The Adventure of the Crown Jewels

On recent occasion, having had some rest from the duties of my profession, I have found time to set yet another of the great cases of my friend Sherlock Holmes to paper. It was while rumaging through my old notes that I came across this particular case. At the time, the details were kept private, for reasons which the reader will soon discover. I see nothing that should prevent their being revealed now, as the reputations of the characters involved are no longer endangered. The case itself was not as spectacular as perhaps Holmes might have wished. It was the crime itself that was of interest.

It was a summer Sunday in '89 that Holmes and I were attempting to relieve ourselves from the blistering heat and humidity from the outdoors by consuming several pitchers of lemonade, neither having the energy, much less the desire to talk, that heavy footsteps came bounding up the stairs to 221B Baker Street. I had become trained enough in Holmes' methods to observe who our visitor was by the skipped every third stepped and the thud of weight, along with the height at which the knock was placed. Inspector gregson of Scotland Yard. I had just remarked upong my findings t Holmes, but before he could congratulate me, Gregson burst in upon us. Such an anxious expression as he wore on his face, I have never seen before.

So hurried was he, that instead of greeting myself first and then addressing himself to Holmes, as was his usual manner, he spoke directly to Holmes.

"Mr. Holmes, I call upon your loyalty to England, to the Queen, yes to your very profession, if need be, to help us!"

Holmes sat quite at ease in his chair, for though I knew there was nothing he would rather do than use his talents in the service of his Queen, his vanity could not resist the opportunity to make Scotland Yard, who had so often spurned his profession, beg for his services.

"good afternoon, Inspector Gregson," said he. "It's unusually hot and humid for this time of year and location, is it not?"

Gregon nodded dumb acquiescence to Holmes' question.

"And what has brought you to our humble abode in this weather?" continued Holmes.

"The Crown Jewels, the Queen's crown Jewels, they've been stolen right under our noses!" gregson cried.

Realizing that this was no time for petty rivalry, Homles sprang up and told me to bring a notebook. He knew that I was as eager for adventure as he, so that I did not mind his rather cold, military manner.

Gregson had left a hansom waiting for us outside, and as we climbed in, he gave directions to Tower Hill. On the way he gave us as few details as he was able.

"the last visitors to the Jewel House left at 6:00 p.m. yesterday evening. The visitors were under watch the entire time, so we know that the Jewels were in their proper position at that time. at midnight the guards changed and the Jewels were discovered missing--"

"a moment, my dear fellow, one moment, who were the last visitors to see the Jewels?" interrupted Hollmes.

"I really don't see that it hasx anything to do with their loss. I've told you the visitors were under guard during the whole time they were there," objected Gregson.

"Nevertheless, I must have all the information at my disposal if I am to help you at all."

Gregson grudgingly told us who the visitors had been.

"The duke and the Duchess of Edinburgh." I whistled. "And a female guest of theirs whom they introduced as a cousin on the Duke's maternal side," added Gregson.

"They gave no name for her?" queried Holmes.

"Not a one, but the guide said he thought the Suke addressed her as Sandra."

"I assume the Duke and Duchess' visit came as no surprise," said Holmes.

"No, indeed. Their visit had been planned for months in advance."

"What about this cousin of his? Was she also anticipated?"

"No, I don't believe she was. but see here, Holmes, the Duke and Duchess had nothing at all to do with the robbery. You had better be sure not to implicate them," warned Gregson.

"I will find who stole the Crown Jewels, Inspector, no matter who it implicates," Holmes said coldly. "Pray continue."

"The guard who set the alarm, Rickenbacker, who has been with the force for over 10 years--"

Holmes interrupted again. "Rickenbacker, you say his name was?"

Gregson nodded. "been with the guard for over 10 years. God loyal man, that one. He said he 'felt' that something was wrong, so just before leaving, he checked on the jewels, found them missing, and called The Yard right in. Nothing remaines but a set of ordinrary man's footprints, size 10 1/2 leading to and from the Jewel House. We've found not one solitary clue besides, and we've been searching furiously since then. As a last resort, we appeal to you. You must help us! If you cannot, the Crown Jewels are lost forever!" Gregson ended gloomily.

