The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures

door was stocky and of middle.years. He was, Holmes judged, a touch overdressed; his suit a shade flamboyant of cut; his diamond-fastened necktie slightly too bright of hue. 'Henry Simkins at your service, sir,' the man announced. 'Whom have I the honour of addressing?'

Holmes handed over his card with Spooner's letter and carefully observed Simkin's reaction. The man displayed momentary alarm but quickly covered it up. 'Well, Mr Holmes sit down, sit down do. I'll help you all I can, though I fear you've had a wasted journey, for Mr Spooner knows all there is to be known about this sad business.'

Holmes dusted the proffered chair and sank down upon it. 'I'm grateful to you for your time, Mr Simkins. There were just one or two details that Mr Spooner wanted me to check.'

'Why then, fire away, Mr Holmes.'

'When was it that you were invited by the warden and fellows of New College to carry out restoration work on their painting?'

'Well, now, that would be about the end of August. I can give you the exact date if you'll bear with me a moment.' He swivelled his chair until he was facing an open roll-top desk against the back wall. From one drawer he lifted a bundle of papers tied with string, undid the knot and began to leaf through the sheets. To the precise- minded Holmes it seemed that the exploration would occupy more than 'a moment' but within seconds Simkins uttered a little cry of triumph and flourished a sheet of embossed notepaper. 'There we are, Mr Holmes,' said he, laying it on the table before my friend.

Holmes quickly scanned the formal letter dated 25 August inviting Messrs Simkins and Streeter to examine Rembrandt's Nativity of Our Lord with a view to discussing possible

restoration work. 'You responded immediately, I presume,' Holmes suggested.

'Yes, indeed, Mr Holmes.' Simkins consulted a pocket diary. 'We arranged for me to view the painting on Wednesday 10 September.'

'Had you done work for New College, before?'

'No, sir, we had not previously enjoyed that privilege.'

'Do you know who recommended you on this occasion?'

Simkins sat back in his chair, thumbs hooked into the pockets of his waistcoat. 'Ah well, as to that, Mr Holmes, it might have been any one of a number of our satisfied clients. I'm proud to say that we are known to many connoisseurs, museum curators and inheritors of family collections. We have been of service to several of the nobility and gentry.'

'Including Lord Henley?' Holmes ventured.

'Why yes, sir. Only last year we executed an important commission for his lordship.'

'And Dr Giddings?'

'Him, too, sir. A wonderful connoisseur is Dr Giddings. He's been good enough to instruct us on several occasions.'

'Were you acquainted with the Rembrandt before your visit to New College last month?'

'Only by reputation, sir.'

'You had never seen it before?' Holmes asked in some surprise.

'Never.'

'And you have been familiar with Dr Giddings's collection for… how long?'

'More than twenty years, I would say.'

Holmes pondered that intelligence in silence for a few moments. 'And what was your impression of the painting when you did see it?'

For the first time the ebullient Simkins gave evidence of some discomfiture. 'Why, to be truthful, Sir, I suppose I was a little disappointed.'

'You thought it not a particularly good painting?'

The businessman's bushy eyebrows met in a frown. 'Oh, no, Mr Holmes, nothing of that sort. I would not want you to think that I meant to cast any doubt upon the quality of the masterpiece. It was just that… Well, I recall discussing that item

many years ago with another client who had seen it in Holland and who waxed eloquent about it's warm, glowing colours. What I saw in Oxford was a painting that had been sorely mishandled at some stage of its life. It had upon it a thick, old discoloured varnish. What with that and its gloomy situation in the chapel it was very hard to make out details of the brushwork.'

'So you concluded that it required a thorough cleaning and that you would only be able to comment upon the necessity of further restoration after that operation had been carried out.'

'That's it precisely, Mr Holmes. We submitted an estimate for initial work. Naturally the warden and fellows needed time to consider our proposal. They responded,' here he referred once more to the bundle taken from the roll-top desk, 'on 1 October and we arranged to collect the painting a week later, on the eighth.'

'But you did not do so?'

'No, on the morning of the eighth we received a telegram intimating that it was not, after all, convenient for us to call on that day and inviting us to make a new appointment.'

'You had no reason to doubt the authenticity of this telegram?'

'None whatsoever.'

'Tell me, Mr Simkins,' Holmes ventured, 'as someone who knows the world of pictures, dealers and collectors better than most, how hard do you think it would be to dispose of such a celebrated painting?'

'Very hard, indeed, I would say.'

'But not impossible?'

Simkins pondered the question, head on one side. 'There are collectors so obsessive that they are prepared to obtain by other means what they cannot fairly buy.'

'And are there not international gangs operating to satisfy the cravings of such collectors?'

'Sadly, that is the case, Mr Holmes.'

'And would you know how to make contact with just such a gang?' Holmes asked the question in a casual, disarming tone and watched its effect on the other man.

Simkins's ample frame seemed to swell still further with indignation. 'Mr Holmes, whatever are you suggesting?'

'Simply that someone in your position might well be approached, from time to time, by unscrupulous men – men requiring, perhaps, a convincing forgery or confirmation of a false attribution. I am sure that Simkins and Streeter would never knowingly be associated with such rogues but I would be surprised if you were not able to identify some of them.'

'We know who to steer clear of, if that's what you're suggesting, young sir,' Simkins admitted, only partially mollified.

'That and nothing else,' Holmes said with a smile. 'I wonder if I might trouble you for the names of some of these reprobates.' As the other man firmly shook his head, he continued. 'You see, someone deliberately deceived you and then passed off himself and his associates as representatives of Simkins and Streeter. That someone was highly professional. Ergo, I deduce that he is no stranger to the business of stealing and disposing of works of art.'

'Well, sir, since you put it that way, there are a handful of men who might bear investigation. The police could do worse than question them – not, mind you, that I make any accusations.' He found a scrap of paper among the confetti scattering before him and, taking up a pen from the holder, jotted down three names. 'Well, Mr Holmes, I hope they may lead to the recovery of New College's Nativity, though I fear it has disappeared for many a long year.'

Sherlock Holmes spent the return journey to Oxford recalling with total accuracy, every piece of information with a bearing on this case. It all pointed to one bizarre, though inescapable conclusion. Could it be proved, though? He resolved that prove it he would if it were humanly possible.

With that fixed intention he set out from Grenville after dark clad in tennis shoes, old trousers and shirt and carrying a hand lantern and a copy of The Times. He was gone for two hours and he returned in triumph. He had one more call to make and that would have to wait until the following evening.

The clock high on Grenville chapel's tower was chiming six as Holmes set out to walk the short distance to Magdalen College. When he reached Hugh Mountcey's apartments the outer door was open and there were sounds of conversation within. He tapped smartly and the portal was opened by a raffish, ginger-haired young man in