CHAPTER 3

I found myself alone with the girl again, but this time I began to grow a bit anxious and got quickly bored. I thought of fetching the newspaper to have at least something to read, thus setting my mind away from the case—and Miss Featherstone's beauty. I searched the main room without finding it. I went into Holmes' room hoping that he had left it there. His room was a complete mess: wads of paper everywhere, open books laying on the table, the bed and the floor; clothes all about, except in the wardrobe (which was wide open and clearly undusted). No wonder he had brought the girl to my room.

As I searched about for the paper, I heard the girl yawn and rushed back to my room. She hadn't opened her eyes yet, but was on the process of stretching and tossing to either side. Presently, she started to blink rapidly until I felt her gaze fixed on my face with such an expression as if she didn't know where she was.

"Miss Featherstone", I said, realising for the first time her eyes were gray. "Are you alright?"

She remained silent for a spell. "Yes", she said at last with a smile, and rubbing her still drowsy eyes. "Dr Watson, right?"

"Yes", I replied. "Are you sure you're OK? Mr Holmes said you fainted."

Only then she seemed to understand what was really happening. If she had really poured something on Holmes' glass as my friend reported, the new colour of her face revealed the due concern.

"He must have—" she began, but quickly checked herself.

"Yes? He must have…?" I encouraged her, knowing that if I was to take her off her guard it was just too late.

She went on to unconvincingly explain that Holmes must have done this and said that and – finally – felt disappointed.

"He must have taken me to his own room", she tried to guess.

"This room is actually mine."

"Oh," she said, "then I'm invading your space."

"That's the least important matter right now", I smiled. "I'm a doctor, remember? I'm going to take care of you until you get better, and you can stay here in the meantime." I looked at my watch; it wanted twenty minutes to one. "I'm going to bring you lunch."

She squeezed my hand in appreciation, and five full minutes passed before I finally went for the food.

After she finished her meal and the tray with the dishes was away, I asked her if she wanted to be alone for a while. She had become distant and reluctant to speak; she was probably pondering what to do next and addressing her problem in her mind for the first time.

For a moment she seemed undecided until finally she said:

"No. Please stay."

I sat by her side again. There was an obvious connection between us, a sort of confidence which reason is incapable of accounting for.

"Mr Watson—" she began, "I have no idea who Szcoldreh is."

"The tobacconist", I explained.

"Oh, Mr Holmes set me a trap."

"Well, you said you recognised the tune he was playing."

"Yes, I made it all up", she confessed. "Truth is, Mr Watson, that I came here for a diamond—"

"A diamond?" I asked faking absent-mindedness.

"Yes", she said. "I'll tell you why."

It seemed that she was going to be honest with me, which made me feel good. Between Holmes and I, it was clear who her favourite was. She had been all honesty and kindness with me whilst she had tried to dope Holmes.

"That diamond," she began to say, "was trusted to my father's care by a man called Edward Wood. What my father had to do was to have the diamond appraised by three different jewelers in London. After that, he was to return it and forward the jewelers' report to Mr Wood."

"Why did your father undertake such a task?"

"He is in Mr Wood's employment; he usually takes care of this sort of things. The problem is that the night before last, my father was attacked as he was leaving our house in Oxford Street, and the diamond has been lost ever since."

"I see", I said. "Is this diamond property of Mr Wood?"

"No, he's just a trader," she said shedding a couple of tears, "and my dad is going to have serious problems because of this."

I tried to calm her down and offered her a tissue.

"Mr Wood," she continued, "was going to apply for a loan to purchase the diamond. As for my dad, he could not afford a sliver of it."

She wept for some moments until she felt better and forced a smile.

"And where's your father now?" I asked.

"At the hospital; he hasn't recovered yet. He is not in good condition, and the only words we have heard from him were 'the diamond', he repeated them several times. That's how I know he lost it, otherwise why was he attacked?"

"Of course."

"But this morning, as I read the newspaper I saw Mr Holmes' advert on the agony columns and I thought that maybe in the struggle the diamond might have fallen somewhere out of sight, and then have been found again by Mr Holmes in the daylight."

"But why didn't you tell him the truth? I'm sure he would have been sympathetic with your father."

"That was a huge mistake. Somehow I thought I could get it myself without him noticing. You see—my main objective was that Mr Wood remained unaware of the stone's disappearance. This could really bring my poor dad a lot of trouble."

"But if he was attacked then he's not to blame."

"Still, he must've been more careful. Mr Wood had warned him to take every necessary precaution for the jewel's safety."

I was thinking rapidly. It was highly likely that Holmes' mention of murder had referred to the poor girl's father. I could only hope I was wrong, but if that was the case I decided I was to be the one to tell her the truth. Anyhow, it was still too early to jump into any conclusions. What called my attention was the mention of Mr Wood in her story. Was he the same Mr Wood that visited Holmes that morning? It was only natural that he wanted to get the diamond back, but why had he come with a story full of lies as well?

Miss Featherstone had been silent until that point.

"He doesn't have it, does he?" she said.

"What?"

"The diamond, of course."

"Ah—well, I strongly doubt it", I explained. "But don't worry, he will get it back. Though it would've been a lot easier if you had told him the truth in the first place."

Suddenly, I turned my head to the night table and noticed the newspaper had been there all the time. I quickly found a small account on the attack on George Featherstone, aged fifty-one, employed by Edward Wood, the notable gem trader. No mention whatsoever of a diamond being stolen.

Some minutes later, Holmes arrived displaying the happiest of moods.

"Miss Featherstone, you're finally awake!" he said. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thanks to Mr Watson", she said looking at me.

"Very good, then. I'm happy to learn that I was not to die, had I not—"

"I'm very sorry about that, Mr Holmes. Mr Watson will surely explain to you why I took such a step."

"I already know", he explained. "Not that I agree with your proceedings, though."

"Certainly", she said.

Holmes went to the main room and came back with the fiddle in his hands.

"Now," he said, "as a mean of apology, would you please Mr Watson and me with a share of your talent?" he added handing her the violin.

"Mr Holmes! How did you know?" she seemed surprised.

"It was clear to me from the beginning that you were fairly acquainted with the fiddle and that you were merely playing the clumsy beginner. The way you held it before I told you how to do it said as much. And then, you seemed determined to make it sound bad, to the point of stopping when the notes came smoothly."

"That's true," she said, "I have a lot of experience."

"I bet you could play The Blizzard's third movement."

She laughed, and for the next ten minutes we enjoyed her performance of some of my favourite tunes. She and I had a lot in common.

After she had finished, I exchanged a couple of words with Holmes in the sitting room. He ordered a meal and I sat by the window.

"So, have you found anything?" I asked.

"Yes", he said.

"And are you going to explain anything to me?"

"Not now, Watson; I'm starving. Besides, tomorrow's the big day", he said dryly and I went back to Miss Featherstone.