(A/N: As you may or may not know, the original "Mazarin Stone" was one of only two Sherlock Holmes stories written in the 3rd person (the other being "His Last Bow"), so don't be surprised if it reads a little differently than some of my other altered chapters. Also, this chapter will introduce a new OC created by my friend Alex, who will share the likeness of actress Gage Golightly. Please Read & Review.)

It was pleasant for Jane Watson to find herself once more in the untidy room of the first floor in Baker Street which had been the starting-point of so many remarkable adventures. She looked around at the scientific charts upon the wall, the acid-charred bench of chemicals, the viola-case leaning in the corner, the coal-scuttle, which contained of old homework and correspondence. Finally, her eyes came round to the fresh and smiling face of Billy, the youngest of Holmes' Baker Street Irregulars, who had helped a little to fill up the gap of loneliness and isolation which surrounded the saturnine figure of the great detective.

"It doesn't seem like anything here changes, Billy. You don't change, either. I hope the same can be said of him?"

Billy glanced with some solicitude at the closed door leading to Holmes' sitting room.

"I think Holmes fell asleep reading," he said.

It was seven in the evening of a mild winter day, but Jane was sufficiently familiar with the irregularity of her good friend's hours to feel no surprise at the idea.

"That means a case, I suppose?"

"Yep, he's very hard at it just now. I'm a little worried about his health. He gets paler and thinner, and he eats nothing. 'When will you be pleased to dine, Sherlock?' his housekeeper asked. 'Seven-thirty, the day after tomorrow,' said he. You know his way when he's really into a case."

"Yes, Billy, I know."

"He's following someone. Yesterday he was out as a workman looking for a job. Today he was an old woman. I almost didn't recognize him, and I ought to know his ways by now." Billy pointed with a grin to a very baggy umbrella which leaned against the sofa. "That's part of the old woman's outfit," he said.

"But what is it all about, Billy?"

Billy sank his voice, as one who discusses great secrets of State. "I don't mind telling you, Jane, but you can't tell anyone else. It's this case of that diamond that got stolen from the Museum of Natural History in New York."

"What – the four-million-dollar burglary?"

"Yeah. It was going to be returned to the ashram it originally came from in India, so they're desperate to get it back to avoid a breakdown in relations with the Indian government. Holmes got calls from the Secretary of State and the VICE-PRESIDENT. Holmes promised he would do all he could. Then there was Governor Cantlemere – "

"Ah!"

"You know what that means. I mean, he's a bit of a jerk. I can get along with the VP, and I've got nothing against SOS, who seemed a civil, obliging sort of man, but that New Yorker really got under my skin. Holmes didn't care for him, either. You see, he doesn't believe in Holmes and he was against employing him. He'd rather he failed."

"And Holmes knows it?"

"Holmes always knows whatever there is to know."

"Well, we'll hope he won't fail and that Governor Cantlemere will eat his words. But Billy, what's that curtain for across the window?"

"Holmes had it put up there three days ago. We've got something funny behind it."

Billy advanced and drew away the drapery which screened the alcove of the window.

Jane could not restrain a cry of amazement. There was a facsimile of her friend, dressing gown and all, the face turned three-quarters toward the window and downward, as though reading an invisible book, while the body was sunk deep in an armchair. Billy detached the head and held it in the air.

"We put it at different angles, to make it seem more lifelike. I wouldn't even think about touching it if the blind wasn't down. But when it's up you can see this from across the way."

"Holmes mentioned something about making a wax replica, once."

Billy drew the window curtains apart and looked out into the street. "We're being watched from over yonder. I can see a guy now at the window. Have a look for yourself."

Watson had taken a step forward when the sitting room door opened, and the long, thin form of Holmes emerged, his face pale and drawn, but his step and bearing as active as ever. With a single spring he was at the window, and had drawn the blind once more.

"That will do, Billy," said he, "You were in danger of your life then, my boy, and I cannot do without you just yet. Well, Watson, it is good to see you once again. You return from Crystal Mountain at a critical moment."

"So I gather."

"You can go, Billy. That boy is a problem, Watson. How far am I justified in allowing him to be in danger?"

"Danger of what, Holmes?"

"Of sudden death. I'm expecting something this evening."

"Expecting what?"

"To be murdered, Watson."

"No, no, you're joking, Holmes!"

