The Case of the Lady in Black
MY REGULAR association with Holmes had come to an end many years previously, but we remained on friendly terms and in occasional correspondence. Thus it was with some delight, but no great surprise, that I received an invitation one July morning in 19— to come down to the Sussex coast for a long weekend. There I would find my old friend, the letter in- formed me, peacefully engagedin bee-keeping; a far cry from the more active and indeed perilous pursuits in which we had both dabbled in the far distant Baker Street days.
Holmes met me at the station in his new-fangled automobile, a machine which he conducted at great speed and, I was forced to admit, with no little skill. The years had been kind to Holmes: his fea- tures were almost unchanged, and there was in his eyes, I detected, the unmistak- able gleam which, to those who knew him, revealed that matchless intelligence. We drove up into the Downs and soon found ourselves at the gate of Holmes's retreat. The house itself was simple, almost Spar- tan, though here and there strange orna- ments and hangings betrayed my f'riend's lasting fascination with the exotic and oriental.
`Come out onto the terrace, Watson,' Holmes said, 'and let us drink a somewhat unusual aperitif to celebrate your arrival.' I sat on one of the three chairs set around the table and admired the magnificent view which the terrace commanded over the slopes of the Downs, the waters of the Channel and, clearly visible in the dis- tance, the cliffs of the French coast. Pre- sently Holmes appeared bearing a salver on which were set three glasses and a decanter half-filled with an amber liquid. He poured out two glasses and set one before me. 'Here's to a tranquil retire- ment,' Holmes said with what seemed for a moment to be an ironic glint, and we raised our glasses to our lips. The wine was evidently a fine hock of extreme rarity. My friend's taste in these things was, as I recalled, exquisite.
`Well, Watson, what do you make of this hock?' Holmes inquired.
`Very fine, my dear Holmes. You, of course, are the expert in these matters. It is extremely sweet, a feinste Auslese at least in my humble judgment, and yet so ama- zingly cool that it is refreshing on a warm day like this.' It seemed to me in fact that Holmes had overchilled the wine — a rare mistake for so great a connoisseur. My friend, however, was highly pleased by my remarks, which obviously afforded him some secret amusement.
`Excellent, Watson. As ever, you are right and yet you fail to make the vital connection.'
`Forgive me, Holmes, but I hardly follow you. Of what connection are you speaking, pray?'
Before my friend could answer, the rustling of silk or satin behind us inter- rupted our dialogue. We were in the presence of a lady of great beauty, dressed entirely in black, and in what appeared to be the habit of a nun, though fashioned from the most costly of fabrics. I looked at Holmes in amazement, but he motioned me to silence, indicating that this visitation was not, to him at least, unexpected.
`I come, as you know, Mr Holmes,' said the lady, with a scarcely discernible Ger- man intonation, 'from the Baron von Liebfraumilch. I wish — he wishes — to be plain with you. You have discovered our guilty secret. If this were to be made known generally, the results could be disastrous. The Baron himself would stand to lose many millions of marks, but worse than that, the whole German wine industry could be brought to its knees. If that happened,' and here the lady, so regally controlled, allowed herself a faint shudder — 'only one thing could follow.'
`I take it you mean war,' said Holmes quietly, scanning the Channel and the French coast with his unnaturally keen eyes.
`Yes, it would be war, It is in your power to prevent a war between our two great nations, perhaps the most terrible of all wars. Consider that, Mr Holmes. Of course the Baron does not expect you to do this for nothing.'
Here the lady unclasped from her bosom a magnificent jewel, radiant but out of keeping with the rest of her sombre garb. `This diamond is worth a king's ransom, indeed if truth be told more than one king's ransom. Take it, Sir, and enjoy your retirement in peace.'
Holmes made no answer, but merely poured a measure of wine into the third glass. He offered it to the lady and as all three of us prepared to drink the icy liquid he made a toast: 'What is it ybu Germans say? Prost? In this case "Frost" would be more appropriate.'
Ausonius
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