Disclaimer: See Part 1.
*****
Watson, ever the romantic, has frequently expressed his dismay at my apparent immunity to the charms of the fairer sex, especially in those cases brought to our mutual attention by a particularly attractive specimen of her gender. I have found through my observations the truth in the statement that "the female of the species is deadlier than the male," and can count no fewer than seventeen cases offhand (and probably more than that exist in my files) which began with the temptations of the flesh gaining undeserved control over the checks and balances of the mind.
That being said, I will be the first to admit (though not necessarily to Watson) that Miss Emily Cartwright had caught my interest during our first meeting, simply because she was a puzzle, an oddity - not for any emotional reasons that Watson would doubtless apply.
It was for this reason that I felt a small thrill when I saw her again.
All the same, I had no time for social nuances during a case, so I stowed those thoughts away for the time being, just in time to attend to Mr. Cartwright's question:
"You've met before?" he asked us.
"Once," I replied, "in passing. We had a very engaging conversation as she finished her tea over the latest issue of the Strand."
"Was Leopold with you?" he asked of his daughter.
"Father," Miss Cartwright groaned, "I'm not a child."
"All the more reason for you not to go around unescorted like that!"
"I can take care of myself, you know that."
"Perhaps," I interjected diplomatically, trying to stave off a full-blown family argument, "Miss Cartwright and - Leopold was it? - could show me the scene of the crime?"
"Of course," said Mr. Cartwright, still glowering at his daughter, "After all, that's why he's here, isn't it? Leopold?"
"Certainly, sir," said the butler, then to us: "Follow me."
*****
Miss Cartwright's room was simply furnished. A canopy bed - which did not appear to have been slept in recently - sat perhaps a foot from the far wall, attended by its accompanying night-stand, and the sheer curtain which had been drawn at the far side of the bed partially obscured a small window with its shutters firmly closed and latched. Next to the window in the far corner was a bookcase filled with a number of volumes and knick-knacks. A walking-stick ornamented with a fox-head in bronze leaned against the side of the bookcase. To the left of the door was an oak wardrobe, and opposite the wardrobe was a vanity table - which had at one time been painted white - and mirror. An open, empty cherrywood jewelry box lined with dark green velvet sat near one end of the vanity table next to a pair of ladies' gloves, the key still in its lock.
"Do you frequently leave the key in the lock of your jewelry box?"
"No," Miss Cartwright replied as she crossed behind me and sat on the edge of her bed, "I usually keep the key in the drawer of my nightstand. I felt it best if I tried to keep the room as it was when I discovered my jewelry was missing."
"That was a wise move," I said, "It preserves any trace evidence left behind. I expect you are sleeping in a guest room, then?" As I spoke, I inspected the jewelry box itself, noticing that there were no scratches on the soft brass plate of the lock, and in fact appeared to have been no attempt to force the lock at all; therefore whomever opened it found the key before making an attempt to do so.
She nodded. "The police took the pocket-watch, though."
"Yes," I said, "The watch. Where was the watch when it was discovered?"
"That's the strange thing," she said, "It was on the vanity table next to the jewelry box."
"Where the gloves are now?"
"It was partially hidden under the gloves. I could scarcely have overlooked it."
"Strange." I lifted the gloves and peered at the tabletop underneath. Had the watch been dropped carelessly, there would have been a mark in the paint where it struck the surface, especially on delicate paint like that which decorated the table. There was none.
"And I knew it couldn't be my father's, so I examined it to see whose it might be."
I wondered that she would be so level-headed at the loss of her jewelry. "Was the jewelry box open at this time?"
She nodded. "I figured whomever left the watch might know where my jewelry went. The police, of course, snatched it up right away. They told me that when they found the owner of the watch, they would find the jewel thief."
"You disagree?"
"The watch was monogrammed with someone's initials. And it was gold - I could tell that right off, it was so heavy. Even if I were a jewel thief and fairly confident that whatever was in the box was worth more than the watch..."