"Even my limited sense of humor could evolve a better joke than that. But we may be comfortable in the meantime, may we not? Is caffeine permitted? Let me see you once more in the customary armchair. You have not, I hope, learned to despise my green tea? It has to take the place of food these days."

"But why not eat?"

"Because the faculties become refined when you starve them. Why, surely, as an aspiring doctor, my dear Watson, you must admit that what your digestion gains in the way of blood supply is so much lost to the brain. I am a brain, Watson. The rest of me is a mere appendix. Therefore, it is the brain I must consider."

"But this danger, Holmes?"

"Ah. Yes, in case it should come off, it would perhaps be as well that you should burden your memory with the name and address of the murderer. You can give it to the Federal Bureau of Investigation, with my love and a parting blessing. Sylvius is the name – Senator Negretto Sylvius. Write it down, woman, write it down! 136 Moorside Gardens, Long Island, New York City. Got it?"

Watson's face was twitching with anxiety. She knew only too well the immense risks taken by Holmes and was well aware that what he said was more likely to be understatement than exaggeration. But Jane was never one to shy away from action, and she rose to the occasion.

"Count me in, Holmes. I have nothing to do for a day or two."

"Your morals don't improve, Watson. You have added fibbing to your other vices. You bear every sign of the busy woman, with friends, family, and other such obligations."

"Nothing this important. But can't you have this Senator arrested?"

"Yes, Watson, I can. That is what worries him so."

"But why don't you?"

"Because I do not know where the diamond is."

"Ah! Billy told me – the missing Indian jewel!"

"Yes, the great yellow Mazarin stone. I've cast my net and I have my fish. But I have not got the stone. What is the use of taking them? We can make the world a better place by laying them by the heels. But that is not what I am out for. It's the stone I want."

"And is Senator Sylvius one of your fish?"

"Yes, and he is a shark. He bites. The other is Sam Merton, the boxer. Not a bad fellow, Sam, but the Senator has used him. Sam's not a shark. He is a great big silly bullheaded gudgeon. But he is flopping about in my net all the same."

"Where is Senator Sylvius?"

"I've been at his very elbow all the morning. You've seen me as an old lady, Watson. I was never more convincing. He actually picked up my parasol for me once. 'Here you are, Ma'am' said he – half Italian, you know, and with the Southern graces of manner when in the mood, but a devil incarnate in the other mood. Life is full of whimsical happenings, Watson."

"It might've ruined everything."

"Well, perhaps it might. I followed him to old Straubenzee's workshop on Harbor Island. Straubenzee built him a air gun in the shape of a cane – a very pretty bit of work, as I understand, and I rather fancy it is in the opposite window at the present moment. Have you seen the dummy? Of course, Billy showed it to you. Well, it may get a bullet through its beautiful head at any moment. Ah, Billy, what is it?"

The boy had reappeared in the room with a card in his hand. Holmes glanced at it with raised eyebrows and an amused smile.

"The man himself. I had hardly expected this. Grasp the nettle, Watson! A man of nerve. Possibly you have heard of his reputation as a shooter of big game. It would indeed be a triumphant ending to his excellent sporting record if he added me to his bag. This is a proof that he feels my toe very close behind his heel."

"Call the police."

"I probably shall. But not just yet. Would you glance carefully out of the window, Watson, and see if anyone is hanging about in the street?"

Watson looked warily 'round the edge of the curtain.

"Yes, there's a rough guy near the door."

"That will be Sam Merton – the faithful but rather fatuous Sam. Where is this gentleman, Billy?"

"At the front door."

"Show him in when I ring the silent alarm."

"Yes ,sir."

"If I am not in the room, show him in all the same."

"Yes, sir."

Watson waited until the door was closed, and then she turned earnestly to her companion.

"Holmes, this is insane. This man is desperate and will stop at nothing. He may have come to murder you."

"I should not be surprised."

"I'm staying here with you."

"You would be horribly in the way."

"In his way?"

"No, my dear friend – in my way."

"You know I can't just leave you."

"Yes, you can, Watson. And you will, for you have never failed to play the game. I am sure you will play it to the end. This man has come for his own purpose, but he may stay for mine."

Holmes took out his notebook and scribbled a few lines. "Return to your home and wait ten minutes. Call the number at the top of the paper and ask for Special Agent Youghal. Tell him everything written upon this sheet. The fellow's arrest will follow."

