THE BLUE DIAMOND
It was a warm summer morning that in which I woke to find Holmes sitting by the window reading the newspapers. Breakfast had been served and he was already enjoying a cup of hot coffee.
"Yes. Here it is", he said as he went through the agony columns.
"Here is what?" I said entering the room and selecting a biscuit from the wonderful basket.
Holmes swung round in a start as he learnt of my presence.
"Erm – nothing", he stammered. "Just a little – something which might – erm – bring me something."
"A something which might bring you something?" I laughed.
"Train of thought, Watson", he replied quickly and I didn't interrupt him again until – after I had finished my breakfast – he broke the silence.
"Now that's what I call a beautiful girl", he said looking out the window as he improvised a tune on the fiddle.
"Where?" was my third question that morning.
As he didn't answer I just followed his gaze to the pavement. There, checking the address of our house with a paper in her hand was a slim young girl in a white dress. Her skin was almost as white and her long hair was blonde. At the distance, I could tell that she was indeed very pretty; and even more when all of a sudden she seemed to wave and smile at us. Then she entered the house.
"What was that?" I enquired puzzled.
"Have you anything but questions today?" he asked in his turn.
Presently, we heard the inevitable footsteps on the staircase before Mrs Hudson ushered the girl into the room. At closer range I realised that she was more than beautiful; she was perfect. Her nice figure and sweet face were dwarfed by the charming manner in which she switched her glance from one to the other. I wanted to greet her warmly but I didn't seem to remember what language I spoke.
"Good morning", Holmes hastened to say.
"Good morning", answered the girl; her voice, that of an angel.
"What can we do for you, Miss?"
"I'm looking for Mr Holmes", she explained.
"That would be me", Holmes explained, "and this is my friend Dr Watson."
She bowed as she favoured me with a smile.
"My name is Mary Featherstone", she said addressing Holmes. "I was told that you were very talented and that your methods were unchallenged, so I was hoping you could help me"
Holmes blushed. He was used to quickly wave these compliments away with a polite smile, but this time he seemed to be under Miss Featherstone's charm, not unlike myself.
"I'm sure I'm not that…" he finally began to say.
"But I heard you play from the window", she interrupted.
"You heard me – what?"
"Come on, Mr Holmes", she added tenderly, "I even waved at you."
"Of course!" said Holmes. "The fiddle!"
"One of my favourite songs too."
"Yes, yes, yes", he answered quickly. "It was The Blizzard by Szcoldreh; second movement."
"Well – I'm pretty sure it was the third. I've know Szcoldreh's music for a long time."
"And I'm just as sure it was the second", he replied. "Watson, do you agree?"
I had been a mere spectator until that moment.
"To be honest, the name is only vaguely familiar", I apologised, "but somehow I think it was the third", I invented.
"Dear Miss," said Holmes, "if I could play The Blizzard's third movement, I wouldn't do what I do."
"Why? What do you do?" she enquired innocently.
"That's not important. You wanted to see me then because…?"
"I want to learn how to play the violin like you. I can play the piano already so I know my music theory."
I knew Holmes was never the right man for the complex art of teaching. Yet:
"Absolutely", he said. "If you would sit here in front of me we can start reviewing the basics right away."
I was pleased at the prospect of having Miss Featherstone a regular visitor in our lodgings, and welcomed my friend's decision with a broad smile.
"I hope we won't annoy your friend?" she said.
I was about to dismiss such an idea with a gentle comment, but Holmes had different plans.
"Actually," he said, "he was just about to leave."
He approached the table and started to write on a piece of paper.
"I hope you're still going to the tobacconist, Watson?" he asked. "I wanted to ask you a favour", he added handing me the folded paper and a ten pound note. "Please tell Mr Brown I want five of each", he finished.
I stared indignantly at him for an instant before I put the paper in my trousers' pocket and left – slamming the door.
What a cheap trick!
I wandered about until I reached the tobacconist's trade. I had grown calmer on the way. After all, it was true that I was going there and Holmes was probably unaware of my liking of the girl. Impossible! He was always aware of everything. But it was fine, I thought; I would have plenty of chances to see Miss Featherstone again.
As I went inside the store I noticed something strange. I couldn't tell what it was but I felt a bit uneasy. Inside the store there were about four customers. I quietly addressed Mr Brown, handed him Holmes's paper and explained:
"Five of each."
Mr Brown read the paper, looked around with a worried face and finally leaned over the counter and spoke to me hardly above a whisper.
"OK, what's going on?" he asked.
"What do you mean?"
"This paper", he said.
I took the paper in my hand, unfolded it slowly and read in awe:
Bring the police
"Bring the police!" I thought to myself.
I had been the biggest fool. Holmes had sensed danger and counted on my timely help, and was letting him down.
As I ran out of the store I noticed what I hadn't before. Its name was Szcoldreh, the name that Holmes gave the girl as the composer of the song he had been playing. She had pretended to have recognised it, going as far as to suggest that he had the wrong movement. Now that I remembered, Holmes had been improvising. How clumsy of me!
As I entered Scotland Yard I met Inspector Lestrade going out at the same time. I asked him to come with me at once and he said:
"What a coincidence! That's where I was going!"
"How comes?" I enquired.
For an answer he showed me the agony column that Holmes had been reading that morning. One of the entries read:
Found blue brooch of obvious sentimental value in Oxford Street. Ask for Mr Holmes at 221B Baker Street.
"That's a typical Holmes trick I reckon", he said.
I explained to him during the travel what had happened in the morning, keeping my views on Miss Featherstone to myself.
When we arrived we found no one in the main room, the fiddle laying flat on the settee. Over the table there was a glass of water, and – more dramatically – another lay broken on the floor.
We hastened to check the bedrooms and to my surprise we found Miss Featherstone asleep on my bed over the covers. On the night table there was a note from Holmes:
What took you so long?!
Watson, would you take care of Miss Featherstone, please?
Blue diamond can't wait !