"... why leave something that could identify you, let alone in plain sight? Exactly my reasoning." It seemed to me that she had turned over this puzzle herself for some time. "But before we can answer the 'why' of the watch, we must answer the 'who' of the burglar. And in order to do that, I need to know the 'when' of the burglary. So, first of all, when did you first notice the loss?"
"Two nights ago, when I was getting ready for my debutante."
"You look a bit older than fifteen."
"That's because I'm twenty. It's a long story."
"I see. So, you were getting ready for your debutante...?" As I prepared to hear her account of that night, I searched in vain for a chair in which to sit and meditate, settling instead - gathering every ounce of male dignity - for the ruffle-festooned seat before the vanity table. As I sat, an exhalation of the mingled odours of feminine toilette puffed out. I tried not to bristle, though I knew I would probably still smell of perfume by the end of the interview. Instead I closed my eyes, leaned back uncomfortably against the edge of the vanity table, and concentrated on assimilating the facts of the case.
"I had just finished with my bath and had just entered my room to get dressed."
I accepted this point of reference with my usual objectivity. "When did you see the box previously? Was it closed?"
"I saw it just before, when I was pinning up my hair for the bath. It was closed, and the key was in the nightstand."
"How is the key kept in the nightstand? Is it hidden or in plain view?"
"I generally keep it under a few silk pocket-handkerchiefs, but other than that it's easy to find."
"But not very obvious. Was anyone else in your room?"
"My governess was there, picking out my dress and telling me how pretty I'd look for the ball."
"A governess?"
"More like a tutor in the finer points of ladyhood, but she treats me like I'm a child. She can be so insufferable at times."
I ignored her editorial for the time being. "Did anyone else have access to your room in your absence?"
"Mainly the servants, but there were a lot of people about."
"Like who?"
"The guests were already arriving, for one. I think Father did that on purpose. He wanted me to have a dramatic entrance."
"I expect you had one all the same. How many guests were there?"
"Around three hundred all told, give or take fifty."
"Anyone else?" Three hundred fifty guests could little be expected to feed and entertain themselves at such a gathering, after all.
She picked up the thread of reasoning quickly. "There were caterers, of course, and people Father hired to decorate the hall. Later on there were musicians - a string quartet." She paused in thought. "And there were some delivery boys from the florist."
I began to form a mental picture of the main hall of the manor as it might have looked that night. "What sort of decorations were there? Be as detailed as you can."
"Well, there were curtains draped everywhere, mainly looped over the doorways... and enough flowers to decorate a funeral wake."
"Where were the flowers?"
"Well, there were bouquets in the corners of the hall and two centrepieces on the table... orchids. I always liked orchids." My eyes were still closed as I held the image of the decorated hall in my mind's eye; by the tone of her voice, I surmised that she was smiling at some fond memory. I had no time for fluffy sentiments, but I allowed her to enjoy the moment as I shifted my weight in a vain search for a gentler edge of the vanity table on which to rest the middle of my back.
"What did you do when you discovered your loss?" I finally broke in when I felt the silence had continued long enough.
"Well, first I got dressed. I wouldn't do to run about like a madwoman in my bathrobe, even over stolen jewelry."
I opened my eyes then, and glanced over at her. She was wearing the ghost- smile with which she had favoured me at the cafe. I snorted softly.
"Sensible." I banished the mental image she had just conjured. "So I expect you went looking for the culprit or culprits amongst those in the main hall?"
"My father had everyone we could find gathered in the main hall, guests and servers alike."
"That must have been a lot of people."
"It's a big hall. Most of the guests were acquaintances of my father, or friends of friends. We questioned the guests who came earliest, along with the help, and we searched several people, but we never found out who took the jewelry or where it went afterwards."
"Well," I said, reaching into my coat pocket and withdrawing the bracelet, "I believe this may be some help. I discovered it yesterday, and I believe it may be one of your lost items." I stood, wincing at the crick in my back from leaning against the vanity table for so long, and offered the bracelet to her.
She took the bracelet wordlessly and looked at it for several minutes. Then she looked up at me and said the last thing I had expected her to say.
"This isn't my bracelet."
