Echoes of Sherlock Holmes: Stories Inspired by the Holmes Canon(32)

When Irene returned to her a quarter of an hour later, in an ornately furnished sitting room, the princess had in her lap a pile of letters wrapped in red ribbon. One she held in her hand; tears glistened in her eyes as she read it.

“I am confident, madame, you will have a most excellent evening,” Irene said, handing her the champagne. “Drink up. Your carriage waits.”

“I am indebted to you, Adèle, for your services. You may leave me now, but please do thank your mistress for sending you to me. You are a true gem.”

Irene gave a little bow and retreated from the room, into the narrow servants’ corridor behind a hidden door in the wall. She stood quietly, listening, until she heard a man calling for his wife, and the princess, after a certain amount of shuffling about, leaving the room. After a pause, Irene cracked open the servants’ door, and confirming the chamber to be empty, she slipped inside. A quick, well-organized search soon revealed her quarry: the princess had hidden the letters in a small compartment behind a drawer in her writing desk. She started momentarily when the door to the room flung open, but without the slightest hesitation spun around to face the newcomer.

“Mon dieu,” she said to the butler. “I had hoped you were your mistress, returning for her forgotten cloak.” Adèle held up the satin garment. “I do hope she has not already departed. Will you bring it to her?”



“I must say, Irene, much as I adored the countess—who would not?—and charming though I found Adèle, I prefer you to them both.” Wilhelm had called on her before breakfast, as she had instructed. “Dare I hope your mission proved a success?”

“Shame on you if you thought otherwise,” she said. “I will not tolerate you doubting me.” She handed the stack of letters to him.

“I cannot begin to express my gratitude,” he said. “You have saved me from my father’s ire.”

“There is nothing I would not do for you, Sigi. You have become quite dear to me.”

“We must celebrate your triumph.”

“It is not yet a triumph,” Irene said. “We must wait for her to inform you the letters are missing. She will come to you, feeling guilty at having kept them from you and will warn you that they have fallen into unknown hands. She loved your father and will not want to see him hurt.”

A few hours later, in front of his hotel, Wilhelm met the princess, pale with fright, her hair a mess.

“My dear man,” she cried. “I am wronged—my letters are gone, and your father’s reputation, as well as my own, is now at risk. I have made a most grievous error in judgment and can only beg your forgiveness.”

“Have you any idea who might have taken them?” he asked, frowning as Irene had directed him.

“The Countess Xenia Troitskaya sent her maid to me yesterday and I fear now it was a ruse to steal my letters.”

“Countess Xenia Troitskaya?” the prince asked. “I am well acquainted with all the Russian aristocrats in Warsaw and had never heard the name before yesterday.”

“I did not doubt her for an instant,” she said. “I have been such a fool.”

“Yes, you have,” Wilhelm said, “for it is I who invented the countess with the express purpose of getting the letters back. When you refused to give them to me, I was forced to adopt other methods.”

“For hours I have have been consumed with panic, searching for them! How could you let me think some miscreant had taken them?” she asked. “You, sir, are not a gentleman.”

“I am gentleman enough to destroy them rather than let either of you be exposed. You should thank me for the kindness, now that you find yourself in the same precarious situation as my father, the king.”

“Good morning, Princess Anna Elisabeth Victoria.” A wisp of a boy in an ulster bobbed a bow as he passed them in front of the hotel.

“Who is that boy?” the princess asked. “His voice is familiar to me.”

“No one of consequence, I am sure,” Wilhelm said. “I am afraid I have not time to stand here and comfort you over your loss. Good day, Princess.”



“You were the boy?” Wilhelm was standing in front of her in her dressing room, disbelief on his face.

“The evidence is before you, is it not?” Irene said, slipping the ulster from her shoulders. “I could not resist one last disguise.”

“I still do not understand why you had me tell her the truth. I would prefer her not to think I had a role in this business.”

Irene shrugged. “It would have been cruel to let her spend the rest of her life worrying that the letters might be made public by some unknown thief. She knows you will not compromise your father’s reputation, but it was important for her to have experienced the fear of exposure,” Irene said. “She was terrified her own husband might learn of the affair. That was the emotion consuming her when she came to you, and it is a feeling she will not soon forget.”

“I wish she did not know I was behind the theft.”

“She now considers you to be a man with whom one must not trifle.”

Wilhelm crossed his arms and frowned. “You frighten me, my dear. It is an emotion I do not often feel. I should not like to find myself on the wrong side of you. I shudder at the thought of what you might do.”