back, you see, to hitch up another. Found I'd left my cigarettes, and while Alfred was changing horses, went back inside to locate my case. Rather fancy it. Lucky, you see. Turned a bullet once and saved my life, but that's another story. Anyway, I went upstairs with Dooley, the butler, on my heels. Old fellow brushed against a shield on the wall, and it fell with a fearful clatter. Then we heard another sound above and rushed up. We have an upstairs sitting room. Used to be a sort of art gallery. Father was keen on oils. In any case, found the French windows wide open. Rain blowing in. Someone had been there all right, but not a sign of the beggar.'
Deets paused for a breath and his delivery slowed down. It was then I gave him credit for more sense than I had previously.
'Now, I wouldn't be calling on Mr. Sherlock Holmes if that was the whole story. Fact is, can't figure how the would-be robber got there. Considering the time between my leaving Mayswood and my return, the blighter couldn't have been in the house more than five minutes. A spot sooner and Dooley and I might have seen him. Now, there's a balcony outside the gallery. French windows open onto it. But it's thirty feet from the ground it it's an inch. Flat marble walls, Mr. Holmes. No handholds and no convenient ivy. No tree close by, either.'
At the beginning of Deets's story, Holmes's mood had been one of concealed boredom, but his attention was caught now and he regarded our visitor with that keen glance that indicated the gears of his mind were meshed and moving.
'You assume the uninvited visitor gained access to the balcony?'
Deets had evidently anticipated this line of thought. 'There was no other way for him to enter the room. All of the downstairs windows at Mayswood are barred. Doors were all locked and bolted. Dooley had checked them on my departure. If you would view the premises I think you would agree with me that entry from the ground floor was impossible. You're the detective, but from where I sit, the thief had to gain access to the house via the balcony. For the life of me, I can't see how. He didn't use a ladder, for Dooley and I rushed right out and there was no sign of anything like that. Actually,' he continued after a thoughtful moment, 'how he got away so fast is as mystifying as how he entered! No sign of anyone, and yet we'd jolly well heard him while we were on the stairs. Chap just vanished!'
'Well,' said Holmes, and there was relish in his manner, 'you have presented an intriguing problem. A viewing of the scene is called for, naturally. But first, some questions that might cast light on the matter. Your burglar, if that is what he was, is evidently skilled. Premature assumptions are subject to error, but this does not seem like a common smash-and-grabber after the family plate. About the staff, how many in residence?'
'Dooley, of course. We have a male cook, Frenchman; two inside maids. They all live in the main house. The gardener and grooms live by the stables in quarters. Alfred, our coachman, lives outside as well.'
Holmes rose and selected the straight pipe he sometimes fancied. With it, he crossed to the Persian slipper containing his shag.
'You mentioned flat marble walls.' Our client's round and quite youthful face creased in a grin and he fingered his moustache.
'Fact is, Mayswood's a bit of a fortress. Not by intent. Just sort of happened that way. White marble all round, which is rather the style down our way. We've considerable grounds, but no trees close to the house. On a bright moonlit night, place looks a bit like a Greek temple. Father—gone now—was something of an art fancier. He had the lower windows barred. Not that his collection was a famous one. Just an idea he had, you see.'
Holmes, puffing out clouds of smoke, had an almost benign expression on his hawk-like face. The more our visitor made the entry of the burglar seem impossible, the better he liked the whole matter. At that moment I would have wagered five against one that he was thinking: 'Ah ha! This may turn into a two-pipe problem after all.'
My friend leaned one arm against the mantel, peering down at Deets, his eyes alight.
'Your very words lead us to what may be the key question. What was this elusive burglar after?'
Both of Deets's hands turned palms up as though disclaiming any knowledge whatsoever. 'There's the rub, Mr. Holmes. Oh, there're some pieces of value. One does collect things. But the wife's jewels, what she didn't take with her, are safely in the box at the County and Suburban. I keep a spot of currency on hand but it's no great thing. Any articles of value he may have fancied would not have been easy to leave with. Furniture, tapestries, and such. There is the family plate, but it's rather heavy stuff and a man would have some trouble lugging enough to make it worth his while.'
'No papers? Documents? Bonds?' queried Holmes.
'Some deeds, but nothing that is convertible.' Deets had another thought. 'Then there is this, Mr. Holmes: How's this chap going to get away with anything at all? He couldn't dump objects off the balcony. A bit noisy, to say the least. If he tried to get out via the ground floor, he could unbolt the doors all right, but it still takes a key to open them.'
'That would present no problem to an accomplished swag man,' replied Holmes. 'However, with four persons on the premises, to say nothing of the outside help, I agree that it would be a risky matter.'
'I'm sorry to be the squirrel with such a hard nut, Mr. Holmes,' said our visitor apologetically.
A faint smile teased the corners of Holmes's mouth. 'If the solution was simple, you would have no need of me.'
Surprise infiltrated Deets's eyes, to be replaced by the imp of humor. It crossed my mind that this outgoing type might well have a perspicacity that he took pains to conceal.
'For a fact,' he replied agreeably. Then came a sudden thought. 'You don't suppose the rascal—you don't think he came to the wrong house?'
'A possibility, though I choose to ignore it. For no concrete reason. Just mark it down to my feeling for such things.'
There was a considerable pause as Holmes, and Deets as well, mused on the matter.
'What would you have me do?' queried the sleuth finally. 'I assume, from your immediacy on the scene, that nothing was taken.'
A negative shake of the head was his answer.
'Then the tracing of stolen goods is ruled out. What we have is a burglar, assumed, whose plan is frustrated by your opportune return to the scene. Means of entry and, indeed, exit; are unknown.' My friend turned towards Deets suddenly and employed a little trick I had seen him use before. 'You realize, of course, that if he does not try again there is little chance of ferreting him out.'
Our client, for I considered him as such now, nodded, and there was a seriousness about him.
'I'm rather intrigued by puzzles myself. I want to know how this chap got in and got out so I can make sure it doesn't happen again. I'm willing to pay and pay well for that information.' Possibly he didn't feel this explanation was in sufficient detail, though it made sense to me. In any case, after a short pause he continued. 'I did mention the fortress aspects of Mayswood. I guess I never considered it before, but it does provide a certain peace of mind.'
'Temporarily dispelled by last night's occurrence,' said Holmes. 'Your problem is intriguing enough for Watson and myself to come down to Surrey and look round. I assume it is raining as hard there as here, so our visit need not be made immediately. Any clues on the outside of the house have certainly been washed away.'
'Dooley and I took a turn around the grounds with lamps last night, Mr. Holmes. Not with your expertise, of course. It was a quagmire. I fancy the fellow could have worn hob-nail boots and no marks would have remained.'
Deets's businesslike approach to the matter seemed to please Holmes. He returned to his favorite armchair and sat, his hands crossed in his lap, gazing at the man. There was another pause.
'I wish,' said Holmes rather grudgingly, 'that there was some motive for your nocturnal visitor.'
'So do I, Mr. Holmes,' Deets said frankly, meeting the sleuth's intense eyes squarely.
Holmes finally seemed satisfied. 'All right, Mr. Deets, we'll come down tomorrow. If the weather continues foul, no matter. Watson and I will be there.'
'For lunch, perhaps?'
'Agreed. In the interim, I assume your household is on the alert?'
Deets's smile had an infectious quality. 'When I left, Gaston, our chef, was busy sharpening a rather alarming carving knife. The butler, Dooley, is an old Crimean man and rather intrigued by the prospect of action. I noted several pokers were missing, so I suspect the housemaids are prepared as well. Mayswood is a bit of an armed camp.'
