Echoes of Sherlock Holmes: Stories Inspired by the Holmes Canon(26)

“Shall I find you a cab, Mr. Holmes?” she said, her breath returning.

“No need. But you’ve earned this.” He handed her a coin. “Go find the others, tell them to keep up the fine work.”

“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!”

We immediately found a cab and rushed to the station. “I’m afraid we’ve missed the good train to Eastbourne, Watson.”

“I’m not sure what we’ll do when we get there. Our client is Mr. Sewall, but you’re saying that Miss Hartley wants our aid?” I reached into my pocket for a cigarette. My fingers brushed across a small scrap of paper. Frowning, I pulled it and read it. “Isaiah 56:5? Where on earth did this come from?”

Holmes’s face cleared, and I knew he’d discovered the solution to some part of our puzzle. “I thought I was wrong about Miss Hartley, when she didn’t pass me a note. She put the clue into your pocket, because you were there first.”

“What?”

“She’s given us the location of the treasure. She is indeed asking for our help.”



We barely made the next train to Eastbourne. As I caught my breath, I could not imagine what conclusions Holmes had reached.

“I believe Chercover himself was the unfaithful ‘attachment’ Miss Hartley formed, or possibly she broke it off when she discovered his true nature. The foreign cut of her garments and particularly the Silesian iron jewelry she wore—I’m much better at identifying contemporary fashion, Watson!—suggests a long stay in central Europe. When she received news of the Hoyt treasure, she realized she might find the means to flee him. That Egyptian fellow I spoke with last night? He is the porter for her hotel; he confirmed her luggage had stamps from Prague.”

Holmes continued. “She knew my reputation, and she knew that if I was investigating this case, I might be able to assist her. She relied on me reading her situation from her person, and her version of the story. She could not be plainer about Chercover or the location of the treasure for fear we were spied upon, or might give her up.”

“Chercover burned down the law offices,” I said, remembering Holmes’s mention of “rage.”

“Yes. He followed her to London, perhaps having read the letter she’d received. And when we were beset by that ruthless gang, I knew it might not only be Mr. Sewall she hid from. But I think Chercover has another purpose here: meeting Mr. Habakkuk Sewall.”

“What!”

“Sewall’s interest in the treasure is genuine—he needs the money. But I believe he formed the idea of working with Chercover when he visited Miss Hartley abroad. You remember, he mentioned she was with a bad crowd? I think he’s been in negotiations with Chercover to sell space on his reputable ships for whatever Chercover wishes to smuggle—men, gold, guns. In exploring Sewall’s claim, my man in Boston observed that he sent a large number of cables to Prague.”

“Yes. And it was by watching Chercover that your brother Mycroft learned about Sewall, the legacy, and Miss Hartley,” I said. “And our involvement.”

“Exactly! He warned me away from Miss Hartley, as he believes he can use her to find and arrest Chercover and his men.”

I frowned. “It seems so odd that both of them—relatives from opposite sides of the Atlantic—would be entangled with a monster like Chercover, but you’ve shown me quite material reasons for it.”

Holmes shrugged. “There is also the matter of atavism and hereditary aptitudes, Watson. We observe that Mistress Hoyt was clever, cautious, and canny; she survived a rough era to die peacefully of old age. And yet, she hid money to escape possible political reverses and avoid taxes; my man in Boston suggests a dark history behind her wealth. It is not difficult to imagine that her descendants might have also inherited her clever, perhaps criminal turn of mind, one looking for excitement abroad, the other risking large sums of cash.”

“But what about this piece of paper?”

“The location of the treasure. Do you know the Bible verse?”

“If memory serves, something about walls and a house?”

“‘Even unto them will I give in mine house and within my walls a place and a name better than of sons and of daughters.’ I believe if we find a wall or construction of late last century’s vintage, we will find the treasure. Or, at least, we’ll find Miss Hartley, who wants us to help her escape Chercover, who is no doubt closing in on her.”

I nodded. “She is the only one in this case not guilty of anything more than bad judgment, to have fallen in love with an anarchist. I’m happy to help her over Mr. Sewall.”

“A race to the treasure.” Holmes’s face was grim, but his eyes were alight with anticipation. “Watson, do not be mistaken: There will be a bloodbath in Sussex.”



It took an excruciatingly long time to reach the farmstead; we had good luck getting a taxi from Eastbourne, but after finding directions to the farm itself, were forced to walk the last mile to the long driveway leading to the front of the house.

The farmstead was quiet when we arrived in the early evening. I had to assume we were not the first ones here. There was little wind in this sheltered spot and I fancied I could almost hear the crash of waves on the nearby coast. The age of the little farmhouse suggested to us both that it long predated Anna Hoyt’s time. We agreed to circle around from opposite sides, I from the left, and Holmes from the right as we faced the house. With any luck, we would find a wall constructed within the past century or meet in the back.