The Adventure of the Deverill Diamonds

Sam and I sat in that pitch dark, cold, damp cell for what must have been two hours. We sat there discussing the case in detail (something which we had been unable to do as we had run towards Scotland Yard). Thinking about it now, I think we discussed the case to take our minds off our impending fate at the hands of the Red Razor Gang. With no idea what was happening outside of our cell, no idea of whether Eddie Holloway was still alive even, all we could do was wait.

I will relay the parts of our discussion that I did not manage to say to Ned Burdon on the train platform. Events had rather overtaken us there and so I did not get to go through the entire ‘script’ that I had formulated in my head and you will doubtless have some loose ends rattling around in your brain which are desperately needing to be tied up.

After attacking Mr Deverill, Ned Burdon feared for his safety. Would Eugene Deverill’s memory recover? He did not know for sure and he had to act to protect himself and escape the country as soon as he physically could. He pawned the diamond, bought his ticket and waited several days for the boat train that would take him away from the wife (and the life) he despised.

Sadly for him, Sam and I were on the case and were much closer to discovering the truth than he would have liked.

The night I went to his house the second time (the night I had been shot at by the Red Razors) I made the mistake of confiding my thoughts about the case to him. I told him we were investigating the case, that we had talked to Mr Deverill and his family and, most crucially of all, that we had found the hammer and chisel underneath the small window.

He was terrified that we were onto him. He thought I would put two and two together and equate the woodwork tools with him. He had stood and advanced towards me. I had thought at the time he was just going to throw me out of the house but I suspect he was not. I think he was advancing towards me to silence me for good. But for the arrival of his drunken wife I would have been found floating in the Thames the next day I have no doubt.

Having failed to silence me there and then he had told me to go home and to get changed (you will recall that I was wearing Sam’s clothes at the time). He had recommended the ghastly pink dress that I had been wearing the day we had found Mr Deverill. That dress, you will also recall (for you are as bright as a highly polished button), had ended up back in the house, had been taken off me my Mrs Gritton ready for Aunt Cordelia to wear.

Burdon made his way, cloaked, to my house (where he waited to see me and attack me). My not turning up confused and confounded him. He sat and bided his time. It was early morning before his chance came. Aunt Cordelia had risen early, as was her habit, to watch the “Breaking of God’s Light Across the World”, wearing the pink dress of ill-fame. In the dawn light Burdon had mistaken her for me and he tried to strangle her. At that moment I appeared and confused him even more. He dropped Aunt Cordelia and attacked me instead. It was his thin, sinewy arms I had seen and grasped, not Hettie Deverill’s or Snorky’s. As luck would have it my shouts had woken my ‘Father’ and, for the first time in my life, that peculiar and unknowable man had been a force for good to me. He had saved me and Burdon had fled.

The only thing that remains for me to explain (I think) is the wave of revelation that spread over me when I looked at the coat stand in Hettie Deverill’s house. It triggered the memory of having seen a black, hooded cloak on a coat stand somewhere else. At Ned Burdon’s house in fact, on a coat stand between a police jacket and a fur coat. Burdon had used this long black cloak when he attacked me partly to obscure his own features, but partly to implicate Hettie Deverill, who he had observed wearing a similar garment. His plan, in that regard, worked well. She was the first person I had suspected of being my assailant.

There. I think that’s everything. I’ve just read this section to Sam and he says he “can’t fink of nuffink else,” so I hope that you are satisfied and that those annoying, dangling threads in your mind are now tied fast and can trouble you no more.

Back to the cell we go. Sam and I talked away the two hours of waiting, hiding our nervousness from each other by talking piffle.

Locks were turned and the door was swung wide by the unmistakeably undernourished form of Snorky.

“Guv’nor wants to see ya both,” he murmured, sounding exhausted as if from a great ordeal. I assumed the doctor’s revival of Holloway had been difficult. But Holloway was alive! Which meant that they would know I had tried to save him!

We rose from our sitting position, blinking into the light and left the cell in the company of Snorky. None of the other Razors accompanied us upstairs and we were not jostled or grabbed on the way.

We were brought into a vast room which was an odd mixture of the mechanical and the ornate. The room had industrial pipes channelling through it, steam issuing from valves on some of them at regular intervals, alongside ornate draping fabric in red, adorned with the symbol of a razor dripping blood. ‘Holloway obviously has a flair for the theatrical’ I thought to myself. There were crates dotted around the room, next to exquisite, deep red Chesterfield chairs and sofas.

