Denis Smith - The Mammoth Book of the New Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

‘What about the word “rocks”? There aren’t any rocks in Victoria Park.’

‘That, I believe, is mainly there simply to finish the inscription off and make it seem more like a piece of verse, although it is also, of course, common criminal slang for diamonds and other precious stones.’

‘You may be right about all this, Holmes,’ I remarked after a moment, ‘but it seems to me to lead to an absurd conclusion. That Cosgrove’s brother would choose to hide an enormously valuable cache of diamonds in a public park seems to me perfectly incredible! Surely that is the very worst place he could choose!’

‘Not at all. On the contrary, his choice of hiding-place demonstrates a rare imagination and intelligence. Consider this, Watson: if he buries the diamonds in a private garden, whether his own or someone else’s, he runs the same danger as if he had secreted them under a floorboard, which possibility we discussed earlier with Lestrade, if you recall, in that he cannot possibly know what might happen to it after his death, or who might become the owner of the property. In addition there is the possibility that at any time someone might decide to dig over the spot he has chosen, in order to make a new flower-bed. If, on the other hand, he manages to bury the diamonds beneath the turf of one of London’s great public parks without being observed, he will know for certain that however many times the grass may be mown and however many thousands of feet may pass over that spot, his diamonds will never be disturbed. But here, I take it, is Lestrade,’ he added as there came a sharp ring at the door-bell, ‘so we will see what he has to say about it.’

Inspector Lestrade listened with interest to Holmes’s analysis of the cryptic inscriptions and the conclusions he had drawn from them. He raised some of the same objections as I had done, but at length was convinced that Holmes was right.

‘It does seem very strange, I must say,’ he remarked with a shake of the head, ‘to try to hide such valuable goods in the middle of a public park, but I have come across stranger things in the course of my work, so I’m not saying it’s impossible.’

‘Thank you for that ringing endorsement,’ said Holmes in a dry tone. ‘Now, what I propose is this: it will be getting light shortly before seven o’clock tomorrow morning, so if we meet up at Broad Street station at half past six and take the first train which offers, we shall be able to put our theory to the test at the earliest opportunity. You still have Cosgrove under observation?’

Lestrade nodded. ‘He can’t do anything without our knowing about it and, although he evidently got some cronies of his to steal those paintings for him, I don’t think he would trust anyone but himself to get hold of the diamonds.’

‘I agree,’ said Holmes. ‘We shall turn in early this evening then, so we are fresh for our morning’s research. I have a long surveyor’s tape-measure and a pocket compass, so if you could provide a sharp-edged spade and a trowel we shall be fully equipped!’

We met in the morning at Broad Street as arranged and Lestrade informed us that he had asked for a couple of men from Hackney Police Station to meet us by the park gates with a van and the necessary equipment, but he also brought some bad news.

‘We have lost Cosgrove,’ he said, his face grave. ‘One of my plain-clothes men followed him to the Bull in Whitechapel last night, but he never came out again, and when my man went in to look for him, he’d vanished. He must have realised he was being followed and climbed out of a back window.’

‘Let us hope he has not beaten us to the diamonds,’ said Holmes.

‘The park would have been locked up at night,’ I remarked.

‘No doubt, but to a determined man with a ladder, park railings do not present an insuperable obstacle.’

‘There is more bad news,’ said Lestrade. ‘I mentioned to you that we had an informant among Cosgrove’s cronies. That was Billy Padgett, but his body was found last night in an alley off Whitechapel High Street. He had been strangled.’

‘This is looking bad,’ said Holmes in a grave tone. ‘Let us be off at once!’

In half an hour we were at Victoria Park. It was a raw, cold morning, with a thick fog in the streets and all across the broad expanse of the park. The park gates were still closed and we waited, shivering at the cold, as the park-keeper emerged from his lodge and unlocked them for us. Then, as a weak grey daylight struggled against the fog, we made our way across the park to the drinking fountain.

‘This must be the westernmost corner,’ said Holmes, consulting his compass and indicating the edge of a raised slab of stone that surrounded the structure. ‘I’ll hold one end of the tape-measure, Watson, if you will draw it out that way. We must be as precise as possible. One degree out of true at this end and we will miss the mark by several feet at the other.’

I did as my friend instructed, adjusting my position to right or left as he directed me according to his compass. At length he was satisfied and I stood thirty feet exactly due south of his own position. In a moment he and Lestrade had joined me.

‘Now let us see what we can find here,’ cried Holmes in a tone of excitement. ‘But, wait,’ he said abruptly, with a groan of dismay. ‘Someone has been here before us!’ He bent down and grasped a clump of grass and a six-inch square piece of turf came away in his hand. ‘This turf has been carefully cut away and then replaced,’ he continued, as piece after piece came away with no resistance and he tossed them to one side. ‘I fear we are too late, but push your spade in there, Lestrade, and let us see if there is anything to be found.’

The policeman pressed his spade into the bare earth and levered up a heavy clod. ‘You are right,’ said he. ‘This ground is soft. It has been turned over very recently.’ He cast aside the clod and three or four more, then, as he pushed his spade in again, he paused. ‘There is something here!’ he cried, and leaning back on his spade he levered up a loose clod, which crumbled away to disclose a small tin box with a hinged lid. ‘Perhaps we are not too late, after all,’ said he, as Holmes took the box from the spade. A moment later, however, our hopes were dashed, as Holmes opened the lid of the box and we could see it was perfectly empty. ‘What now?’ asked Lestrade, leaning on his spade. ‘You were right, Mr Holmes, but too late; and to be right but too late is no better, I’m afraid, than being wrong.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Holmes, his brows drawn down in thought. ‘We know at least what has happened, even if we were too late to prevent it. At the moment we trail behind the leader in this race, but the game is not yet over.’

‘What do you suggest?’

‘That we fill in this hole and pay a visit to Mrs Cosgrove at once. You have her address at Higham’s Park, I take it? We know that Cosgrove has already been to see her at least once and your information suggests he intends to see her again. I had the impression when we spoke to her at the Marchmont Gallery that she perhaps knows more than she cares to admit.’

Lestrade agreed, and we set off in the police van at a great rate. Through the busy streets of Hackney and Clapton we rattled, along the open, windswept road across the marshes of the Lea valley and into the distant suburbs beyond. Eventually, perhaps forty minutes later, our driver reined in his horses by Higham’s Park station. ‘This will do,’ called Lestrade, springing down. ‘It is only a short walk from here.’

He led the way along a side-road and round a corner to where a terrace of substantial houses stood back a little from the road. ‘This is the one,’ he began as we approached a wooden gate, but even as he spoke, the front door of the house was opened and a tall, thin man in a black frock-coat and top hat emerged, carrying a leather case. He came down the steps from the front door and stood in the gateway, deliberately blocking our way.