street. He seemed grumpy and sleepy-eyed but made for the door, beneath an antiques and refurnishing sign, readily enough, extracting a key from his pocket.
As we entered a large, dark room, Dankers crossed with familiar steps to open the curtains of the two deep bay windows, which faced onto the street. The afternoon sun revealed cabinets and cupboards that seemed repositories for a goodly collection of tools. I noted an absence of period pieces, knickknacks and bric-a-brac and wondered if the antique dealer had kept his inventory elsewhere.
Holmes gave the room no more than a brief glance and then turned to face the constable and medical examiner. There was a crispness in his manner, previously unrevealed.
'So much for the late Amos Gridley who, it would seem, did little business in antiques but a great deal of refinishing, framing and reconditioning.'
Dankers nodded. 'Amos was handy.'
'He would have to be. Twenty years ago in Devonshire there was a man called Garth who succeeded in unloading a number of art forgeries on unsuspecting collectors. Like all who plied his questionable trade, he had to be adept at framing and the composition of paints to allow his bogus masterpieces to pass muster. Such a man would be valuable to a great collector like Basil Selkirk, would he not?'
The name rang a bell with me but I could not recall where I had heard it. Danker's mouth hung open and he seemed to be having trouble breathing. Witherspoon's brow was furrowed and there was a resigned expression in his eyes as though he had feared the falling of the axe and was not surprised when it happened.
'The man, Garth,' continued Holmes, 'was known to have a long scar on his arm. You did not mention that Amos Gridley had a similar marking, Doctor Witherspoon.'
'It did not seem important,' mumbled the medical examiner.
'Garth also had a lisp as did Gridley. There are a number of things neither you nor the constable chose to reveal. Doctor Watson and I have been treated to a pleasant view of a slack-water hamlet at peace with the world. Indeed it is, but the picture is out of focus. The tin mines and the tourists are long gone, gentlemen. Nowhere do we see tilled fields and there is not a factory in sight. What do people live on hereabouts? The streets are well- tended, the houses in good repair, so there has to be a source of income somewhere. And we know where, do we not? That notorious recluse, Basil Selkirk, the eccentric millionaire collector. Selkirk is St. Aubrey. Conveniently close to London, but outsiders journey
Suddenly, I had it. It was in Hassim's shop in Constantinople and the dealer had mentioned the famous collectors of the world. Basil Selkirk of England had been one of them. Now I knew what had drawn Holmes to St. Aubrey, the site of the millionaire's country estate. Small wonder that the death of Gridley had sparked him into action.
Constable Dankers showed signs of argument, but he evidently was taking his lead from Witherspoon who had, mentally, thrown in the sponge.
'What now, Mr. Holmes?' asked the medical examiner.
'We're no part of any crime,' added the constable.
'Agreed,' replied Holmes. 'I'll not deny Selkirk's right to the haven of his choosing. But the facade you men are paid to preserve does not fit into my plans so I had to shred its fabric. What does suit me is an interview with Selkirk. And you are going to facilitate it for me.'
'I'll be damned if I will!' remonstrated Dankers.
It struck me that the bumptious, bleary-eyed country constable was with us no more. Dankers's eyes were sharp and he had a hard core of toughness not apparent before. Play-acting, I thought. It has all been a well- rehearsed entertainment with the performers concealed behind the masks of mummery.
'Things might be worse, if you don't,' was Holmes's cool response. 'I've no doubt you both realized that Gridley had been murdered. But there could not be anything so
'That's a fact,' agreed Witherspoon wiping his brow with a handkerchief, though the thick walls of the old building preserved a cool ulterior.
Holmes's piercing eyes were fastened on Bankers, certainly the more truculent of the two.
'Much better a consulting detective than a batch of Scotland Yarders to deal with. Think of that. I can ad-vise Trans-Continental Insurance to settle the Gridley claim. Murder still makes them liable. For the nonce, the death can be listed as accidental for I care not a whit about that either. But I will see Selkirk.'
As Witherspoon and Dankers exchanged another nervous glance, Holmes moved inexorably onward.
'There are two ways of playing it. Either I have become suspicious through some careless remark that one or both of you made and now consider Basil Selkirk to be an important cog in the mysterious death of Amos Gridley . . . that is one story we might pursue. The alternate will prove more palatable. Mr. Sherlock Holmes, while in St. Aubrey, is deeply desirous of speaking with the famed collector, Basil Selkirk, in connection with some
Again, the constable and Witherspoon exchanged glances. The medical examiner's shrug was expressive and I could deduce their choice before they revealed it.
12
The Meeting with that Frightening Man
121
Not long thereafter, Holmes and I were again leaving the center of St. Aubrey, though this time we followed a road to the west. Witherspoon had made his carriage available to us and the necessary directions were simple enough. Constable Dankers had used the station phone to contact Selkirk Castle. Evidently, its owner was disposed to see the famous detective, though Dankers did not go into detail regarding his conversation with the millionaire. Possibly, the matter was arranged through intermediaries. In any case, we set a good pace. The road we were to follow to our destination was now winding up a grade and I assumed Basil Selkirk's residence was over the rise ahead of us, which proved to be true.
At the top of the hill, Holmes drew the carriage to a halt to allow the horse a moment of respite. I took a deep breath as well. The ground ahead sloped gently down into a tree-studded valley. A small river curved in from the north following a serpentine course until it terminated in a considerable body of water. In the center of this lake was a mound and on it were towering battlements, looking for all the world like a miniature Dubrovnik.
My lips pursed in a silent whistle and even Holmes looked impressed. A mountain some considerable distance beyond the stout stone walls provided a rock-strewn and bleak backdrop. The scene would have been well-suited to a Graustark melodrama.
'No fairylike cupolas and spires like those fancied by the Mad Bavarian,' said my friend. 'An ancient feudal keep augmented by modern workmanship, for you will note, Watson, the appearance of concrete where the ancient walls have crumbled with age.'
'Impressive,' I mumbled. 'I rather fancy us as adventurers intent on the rescue of the Prisoner of Zenda.'
'Not a bad comparison,' agreed Holmes, urging our horse into motion again. 'But rather than use a fictional castle, allow me to suggest the city of Bar.'
This meaning nothing to me, I questioned Holmes.
'A ghost town on the Montenegrin Littoral,' he explained. 'The stern scene before us bears a remarkable resemblance to the ancient Serbian ruins. Bar, of course, has not benefited by a modern Croesus intent on restoration.'
As we drew nearer to the castle, I noted that the road terminated at the end of a promontory, which extended into the moat. Our presence had been noted for there was a creak of a windlass and the heavily timbered drawbridge was lowered ponderously to allow us to progress between massive walls and into the courtyard beyond.
