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.
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.
