'If I did that, Mr Holmes, I would not be honouring my vow to my cousin. And I would be telling a lie to a lady.'
'Believe me, Mr Mackelsworth if I assure you, with all emphasis, that you will not be breaking a promise to your cousin and you will not be telling a lie to a lady. Indeed, you will be doing Sir Geoffrey Mackelsworth and, I hope, both our great nations, an important service if you follow my instructions.'
'Very well, Mr Holmes,' said Macklesworth, firming his jaw and adopting a serious expression, 'if that's your word, I'm ready to go along with whatever you ask.'
'Good man, Mackelsworth!' Sherlock Holmes's lips were drawn back a little from his teeth, rather like a wolf which sees its prey finally become vulnerable. 'By the by, have you ever heard in your country of a creature known as 'Little Peter' or sometimes 'French Pete'?'
'Certainly I have. He was a popular subject in the sensational press and remains so to this day. He operated out of New Orleans about a decade ago. Jean 'Petit Pierre' Fromental. An entertainer of some sort. He was part Arcadian and, some said, part Cree. A powerful, handsome man. He was famous for a series of particularly vicious murders of well-known dignitaries in the private rooms of those establishments for which Picayune is famous. A woman accomplice was also involved. She was said to have lured the men to their deaths. Fromental was captured eventually but the woman was never arrested. Some believe it was she who helped him escape when he did. As I remember, Mr Holmes, Fromental was never caught. Was there not some evidence that he, in turn, had been murdered by a woman? Do you think Fromental and Sir Geoffrey were both victims of the same murderess?'
'In a sense, Mr Mackelsworth. As I said, I am reluctant to give you my whole theory until I have put some of it to the test. But none of this is the work of a woman, that I can assure you Will you do as I say?'
'Count on me, Mr Holmes. I will compose the telegram now.'
When Mr Macklesworth had left our rooms, I turned to Holmes, hoping for a little further illumination, but he was nursing his solution to him as if it were a favourite child. The expression on his face was extremely irritating to me. 'Come, Holmes, this won't do! You say I helped solve the problem, yet you'll give me no hint as to the solution. Mrs Gallibasta is not the murderess, yet you say a murder is most likely involved. My theory – that Sir Geoffrey had the Silver spirited away and then killed himself so that he would not be committing a crime, as he would if he had been bankrupted – seems to confirm this. His handwriting has identified him as the author of letters claiming Mr Macklesworth as a relative – Macklesworth had nothing to do with that – and then suddenly you speak of some Louisiana desperado known as 'Little Pierre', who seems to be your main suspect until Mr Macklesworth revealed that he was dead.'
'I agree with you, Watson, that it seems very confusing. I hope for illumination tonight. Do you have your revolver with you, old friend?'
'I am not in the habit of carrying a gun about, Holmes.'
At this, Sherlock Holmes crossed the room and produced a large shoe-box which he had also brought from 221b that afternoon. From it he produced two modern Webley revolvers and a box of ammunition. 'We may need these to defend our lives,Watson.We are dealing with a master criminal intelligence. An intelligence both patient and calculating, who has planned this crime over many years and now believes there is some chance of being thwarted.'
'You think Mrs Gallibasta is in league with him and will warn him when the telegram arrives?'
'Let us just say, Watson, that we must expect a visitor tonight. That is why the Fellini Silver stands in our window, to be recognized by anyone who is familiar with it.'
I told my friend that at my age and station I was losing patience for this kind of charade, but reluctantly I agreed to position myself where he instructed and, taking a firm grip on my revolver, settled down for the night.
The night was almost as sultry as the day and I was beginning to wish that I had availed myself of lighter clothing and a glass of water when I heard a strange, scraping noise from somewhere in the street and risked a glance down from where I stood behind the curtain. I was astonished to see a figure, careless of any observer, yet fully visible in the yellow light of the lamps, climbing rapidly up the wisteria vine!
