The Adventure of the Gold-Engraved Box - Part 3

At precisely six o' clock Holmes, who had appeared to be asleep in his chair, startled me by proclaiming he heard the steps of our awaited guest. As I made my way to the door, Mrs. Hudson opened it abruptly.



"A Miss Violet Baylor to see Mr. Holmes," she announced, then retreated calmly.



Miss Baylor stepped into the sitting room shyly as I motioned for her to enter. She was one of the most beautiful women to set foot in our Baker Street sitting room. Her golden hair hung in long ringlets down her back beneath a scarlet-coloured bonnet. A matching shawl draped about her shoulders, and she clutched a small, leather-bound book in her right hand. Her dark eyes glanced around the room nervously, then finally came to rest on the figure of my friend as he eyed her from his chair.



Holmes rose from the chair to greet our visitor. He motioned for her to sit in the chair opposite his own - facing the window, as was his custom. I watched as he inspected her while she took her seat.



"Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Sherlock Holmes, or Doctor Watson?" She inquired, appearing a little distressed by Holmes' piercing gaze.



"I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson," Holmes replied, finishing his evaluation of our guest and leaning back in his chair. After a slight pause, he inquired casually, "Where is your companion?"



Miss Baylor's struggled to hide her suprised expression. "I've heard of your extraordinary powers, Mr. Holmes, yet I am a bit perplexed as to how you've reached that conclusion. Surely you have not seen my companion out the window from your chair!" After regaining her composure, she added, "he is my fiancee, Johnathan Hawkins."



Holmes chuckled. "I do not possess extraordinary powers as you say, Miss Baylor. I simply have trained myself to notice all that I see." He pulled his pipe down from the mantle. "You have splatters of mud all over your right arm; mud splatters are customary of the dog-cart. However, you do not have mud-splatters on your left arm. If you had been alone, you would have sat in the middle of the cart; therefore, I concluded that you had a companion while travelling, which could be the only reason a lady of your social standing would be persuaded to sit to the side of the cart and risk soiling your new dress."



Miss Baylor smiled. "It sounds so simple, now that you have explained it."



Holmes turned to me. "Watson here has remarked the same more than once." He then reached for the little gold box. "Miss Baylor, does this have any significance to you?" He held it in the palms of his hands for her inspection.



The young lady leaned forward. "Not that I can recall, sir," she replied.



Holmes leaned back thoughtfully, eyeing the box. "You may be interested to learn that this box belonged to your grandmother, Margaret Baylor."



"Then how came it to be in your possession, sir?"



Holmes stood. "That is for another time." Opening the box, he added, "I was hoping you would supply me with the combonation for this lock."



Miss Baylor emitted a sound I took for a laugh. "I don't see how I could, Mr. Holmes, seeming as I have never before set eyes on that box."



Holmes raised a finger. "Ah! But what of the journal?"



Our lady visitor took a deep breath before beginning. "When I was informed that you had called, and on an important matter of family hisory, I thought of the journal and how it may be of some use to you."


Holmes nodded. "I see. To whom did it belong?" He walked to the window and looked out of it, waiting for the rest of the story.



"This journal has been in my family for years - well over three-hundred. As far as I know, Mr. Holmes, it has been passed from mother to daughter for many generations. My ancestors originate from Scotland..."



"It is exactly as I expected!" Holmes cried from his post by the window and waving his pipe. Turning to see Miss Baylor's startled expression, he calmed himself and motioned for her to go on.



She paused for another moment, as if to make sure of the absence of another interruption, and resumed. "The journal has been well kept, though several of the earlier entries signed by a certain...Ailsa Todd, seem to be in some sort of code."



Holmes turned around so suddenly that Miss Baylor lept from her chair. I noted that our guest's nerves were on edge, and sent Holmes an admonishing look. He barely acknowledged it, however, and returned quickly to the chair. Seating himself, he motioned for Miss Baylor to sit. She did, but she still appeared very tense and ready to spring from the room at any moment.



