Secret
We had spent a leisurely afternoon in the parlor at 221b Baker Street, smoking and playing cards. As my dear friend Holmes and I idly sat drinking tepid tea, an imperious rap sounded at the door.
I glanced at Holmes, who gestured toward the entrance. "Open it, Watson," he ordered. "The Duke of York is waiting."
Staring dumbfounded at my friend, I managed to exclaim "but how-?" before he cut me off. Holmes, as many knew, had uncanny, almost supernatural, talents, but I doubted that even he could see through wood, especially when his back was turned toward the door.
Holmes grinned. "The mirror, my friend, the mirror."
I turned to peer into a mirror placed behind me. Holmes, I knew, was facing toward this mirror, as we sat face to face. The polished metal of the mirror reflected the door, and faintly I saw the outline of a man through the window on the door. The profile was undoubtedly that of the Duke of York, with a square jaw, sharp cheekbones, and a perfectly cut mane of hair.
Nodding, my curiosity sated, I walked quickly to the door to allow the duke entrance into Holmes' abode.
"Mr. Holmes, I presume," the duke commented. Holmes nodded in affirmation. "And your esteemed colleague, Dr. Watson."
As I also agreed, Holmes began his interrogation of the man. "What event has brought you to seek my assistance?" Holmes queried.
The duke, whom I knew to be a bold, confident man, licked his lips anxiously. "I had possession of an artifact," he began. "An extremely valuable one."
The queer way in which he stressed the worth of the artifact made me wonder just which way it was valuable. Not monetary value, perhaps emotional worth?
The man stopped, and Holmes patiently waited for the man to continue.
"It was a tusk of solid ivory, well-carved, an object of great beauty, but that is not the only reason for its value. After examining it closely, I began to think it was inscribed with some sort of code." His eyes lit up with a fierce joy as he reminisced.
"I consulted some experts in the matter, and they agreed with me. The king himself asked for this to be kept confidential, for we all suspected that the breaking of the code would unlock a great secret." The man had become more agitated, I noted, pacing back and forth through the length of the room.
"We hid the tusk in a storage room at my castle, and began the tedious job of decoding the symbols."
"You say a storage room. Could it be possible that someone had accidentally stumbled into the room and discovered the tusk?" Holmes' face was a mask, betraying no feeling whatsoever from the story the duke was portraying.
"No, we kept the door locked, and we were making remarkable progress when the tusk disappeared, and ensured that safety was imperative. This progress began two days after rumors of a strange man lurking around the castle surfaced."
Holmes interrupted. "Did you do anything at the time?"
The man shook his head. "I suspected nothing at the time, thinking it servant's gossip, something to while away time with, but now- now I am not so sure."
After the duke finished his narrative, there was a contemplative silence.
"I see." Holmes broke the quiet of the room. "Can you tell me anything about this mysterious stranger?"
The duke shook his head. "Not much" he paused briefly, thinking. "The servants mentioned a tall man, with dark hair. Thin, almost gaunt, blending in easily with the shadows."
As Holmes pondered this information, I broke in with thoughts of my own.
"The man who stole the tusk," I started. "He must have had some reason to do such a thing. Perhaps he knew the secret of the tusk, and would be affected when it was made known."
Holmes' face broke into a smile. "Good, Watson. Very good."
"Well, sirs, if you would come with me, we can travel to my castle and begin the investigation." The duke stood up and walked to the door.
"An excellent idea, my lord," agreed Holmes, bowing slightly and allowing the duke to precede him.
As we sat together in the carriage, I saw the extent of the duke's wealth. The coach was pulled by two beautiful, matching bay horses, graceful and high-stepping. Their amber coats shimmered in the sun; high-strung and striking, I knew that these equines would have cost a fortune.
The coach quietly halted, inertia dragging us along a few feet after the horses had stopped their prancing trot.
I heard Holmes take a sharp breath, and I felt the same feeling. The sweeping castle in front of us was imposing, as various servants scuttled around, keeping the brilliant green lawn immaculate.
The butler ushered us into the manor, and the duke led us through countless winding passages to the storeroom. After many turns we reached what I knew was the heart of the castle. The duke drew a small brass key from his pocket and fitted it into the lock in the small wooden door before us. It quietly clicked, and the door opened.
"Wait!" cried Holmes. "Does anyone else have a key to this room?"
"No," the duke replied firmly. "No one but me."
Holmes drew a lock pick from his pocket. I grinned. "Always prepared, I see."
Holmes nodded. "You never know when it might be useful." He locked the door with the key, then stuck the pick into the keyhole. After a few moments, the door unlocked.
"Not a hard feat to accomplish," I commented.
"No," Holmes responded. "Not at all."
The duke looked worried. "So anyone could have done it, then?"
"Yes, if they knew where the tusk was kept. Could they have figured out where the tusk was?" questioned Holmes quietly, looking at the duke.