Holmes simply replied, "We shall see, Inspector. We shall see," setting Gregson very ill at ease.

as for myself, I could not mistake the signs of concentreation Holmes was showing. His cloudy gray eyes, his dreamy look, and his inattention, were all distinctive of Holmes' beginning to formulate a theory.

we arrived at Tower Hill in about 10 minutes' time, as Gregson paid the cabbie, Holmes hurried towards the Tower entrance, myself at his heels. Lestrade stood there to meet us with an angry scowl on his so frequentlsy smug features, snapping the orders to let us proceed.

"The best men of Scotland Yard are baffled by this case. There is nothing here for you, Holmes. I do not understand why Gregson insisted on calling for you. Ther eis no hope at all, not a clue," Lestrade ended with his ususal pessimism.

"Let us hope that I can do something," murmured Holmes as we passed. "For all our sakes, let us hope."

Lestrade's scolw only deepend.

"Not at all a pleasant man when things look bad, is he?" Holmes whispered to me.

I nodded in fierce agreement.

The Jewel Tower was quite a distance from the gate, and Gregson soon caught up with us, running faster than any man his age should.

The footprints Gregson had mentioned were pointed out directly to us. Holmes remarked that he'd already noticed them, and adding the fact that the rain had started about half past ten, and ended at quarter to twelve, and that the rain was falling when the footsteps were made.

Gregson muttered despondently, "lot of good that'll do us!"

"The press has not been notified that the Jewels have been stolen, I presume?"

"Most certainly not!" exclaimed Gregson.

"Hmmm," said Holmes and continued his search.

I saw nothing at all, but my experience has been that Holmes often sees a great deal more than the average, so I kept an inobtrusive silence.

Twenty minutes later, he had concluded the search inside, inspecting the scattered glass made by the theif's break-in to the Jewel receptable, and asked to be taken outside, where he spent another half hour on his hands and knees, dirtying himself as to be indistinguishable to myself. I wondered briefly if Mrs. Hudson would allow him back into our flat.

Lesteade joined us as Holmes stood up. "I'm afraid there's not much here to help us," Holmes said to me, more dispirited than I had ever seen him. I was crestfallen. Was this to e the end of the prize Crown Jewels of England?

Lestrade truend on Gregson nastily and said, "I told you there'd be nothing even Holmes could do." He was about to dismiss us with a typical curt, Scotland Yard Manner, when Holmes stopped him. "I didn't say I found nothing, Inspector. On the contrary, I found several small bits you may find useful. For instance this--" Holmes held up a small piece of paper. "This is a ticket stub with the numbers XXI on it. I think I'd be prove correc to say that there are only two or three theaters in all of London who number their seats in the Roman fashion.

"And here is a hair of a woman of a blondish-red head, about 20-30 years og age. She is not a native Londoner, and I doubt if she comes from anywhere in England--or all of Great Britain, for that matter. Her scalp is used to neither the heat nor the humidity of London, and from the combination of both this and smog, her hair is falling out.

"Lastly, may I point out these footprints. They are a men's size 10 1/2 as you mentioned before, but did you notice the smearing of mud at the top and the depth the heel has sunk in? These are no ordinary footprints. Someone who was of a much smaller size, eprhaps a 4 or 5, was wearing them. Not to mention the fact that the heel of the right foot has been built up at least 3 1/4 inches, either to make the wearer walk with a limp, which she did, or to correct a limp. In fact, with all the facts in view, I would say that our man is a woman 5 foot in height, 5 stone in weight, either an American, or a contintental European, with blondish-red hair who attended the theater just before she committed the crime.

"Now if you two gentleman will excuse us, Dr. Watson and I have more important business to attend to." And with that, Holmes turned his back on a speechless set of INspectors, motioned for me to follow, and returned to the street.

Hailing a hansom, he told the driver our address, but instead of getting in himself, he told me he had some footwork to do, that he'd be back at 6:00 o'clocl and would expect supper on the table when he returned.

I had been eagerly awaiting the solution to our case, and discovering myself without both it and my companion, went home feeling entirely depressed.

