December 9: "In the orchestra pit" (from Garonne)
A/N: I did some research, so I hope everything is historically accurate. My apologies if there is anything not quite right.
Also, I'm still working on my Lestrade voice, so hopefully it is decent enough for you to enjoy the story. I know I enjoyed writing it.:)
Lestrade
My wife, Helen, has always had a special love for music and drama, and so attending operas was a favorite pastime of hers. For the first time during our marriage, her birthday happened to fall on the same day as one of my precious few days off, and so I purchased tickets for the both of us to attend a performance at the Covent Garden Theatre. The tickets were a little more expensive than I would have liked, but her excitement made the cost well worth it.
We were some of the first to arrive and spent some time watching the other theatregoers filter in. Our seats were closer to the front than I was used to, commanding a wonderful view of the stage, and even of some of the orchestra pit.
Helen nudged me, and nodded backward to our right. "Is that Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson?"
I followed her gesture, and saw two men seating themselves some little distance away. "I'm not sure…" The taller one turned for a moment, and I was able to catch a glimpse of his face. It was undoubtedly Holmes. "Ah! Yes, it is them for sure." More to myself than to her, I commented, "Though it is strange that they are here."
Helen's brows furrowed in confused.
"Mr. Holmes told me yesterday he would have the stolen Stradivarius found by tonight," I explained. "I thought he would be busy recovering the violin, not attending an opera."
"Perhaps he already found it," my wife suggested.
"No, I asked Davis, the constable, to notify me straight away if he did."
After all, I wanted to know as soon as possible whether it was Hopkins or I who won our little wager regarding Holmes's results. Young Hopkins was convinced that Holmes would do exactly as he said and would have the violin in his possession by the end of today. I, on the other hand, doubted it. The circumstances surrounding the crime were such that there were upwards of twelve or more people who had the opportunity to steal the violin.
"Well, perhaps you will have a chance to ask Mr. Holmes about it during the intermission," she said.
"Perhaps." I was still rather irked by Holmes's insistence that I was on completely the wrong track in this case. His results were often a bit more correct than mine, I could not deny, but that did not mean that I was wrong in this instance. Though his presence at the theatre made me curious enough that I determined I would ask him about it later.
I then put the matter out of my mind. I was here to enjoy a performance with my dear wife. Work could—and would—wait.
The opening scenes of the performance were excellent. I enjoy a good opera on occasion, and I always enjoy seeing Helen so wonderfully happy.
As soon as the first act was over, I turned my attention to the direction whence we had seen Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson before. To my surprise, their seats were empty.
"Hm! They've gone," I said, wondering how they could have left so quickly, and why.
"Well, they are sure to come back before the second act," my wife returned.
My curiosity turned to concern when the second act commenced and the pair of them had not returned to their seats.
"Where do you suppose they went?" my wife whispered anxiously.
I shook my head. "No idea. I do hope everything is all right." As irksome as Holmes could be at times, I had begun to grow a little fond of him, and of course I wished no harm to anyone as kind and noble as Dr. Watson.
Several minutes later, Helen nudged me again, and pointed covertly towards the orchestra pit. "That man, just there…" she whispered, pointing to the far left side of the strings section.
It took me a moment to see where she was pointing, but I soon followed her, and took a closer look at the tall gentleman playing the violin. I gave a loud involuntary gasp, causing the elderly gentleman in the row in ahead of us to cast me an ill-tempered glance.
Unless I was much mistaken, there sat Sherlock Holmes!
"Why, it's Mr. Holmes!" I whispered, looking earnestly among the musicians for Dr. Watson. I did not have to look far: he sat in the clarinet section, just a couple chairs from the detective. "And there is the Doctor." I pointed him out, but Helen had apparently already spotted them.
"What on earth are they doing?" Helen whispered.
I hadn't a clue. "Playing in the orchestra, apparently." I had known Holmes could play the violin well, but I had never heard of Watson taking an interest in the clarinet. The whole situation seemed very strange indeed.
I confess I missed much of the remainder of the opera, as my mind continually wandered back to the detective and the doctor in the orchestra pit, wondering what they could possibly be doing there.