"Okay."

"Before you return I may have just time enough to find out where the stone is." He touched the hidden button to summon Billy. "I think we will go out through the study. This second exit is exceedingly useful. I rather want to see my shark without his seeing me, and I have, as you will remember, my own way of doing it."

It was, therefore, an empty room into which Billy, a minute later, ushered Senator Sylvius. The famous game-shot, sportsman, and man-about-town was a big, swarthy fellow, with a formidable dark moustache shading a cruel, thin-lipped mouth, and surmounted by a long, curved nose like the beak of an eagle. He was well dressed, but his brilliant necktie, shining pin, and glittering rings were flamboyant in their effect. As the door closed behind him he looked around him with fierce, startled eyes, like one who suspects a trap at every turn. Then he gave a violent start as he saw the impassive head and the collar of the dressing-gown which projected above the armchair in the window. At first his expression was one of pure amazement. Then the light of a horrible hope gleamed in his dark, murderous eyes. He took one more glance 'round to see that there were no witnesses, and then, on tiptoe, his thick cane half raised, he approached the silent figure. He was crouching for his final spring and blow when a cool, sardonic voice greeted him from the open sitting room door:

"Don't break it, Senator! Don't break it!"

The assassin staggered back, amazement in his convulsed face. For an instant he half raised his loaded cane once more, as if he would turn his violence from the effigy to the original; but there was something in that steady gray eye and mocking smile which caused his hand to sink to his side.

"It's a pretty little thing," said Holmes, advancing toward the image, "A French sculptor made it. He is as good at waxworks as your friend Straubenzee is at air guns."

"Air guns, sir! What do you mean?"

"Put your hat and stick on the side-table. Thank you! Pray take a seat. Would you care to put your revolver out also? Oh, very good, if you prefer to sit upon it. Your visit is really most opportune, for I wanted badly to have a few minutes' chat with you."

The senator scowled, with heavy, threatening eyebrows.

"I, too, wished to have some words with you, Holmes. That is why I am here. I won't deny that I intended to assault you just now."

Holmes swung his leg on the edge of the table.

"I rather gathered that you had some idea of the sort in your head," said he, "But why these personal attentions?"

"Because you have gone out of your way to annoy me. Because you have put your spies upon my track."

"My spies! I assure you no!"

"Nonsense! I have had them followed. Two can play at that game, Holmes."

"It is a small point, Senator Sylvius, but perhaps you would kindly give me my prefix when you address me. You can understand that, though I am quite a few years your junior, with my routine of work I should find myself on familiar terms with half the rogues' gallery in Seattle, and you will agree that exceptions are invidious."

"Well, Mr. Holmes, then."

"Excellent! But I assure you that you are mistaken about my alleged agents."

Sylvius laughed contemptuously.

"Other people can observe as well as you. Yesterday there was an old man. Today it was an elderly woman. They were following me all day."

"Really, sir, you compliment me. Haymi Dowson of Oregon said the night before he was given lethal injection that in my case what the law had gained the stage had lost. And now you give my little impersonations your kindly praise?"

It was you?"

Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "You can see in the corner the parasol which you so politely handed to me before you began to suspect."

"If I had known, you might never – "

"Have seen this humble home again. I was well aware of it. We all have neglected opportunities to deplore. As it happens, you did not know, so here we are!"

The Senator's knotted brows gathered more heavily over his menacing eyes. "What you say only makes the matter worse. It was not your agents but your playacting, busybody self! You admit that you have dogged me. Why?"

"Come now, Senator. You once shot lions in Algeria."

"Well?"

"But why?"

"Why? The sport – the excitement – the danger!"

"And, no doubt, to free the country from a designated pest?"

"Exactly!"

"My reasons in a nutshell!"

The Senator sprang to his feet, and his hand involuntarily moved back to his pocket.

"Sit down, sir, sit down! There was another, more practical, reason. I want that yellow diamond!"

Sylvius lay back in his chair with an evil smile.

"Upon my word!" said he.

"You knew that I was after you for that. The real reason why you are here tonight is to find out how much I know about the matter and how far my removal is absolutely essential. Well, I should say that, from your point of view, it is absolutely essential, for I know all about it, save only one thing, which you are about to tell me."

"Oh, indeed! And pray, what is this missing fact?"