I determined it was hopeless for me to stay at 221 B Baker Street all day waiting for Holmes to serve me the solution on a silver platter. I knew as well that I could hardly solve the case on my own, having tried several times before. Rather, I took the chance to do some long procrastinated shopping. I had to buy a new stethoscope, as my last had been lost in a furious flight from a mad dog in The Adventure of the Lost Carriage, which I may at some later date tell in detail. Admittidely, I had not much use for it running around with Holmes, but I was determined to purchase one just in case it would be needed.

I set out wearing a hat to protect my head from sunbrun, but without a coat, rolling up my sleeves to the elbow.

I took the Underground to Picadilly and tried several well-known medical stores without luck. Before I knew it, it was half past five and raining. I was soon soaked to the skin. I knew that to be home at siz, I must leave at that instant, but could not bear to go without the object of my quest. I decided to try one more shop I'd heard of from a good friend in the profession, and hopped the tube to Leicester Square. As I walked up the stairs, I clumsily neglected to look where I was going and collided with someone in a hard crash. I found myself looking too closely into the eyes of a very beautiful young woman dressed in maid's clothes. I was about to apologize for the upset when she hurriedon with a "Good Day, Dr. Watson." At first I was afronted by her lack of manners, then I wondered who she was. Clearly, she knew me. I was sure that I would have remembered such a handsom, if rude, acquaintance, especially one with such twinkling eyes.

I hadn't time to dwell on her however, finding the address to my shop missing. I looked about the pavement and the street, even went so far as to retrace my steps backwards to the Underground Station, with no luck. It was gone! I was heatily disgusted with myself, and started home. My watch showed 6 o'clock coming out of the Baker Street Station and I hurried up the steps, remembering dismally Holmes' dislike of unpunctuality. But Holmes was nowhere in sight. Istead before my eyes I saw the very young maid I bumped into at Leicester Square. I did not recall her ever being on one of the cases Holmes and I shared--but at that time, my thoughts were interrupted and disrupted by this very same source.

"Mr. Holmes," she said. "You must help me. My fiance has threatened to kill me!"

I would have corrected her, but found myself being laughed at by Homles himself. I turned about to see where he had hid himself, but choked on the words, "Holmes, this is really too much," when I realized that the laugh came from the girl herself.

"Watson," she said, "I just couldn't pass up the chance. If you'd just seen your own face when I called you Holmes--Oh, it was rich! Too rich!"

I was flabbergasted! Had Holmes found a girl to imitate his voice or . . . .?

Taking off her hair and rubbing her face with a handkerchief, I began to recognize a few familiar features. "Holmes," I shouted as she/he grew a foot and a half.

"Indeed, Watson, it is I," said Holmes, the maid's twinkling eyes staring at me.

"Not a very hnice thing to scare one's best friend to death, now is it, Sir?" I pouted.

"Come, come now, Watson. You can't begrudge me a bit of fun, now can you?"

I relaxed a little only for Holmes to add, "So I see you did not find your stethoscope at Miller's on Newport Street.

"No, I did not," I replied automatically, then caught myself. "Really, Holmes, I cannot see why would follow me about all day simply to play such a cheap trick on me."

Holmes laughed again. "Hardly, Watson. I just happened to find this piece of paper in the pocket of a certain gentleman you may know." Holmes held up the address to my shop. "Perhaps you could return it to him."

I snatched the paper from him, only to make him laugh the louder. I changed the subject hastily. "So, what have you found?"

"After dinner, Watson, after dinner," he answered, and as we sat down, he rung the bell from Mrs. Hudson to serve us. As I was still too angry to engage in simple conversation, we were silent through the meal, which consisted of Mrs. Hudson's famed Hungarian Goulash and French Garlic Bread. I did not enjoy myself, but managed to nurse my wounded pride while Holmes finished seconds and thirds.

When he;d finished his last cup of coffee and pushed his plate to the side, he informed me of how he spent his afternoon.

"I knew from the first moment that this crime was no ordinary one. After all, why would anyone want to steal the Crown Jewels?"