"Please accept my apologies, Miss Baylor. Watson will tell you that I am prone to sudden movements and exclamations -" his voice trailed off slowly. Suddenly resuming his normal tone, he leaned back. "Now. Is anything known about Ailsa Todd, other than the coded entries?"



Miss Baylor looked at me questioningly. "Yes," she began hesitantly. I nodded, hoping to encouarge her, and she continued, a little more at ease. "She was a very trusted maidservant to Mary Stuart, the Queen of Scotland, in 1560."



"Ah ha!" Holmes nearly lept out of his chair, but upon seeing the strange, nervous look on the face of our guest he restrained himself and rose slowly, abandoning his pipe on the arm of his chair. Miss Baylor clutched the journal so tightly that her knuckles were white. By then it was apparent that the lady possessed some kind of nervous condition, and that she should not be startled more than necessary. I placed my hand gently over hers in an attempt to loosen her grip on the journal. She calmed almost immediatly, and then glanced over at Holmes' chair, stifiling a laugh. A strange smell was coming from the pipe, and I realized that it was burning a hole in the arm of the chair.



Holmes strode around the room, stroking his chin, lost in thought. I lept to retrieve the pipe, but it was too late: there was a large black hole in the arm of the chair to match several others that had been put there by other . I shook my head, but the incident was enough to make Miss Baylor laugh aloud. Holmes raised his head in confusion, and I myself stifled a laugh. When he shook his head and resumed his pacing, I returned to my own chair, happy that our guest was feeling a bit better.



"Does that mean anything, Mr. Holmes?" Miss Baylor asked after a few moments, apparently fully recovered.



Holmes leaned against the mantle thoughtfully. "Miss Baylor," he said slowly, turning to our guest, "it means everything."







Miss Baylor and I sat for some moments in perplexed silence while watching Holmes, who remained standing, turn over all of the newly acquired information in his head.



"Miss Baylor," said I, "I'm afraid Holmes is not going to reveal anything else tonight -"



She nodded understandingly. "I shall leave the journal with you, Doctor, and return to Derbyshire then. Please do inform me of how this strange mystery ends," she stated before I showed her to the door. We exchanged some words, then I left her to her dog-cart and waiting fiancee.





Holmes was still leaning against the mantle when I returned. He had taken up his pipe again, and blue clouds of smoke floated about the room. I had quietly returned to the setee and took up the journal to read a few pages when Holmes turned to me abruptly, as he had been doing since our guest arrived.



"Watson, find the 'S' volume of my index, please." He returned to his armchair and ran his free hand through his hair as I searched for the volume in question.



"Really, Holmes," I ventured to say, "you ought to stop that obnoxious habit of jumping out of chairs and shouting so loudly - I'm afraid Miss Baylor has a nervous condition and was on edge the entire time she was in our presence."



I found the volume and turned around to continue my scolding, but Holmes appeared to have retreated inside himself and was staring vacantly into the fire, the long, thin forefinger of his right hand pulling at the newly acquired burn-hole in the arm of his chair. I sighed and tapped his shoulder, giving up on the scolding all together. He looked at me with a faraway look in his eyes. I waved the book in front of him, a bit annoyed that he had been ignoring me, and he took it quietly and scanned the pages without reply.



After a moment he propped the volume open on his knee. I had by then settled in the chair opposite and was reading the first entry of the journal when he called my name.



"Watson," he said, pointing to a paragraph with his pipe stem, "here it is."



I went to his chair and read the entry over his shoulder.



"Stuart, Mary. Queen of Scotland, 1543-1587. Born 1542. Crown jewels discovered missing before flight to England, 1568. Excecuted 1587, England."



"The box contains the missing jewels, then?" I ventured.



Holmes laughed. "I do not believe so, Watson. After the queen was excecuted, many attempts at finding the jewels were made." He clapped the index shut. "Even Scotland Yard, as you may recall, attempted to recover them a few years ago, but without success. The box, however, may contain a clue as to where the jewels were hidden." He set the index aside and rubbed his hands together eagerly. "Now, let us have a look at this piece of history," said he, reaching for the journal.