A Study in Sherlock

The limousine parked next to Ronald’s SUV. When the chauffeur opened the rear door, Ronald was surprised to see Peter Burns work his way out of the rear seat and limp around the front of the vehicle, leaning heavily on his cane. Burns was a dealer in rare books and the owner of London’s Great Mystery bookshop. Ronald had met him on a few occasions and he’d had many transatlantic dealings with him by phone or e-mail. Burns had a thin, aristocratic face with high cheekbones, a nose as sharp as a knife, and a narrow, pointed jaw. A pleasant smile and a head of curly gray hair softened his features. He was slightly taller than Ronald but the two men were eye to eye because he was forced to bend forward slightly due to the height of his cane.

“So Hilton invited you, too,” Ronald said.

“Didn’t you know I was coming?” Burns asked.

“Hilton told me there would be other guests, but he didn’t tell me who they were. Do you know why he summoned us?” Ronald asked.

“That’s what I want to know,” said William Escott, who had no compunction about butting into the conversation. Ronald and Peter Burns looked down at the five foot four interloper who seemed to be almost as wide as he was tall.

“I’m also curious, chaps,” chimed in Robert Altamont. “All Hilton told me was that my visit would be one of the most memorable events of my life.”

“I’m afraid I’ve been sworn to secrecy,” Burns said. “But Hilton will explain why you’re here soon enough.”

Before anyone could ask any more questions the front door was opened by Phillip Lester, Cubitt’s butler, a dignified and superbly fit ex-SAS sergeant whose military service records were shrouded in mystery. Lester was flanked by two men who looked like bodybuilders and had the hard eyes of people who have seen the dark side of life. The visitors were beckoned into a cavernous entryway. A massive stone staircase led up to the second floor and suits of armor stood at attention on either side of the bottom step.

“Welcome to Cubitt Hall,” Lester said as the drivers brought in Ronald’s stewardess case, Burns’s golf-club-size duffle bag, Escott’s valises, and Altamont’s monogrammed luggage. “Before I can show you to your rooms I’m afraid the security staff will have to go through your belongings and search you.”

“This is outrageous,” Escott shouted. “No one is going to lay a hand on me.”

“Mr. Escott,” Peter Burns interceded. “Take my word for it, you will think nothing of this search when you discover why you are here.”

Escott looked like he was about to say something else but he snapped his jaws shut.

“Very well,” he said as he raised his hands above his head and let one of the security men pat him down while the other went through his suitcases.

“I’ll show you to your rooms so you may freshen up,” the butler said as soon as the men and their luggage had been searched. “Mr. Cubitt would like you to meet him in the library for drinks before dinner at five.”

“A drink sounds mighty good to me,” Escott said.

Hilton Cubitt was an average-looking man who had made an above average fortune in the stock market, but he had just been through a costly divorce from his fourth wife and Ronald had heard whispers about severe financial reversals. Had Cubitt invested heavily with Bernie Madoff? Was his fortune depleted by the failure of several banks? If so, Cubitt did not show it. He strode into his library dressed in a hand-tailored suit sporting a confident smile.

Cubitt was five-nine with the compact build of the rugby player he’d been at Oxford. He’d parlayed a degree in finance into a fortune as a hedge fund manager and he’d used some of that fortune to build collections that were the envy of everyone who collected in his fields of interest. Cubitt was rumored to own the thirty-fifth Vermeer and he had an antique car museum that housed some of the rarest vehicles ever created, but he had two favorite collections.

Cubitt had spent a year in the States as a graduate student at Columbia. During that year, he had become a fan of American baseball and his favorite team was the New York Yankees. He had an impressive collection of Yankee memorabilia, which was said to include a World Series uniform worn and signed by Babe Ruth and the bat Mickey Mantle used when he hit his longest home run plus the uniform he wore when he hit it. The originals of these items were supposed to be in the Baseball Hall of Fame but there were rumors that Cubitt would neither confirm nor deny that the items in Cooperstown were copies.

Cubitt’s other pride and joy was the world’s largest collection of artwork pertaining to Sherlock Holmes, some two to three thousand pieces.