"Where the Indian diamond now is."

The Senator looked sharply at his companion. "Oh, you want to know that, do you? How the devil should I be able to tell you where it is?"

"You can, and you will."

"Really?"

"You can't bluff me, Senator Sylvius." Holmes's eyes, as he gazed at him, contracted and lightened until they were like two menacing points of steel. "You are absolute plate glass. I see to the very back of your mind."

"Then, of course, you see where the diamond is!"

Holmes clapped his hands with amusement, and then pointed a derisive finger. "Then you do know. You have admitted it!"

"I admit nothing."

"Now, Senator, if you will be reasonable we can do business. If not, you will get hurt."

Count Sylvius threw up his eyes to the ceiling. "And you talk about a bluff!" said he, "You threaten a United States Senator!"

Holmes looked at him thoughtfully like a master chess player who meditates his crowning move. Then he threw open the table drawer and drew out a squat notebook.

"Do you know what I keep in this book?"

"No, sir, I do not!"

"You!"

"Me?"

"Yes, sir, you! You are all here – every action of your vile and dangerous life."

"Damn you, Holmes!" cried the Senator with blazing eyes, "There are limits to my patience!"

"It's all here, Senator. The real facts as to the death of old Mrs. Lucinda Harold, who left you a considerable trust fund at age 19, which you so rapidly gambled away."

"You are dreaming!"

"And the complete life history of Miss Minnie Warrender."

"You will make nothing of that!"

"Plenty more here, Senator. Here is the robbery in the train deluxe to the French Riviera on February 13, 1982. Here is the forged check in the same year on the Credit Lyonnais."

"No, you're wrong there."

"Then I am right on the others! Now, Senator, you are a card player. When the other fellow has all the trumps, it saves time to throw down your hand."

"What has all this talk to do with the jewel of which you spoke?"

"Gently, Senator Sylvius. Restrain that eager mind! Let me get to the points in my own humdrum fashion. I have all this against you; but, above all, I have a clear case against both you and your fighting bully in the case of the diamond."

"Indeed?"

"I have the cabman who took you to the Museum and the cabman who brought you away. I have the security guard who saw you near the case. I have Ikey Sanders, the jeweler who refused to cut it up for you. Ikey has peached, and the game is up."

The veins stood out on the Senator's forehead. His dark, hairy hands were clenched in a convulsion of restrained emotion. He tried to speak, but the words would not shape themselves.

"That is the hand I play from," said Holmes, "I put it all upon the table. But one card is missing. It's the king of diamonds. I don't know where the stone is."

"You will never know."

"No? Now, be reasonable, Senator. Consider the situation. You are going to be locked up for at least twenty years. So is Sam Merton. What good are you going to get out of your diamond? None in the world. But if you hand it over – well, I'll compound a felony. We don't want you or Sam. We want the stone. Give that up, and so far as I am concerned you can go free so long as you behave yourself in the future. If you make another slip well, it will be the last. But this time my commission is to get the stone, not you."

"And if I refuse?"

"Why, then – alas! – it must be you and not the stone."

Billy had appeared in answer to a ring.

"I think, Senator, that it would be as well to have your friend Sam at this conference. After all, his interests should be represented. Billy, you will see a large and ugly gentleman outside the front door. Ask him to come up."

"If he won't come, sir?"

"No violence, Billy. Don't be rough with him. If you tell him that Senator Sylvius wants him he will certainly come."

"What are you going to do now?" asked the Senator as Billy disappeared.

"My friend Watson was with me just now. I told her that I had a shark and a gudgeon in my net; now I am drawing the net and up they come together."

The Senator had risen from his chair, and his hand was behind his back. Holmes held something half protruding from the pocket of his bathrobe.

"You won't die in your bed, Holmes."

"I have often had the same idea. Does it matter very much? After all, Senator, your own exit is more likely to be perpendicular than horizontal. But these anticipations of the future are morbid. Why not give ourselves up to the unrestrained enjoyment of the present?"

A sudden wild-beast light sprang up in the dark, menacing eyes of the master criminal. Holmes' figure seemed to grow taller as he grew tense and ready.

"It is no use your fingering your revolver, my friend," he said in a quiet voice, "You know perfectly well that you dare not use it, even if I gave you time to draw it. Nasty, noisy things, revolvers. Better stick to air guns. Ah! I think I hear the fairy footstep of your estimable partner. Good day, Mr. Merton. Rather dull in the street, is it not?"

