The Keys of Death by Gretchen Altabef

Author:Gretchen Altabef
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: authentic adventures, Canonical, traditional, historical, Sherlockian, pastiche, Victorian London, murder, Mrs Hudson, gardening, Arsene Lupin, Félix Calabar, African, pirate, Lily Langtry, Imperial Theatre Orchestra, The Irregulars, Prince of Wales, women's history, Anglo-Jewish Community
ISBN: 9781787058897
Publisher: Andrews UK
Published: 2022-01-18T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16: Buried Treasure

From the Journal of Mrs. Hudson

“Of course, when people bury Treasure nowadays they do it in the Post Office bank. But there are always some lunatics about. It would be a dull world without them.” – John H. Watson MD. “The Adventure of the Three Gables”

23 April, 1881 St. George’s Day

Digging deep into the garden, I found a keyring filled with twenty-nine keys, clumped together and caked with dirt. I took them inside to clean. Mr. Holmes had just come in, so with my grime-covered hands, I showed him my treasure. He took them from me, laid out a napkin on the table and placed them on it as gently as if they were a small, injured animal.

He smelled them and scraped off some of the soil. Each was a different key, none was a duplicate. To discern this he separated and held up each one.

Mr. Holmes said, “Even at this stage one may observe how the different metals react differently to implantation. But what have we here? This evil corrosion resulted from the hand of man, not nature’s bounty.”

He rubbed one clean and discovered it had been etched or eaten away. To my dismay, he drew a chemical symbol on his shirt cuff in pencil. It was sometimes difficult to watch him at his deductions and not make objections.

“Mrs. Hudson, you may clean them, but please guard these keys carefully for they may prove to be of further importance.”

Mr. Holmes then singled out the keyring pocket knife. He dampened his handkerchief in the sink, cleaned and studied it.

“This is ivory. A spiral is carved into it. The distinctive bee-shaped spring of the Forge de Laguiole. Was he French? Mrs. Hudson, whoever he was, this man was no brute. I would like to study this singular knife more closely.” He put it in an envelope and thrust it into his pocket. “Now, would you guide me to where you unearthed the keys?”

We went out to the garden, and I happily showed him our work in progress, hoping this might bring him in.

“It is St. George’s Day, Mr. Holmes, please cut yourself a rose for your lapel. The beds near there are where Doctor Watson is working. And have you seen the glasshouse built by Jack? He is such a useful lad.”

He cut me off, “Mrs. Hudson, why are you digging here, in this spot?” He pointed down at it.

“To plant my tomato crop, Mr. Holmes. I take the same care with them that James did and dig deeply. I found the keys at the bottom of the trench.”

“Mrs. Hudson, you must dig deeper.”

“Mr. Holmes?”

“These keys may be from a neighbour, a tenant, or possibly a previous owner. Or they may be something else, and that is what we must determine. Is there a secured room in the attics? Would any of these keys fit a previous lock of yours? Possibly the seal that originally guarded No. 221B when you moved in?”

“That was seven years ago, and nothing was changed until you installed the new Chubb lock.

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