*****
End of Part 5.
*****
Watson, ever the romantic, has frequently expressed his dismay at my apparent immunity to the charms of the fairer sex, especially in those cases brought to our mutual attention by a particularly attractive specimen of her gender. I have found through my observations the truth in the statement that "the female of the species is deadlier than the male," and can count no fewer than seventeen cases offhand (and probably more than that exist in my files) which began with the temptations of the flesh gaining undeserved control over the checks and balances of the mind.
That being said, I will be the first to admit (though not necessarily to Watson) that Miss Emily Cartwright had caught my interest during our first meeting, simply because she was a puzzle, an oddity - not for any emotional reasons that Watson would doubtless apply.
It was for this reason that I felt a small thrill when I saw her again.
All the same, I had no time for social nuances during a case, so I stowed those thoughts away for the time being, just in time to attend to Mr. Cartwright's question:
"You've met before?" he asked us.
"Once," I replied, "in passing. We had a very engaging conversation as she finished her tea over the latest issue of the Strand."
"Was Leopold with you?" he asked of his daughter.
"Father," Miss Cartwright groaned, "I'm not a child."
"All the more reason for you not to go around unescorted like that!"
"I can take care of myself, you know that."
"Perhaps," I interjected diplomatically, trying to stave off a full-blown family argument, "Miss Cartwright and - Leopold was it? - could show me the scene of the crime?"
"Of course," said Mr. Cartwright, still glowering at his daughter, "After all, that's why he's here, isn't it? Leopold?"
"Certainly, sir," said the butler, then to us: "Follow me."
*****
Miss Cartwright's room was simply furnished. A canopy bed - which did not appear to have been slept in recently - sat perhaps a foot from the far wall, attended by its accompanying night-stand, and the sheer curtain which had been drawn at the far side of the bed partially obscured a small window with its shutters firmly closed and latched. Next to the window in the far corner was a bookcase filled with a number of volumes and knick-knacks. A walking-stick ornamented with a fox-head in bronze leaned against the side of the bookcase. To the left of the door was an oak wardrobe, and opposite the wardrobe was a vanity table - which had at one time been painted white - and mirror. An open, empty cherrywood jewelry box lined with dark green velvet sat near one end of the vanity table next to a pair of ladies' gloves, the key still in its lock.
"Do you frequently leave the key in the lock of your jewelry box?"
"No," Miss Cartwright replied as she crossed behind me and sat on the edge of her bed, "I usually keep the key in the drawer of my nightstand. I felt it best if I tried to keep the room as it was when I discovered my jewelry was missing."
"That was a wise move," I said, "It preserves any trace evidence left behind. I expect you are sleeping in a guest room, then?" As I spoke, I inspected the jewelry box itself, noticing that there were no scratches on the soft brass plate of the lock, and in fact appeared to have been no attempt to force the lock at all; therefore whomever opened it found the key before making an attempt to do so.
She nodded. "The police took the pocket-watch, though."
"Yes," I said, "The watch. Where was the watch when it was discovered?"
"That's the strange thing," she said, "It was on the vanity table next to the jewelry box."
"Where the gloves are now?"
"It was partially hidden under the gloves. I could scarcely have overlooked it."
"Strange." I lifted the gloves and peered at the tabletop underneath. Had the watch been dropped carelessly, there would have been a mark in the paint where it struck the surface, especially on delicate paint like that which decorated the table. There was none.
"And I knew it couldn't be my father's, so I examined it to see whose it might be."
I wondered that she would be so level-headed at the loss of her jewelry. "Was the jewelry box open at this time?"
She nodded. "I figured whomever left the watch might know where my jewelry went. The police, of course, snatched it up right away. They told me that when they found the owner of the watch, they would find the jewel thief."
"You disagree?"
"The watch was monogrammed with someone's initials. And it was gold - I could tell that right off, it was so heavy. Even if I were a jewel thief and fairly confident that whatever was in the box was worth more than the watch..."