In the centre of the room, laid out on a chaise longue was Holloway. His gang members, all in black, were dotted around him in a semicircle, just as they had been that fateful night at the docks. One other man stood over him. He was all in black, with small, round spectacles and a pudgy face. Based on the sweat pouring down his round face I guessed him to be the ‘doctor’. Holloway was bare-chested and had a large bandage wrapped around his torso. He was still pale and, judging from his milky eyes, was in the grip of a strong anaesthetic. When he saw Sam and me he nodded and beckoned us over.

“You’re alive,” I said, smiling. “Thank Goodness!”

He did not smile back. The old Eddie Holloway had returned. Surrounded by his gang again and in the safety of his lair, his sneer had returned.

“You and the boy can go, girly,” he said, his husky voice as half-strength, “but I’m warnin’ ya, you tell anyone where we are, or about our smugglin’ racket and I’ll find the pair of ya and I’ll cut ya throats meself. Clear?”

“Crystal,” said Sam, relief in his voice.

“Is that it?” I asked.

“Yeah, girly, that’s it,” he said, his wounded mouth grimacing as a fresh shot of pain went through him. “And you better stick to it or I’ll kill the pair of ya. Now get out before I change my mind.”

Sam grabbed my arm and we walked towards the door. No-one tried to stop us. No-one shot at us. We were free to go. Holloway was going to let us live and that was his way of thanking me for saving his life by bringing him home.

I turned around just before we reached the door.

“Thank you again. For taking that bullet for me.”

A flicker of something indefinable flashed across Holloway’s face and, almost as soon as it had appeared it was gone. He brushed his hand towards us to indicate that we were to leave.

We had caught a thief and a would-be murderer but, to do so and to survive, we would have to let a notorious criminal and drug smuggler off the hook. But I had no doubt our paths would cross again one day. And, perhaps the fact that we had that kernel of mutual gratitude would mean the difference between life and death when that time came..

Sam and I came blinking out of the warehouse and into the bright sunlight. Faint wisps of clouds hung in the air and the sunlight had the strength to warm both of us as we walked through the streets towards Sam’s house. Neither of us spoke for the whole journey and I came to the realisation that a friend you can walk with and not feel compelled to make chit-chat with was the very best kind of friend.

We walked into Sam’s house to see his mother standing looking worriedly at us.

She was not alone. Inspector Wakefield and three officers stood before us.

“You shouldn’t have told me Sam’s name, Esther. He was easy to find.”

“Run, Esther!” yelled Sam.

I made a half-hearted attempt to run but, within a half a second, the men were upon me and I was flanked by two of them who held my arms.

“Esther Morstan-Eyre, I’m placing you under arrest for obstructing the course of justice and for threatening a police officer with a firearm…”

“This is crazy!” screamed Sam. “She’s the only reason you caught Burdon!”

“Anything you say can and may be held against you in a court of law,” continued Wakefield. “Take her away.”

The two men led me out of the door. Sam leapt forwards, kicking and punching to try and free me.

“Punch any of my men once more and I’ll arrest you for assault, sonny Jim!”

Sam continued, unfazed by the idea of arrest and imprisonment.

“Sam,” I said calmly, “Don’t. It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

He looked into my eyes and he knew I meant it. To be honest I was so exhausted from lack of sleep and food that I was quite happy to be going somewhere where nothing else bad could happen. Where I could lie down and get some rest.

“I’ll come get ya,” said Sam, his temper receding.

“I know,” I said and I smiled at him. He reciprocated with his faint half-smile.

I was led away to be locked up like a common criminal. I was used to being imprisoned. It did not matter.

My imprisonment did not last long. I did not even get to sleep for long sadly. My Father was summoned and, after a hectic half-hour of shouting and bargaining, I was released. His sway as a Chief Constable was considerable and he exerted his influence to get me out of the holding cell at Scotland Yard. Unwanted orphan child or not, no relative of his was going to have a criminal record.

I was dragged home in silence, washed and clothed while being abused by Mrs Gritton, and was once again imprisoned in my room. Changes had been made to the room in my absence. None of them good. Bars on the windows. An extra lock on the door. All the books taken away. Worst of all, the chimney blocked up. There was no way for me to escape. I would think about that later. I was too exhausted. I fell into the deepest sleep I had had in a long time, my mind vacant, my dreams were only of a blank nothingness.

