I opened the door and let in Lestrade. The official
detective was attired in a pea-jacket and cravat, which gave him a
decidedly nautical appearance, and he carried a black canvas bag in his
hand. With a short greeting he seated himself, and lit the cigar that
had been offered him.
"What's up, then?" asked Holmes, with a twinkle in his
eye. "You look dissatisified."
"And I feel dissatisfied. It is this infernal Humphries
case. I can make neither head nor tail of it."
"Really?"
"I have searched high and low."
"And very wet it seems to have made you", said Holmes,
laying his hand upon the arm of the pea-jacket.
"Yes, I have been dragging the Serpentine."
"In heaven's name, what for?"
"In search of the body of the Balrog, Mr Humphries."
Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily.
"Have you dragged the basin of the Trafalgar-square fountain?"
he asked. "Why? What do you mean?"
"Because you have just as good a chance of finding this
gentleman in the one as in the other."
Lestrade shot an angry glance at my companion. "I suppose
you know all about it", he snarled.
"Yes, I do believe that my mind is made up."
"Oh, indeed! Then you think that the Serpentine plays no
part in the matter?"
"I think it very unlikely."
"Then perhaps you will kindly explain how it is that we
found this in it?" He opened his bag as he spoke, and tumbled on to
the floor a black morning-coat and a pair of fluffy pink slippers.
"There", said he, putting a new wedding ring upon the top of
the pile. "There is a little nut for you to crack, Master
Holmes."
"Oh indeed", said my friend, blowing blue rings into
the air. "You dragged them from the Serpentine?"
"No. They were found floating near the margin by a
park-keeper. They have been identified as Mr Humphries' clothes, and it
seemed to me that if the clothes were there the body would not be far
off."
"By the same brilliant reasoning, every man's body is to be
found in the neighbourhood of his wardrobe. Speaking of wardrobes, I
suggest you take a look in mine before you jump to conclusions."
Lestrade stared at my friend with something near to pity or fear.
"Are you insane, Mr Holmes?" said he. "I am a busy
man." He rose and said: "I believe I must be taking my
leave."
"Very well, Inspector. Still, could you not, out of a regard
for our experiences in the past, take a look in my wardrobe before you
go?" Lestrade hesitated, with his gaze broodingly fixed
on Holmes' inscrutable countenance. "Very well", said he, with
a shrug of the shoulders. "If it makes you happy, I will oblige
you. But I'm convinced you should seek the medical advise of someone
more at home with diseases of the mind than our friend Watson
here." He flung open the door of the wardrobe, half turned to go,
and then, as the contents of the wardrobe became manifest to his mind,
fell backwards on to the floor with a scream.
"There, there", said Holmes, as we helped him up.
"Have you never seen a woman before?"
Gibbering, Lestrade pointed at that which had been revealed to
him. Inside the wardrobe, tied hand and foot, sat a Balrog in a pink
frock, breathing fire through its nostrils.
"Yes, Lestrade", said Holmes. I'm afraid that you, not
to mention the Honourable Violet St. Simon, the bride-to-be, have fallen
victim to the notorious Miss Humphries, the infamous adventuress
and male impersonator. Her plan was to tie up her bride on the wedding
night, steal the famous St. Simon emeralds and make her escape in cover
of the night. Once she learned that I was on the case she cancelled that
plan, of course, but she would have eluded the law if Watson and I had
not ambushed her in the vicinity of Peter Pan's statue as soon as she
had dressed into proper female attire and could be decently arrested.
Her plan to gain an undisturbed night cracking open the safe in the St.
Simon residence was indeed cunning!" "But why did
she disappear and once more dress as a woman?" cried the astounded
Lestrade.
"She realized that the game was up the moment the newspapers
mentioned that I had been entrusted with investigating the rumours of a
burglary, *and* that 'Mr' Humphries favoured pink fluffy bedroom
slippers. Since the press was informed about her slippers, it was
obvious that I, the most inveterate newspaper reader in Southern
Britain, must also be, and that I would draw the proper conclusion in
awareness of the fact that no male Balrog would dream of having slippers
any other colour than deep blue. She had no opportunity to make her
escape until she was alone, and informally dressed, in the bridal
chamber. But the moment Miss St. Simon went to the bath-room, she
slipped away." Holmes laughed grimly.
"I know nothing about the colour of Balrogs' slippers",
protested Lestrade in humiliation.
"Tut, tut, my dear fellow - there are not five men in London
who do", said Holmes with a dismissive gesture of his long, white
hand. "However, I have written a little monography about the
footwear of Balrogs, so for me it was an easy matter. Please tell your
men to remove your prisoner, Inspector, and think naught of taking the
credit for this arrest! I'm afraid we can't accompany you; Watson and I
have a box for 'Les Huguenots'. Have you heard Hildebrandsen, the famous
Norwegian? No? Well, then, in that case I promise to give you a reliable
review of his performance tonight the next time you seek me out with one
of your little problems."
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