The Exploits of Sherlock Holmes

Mrs. Gloria Cabpleasure looked shrewdly calculating.

'No, Mr. Holmes. My husband is selfish, inhuman, and soulless. It is true, since my maternal great-grand­ father was The McRea of McRea, in Aberdeenshire, I take good care to keep the man in his place. But Mr. Cabpleasure, aside from his vicious nature, has never done anything without very good reasons.'

Holmes looked grave.

' 'Inhuman?' 'Vicious nature?' These are very serious terms indeed. Does he use you cruelly, then?' Our visitor raised even haughtier eyebrows. 'No, but I have no doubt he would wish to do so. James is an abnormally strong brute, though he is only of middle height and has no more of what is called figure than a hop-pole. Pah, the vanity of men! His features are quite nondescript, but he is inordinately proud of a very heavy, very glossy brown moustache, which curves round his mouth like a horseshoe. He has worn it for years; and, indeed, next to that umbrella—'

'Umbrella!' muttered Holmes. 'Umbrella!  Forgive the interruption, madam, but I should desire more details of your husband's nature.'

'It makes him look only like a police-constable.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'The moustache, I mean.'

'But does your husband drink? Interest himself in other women? Gamble? Keep you short of money? What, none of these things?'

'I presume, sir,' retorted Mrs. Cabpleasure loftily, 'that you are desirous of hearing merely the relevant facts? It is for you to provide an explanation. I wish to hear this elucidation. I will tell you whether it satisfies me. Would it not demonstrate better breeding on your part were you to permit me to state the facts?'

Holmes's thin lips closed tightly. 'Pray do so.'

'My husband is the senior partner of the firm of Cabpleasure & Brown, the well-known diamond-brokers of Hatton Garden. Throughout the fifteen years of our wed­lock—ugh!—we have seldom been separated for more than a fortnight's time, save on the latest and most sin­ister occasion.'

'The latest occasion?'

'Yes, sir. Only yesterday afternoon James returned home from a protracted six months' business journey to Amsterdam and Paris, as idolatrous of that umbrella as ever. Never has he been more idolatrous, throughout the full year during which he has worshipped it.'

Sherlock Holmes, who had been sitting with his finger­tips pressed together and his long legs stretched out, gave a slight start.

'The full year, madam?' demanded he. 'Yet a mo­ment ago you remarked that Mr. Cabpleasure had bought the umbrella two and a half years ago. Am I to under­stand that his—his worship dates from just a year ago?'

 'You may certainly so understand it, yes.'

'That is suggestive! That is most suggestive!' My friend looked thoughtful. 'But of what? We—yes, yes, Watson? What is it? You appear to have become impatient.'

Though it was not often that I ventured to vouchsafe my own suggestion before Holmes had asked for one, upon this occasion I could not forbear.

'Holmes,' cried I, 'surely this problem is not too diffi­cult? It is an umbrella: it has a curved handle, which is probably thick. In a hollow handle, or perhaps some other part of the umbrella, it would be easy to hide diamonds or other valuable objects.'

Our guest did not even deign to look at me. 'Do you imagine that I would have stooped to visit you, Mr. Holmes, if the answer were as simple as all that?'

'You are sure it is not the true explanation?' Holmes asked quickly.

'Quite sure. I am sharp, Mr. Holmes,' said the lady, whose handsome profile did in truth appear to have a knife-edge; 'I am very sharp. Let me illustrate. For years after my marriage I consented to preside over the Madame Dubarry Salon de Beautй in Bond Street. Why do you think that a McRea of McRea would condescend to use such a cognomen as Cabpleasure, open as it is to comment from a primitive sense of humour?'

'Well, madam?'

'Clients or prospective clients might stare at such a name. But they would remember it.'

'Yes, yes, I confess to having seen the name upon the window. But you spoke of the umbrella?'

'One night some eight months ago, while my husband lay in slumber, I went privily into his sleeping-chamber from my own, removed the umbrella from beside his bed, and took it downstairs to an artisan.'

'An artisan?'

'A rough person, employed in the manufacture of umbrellas, whom I had summoned to Happiness Villa, The Arbour, Highgate, for that purpose. This person took the umbrella to pieces and restored it so ingeniously that my husband was never aware it had been examined. Nothing was concealed inside; nothing is concealed inside; nothing could be concealed inside. It is a shabby umbrella, and no more.'

'None the less, madam, he may set great store by the umbrella only  as  some men  cherish  a  good-luck charm.'

'On the contrary, Mr. Holmes, he hates it. 'Mrs. Cabpleasure,' he has said to me on more than one occasion, 'that umbrella will be the death of me; yet I must not relinquish it!' '

'H'm! He made no further explanation?'

'None. And even suppose he keeps the umbrella as a good-luck charm, which he does not! When in a moment of abstraction he leaves it behind for only a few seconds, in house or office, why does he utter a cry of dread and hasten back for it? If you are not stupid, Mr. Holmes, you must have some notion. But I see the matter is beyond you.'

Holmes was grey with anger and mortification.

'It is a very pretty little problem,' said he. 'At the same time, I fail to see what action I can take. So far I have heard no facts to indicate that your husband is a criminal or even in the least vicious.'

'Then it was not a crime, I dare say, when yesterday he stole a large number of diamonds from a safe be­ longing jointly to himself and to his business partner, Mr. Mortimer Brown?'

Holmes raised his eyebrows.

'H'm. This becomes more interesting.'

'Oh, yes,' said our fair visitor, coolly.  'Yesterday, before returning home, my husband paid a visit to his office. Subsequently there arrived at our home a telegram sent to him by Mr. Mortimer Brown. It read as follows:

'Did you remove from our safe twenty-six diamonds belonging to the Cowles-Derningham lot?'

'H'm. Your husband showed you the telegram, then?'

'No. I merely exercised a perfect right to open it.'

'But you questioned him as to its contents?'

'Naturally not, since I preferred to bide my time. Late last night, though little he suspects I followed him, my husband crept downstairs in his night-g—crept downstairs, and held a whispered conversation in the mist with some unseen person just outside a ground-floor window. I could overhear only two sentences. 'Be outside the gate before eight-thirty on Thursday morning,' said my husband. 'Don't fail me!''

'And what did you take to be the meaning of it?'

'Outside the gate of our house, of course! My husband always leaves for his office punctually at eight-thirty. And Thursday, Mr. Holmes: that is tomorrow morning! What­ever criminal scheme the wretch has prepared, it will reach fruition tomorrow. But you must be there to intervene.'

Holmes's long, thin fingers crept out towards the man­telshelf as though in search of a pipe, but he drew his hand back.

'At eight-thirty tomorrow morning, Mrs. Cabpleasure, there will be scarcely a gleam of daylight.'

'Surely that is no concern of yours! You are paid to spy in all weathers. I must insist that you be there promptly and in a sober condition.'

'Now by heaven, madam—!'

'And that, I fear, is all the time I can afford to spare you now. Should your fee be more than nominal or what I consider reasonable, it will not be paid. Good day, sir. Good day!'

The door closed behind her.

'Do you know, Watson,' remarked Holmes, with a bitter flush in his thin cheeks, 'that if I did not crave such