Mike Ashley: The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures

"Vandals!" The old man became suddenly animated.

"Then it's true, sir, that the painting has been stolen?" Holmes asked in shocked tones.

"They should have looked after it better. It's a priceless painting – magnificent example of the artist's best period. Now they've let some hooligans make off with it. It's probably mouldering in a fenland shed somewhere. It will be ruined! Lost!" Giddings subsided into a fit of coughing and pressed a large spotted handkerchief to his mouth.

"It must be very distressing to you, sir. I imagine the Rembrandt was the crowning item of your collection."

The old man nodded vigorously. "Yes, I bought it privately in The Hague a quarter of a century ago. It had impeccable provenance. It was quite a sacrifice to part with it but I thought it would make a suitable parting gift, to mark a lifetime of service to New College. They might not have appreciated me but at least they had something to remember me by. Now, however…" Giddings shrugged and seemed to shrink even further into his wrappings.

"You don't think the crime might be the work of professional thieves? The art world, as I understand is not without its share of unscrupulous men."

"Out of the question," the old man wheezed. "Too well known. Too difficult to sell."

Holmes propelled the chair towards the next door but stopped when Gidding's frame was convulsed by a fresh bout of violent coughing.

"Should I fetch your man?" Holmes enquired anxiously.

The invalid nodded by way of reply and my friend retraced his steps to the library where a tug on the bell pull quickly brought the servant. He conveyed his master back into the library. The old man had recovered from his fit but announced that he was rather tired and begged Holmes to excuse him. He invited the young student to return another day to conclude the tour. Holmes thanked his host volubly and withdrew.

His next call was upon Mr Spooner in his New College rooms. He informed the don that he had become intrigued by the theft and that, with Spooner's permission, he would like to follow up certain ideas which had occurred to him. He pressed the fellow for some details on certain points and asked him for a letter of introduction to Messrs Simkins and Streeter. Thus armed, Holmes travelled next day to London. A cab dropped him at the entrance of a narrow alley leading off Jermyn Street by way of which Holmes discovered a painted signboard and a flight of stairs which led to the restorers' second-floor premises. These consisted of a single, long room illumined by sunshine

entering through large skylights. Easels and wide tables were scattered throughout the workshop and at these men in their shirtsleeves were working singly or in pairs upon an assortment of old paintings. On enquiring for the proprietors, Holmes managed to distract one of these craftsmen just long enough to elicit a nod in the direction of a partitioned-off cubicle at the far end of the room.

The man who stood behind a desk untidy with scattered papers to greet him as he stepped in through the open door was stocky and of middle.years. He was, Holmes judged, a touch overdressed; his suit a shade flamboyant of cut; his diamond-fastened necktie slightly too bright of hue. "Henry Simkins at your service, sir," the man announced. "Whom have I the honour of addressing?"

Holmes handed over his card with Spooner's letter and carefully observed Simkin's reaction. The man displayed momentary alarm but quickly covered it up. "Well, Mr Holmes sit down, sit down do. I'll help you all I can, though I fear you've had a wasted journey, for Mr Spooner knows all there is to be known about this sad business."

Holmes dusted the proffered chair and sank down upon it. "I'm grateful to you for your time, Mr Simkins. There were just one or two details that Mr Spooner wanted me to check."

"Why then, fire away, Mr Holmes."

"When was it that you were invited by the warden and fellows of New College to carry out restoration work on their painting?"

"Well, now, that would be about the end of August. I can give you the exact date if you'll bear with me a moment." He swivelled his chair until he was facing an open roll-top desk against the back wall. From one drawer he lifted a bundle of papers tied with string, undid the knot and began to leaf through the sheets. To the precise-minded Holmes it seemed that the exploration would occupy more than "a moment" but within seconds Simkins uttered a little cry of triumph and flourished a sheet of embossed notepaper. "There we are, Mr Holmes," said he, laying it on the table before my friend.

Holmes quickly scanned the formal letter dated 25 August inviting Messrs Simkins and Streeter to examine Rembrandt's Nativity of Our Lord with a view to discussing possible

restoration work. "You responded immediately, I presume," Holmes suggested.

"Yes, indeed, Mr Holmes." Simkins consulted a pocket diary. "We arranged for me to view the painting on Wednesday 10 September."

"Had you done work for New College, before?"

"No, sir, we had not previously enjoyed that privilege."

"Do you know who recommended you on this occasion?"

Simkins sat back in his chair, thumbs hooked into the pockets of his waistcoat. "Ah well, as to that, Mr Holmes, it might have been any one of a number of our satisfied clients. I'm proud to say that we are known to many connoisseurs, museum curators and inheritors of family collections. We have been of service to several of the nobility and gentry."

"Including Lord Henley?" Holmes ventured.

"Why yes, sir. Only last year we executed an important commission for his lordship."

"And Dr Giddings?"

"Him, too, sir. A wonderful connoisseur is Dr Giddings. He's been good enough to instruct us on several occasions."

"Were you acquainted with the Rembrandt before your visit to New College last month?"

"Only by reputation, sir."

"You had never seen it before?" Holmes asked in some surprise.

"Never."

"And you have been familiar with Dr Giddings's collection for… how long?"

"More than twenty years, I would say."

Holmes pondered that intelligence in silence for a few moments. "And what was your impression of the painting when you did see it?"

For the first time the ebullient Simkins gave evidence of some discomfiture. "Why, to be truthful, Sir, I suppose I was a little disappointed."

"You thought it not a particularly good painting?"

The businessman's bushy eyebrows met in a frown. "Oh, no, Mr Holmes, nothing of that sort. I would not want you to think that I meant to cast any doubt upon the quality of the masterpiece. It was just that… Well, I recall discussing that item

many years ago with another client who had seen it in Holland and who waxed eloquent about it's warm, glowing colours. What I saw in Oxford was a painting that had been sorely mishandled at some stage of its life. It had upon it a thick, old discoloured varnish. What with that and its gloomy situation in the chapel it was very hard to make out details of the brushwork."

"So you concluded that it required a thorough cleaning and that you would only be able to comment upon the necessity of further restoration after that operation had been carried out."

"That's it precisely, Mr Holmes. We submitted an estimate for initial work. Naturally the warden and fellows needed time to consider our proposal. They responded," here he referred once more to the bundle taken from the roll-top desk, "on 1 October and we arranged to collect the painting a week later, on the eighth."

"But you did not do so?"

"No, on the morning of the eighth we received a telegram intimating that it was not, after all, convenient for us to call on that day and inviting us to make a new appointment."

"You had no reason to doubt the authenticity of this telegram?"