The prizefighter, a heavily built, middle-aged man with a stupid, obstinate face, stood awkwardly at the door, looking about him with a puzzled expression. Holmes's debonair manner was a new experience, and though he vaguely felt that it was hostile, he did not know how to counter it. He turned to his more astute comrade for help.

"What's the game now, Senator? What's this guy want? What's up?" His voice was deep and raucous.

The Senator shrugged his shoulders, and it was Holmes who answered.

"If I may put it in a nutshell, Mr. Merton, I should say it was all up."

The boxer still addressed his remarks to his associate.

"Is this dude trying to be funny, or what? I'm not in the funny mood myself."

"No, I expect not," said Holmes. "I think I can promise you that you will feel even less humorous as the evening advances. Now, look here, Senator Sylvius. I'm a busy man and I can't waste time. I'm going into that room. Pray make yourselves quite at home in my absence. You can explain to your friend how the matter lies without the restraint of my presence. I shall try over the Hoffman 'Barcarolle' upon my viola. In five minutes I shall return for your final answer. You quite grasp the alternative, do you not? Shall we take you, or shall we have the stone?"

Holmes withdrew, picking up his viola from the corner as he passed. A few moments later the long-drawn, wailing notes of that most haunting of tunes came faintly through the closed door of the bedroom.

"What is it, then?" asked Merton anxiously as his companion turned to him, "Does he know about the diamond?"

"He knows a damned sight too much about it. I'm not sure that he doesn't know all about it."

"Good Lord!" The boxer's sallow face turned a shade whiter.

"Ikey Sanders has ratted on us."

"He has, has he? I'll do him down a good one for that if I swing for it!"

"That won't help us much. We've got to make up our minds what to do."

"Wait a minute," said the boxer, looking suspiciously at the bedroom door. "He's a leary guy that wants watching. I suppose he's not listening?"

"How can he be listening with that music going? Besides, I have a device that will block any eavesdropping machines he could be using."

"That's right. Maybe somebody's behind a curtain. Too many curtains in this room." As he looked 'round he suddenly saw for the first time the effigy in the window, and stood staring and pointing, too amazed for words.

"It's only a dummy," said the Senator.

"A fake, huh? Well, strike me! Looks just like him. But the curtains, Senator!"

"Oh, forget the curtains! We are wasting our time, and there is none too much. He can lag us over this stone."

"The hell he can!"

"But he'll let us go if we tell him where it is."

"What! Give it up? Give up four million?"

"It's one or the other."

Merton scratched his short-cropped head.

"He's alone in there. Let's do him in. If his light were out we'd have no problem."

The Senator shook his head.

"He is armed and ready. If we shot him we could hardly get away in a place like this. Besides, it's likely enough that the police know whatever evidence he has got. What was that?!"

There was a vague sound which seemed to come from the window. Both men sprang 'round, but all was quiet. Save for the one strange figure seated in the chair, the room was certainly empty.

"Something in the street," said Merton, "Now look here, Senator, you've got the brains. You can think a way out of it. If slugging is no use then it's up to you."

"I've fooled better men than he," the Senator answered, "The stone is here in my secret pocket. I take no chances leaving it about. It can be out of the U.S. tonight and cut into four pieces in Amsterdam before Sunday. He doesn't know about Van Seddar."

"I thought Van Seddar was going next week."

"He was. But now he has to go on the next flight out. One or other of us needs to go and tell him."

"But the false bottom ain't ready."

"Well, he'll have to take it as it is and chance it. There's not a moment to lose." Again, with the sense of danger which becomes an instinct with the sportsman, he paused and looked hard at the window. Yes, it was surely from the street that the faint sound had come.

"As to Holmes," he continued, "we can fool him easily enough. You see, the damned fool won't arrest us if he can get the stone. Well, we'll promise him the stone. We'll put him on the wrong track, and before he finds out that it's the wrong track it will be in Holland and us out of the country."

"That sounds good to me!" cried Sam Merton with a grin.

"You go on and tell the Dutchman to get a move on. I'll see this sucker and fill him up with a bogus confession. I'll tell him that the stone is in Montana. Damn that whining music; it gets on my nerves! By the time he finds it isn't in Montana it'll be gone and so will we. Come back here, out of a line with that keyhole. Here is the stone."