Once the performance was over, my wife and I fought the crowd headed for the doors, looking instead for where our new orchestral musicians would be found. It took little wandering, for soon we ran straight into the duo in a hall.
"Inspector Lestrade!" Dr. Watson greeted me cheerily.
"Dr. Watson!" I replied, shaking him firmly by the hand. "It is always good to see you. And you as well, Mr. Holmes."
I noticed Holmes had a violin case in his hands. "I believe I have acquired something that might be of interest to you, Inspector," he said, and carefully opening the case, he revealed a beautiful violin.
"Is that…?" Helen gasped.
"Yes indeed," Mr. Holmes replied, with the air of a performer having completed a clever conjuring trick.
"But how?" I asked. "We saw you during the first act, but during the second, you were down in the orchestra pit! By the way, Doctor, I didn't know you played the clarinet."
"I don't," Dr. Watson replied, with a chuckle, "but today I learned how to pretend to do so. But I suppose you would prefer to hear the story from the beginning."
"I certainly would!" I replied.
Holmes broke in. "Then would you—and your wife, if she wishes it—mind paying us with a visit at our rooms in Baker Street? I believe we should all be more comfortable there than standing here."
Helen and I gladly accepted the offer, and after a short cab ride, found ourselves comfortably seated by the fire at 221B.
"Mr. Holmes, I've seen you work out a good many strange problems, but this one takes the cake," I admitted. "How on earth did you know to find the violin at that particular theatre during that show?"
"By stringing together a short series of related observations," Holmes explained, beginning to pace before us. "First, that someone who steals a Stradivarius will have a difficult time doing anything with it, as they are so easily recognizable. Second, that a man by the name of Murphy playing in this orchestra lost his violin yesterday morning, and believes it to have been stolen. Third, that this Murphy fellow is acquainted with Cunningham, one of the eight people circumstantially most likely to have stolen the violin. Fourth, that Mr. Murphy and Cunningham had recently had a rather brutal falling out. Therefore, my inference was Mr. Cunningham had taken Murphy's violin, with the intention to make sure the replacement—for he would need a replacement, to play in tonight's show—was the Stradivarius. No doubt he wished to frame Murphy for the crime, sell Murphy's own violin, and claim the reward for recovering the Stradivarius."
"But now," Watson broke in, "Cunningham has lost his stolen treasure, and the reward he might have gained from turning in Murphy. It only remains to capture Cunningham, who must not be too far, if he intended to frame his acquaintance and claim the reward."
"Incredible," my wife intoned next to me.
Holmes's cheeks colored a little at the sincere compliment. "I readily admit that this conclusion was a slight leap, even for me, but I decided that there could be no harm in attending such an excellent opera if I were wrong." He rubbed his hands together. "Now, is anything left unclear to you?"
It took a moment for all of that information to sink in, but a moment later, I thought of the most obvious question.
"What was the purpose in your and Watson's playing in the second act of the show?" I asked. "You have not explained that."
"Ah," Holmes replied. "Yes, that was not entirely planned. You see, when we told Murphy that his borrowed violin was the missing Stradivarius, he collapsed into a dead faint. Not even Watson's medical skills could revive him in time for the second act. As for Watson and the clarinet, Murphy's friend the clarinetist saw us with the unconscious Murphy, and jumped to the unfortunate and completely erroneous conclusion that we had attacked his friend. He rushed at me, and unfortunately, my reflexes were rather too quick and I sprained his wrist. As a result, the orchestra was short a violinist and a clarinetist, and the conductor grabbed us both at a moment's notice to fill the void."
"I believe he actually pushed us into the orchestra pit," Watson added. "The man was in a panic. We could hardly say 'no' to him."
"The two musicians, are they—?" Helen began.
"They are all right now, for the most part," Dr. Watson replied. "I saw to it that they were before we left. Our violinist has fully recovered, and his friend the clarinetist should have full use of his hand within two or three weeks."
I nodded. "Well, you apparently had quite an interesting evening."
"And you, apparently, owe Inspector Hopkins two pounds."
"How on earth did you—?"
"Ha!" Holmes gave a short bellow of laughter. "Young Hopkins told me of your wager earlier today."