“It says here,” I remarked to my companion as a small paragraph caught my eye, “that the Latchmere Pendant has disappeared and is believed stolen.”

Holmes looked up from the papers he was studying and raised his eyebrow. “Surely not again?” said he in a languid tone. “Was anyone injured?”

“It doesn’t say so. It is thought that the pendant was taken during Saturday night from Lady Latchmere’s private dressing room.”

“That is one blessing, anyhow! So great has been the violence done for the sake of that ill-starred lump of crystal that I have sometimes thought it should be mounted not in gold but in blood! Are there any details?”

“Nothing of interest. It says that the viscount and viscountess were entertaining a small weekend party at Latchmere Hall in Hertfordshire, their guests being the Rajah of Banniphur, the Honourable Miss Arabella Norman, Mr Peter Brocklehurst and Miss Matilda Wiltshire – whoever they may be.”

There had been a ring at the doorbell as I had been reading, and a moment later the maid entered with a telegram for Holmes. He tore it open and read the contents, then, with a chuckle, tossed it over to me as he scribbled a reply. I read the following:

PENDANT MISSING. COME AT ONCE. LATCHMERE.

“Will you go?” I asked.

Holmes nodded. “Certainly. I just have time to do justice to these splendid-looking kippers,” he continued with a glance at the clock, “and then I can catch a fast train from King’s Cross and be there in half an hour!”

The morning crept by at a snail’s pace, my own mood alternating between boredom and irritation, both at my own physical weakness and at the dull, predictable content of the newspapers. So devoid of interest were they that I spent most of the morning reading a long article from the previous month’s British Medical Journal on the suggested treatment for some obscure tropical disease which I had never even heard of before and in which I could raise little interest. It was not until the afternoon was well advanced that I heard my friend’s characteristically rapid footsteps on the stair, and looked forward eagerly to hearing how his investigations had gone.

“It was a somewhat mixed morning’s work,” he replied in answer to my questions, as he helped himself to bread and cheese from the sideboard.

“Has the Latchmere Pendant indeed been stolen?”

“So it would appear.”

“And have your investigations turned up any clues?”

“There are a number of suggestive indications. The difficulty is, they point in contradictory directions.”

“You intrigue me.”

“It is a singularly intriguing business!” my friend responded with a chuckle. “I will tell you how matters unfolded, Watson, and you can see what you make of it!”

He settled himself in his chair by the fire and began his account:

“You may perhaps have seen a picture of Latchmere Hall at some time, Watson. It lies about five miles north of Hatfield and is a very handsome old place – early Jacobean, with turrets and chimneys at every corner, and with its ancient walls half hidden under a thick growth of ivy. Inside, everything is very old, dark and highly polished. I doubt there is a single item of furniture there that is less than a hundred and fifty years old, and some of it is much older than that. The present family acquired the property in 1730, so I understand, and have held it ever since.

“When I reached the Hall, I was at once shown by the butler, Yardley, into Viscount Latchmere’s private study, where he was seated at his desk.

“‘I am told you have a familiarity with the criminal classes in London,’ said he without preliminary, looking up with an irritable expression from a litter of papers before him. ‘The policeman informed me that this theft might be the work of the Foulger gang, who, he says, are operating in this district, or of some villain by the name of John Clay. Look, I don’t care how you do it, Holmes, but you must get the pendant back. Do you understand? You won’t be aware, but I have posted a two thousand pound reward for its return. So if you succeed in getting it back, the reward is yours, on top of anything else we may owe you.’

“I nodded and explained that I would wish to begin by examining the scene of the crime, and then interviewing briefly anyone in the house who might have seen or heard anything during Saturday night.

“He shook his head dismissively. ‘The police have already done all that,’ he said, ‘so there’s no point your doing it all again.’

“I explained that I could not realistically offer much hope of success unless I were allowed to conduct the investigation in the way I thought best. I also pointed out that the police were not infallible, and had often been known to overlook or misunderstand evidence in the past, a point the viscount grudgingly conceded. What might have happened next, I cannot say, for at that moment the door was opened abruptly and a very handsome young lady entered the room. She was slim, of medium height, about two-and-twenty years old, with a very fine head of chestnut-coloured hair. It was evident that this was Viscount Latchmere’s wife. She began to speak, but stopped when she saw me.

“‘What is it now, Philippa?’ her husband asked, in a preoccupied tone.

“‘Who is this gentleman?’ she asked in response.

“‘He is a detective I have hired to find and recover the pendant. As you’re here, you can tell him what you told the police inspector yesterday, and then he can get about his business.’

“She turned to me and, for a moment, I could see her eyes looking me up and down, as if appraising me. ‘There is little enough to tell,’ said she at last. ‘I went to my room just after half past ten on Saturday evening. My maid assisted me for a little while, then left me, and I retired to bed. That was at about eleven o’clock.’

“‘And the pendant?’

“‘Was in my jewel case, which was in the dressing room that adjoins my bedroom.’

“‘Was the case locked?’

“‘Yes.’

“‘But the key was left in the lock,’ her husband interjected. ‘I have said so many times that you should put the key somewhere safe.’

“‘I usually do,’ his wife retorted, ‘but on Saturday night I forgot. I could hardly have expected that someone would climb into the room while I was there asleep.’

“‘Was the bedroom door locked?’ I asked.

“‘Yes, I always lock my door, and there is no other way into the dressing room except through my bedroom – apart from through the window, of course.’

“‘Was the window open?’

“‘The window in my bedroom was closed, that in the dressing room was ajar.’

“‘And the pendant was definitely in the jewel case when you retired for the night?’

“‘Yes. I had just removed it and placed it in there myself.’

“‘When was the loss discovered?’

“‘Yesterday morning. I opened the case to get a pair of earrings, and at once saw that the pendant was missing.’

“‘And – forgive me, Lady Latchmere, but I must ask you this – do you believe you can trust your personal maid?’

“‘Why, most certainly,’ replied Lady Latchmere quickly and with great emphasis. ‘She has been in my service for several years. I would trust her not merely with my jewellery, but with my life! If you knew her at all, you would understand the absurdity of your question!’

“‘Thank you, Lady Latchmere,’ I said, bowing my head. There was a tension in her manner and she appeared to be breathing heavily. She had tried to sound indignant, but the dominant note in her voice, I thought, had been one of relief, as if she had feared what I had been about to ask her. I wondered if her husband had observed this. It might, of course, mean nothing; she might simply be a nervous sort of young woman – she was, after all, relatively young, at least ten years younger than her husband – but it was nonetheless something I noted.

“‘Was there anything else?’ she enquired, but before I could reply, her husband spoke in a voice full of irritation.