanding horse has attracted a lot of interest and bidding is expected to be keen. Among the illustrious guests expected at the ring are the Due d’Errennes, Lord Bazelby (the so-called
“Backwoods Peer” from Canada) and Count Skovinski-Rimkoff, a cousin of the new Tzar and a
bloodstock enthusiast.
‘That must be it,’ I agreed. ‘Miss Wortley-Swan has seen his and set her plan in motion. Can they succeed, Holmes?’
‘I doubt it very much,’ he said. ‘The Russian royal family lave been subject to assassination attempts for years, in their own country. How much more careful will they be abroad, Watson? No, they are making a trap for themselves. The odds re that they will not succeed but will be caught in the attempt.
Vorse - they might strike at the count and fail to get away.’
He shook his head and flung himself into an armchair, Where he sat staring fixedly out of the window.
It was a full half an hour before he spoke again.
‘Watson,’ he said, ‘could it be right?’
‘I don’t know what you mean, Holmes.’
‘It is only a few weeks since Moore Agar warned me against overtaxing my brain. You agreed with him. Both of you told me that, if I failed to take some form of relaxation, I should un the risk of losing my mental powers. Do you think that I nay have done so, Watson?’
I have seen Sherlock Holmes face the most deadly threats vith a sardonic comment, I have seen him apply his great nind to problems that no other intellect has been able to unravel, I have seen him struggle against the most fearful odds and emerge successful, I have seen him wrapped in the blackness of frustration when he could not find a way of solving a mystery, but I had never seen him like this before. Always his outstanding intellect and the methods he has developed of applying it to all manner of problems have been his mainstay. Never before have I known him doubt his own mental processes.
‘Holmes!’ I exclaimed. ‘You are surely not serious?’
‘Why not?’ he said. ‘Why not? Both of you warned me in the direst terms of the risk I ran by
continuing to overwork my brain.’
‘Yes,’ I interrupted, ‘and we were right, but you heeded our advice. We went away to Cornwall, you pursued your language researches. You came back a new man. What on earth makes you think
differently?’
‘This case,’ he said. ‘This wretched case. It has gone badly astray, Watson, and it is my fault.’
‘Hardly,’ I said. ‘You were consulted by Mrs Fordeland. You have painstakingly unravelled the extraordinary history of the connection between her and the Russian count - despite her attempts to conceal it - and, when our client and we were threatened by Kyriloff’s hoodlums, your quick wits found us not only a way out, but a safe stronghold. How on earth can you say that the case has gone badly astray?’
‘I am a creature of reason, Watson. I have worked hard to make myself so - to avoid all traces of sentiment or unreason, all indications of emotion when dealing with a problem. Now I find myself filled with foreboding, coupled with a sense of guilt.’
‘Nonsense!’ I said. ‘You have rightly predicted that Agatha Wortley-Swan and her friends have a plan against the count. You, not unnaturally, fear an outcome which will add to the tragedies already suffered by the lady and by Professor Gregorieff. None of this is sentiment or unreason, Holmes. It is merely that the ordinary workings of your extraordinary mind have suggested to you that a calamity is the most likely outcome. I fear you are right, but I see no reason why you should blame yourself. Miss Wortley-Swan, and the professor, chose to keep their plans secret from you. What more could you have done? I fear, Holmes, that we must merely await the outcome and hope for the best.’
He granted me a wan smile. ‘Hope for the best! Always your motto, eh, Watson? My good old friend, there have been many times in the past quarter of a century when I valued your sturdy optimism at my side, and many times when I was abroad that I have missed it. You are quite right. We must simply hope for the best.’
Despite my distress at seeing my friend so low in his own esteem, his words touched me. I believe that they may have been the longest compliment that he ever paid me.
‘You have done your best, Holmes,’ I asserted stoutly. ‘Nobody could have done any more.’
I had barely spoken when there was a tap at the door, heralding an hotel employee with a newspaper.
‘You asked for the morning papers, Mr Holmes,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you would like the latest evening edition.’
I tipped him and passed the paper to Holmes, in the hope maybe of distracting him from his mood of self- doubt. He gazed at it with lacklustre eyes and began to turn its pages slowly with no show of interest.
‘Great Heavens!’ he ejaculated suddenly. ‘Watson, where is Mrs Fordeland?’
‘I believe that they said she was in the luncheon salon when we came back,’ I said, mystified.
‘Come!’ he commanded, and, rolling the newspaper in his fist, strode out of the room. Delighted to see his