The man replied slowly. "I suppose, if they had been watching closely. Maybe-"
He was cut off. "A spy in one of the servants, perhaps?" I asked.
"Correct, Dr. Watson." The duke held up a hand. "We found this after the theft. Obviously the man was wealthy, and an extravagant reward for the servant would have been irresistible."
I gazed at the object in his hand closely. It was a ring, gold set with a dazzling ruby.
Holmes whistled under his breath. "That would be worth a lot of money."
"Exactly. Only a wealthy man would have possession of such an item, unless it was stolen." The duke smiled, but his eyes belied his worried nature. "Shall we go in, then?"
The duke walked in first, but stopped dead in his tracks a few steps into the room, making a strangled noise and pointing. "It's the- the-" he stuttered, his feverishly bright green eyes wide in his pale face.
I gasped. Lying on the floor in a puddle of liquid was a bone. Not the captivatingly beautiful one I had been expecting, however. The detailed carvings I had envisioned were wiped clean, vanished.
I reached out for it instinctively, but Holmes interjected, in an unusually sharp voice, "Don't touch it." His tone was grim.
Startled, I looked up. Holmes was standing over the bone. Letting out a choked cough, he quickly backed away.
"What is it?" asked the duke. "What happened to the tusk?"
"An acid of some sort, I presume," replied Holmes. "It irritates your throat if you breathe in the fumes. The acid apparently ate away the carvings."
The duke looked faint. "The code," he whispered. "We'll never know what the secret was."
"Not if I have anything to do about it," Holmes answered firmly. "Let me test this to see what acid the thief used, maybe it will give me a clue."
He pulled a piece of pH paper out of his pocket. I stifled a grin; Holmes really was always prepared. After watching the paper closely for a few moments, he announced, "The acid has a pH of zero." He continued, "I'd say it was sulfuric acid, it has many of the properties. It is dense and slightly oily, quite corrosive" he gestured to the tusk in front of him, "and water soluble, as I just observed."
"Sulfuric acid is readily obtained though," I spoke up. "The thief could have been anyone."
"Very true, Watson." Holmes lifted his hand, where a golden ring sparkled. "However, I am sure our thief will be eager to regain possession of this ring."
I grinned. "Carry on, Holmes, carry on."
Later that night, after we had returned to Baker Street, I sat in front of the fireplace, smug and triumphant. Holmes had concocted a creative plan. Before we left the duke's castle, he quietly let it be known to a servant that a Dr. Watson, residing at 221b Baker Street, had found a valuable ruby ring. He also told the servant that the same man had discovered what the tusk had written on it, but he was inclined to wait awhile until the king returned to London for the winter.
The servant, eyes wide, had run off, undoubtedly to spread the rumor.
"Now," Holmes' voice broke into my thoughts. "All we have to do is wait."
And wait we did, though not for long. Early the next morning I heard a knock at the door. Holmes had been prepared, however. As the quiet knock sounded at the door, officials from Scotland Yard furtively snuck in, unnoticed by the intruder.
As I opened the door, my jaw dropped. I recognized the man at the door, most Londoners did. He was a familiar sight, traveling in his own extravagant carriage. It was the Earl of Surrey. His hand was on the hilt of a concealed dagger, though I quickly removed it from him.
As Holmes came to join me, I saw the surprise in his eyes, though his face remained expressionless.
The earl gaped in shock. "Sherlock Holmes?"
Holmes nodded. "Sherlock Holmes," he echoed. "And now, if you will..." he pulled the ring from his pocket. "I am willing to exchange this for a bit of information."
Blanching, the earl whispered, "And what kind of information do you need, exactly?"
"Information about the tusk, of course," was Holmes' reply. "Either you can talk of your own free will, or the gentlemen outside can force you to." From where we were standing, the outline of the men from Scotland Yard was clearly visible.
"Fine," the earl replied, shoulders drooping. "I will tell you."
The tusk, as it later became apparent, had inscribed upon it the means in which the earl had risen to power. The Earl of Surrey's family had been obscure just a few generations ago, but they had suddenly climbed the financial and social ladders. The earl's father had stolen a few of the queen's most valued jewels. Selling these made him a rich man indeed. But the cause of the family's downfall was quite strange. One man had seen the previous earl commit the crime, but he owed the earl one favor. He vowed never to tell anyone about the crime. Being a man of honor, he did not tell anyone, just carved it on a tusk, hoping that some day, the crime would be solved.
The earl, upon hearing about, and later seeing, the tusk, knew it was imperative that he destroy it. Sulfuric acid had been his choice, for it had many uses, and no one would suspect the purchase of the substance. Its powerful corrosive nature would make little work of the carvings.
When the earl finished his outpour of information, he sat, resigned to his fate. He could not escape punishment, not after he confessed to having destroyed the tusk. The men from Scotland Yard took him away, shackled, but still respecting his status and power in the community.
Holmes turned to me. "Imagine that," he said, eyes glowing. "Two mysteries solved, all in a day's work!"