"So do I, Mr. Holmes," Deets said frankly, meeting the sleuth's intense eyes squarely.
Holmes finally seemed satisfied. "All right, Mr. Deets, we'll come down tomorrow. If the weather continues foul, no matter. Watson and I will be there."
"For lunch, perhaps?"
"Agreed. In the interim, I assume your household is on the alert?"
Deets's smile had an infectious quality. "When I left, Gaston, our chef, was busy sharpening a rather alarming carving knife. The butler, Dooley, is an old Crimean man and rather intrigued by the prospect of action. I noted several pokers were missing, so I suspect the housemaids are prepared as well. Mayswood is a bit of an armed camp."
"So much the better," commented Holmes casually. "But let's not have a poor delivery man set upon by mistake."
On this lighter note, Clyde Deets made his departure.
I waited, with some difficulty, until his footfalls faded on the stairs.
"Now see here, Holmes," I exploded, "I know this presents an enticing pattern. Mysterious intruder with an obscure motive who seemingly materializes and then promptly vanishes. All the elements that you love so well. But there is that matter that Mycroft brought to your attention."
"And fate. Burlington Bertie bringing the dying man here was what really got us involved."
"You're splitting hairs. The fact is that the Empire could be in difficulties."
"True," he admitted. "Well, this case of the mysterious intruder seems a minor one that we may be able to dispose of in short order."
This had to satisfy, and I turned to the word-squares of the day. Those beguiling combinations had long ago presented a most nagging challenge until I realized that I possessed a secret weapon. After a lengthy passage of time, Holmes broke in on my concentration.
"You know, ol' fellow, relative to the Surrey matter, I cannot rid myself of the feeling that all has not been said. If the intruder made his entry and escape, a fact that we must assume or there is no case, we shall find out how. What intrigues me no end is the why."
"We certainly don't know that," I replied, my mind elsewhere.
"But I'm not sure that the same can be said for Mr. Deets."
"He seemed most cooperative."
"Unusually so. His recreation of the event was delightfully to the point. I could wish witnesses in court were as concise. But there is the question of his cigarette case."
I lowered my paper. "You've lost me, Holmes."
"He went upstairs at Mayswood for his cigarette case that had once turned a bullet and saved his life. Now I just wonder, Watson, who fired the bullet?"
Chapter Four
The Bizarre Intruder
It was shortly thereafter that Holmes departed the premises. He stated that there were some investigations regarding our adventure of the previous evening that he wanted to tend to and that he might even inquire into Mr. Clyde Deets. I made a move to accompany him but he would have none of it, stating that his efforts would be but contact work and did not require my always-welcome assistance.
I turned my hand to my case history again but could make little progress. There was the guilty thought that my friend was braving the elements while I remained cozy and warm within. But I forced myself to brand this as fruitless castigation. The number of Holmes's available contacts, regarding all sorts of information, was enormous. It seemed reasonable that some of them would speak to him more freely without his biographer in attendance.
At loose ends, I returned to my word-squares.* Holmes returned in the late afternoon. As he shook moisture from his coat, I busied myself with the tantalus and gasogene and we sat before the fire and clinked glasses.
*Also called "word blocks," they existed in England in the 19thcentury. In 1913 the first crossword puzzles appeared in publications and by 1920 achieved the immense popularity they enjoy today.
"A friend at the British Museum did not prove informative, ol' fellow, though when I described the gold dagger something struck him. I was able to draw for him that scroll-like design on its blade, and he identified it as a cartouche."
As my eyebrows elevated, Holmes continued. "A seal of a royal personage. Now, to Deets. With your frugal sense, Watson, you might be happy to learn that Clyde Deets of Surrey is solvent and runs a most respectable business. Moved to that area around five years ago. Father was a recluse and died shortly thereafter. But here's a puzzle: prior to their arrival at Mayswood, nothing is known of Deets, père or fils. Complete dead end as regards family history and origin. Rather singular, but then not all our clients date back to the Norman Conquest."
"In other words—" I began.
"In other words, I discovered very little and got rather wet doing it. Your expertise with the decanter is of medicinal assistance. Now tell me of your day."
"My dead end is a six-letter space in the word blocks," I said, reaching for the paper. "State of unrest—reversed."
As Holmes's eyes narrowed, I added: "Third letter might be 't'."
"Try 'citceh,' which is 'hectic' reversed."
I reached for my pencil with some excitement. "This might open up a number of things. Associate in ten letters, third letter 'c' if 'citceh' is right."
"Surely easy for you, Watson. 'Accomplice.'"
"It fits. Drainage in five, second letter being 'i'."
"Ditch. Err— Watson—"
I overrode him. "Discordant in nine. Third letter 'c'."
"Cacophony. My dear chap—"
"Uncanny in five. Second letter 'e'."
"Eerie."
"Holmes, you've done it. I believe I can—"
My voice dwindled away as I found my friend regarding me with a strange look, akin to wonderment.
"Watson, I've been trying to mention that there is an amazing quality about you. Intuitive, perhaps, or just the ability to say the right thing at the right time. You are a treasure, indeed!"
Since his remark struck me dumb, I could but regard him with a slack jaw. The wonderment faded from his eyes to be replaced with that far-away look, a sure sign that his massive intellect was working in high gear.
"'Hectic' was the word, but the instruction 'reverse' suggested a key. Our client's name is Deets. Not a common name but nothing unusual either. Uninteresting might be the best description. But reverse it and you have 'Steed,' which opens up fascinating possibilities."
Holmes was on his feet making a beeline for the bookcase, from which he extracted the 'S' file. There was a tight smile on his face as he leafed through pages. "Sansbey, the poisoner . . . interesting case, that. . . . Slagar, the Serbian strangler. Never convicted. Sloppy police work there. . . . Ah! Here we are! Maurice Steed-Spaulding, British Army, Retired. I'll try to dredge through the chaff . . . graduated Richmond—"
"Army, you say?" I burst out with a sudden remembrance. "Captain Spaulding, the African explorer!"
"Leading expert on Egypt. Hmmmm. . . ."
"Oh, was he an Egyptologist? Don't know why I associated the chap with Africa."
Holmes's face rose from the file briefly. "My dear Watson, Egypt is in Africa."
"Oh. So it is."
Momentarily nonplussed, I watched Holmes's eyes race through a page before turning to another.
"Wasn't mixed up with that Piazzi Smythe chap, was he? You recall the theory of the Pyramid Inch and the Great Pyramid."
"Piazzi Smythe was a pyramidologist, Watson, and the theory of the Pyramid Inch was disproved. Steed-Spaulding was a student of cultures and of religions, as well. Wrote two books on the latter. The Coptics of Egypt and Islam Comes to Egypt. Both considered monumental, though the last one did receive adverse criticism. He traced the rise of Mohammedanism in Egypt beginning with the Arab invasion of 639 and laid emphasis on the tolerance of the Islamics towards Jews and Christians as opposed to the attitude of Christianity during that period."