"I can't believe you're actually carrying it."

"Where would it be safer? If we could take it out of the Museum of Natural History, someone else could surely take it out of my house."

"Let me have a look at it."

Senator Sylvius cast a somewhat unflattering glance at his associate and disregarded the unwashed hand which was extended toward him.

"What – d'ye think I'm gonna steal it? I'm getting really tired of your ways."

"I meant no offence, Sam. We can't afford to argue. Come over to the window if you want to see the beauty properly. Now hold it to the light! Here!"

"Thank you!"

With a single spring, Holmes had leaped from the dummy's chair and had grasped the precious jewel. He held it now in one hand, while his other pointed a revolver at the Senator's head. The two villains staggered back in utter amazement. Before they had recovered, Holmes had pressed the silent alarm.

"No violence, gentlemen – no violence, I beg of you! Consider the furniture! It must be very clear to you that your position is an impossible one. The FBI is waiting below."

The Senator's bewilderment overmastered his rage and fear.

"But how – ?" he gasped.

"Your surprise is very natural. You are not aware that a second door from my sitting room leads behind that curtain. I fancied that you must have heard me when I displaced the figure, but luck was on my side. It gave me a chance of listening to your conversation which would have been painfully constrained had you been aware of my presence."

The Senator gave a gesture of resignation.

"We give you best, Holmes. I believe you are the devil himself."

"Not far from him, at any rate," Holmes answered with a polite smile.

Sam Merton's slow intellect had only gradually appreciated the situation. Now, as the sound of heavy steps came from the stairs outside, he broke silence at last.

"But what about that fiddle? I still hear it."

"Tut, tut!" Holmes answered, "You are perfectly right. Let it play! The CD player is a remarkable invention."

There was an inrush of police, the handcuffs clicked and the criminals were led to the waiting car. Watson lingered with Holmes, congratulating him upon this fresh leaf added to his laurels. Once more their conversation was interrupted by the imperturbable Billy.

"It's Governor Cantlemere."

"Show him up, Billy. This, Watson, is the eminent peer who represents the highest interests," said Holmes, "He is an excellent and loyal person, but rather of the old regime. Shall we make him unbend? Dare we venture upon a slight liberty? He knows, we may conjecture, nothing of what has occurred."

The door opened to admit a thin, austere figure with a hatchet face and drooping mid-Victorian whiskers of a glossy blackness which hardly corresponded with the rounded shoulders and feeble gait. Holmes advanced affably, and shook an unresponsive hand.

"How do you do, Governor Cantlemere? It is chilly for the time of year, but rather warm indoors. May I take your overcoat?"

"No, thank you; I'll leave it on."

Holmes laid his hand insistently upon the sleeve.

"Pray allow me! My friend Watson would assure you that these changes of temperature are most insidious."

The governor shook himself free with some impatience.

"I am quite comfortable, sir. I have no need to stay. I have simply looked in to know how your self-appointed task was progressing."

"It is difficult – very difficult."

"I feared that you would find it so."

There was a distinct sneer in the old man's words and manner.

"Every man finds his limitations, Mr. Holmes, but at least it cures us of the weakness of self-satisfaction."

"Yes, sir, I have been much perplexed."

"No doubt."

"Especially upon one point. Possibly you could help me upon it?"

"You apply for my advice rather late in the day. I thought that you had your own all-sufficient methods. Still, I am ready to help you."

"You see, Governor Cantlemere, we can no doubt frame a case against the actual thieves."

"When you have caught them."

"Exactly. But the question is – how shall we proceed against the receiver?"

"Isn't that premature?"

"It is as well to have our plans ready. Now, what would you regard as final evidence against the receiver?"

"The actual possession of the stone."

"You would arrest him upon that?"

"Most undoubtedly."

Holmes seldom laughed, but he got as near it as his old friend Watson could remember.

"In that case, my dear sir, I shall be under the painful necessity of advising your arrest."

Governor Cantlemere was very angry. Some of the ancient fires flickered up into his sallow cheeks.

"You take a great liberty, Mr. Holmes. In fifty years of political life I cannot recall such a case. I am a busy man, sir, engaged upon important affairs, and I have no time or taste for foolish jokes. I may tell you frankly, sir, that I have never been a believer in your powers, and that I have always been of the opinion that the matter was far safer in the hands of the regular police force. Your conduct confirms all my conclusions. I have the honor, sir, to wish you good-evening."

