The Exploits of Sherlock Holmes

'They can't deceive me. If Mr. Cabpleasure is the same person as Mrs. Cabpleasure, if he or she simply walked out of the house in man's clothes and then walked back in again—I see it all now!'

'Lestrade! Stop! Wait! '

'We have female searchers in these days,' said Les­trade, dashing towards the house. 'They'll soon prove whether it's a lady or a gentleman.'

'Holmes,' cried I, 'can this monstrous theory possibly be true?'

'Nonsense, Watson.'

'Then you must restrain Lestrade. My dear fellow,' I expostulated presently, as Mrs. Cabpleasure disappeared from the window and a piercing female shriek indicated that Lestrade had imparted the intelligence of what he proposed to do, 'this is unworthy of you. Whatever we may think of the lady's manners, especially in commanding you to be here in a sober condition, you must spare her the indignity of an enforced visit to the police- station!'

'Yet I am not at all sure,' said he, thoughtfully, 'that the lady would be greatly harmed by such an enforced visit. Indeed, it may serve to teach her a salutary lesson. Don't argue, Watson! I have an errand for you.'

'But—'

'I must pursue certain lines of enquiry which may take all day. Meanwhile, since my address is readily accessible to anyone, I feel sure that the conscientious Mr. Mortimer Brown will send me a certain telegram. Therefore I would be grateful, Watson, if you would wait at our rooms and open the telegram should it arrive before my return.'

Lestrade's mood must have been contagious. Otherwise I know not why I should have rushed back in such a hurry to Baker Street, shouting to the cab-driver that I would give him a guinea if he took me there in an hour.

But the anticipated telegram from Mr. Mortimer Brown found me discussing midday dinner, and added a fresh shock. It read:

'Regret my too-expeditious departure this morning. Must state openly I am, and have always been, only a nominal partner of Cabpleasure and Brown, whose assets belong entirely to Mr. James B. Cabpleasure. My telegraphed enquiry as to the twenty-six diamonds in the Cowles-Derningham purchase was caused by caution in making certain be had brought these diamonds safely home. If he took the diamonds, he had a perfect right to take them.—Harold Mortimer Brown.'

Then James Cabpleasure was not a thief! But, if he had not meant to fly the law, I was at a loss to account for his behaviour. It was seven o'clock that night, and I heard Holmes's familiar tread on the stairs, when in­ spiration came to me.

'Pray enter,' cried I, as the knob turned, 'for I have found the only possible explanation at last!'

Flinging open the door, Holmes glanced quickly round, and his face fell.

'What, is there no visitor? Yet, perhaps I am pre­mature; yes, premature. My dear Watson, I apologize. What were you saying?'

'If Mr. Cabpleasure had in fact vanished,' said I, as he scanned the telegram, 'it would have been the miracle Lestrade called it. But miracles do not happen in the nineteenth century. Holmes, our diamond-broker only seemed to vanish. He was there all the time, but we did not observe him.'

'How so?'

'Because he had disguised himself as a police-con­stable.'

Holmes, who was in the act of hanging up his cape and cloth cap on the hook behind the door, turned round with his dark brows drawn together. 'Continue!' said he.

'In this very room, Holmes, Mrs. Cabpleasure said that her husband's moustache made him resemble a constable. We know him to be a fine mimic, with a repre­hensible sense of humour. To procure a fancy-dress policeman's uniform would have been easy. After the misdirection with which he walked from the house and walked back again, he then put on the uniform. In the half-light, with so many constables about, he went unobserved until he could escape.

'Excellent, Watson! It is only when I have been with Lestrade that I learn to value you. Very good indeed.'

'I have found the solution?'

'It is not, I fear, quite good enough. Mrs. Cabpleasure also said, if you recall, that her husband was of medium height and had no more figure than a hop-pole, by which she meant he was thin or lanky. That this was a fact I proved today by many photographs of him in the drawing room at Happiness Villa. He could not have simulated the height or the beef of a metropolitan policeman.'

'But mine is the last possible explanation!'

'I think not. There is only one person who meets our requirements of height and figure, and that person —'

There was a loud clamour and jangle of the bell from below.

'Hark!' said Holmes. 'It is the visitor, the step upon the stair, the touch of drama which I cannot resist! Who will open that door, Watson? Who will open the door?'

The door opened. Clad in evening clothes, with cape and collapsible hat, our visitor stood upon the threshold. I found myself looking incredulously at a long, clean­shaven, familiar face.

'Good evening, Mr. Alf Peters,' said Holmes. 'Or should I say—Mr. James Cabpleasure?'

Realization smote me like a blow, and I all but stag­gered.

'I must congratulate you,' continued Holmes, with sternness. 'Your impersonation of the persecuted milk­ man was admirably done. I recall a similar case at Riga in 1876, and it is faintly reminiscent of an impersonation by a Mr. James Windibank in '88; but certain features here are unique. The subject of removing a heavy mous­tache for changing a man's appearance, especially in making him look younger, is one to which I may devote a monograph. Instead of assuming a moustache for disguise, you took yours off.'

When he was dressed in evening clothes, our visitor's face showed as mobile and highly intellectual, with dancing brown eyes which crinkled at the corners as though he might smile. But, far from smiling, he was desperately worried.

'Thank you,' said he, in a pleasant and well-modulated voice. 'You gave me a very bad moment, Mr. Holmes, when I sat on that milk-wagon outside my own house and I observed that suddenly you saw through my whole plan. Why did you refrain from unmasking me then?'

'I wished first to hear what you had to say for yourself, unembarrassed by the presence of Lestrade.'

James Cabpleasure bit his lip.

'Afterwards,' said Holmes, 'it was not difficult to trace you through the Purity Milk Company, or to send you the judiciously worded telegram which has brought you here. A photograph of James Cabpleasure with moustache eliminated, shown to your employer, disclosed the fact that he was the same man as one Alfred Peters, who six months ago applied for a post with the milk company, and obtained two days' leave of absence for Tuesday and Wednesday.

'Yesterday, in this room, your wife informed us that on Tuesday you 'returned' from an unheard-of six months' absence in Amsterdam and Paris. That was suggestive. Taken together with your curious conduct as regards the umbrella—which you did not prize when you purchased it, but only when you had decided on your plan —and your incredible statement that the umbrella would be the death of you, it already suggested a hoax or imposture designed to deceive your wife.'

'Sir, let me tell you—!'

'One moment. Shaving off your moustache, for six months you drove that milk-round; and I have no doubt you enjoyed it. On Tuesday you 'returned' as James Cabpleasure. I find that Messrs. Clarkfather, the wigmakers, supplied you with a real-hair duplicate of your lost mous­tache. In dark winter weather or by gas-light it would deceive your wife, since the lady takes small interest in you and we know you occupy separate rooms.

'Quite deliberately you acted in a violently suspicious manner. On Tuesday night you staged that sinister scene with a non-existent 'fellow-conspirator' outside a win­dow, hoping to drive your wife into those vigorous measures which you believed she was certain to take.

'On Wednesday night the visit of Inspector Lestrade, who is perhaps not the most subtle of men, told you that you would have witnesses for your projected disappear­ance and that it was safe to go ahead. Dismissing the servants and drugging your wife, you left the house.

'This morning, hatless and without a greatcoat, you had the effrontery—don't smile, sir!—to drive the milk-