"... why leave something that could identify you, let alone in plain sight? Exactly my reasoning." It seemed to me that she had turned over this puzzle herself for some time. "But before we can answer the 'why' of the watch, we must answer the 'who' of the burglar. And in order to do that, I need to know the 'when' of the burglary. So, first of all, when did you first notice the loss?"
"Two nights ago, when I was getting ready for my debutante."
"You look a bit older than fifteen."
"That's because I'm twenty. It's a long story."
"I see. So, you were getting ready for your debutante...?" As I prepared to hear her account of that night, I searched in vain for a chair in which to sit and meditate, settling instead - gathering every ounce of male dignity - for the ruffle-festooned seat before the vanity table. As I sat, an exhalation of the mingled odours of feminine toilette puffed out. I tried not to bristle, though I knew I would probably still smell of perfume by the end of the interview. Instead I closed my eyes, leaned back uncomfortably against the edge of the vanity table, and concentrated on assimilating the facts of the case.
"I had just finished with my bath and had just entered my room to get dressed."
I accepted this point of reference with my usual objectivity. "When did you see the box previously? Was it closed?"
"I saw it just before, when I was pinning up my hair for the bath. It was closed, and the key was in the nightstand."
"How is the key kept in the nightstand? Is it hidden or in plain view?"
"I generally keep it under a few silk pocket-handkerchiefs, but other than that it's easy to find."
"But not very obvious. Was anyone else in your room?"
"My governess was there, picking out my dress and telling me how pretty I'd look for the ball."
"A governess?"
"More like a tutor in the finer points of ladyhood, but she treats me like I'm a child. She can be so insufferable at times."
I ignored her editorial for the time being. "Did anyone else have access to your room in your absence?"
"Mainly the servants, but there were a lot of people about."
"Like who?"
"The guests were already arriving, for one. I think Father did that on purpose. He wanted me to have a dramatic entrance."
"I expect you had one all the same. How many guests were there?"
"Around three hundred all told, give or take fifty."
"Anyone else?" Three hundred fifty guests could little be expected to feed and entertain themselves at such a gathering, after all.
She picked up the thread of reasoning quickly. "There were caterers, of course, and people Father hired to decorate the hall. Later on there were musicians - a string quartet." She paused in thought. "And there were some delivery boys from the florist."
I began to form a mental picture of the main hall of the manor as it might have looked that night. "What sort of decorations were there? Be as detailed as you can."
"Well, there were curtains draped everywhere, mainly looped over the doorways... and enough flowers to decorate a funeral wake."
"Where were the flowers?"
"Well, there were bouquets in the corners of the hall and two centrepieces on the table... orchids. I always liked orchids." My eyes were still closed as I held the image of the decorated hall in my mind's eye; by the tone of her voice, I surmised that she was smiling at some fond memory. I had no time for fluffy sentiments, but I allowed her to enjoy the moment as I shifted my weight in a vain search for a gentler edge of the vanity table on which to rest the middle of my back.
"What did you do when you discovered your loss?" I finally broke in when I felt the silence had continued long enough.
"Well, first I got dressed. I wouldn't do to run about like a madwoman in my bathrobe, even over stolen jewelry."
I opened my eyes then, and glanced over at her. She was wearing the ghost- smile with which she had favoured me at the cafe. I snorted softly.
"Sensible." I banished the mental image she had just conjured. "So I expect you went looking for the culprit or culprits amongst those in the main hall?"
"My father had everyone we could find gathered in the main hall, guests and servers alike."
"That must have been a lot of people."
"It's a big hall. Most of the guests were acquaintances of my father, or friends of friends. We questioned the guests who came earliest, along with the help, and we searched several people, but we never found out who took the jewelry or where it went afterwards."
"Well," I said, reaching into my coat pocket and withdrawing the bracelet, "I believe this may be some help. I discovered it yesterday, and I believe it may be one of your lost items." I stood, wincing at the crick in my back from leaning against the vanity table for so long, and offered the bracelet to her.
She took the bracelet wordlessly and looked at it for several minutes. Then she looked up at me and said the last thing I had expected her to say.
"This isn't my bracelet."
*****
End of Part 5.