Holmes had swiftly changed his position and was between the peer and the door.

"One moment, sir," said he, "To actually go off with the Mazarin stone would be a more serious offence than to be found in temporary possession of it."

"Sir, this is intolerable! Let me pass."

"Put your hand in the right-hand pocket of your overcoat."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Come – come, do what I ask."

An instant later the amazed governor was standing, blinking and stammering, with the great yellow stone on his shaking palm.

"What? How is this possible, Mr. Holmes?"

"Too bad, Governor Cantlemere, too bad!" cried Holmes, "My friend here will tell you that I am not in the habit of practical joking. However, she will also tell you that I cannot easily resist a dramatic situation. I took the liberty – the very great liberty, I admit – of putting the stone into your pocket at the beginning of our interview."

Cantlemere stared from the stone to the smiling face before him.

"Sir, I am bewildered. But – yes – it is indeed the Mazarin stone. We are deeply in your debt, Mr. Holmes. Your sense of humor may, as you admit, be somewhat odd, and its exhibition remarkably untimely, but at least I withdraw any reflection I have made upon your amazing professional powers. But how – "

"The case is but half finished; the details can wait. No doubt, Governor Cantlemere, your pleasure in telling of this successful result in the exalted circle to which you return will be some small atonement for my practical joke. Billy, you will show his Governorship out, and tell Mrs. Hudson that I should be glad if she would send up dinner for two as soon as possible."

"Well," said Jane, "What do you think?"

Jane had gotten up the courage to submit one of her accounts of Holmes' cases to the school newspaper, the Strand, and had finally chosen one to serve as a gauge to the readers' reactions.

"You actually expect me to believe this really happened?" The newspaper's editor, Evangeline Mortman, had a reputation for being mean, unfair, and unscrupulous. She and Jane had gotten along like oil and water since the day they met, and Jane had to fight hard to get a position on the Strand.

"Yes, Evangeline," said Jane, "I had to change names, dates, place names, and a few other minor details because this story never even hit the real papers."

"That aside," said Evangeline, "according to this account, you weren't even present for most of the action. Why should anyone believe that this really happened?"

"Holmes told me everything, and I embellished a little to make it more exciting," said Jane.

Evangeline just snorted and said, "Okay, Watson, you've caught me in a good mood. I'll print your trash in the next edition. But if this paper doesn't sell out completely, you're OFF our fiction column and back to your real assignments."

"What assignments?" asked Jane, "the first 2 weeks I was here I got you coffee, and the one after that I wrote my opinions on the school lunches."

"Our readers want an unbiased frame of reference," said Evangeline with a catty smile.

"Whatever," said Jane, "I have a job to go to."

"Of course," said Evangeline in a falsely sweet voice, "I'm sure your clients desperately need you."

I'm really getting tired of those hooker comments, thought Jane venomously, but she held her tongue and left gracefully.

The next day, Jane went back into the newsroom, her stomach twittering with butterflies. Evangeline was sitting at her desk, her lips curved into a vicious scowl. That was a good sign.

"Well?" asked Jane, going up to her desk and leaning over, "How did the morning edition sell?"

Evangeline pointedly slammed her pen down and fixed Jane with a glare. "It sold out," she said, "Apparently the idiots in this damn school are more interested in your little stories than they are in serious journalism. Have your next one ready for the presses by Friday, or you're off the paper for good."

Jane murmured a platitudinous thanks and casually walked out. As soon as she was past the door, she jumped up and started dancing around.

"Uh-huh, uh-huh," she chanted.

"Congratulations," said Marty, coming down the hall.

"You don't even know what I'm celebrating," said Jane, continuing unabated.

"I don't really give a crap," said Marty, "Just keep dancing."

Jane stopped and gave him a pointed look.

"Okay, okay," said Marty, "what's the good news?"

"I got around Evangeline and had my story published."

"Honey, that's great," said Marty, "Now dance!"

"C'mon, you perv," said Jane, taking Marty by the arm, "Let's go somewhere and celebrate."

(A/N: I'm not sure about this one, so don't be afraid to really critique. Please Review.)

TO BE CONTINUED.