Within seconds the man – for man it was, and a gigantic individual, at that – had slipped a knife from his belt and was opening the catch on the window in which the Fellini Silver still sat. It was all I could do to hold my position. I feared the fellow would grasp the statue and take it out with him. But then common sense told me that, unless he planned to lower it from the window, he must come in and attempt to leave by the stairs.
The audacious burglar remained careless of onlookers, as if his goal so filled his mind that he was oblivious to all other considerations. I caught a glimpse of his features in the lamplight. He had thick, wavy hair tied back in a bandanna, a couple
of day's stubble on his chin and dark, almost negroid skin I guessed at once that he was a relative of Mrs Gallibasta.
Then he had snapped back the catch of the window and I heard his breath hissing from his lips as he raised the sash and slipped inside.
The next moment Holmes emerged from his hiding place and levelled the revolver at the man who turned with the blazing eyes of a trapped beast, knife in hand, seeking escape.
'There is a loaded revolver levelled at your head, man,' said Holmes evenly, 'and you would be wise to drop that knife and give yourself up!'
With a wordless snarl, the intruder flung himself towards the Silver, placing it between himself and our guns. 'Shoot if you dare!' he cried. 'You will be destroying more than my unworthy life! You will be destroying everything you have conspired to preserve! I underestimated you, Macklesworth. I thought you were an easy dupe – dazzled by the notion of being related to a knight of the realm, with whom you had an intimate correspondence! I worked for years to discover everything I could about you. You seemed perfect. You were willing to do anything, so long as it was described as a matter of family honour. Oh, how I planned! How I held myself in check! How patient I was. How noble in all my deeds! All so that I would one day own not merely that fool Geoffrey's money, but also his most prized treasure! I had his love – but I wanted everything else besides!'
It was then I realized suddenly what Holmes had been telling me. I almost gasped aloud as I understood the truth of the situation!
At that moment I saw a flash of silver and heard the sickening sound of steel entering flesh. Holmes fell back, his pistol dropping from his hand and with a cry of rage I discharged my own revolver, careless of Fellini or his art, in my belief that my friend was once again to be taken from me – this time before my eyes.
I saw Jean-Pierre Fromental, alias Linda Gallibasta, fall backwards, arms raised, and crash through the window by which he had entered. With a terrible cry he staggered, flailed at the air, then fell into an appalling silence.
At that moment, the door burst open and in came John Mackelsworth, closely followed by our old friend Inspector Lestrade, Mrs Beck and one or two other tenants of 2 Dorset Street.
'It's all right, Watson,' I heard Holmes say, a little faintly. 'Only a flesh wound. It was foolish of me not to think he could throw a Bowie-knife! Get down there, Lestrade, and see what you can do. I'd hoped to take him alive. It could be the only way we'll be able to locate the money he has been stealing from his benefactor over all these years. Good night to you, Mr Mackelesworth. I had hoped to convince you of my solution, but I had not expected to suffer quite so much injury in the performance.' His smile was faint and his eyes were flooded with pain.
Luckily, I was able to reach my friend before he collapsed upon my arm and allowed me to lead him to a chair, where I took a look at the wound. The knife had stuck in his shoulder and, as Holmes knew, had done no permanent damage, but I did not envy him the discomfort he was suffering.
Poor Macklesworth was completely stunned. His entire notion of things had been turned topsy-turvy and he was having difficulty taking everything in. After dressing Holmes's wound, I told Macklesworth to sit down while I fetched everyone a brandy. Both the American and myself were bursting to learn everything Holmes had deduced, but contained ourselves until my friend would be in better health. Now that the initial shock was over, however, he was in high spirits and greatly amused by our expressions.
'Your explanation was ingenious, Watson, and touched on the truth, but I fear it was not the answer. If you will kindly look in my inside jacket pocket, you will find two pieces of paper there. Would you be good enough to draw them out so that we might all see them?'
I did as my friend instructed. One piece contained the last letter Sir Geoffrey had written to John Macklesworth and, ostensibly, left with Mrs Gallibasta. The other, far older, contained the letter John Macklesworth had read out
