There are a great many cases from the years of my collaboration with Sherlock Holmes which are, for one reason or another, quite unsuitable for publication in the present age. I can foresee a time, however, when all objections to the dissemination of the details will be lifted. Even the case of the Scarlet Thorn, which I think too tainted with brutality for contemporary taste, may one day seem acceptable to the general reader, and so I shall endeavour to write it down plainly, although parts of the story are quite repulsive even to an old soldier and medical man. Nevertheless, the mystery presented many of those features which Holmes found most stimulating and was a triumph for his deductive powers, albeit a tragedy in human terms.
The adventure began one Tuesday in March 1883. Holmes had been working on the Caradoc diamond mystery for five days, having been consulted by Inspector Lestrade upon the matter almost as soon as the theft was reported. The case had caused considerable public interest but had so far proved impenetrable even to the great mind of Holmes. The diamonds were not large, but numerous and very fine, and had been torn from the tiara of the Duchess of Caradoc while she was staying at Brown’s Hotel in Dover Street. The circumstances of the loss were not broadcast at the time, but there can be no objection to my revealing them now.
The duchess was a firm believer in spiritualism, and on the evening of the disappearance she and three friends had gathered after dinner to hold a seance in her sitting room at the hotel. A medium had been engaged, an elderly lady known as Madam Spinarossa, and the avowed purpose of the evening was to contact the spirit of the duke, who had died some four years previously. The drapes were drawn and the doors locked. Madam Spinarossa arranged the participants — two ladies and two gentlemen, all of unimpeachable character — round a card table and turned out the gas. In the darkness she resumed her seat, asked the group to join hands, and then began her attempt to reach the realm of the dead. At first there was no result, but then, with a sigh and a groan from the medium, contact was made and after a few moments everyone present heard the voice of a man, coming not from the medium but from elsewhere in the room. The duchess later swore that the voice was that of her late husband. He spoke for some minutes, although at times contact was lost and the air was filled with gasps and groans, while the table was felt to shudder and rise up slightly. At last there was a sound of choking and a hoarse scream from Spinarossa and she cried out that the spirit of the duke had departed and they must break the circle. This they did, and one of the men, Colonel James Hind, lit the gas. The first thing to strike the friends was that the medium’s black dress was soiled with white matter, which she later claimed to be “ectoplasm,” and she appeared to have sunk into unconsciousness with her head upon her breast. The gentlemen began to attempt to revive her when the air was riven by another scream, this time from the other lady present, Matilda Grayson, the niece of the duchess. She was pointing in stark horror at Her Grace’s head. The duchess was too shocked to react, and at first the men could perceive nothing wrong, until they looked closely at the tiara she was wearing and found that every single diamond had been extracted from it.
After a few minutes the duchess recovered from the shock of this discovery, and stated to the amazement of all that she believed the spirit of her late husband to have taken the jewels with him to the netherworld. He had given her the tiara on their wedding day more than forty years previously, and she professed herself convinced that he had taken back the stones as a punishment for some sin which she had committed against him. When pressed on the matter, she declined to say more, but spoke so fervently that it was quite clear she believed this explanation for the disappearance of the diamonds. Colonel Hind and the other gentleman, Lord Vincent Carleston, were of a different opinion, however, and unlocked the door at once to call for the police. A constable was found in Dover Street, and he was quickly joined by three others and the tenacious Lestrade. The room and its occupants were searched thoroughly, but nothing was found, and the medium, who seemed to be suffering greatly from the effects of her trance, was allowed to depart.
The sitting room had been locked throughout the seance, and the occupants were certain that no one could have got in or out while the room was dark. Subsequent inquiries had failed to trace Madam Spinarossa, and suspicion naturally fell upon her, despite her age and infirmity. But of the diamonds, or the means of their abstraction, there was no clue. This was the problem with which Holmes had been struggling for five days when an unwelcome interruption came in the person of Mr. William Everson Hartshorne. Mrs. Hudson delivered his card late one evening, and I could see from Holmes’s expression that he did not relish this distraction from the Caradoc case. However, when he looked at the man’s card, his attitude changed.
“Take a look at this, Watson,” he said, handing me the calling card. “I think Mr. Hartshorne may prove a most interesting visitor after all. Show him up, Mrs. Hudson.”
I examined the card. It seemed unremarkable, bearing the engraved name of our visitor and his address at 9B Bruton Street, London W. William Hartshorne himself was a young man, not yet thirty, but with an air of success about him. He had fairish hair and wore a small, neat moustache and a look of perplexity. Holmes asked him to be seated and to tell us his story.
“Well, Mr. Holmes, I hesitate to trouble you with something so commonplace. But, I confess, I was deeply disturbed by the whole business, and can find no explanation, unless it was some sort of prank or joke.”
“The smallest mysteries are often the most intractable and the most fascinating,” said Holmes. “Pray tell us the whole story, and omit nothing, even those details which may seem incidental.”
“I am,” said our visitor, “in business on my own account in Great Portland Street, and was returning from work yesterday evening, having stayed very late in the office to deal with certain papers. It was a pleasant evening, so I decided to walk home, as I often do. It was quite dark, of course, but the streets in the area are well lit, and as I turned into Bruton Street I noticed something lying on the pavement under one of the streetlamps. The street was deserted and a cold wind was blowing from the river. As I drew nearer to the object, I perceived that it was large and flat, like a piece of panelling, and was somewhat surprised on coming closer to recognise it as a door. I could clearly see the brass handle projecting, and the hinges. You will imagine my consternation upon coming into the circle of light to find that this was nothing more or less than my own front door. There was the familiar letterbox, the damage where a beggar had once struck the panels with his stick, and the brass number 9B. I was still fifty yards or so from the point where my door should have been, and my heart was in my mouth as I ran towards my rooms. The doorway was dark and I hesitated to enter. But I am no coward, Mr. Holmes, and I steeled myself to go inside. In the hall I felt my way to the stand and took up a heavy stick, fearing that my open, indeed absent, door might signify burglary. I went into every room and lit the gas, all the while fearing to find a scene of ruin. But my apartments appeared to be untouched. I could find not a book, not a toothbrush, out of place. I was somewhat upset and perplexed by this business, as you might imagine, and sleep was out of the question. So, having made sure there was no one in my rooms, I lit the gas in the entrance hall and took up a sentry position with my stick, hoping I would not have to fight to defend my open doorway. It was an uncomfortable night, but a quiet one. In the early morning I attracted the attention of a passing boy, and persuaded him to fetch a carpenter and his mate, who retrieved my door for me, and screwed it back into its original position. Then I went to work. My business affairs could not be postponed, and I was again obliged to work late. When I returned home I half expected to find the door again missing. But this was not the case and, having checked that my rooms were thoroughly secure, I came straight here. Well, Mr. Holmes, that is my story. Could it have been a joke, do you think?”