I was awoken the next day by Aunt Cordelia unlocking my door and stepping inside, wielding her cane. Instinctively, at the sight of the cane, I was immediately wide awake and sitting upright in the bed.

“Esther. Your father and I have discussed the matter and we have come to a decision.”

“Oh…?” I said, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

“Neither your father nor I feel we can do any more for you than we have done. Your father has said you are a lost cause. You are to be sent away. Sent away to school.”

“Sent away?” I asked blearily.

“Yes. Your Father has a friend who runs a school in Yorkshire. You will be sent there.”

“Yorkshire?” I gasped. My head was full of images of Wackford Squeers and Dotheboys Hall (Dickens - it has been a long time so I hope you will forgive me!) Worse than this my head was full of the thought of not seeing Sam again, of no more adventures.

“Yes. Now let us have no nonsense about it,” continued Aunt Cordelia, clearly in a great hurry to leave the room, “I am going out shopping now. You will stay in here where you can not get yourself into any more mischief.”

She walked briskly away from me as I protested, slamming the door shut and locking both the locks. She had not hit me with the cane. This was a new development. Could it be, I wondered, that my saving her from a strangling had changed her ability to beat me? It seemed unlikely.

Minutes later, as I sat pondering on what to do to escape a life in the depths of Yorkshire, I heard the sound of the front door shutting and went to my barred window to see Aunt Cordelia walking away. I slumped down onto my bed preparing myself for an entire day of staring at my four walls in abject boredom.

Barely a minute had gone by when I heard the sound of scratching and scraping coming from the door to my room. Someone was trying to turn the locks. Mrs Gritton no doubt, fumbling with her new keys in those podgy, piggy fingers of hers.

Quickly the first lock was turned. More metallic scraping and then the second lock snapped open too. I prepared myself for the round, red cheeks and the onslaught of some verbal missiles. The door swung open.

But it was not Mrs Gritton.

There before me stood Sam. His blond hair was sweaty under his flat cap. His bright blue eyes were alive and sparkled in the sunlight.

“Y’alright?” he asked.

“I am now,” I replied, beaming from ear to ear.

He half-smiled and looked slightly awkward. For the briefest of moments I thought he might actually embrace me. He didn’t. Instead, suddenly remembering that he was holding it, he held up a newspaper cutting that looked a little tatty and worn.

“I need your ’elp,” he said simply, ducking around the awkwardness.

“Oh..?” I responded, my eyebrow arched in puzzlement.

“I wanna find me Dad’s killer. I want us to find ’im. And you’re the smartest person I know.”

I could see that he meant it. A silly thing to say as Sam is the smartest person that Sam knows, but I took the compliment as it was intended. It was a case. A case that meant a lot to him. And he wanted me (of all people) to help him with it. I was deeply flattered, but knew that it was impossible.

“They are going to send me away to school. In Yorkshire. Aunt Cordelia just told me.”

He was silent for a moment before responding.

“You wanna go?”

“Of course I don’t want to go! Why on Earth would I want to go to Yorkshire? It’s miles aw….”

“No,” he interrupted. “Do you wanna go with me?” and he motioned towards the door with his head.

“Oh,” I said halting in my tracks. To leave would mean there would be no safe place for me. If I went to Sam’s the police would find me and bring me back. If I lived on the streets my life would be harsh and unflinchingly cruel. But if I stayed it would be Yorkshire, and school, and no Sam, and no detecting.

“I’d love to,” I said.

He presented the door in a formal bow which made me laugh. I walked through it, looking both ways for the unexpected appearance of the unholy Gritton.

Sam swung the door shut and I began to make my way down the stairs to freedom. I stopped in my descent as I realised Sam was not with me. Looking behind me I saw Sam on his knees, fiddling with the locks on my door. I leapt back up the stairs to the landing.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

He did not respond but used his cracksman’s tools to relock both the locks. Having achieved his ends he turned his head to me with a half-smile.

“I’m leavin’ ’em a locked-room mystery to solve.”

He stood and we walked side-by-side down the staircase and out into the bright sunlight of the open street.

There was no turning back for me now. I was out of the prison forever and bound for goodness knows where. My future stretched out before me and it was a future of uncertainty and peril.

But Sam was by my side.

That was enough.

The End