The Valley of Fear (Sherlock Holmes 7)
Page 5
Inspector MacDonald smiled, and his eyelid quivered as he glancedtowards me. "I won't conceal from you, Mr. Holmes, that we think in theC. I. D. that you have a wee bit of a bee in your bonnet over thisprofessor. I made some inquiries myself about the matter. He seems tobe a very respectable, learned, and talented sort of man."
"I'm glad you've got so far as to recognize the talent."
"Man, you can't but recognize it! After I heard your view I made it mybusiness to see him. I had a chat with him on eclipses. How the talkgot that way I canna think; but he had out a reflector lantern and aglobe, and made it all clear in a minute. He lent me a book; but Idon't mind saying that it was a bit above my head, though I had a goodAberdeen upbringing. He'd have made a grand meenister with his thinface and gray hair and solemn-like way of talking. When he put his handon my shoulder as we were parting, it was like a father's blessingbefore you go out into the cold, cruel world."
Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands. "Great!" he said. "Great! Tellme, Friend MacDonald, this pleasing and touching interview was, Isuppose, in the professor's study?"
"That's so."
"A fine room, is it not?"
"Very fine--very handsome indeed, Mr. Holmes."
"You sat in front of his writing desk?"
"Just so."
"Sun in your eyes and his face in the shadow?"
"Well, it was evening; but I mind that the lamp was turned on my face."
"It would be. Did you happen to observe a picture over the professor'shead?"
"I don't miss much, Mr. Holmes. Maybe I learned that from you. Yes, Isaw the picture--a young woman with her head on her hands, peeping atyou sideways."
"That painting was by Jean Baptiste Greuze."
The inspector endeavoured to look interested.
"Jean Baptiste Greuze," Holmes continued, joining his finger tips andleaning well back in his chair, "was a French artist who flourishedbetween the years 1750 and 1800. I allude, of course to his workingcareer. Modern criticism has more than indorsed the high opinion formedof him by his contemporaries."
The inspector's eyes grew abstracted. "Hadn't we better--" he said.
"We are doing so," Holmes interrupted. "All that I am saying has a verydirect and vital bearing upon what you have called the BirlstoneMystery. In fact, it may in a sense be called the very centre of it."
MacDonald smiled feebly, and looked appealingly to me. "Your thoughtsmove a bit too quick for me, Mr. Holmes. You leave out a link or two,and I can't get over the gap. What in the whole wide world can be theconnection between this dead painting man and the affair at Birlstone?"
"All knowledge comes useful to the detective," remarked Holmes. "Eventhe trivial fact that in the year 1865 a picture by Greuze entitled LaJeune Fille a l'Agneau fetched one million two hundred thousandfrancs--more than forty thousand pounds--at the Portalis sale may starta train of reflection in your mind."
It was clear that it did. The inspector looked honestly interested.
"I may remind you," Holmes continued, "that the professor's salary canbe ascertained in several trustworthy books of reference. It is sevenhundred a year."
"Then how could he buy--"
"Quite so! How could he?"
"Ay, that's remarkable," said the inspector thoughtfully. "Talk away,Mr. Holmes. I'm just loving it. It's fine!"
Holmes smiled. He was always warmed by genuine admiration--thecharacteristic of the real artist. "What about Birlstone?" he asked.
"We've time yet," said the inspector, glancing at his watch. "I've acab at the door, and it won't take us twenty minutes to Victoria. Butabout this picture: I thought you told me once, Mr. Holmes, that youhad never met Professor Moriarty."
"No, I never have."
"Then how do you know about his rooms?"
"Ah, that's another matter. I have been three times in his rooms, twicewaiting for him under different pretexts and leaving before he came.Once--well, I can hardly tell about the once to an official detective.It was on the last occasion that I took the liberty of running over hispapers--with the most unexpected results."