“As a result of all this, I drank rather a lot of wine – there didn’t seem much else to do – and as I became more intoxicated, my attempts to join in the conversation became wilder and – I must be honest – more stupid. Matilda – Miss Wiltshire – whom I admit I had hoped to impress in the course of the evening, became even less interested in me than she had been earlier, if that is possible, and I saw a look of disdain written plainly enough on her face.

“When the meal was finished and we had passed through the usual tedious and boring rituals, the three women took themselves off to their beds. This was some time between half past ten and a quarter to eleven. About fifteen minutes later, the viscount and the rajah did the same, leaving me mercifully to my own devices. I said I would find myself a book in the library, but when I got there, the room, which was in darkness save for the low glow from the fire, seemed warm and cosy, and I sat down in the big winged armchair by the hearth. I don’t know which made me feel worse, the large quantity of wine I had imbibed or the fact that I had made a fool of myself in front of Miss Wiltshire. Anyway, for one reason or another, I fell into a brown study and, not long after, fell fast asleep.

“I was awakened some time later by the sound of the door being opened and quietly closed, which was followed by the rustle of a woman’s skirts and soft, rapid footsteps across the library floor behind my chair. Even though I was still half asleep, I knew at once, without really thinking about it, that it must be either Philippa – Lady Latchmere – or Matilda. Uppermost in my mind was the thought that she – whoever it was – might be badly startled to suddenly find me there when she had been in the room for some time, so I made to stand up at once and declare my presence. Before I could do so, however, there came the sound of a curtain being drawn back and a window being quietly opened. This was followed moments later by hushed voices, a man’s and a woman’s, too low for me to make out what was being said.

“Of course, I had no idea what this was all about, but it was clear it was something secret and furtive. I at once saw what a dreadful position I was in. If my presence were discovered, the situation would be unendurably embarrassing for all concerned. These people – whoever they were – might even believe that I was deliberately spying on them. I could not think what to do. Carefully, I turned my head, and peered round the side of the chair, but could see nothing: the woman was on the other side of the curtain. I considered slowly rising to my feet, and tiptoeing to the door; but then I remembered how much the floor by the fireside chair had creaked earlier, and I decided against it. I should just have to stay in the chair and hope she didn’t see me. If she did, I would pretend to be asleep, and thus to have seen and heard nothing. I tried to make myself as inconspicuous as I could and waited. How long they continued speaking, I don’t know: probably not much more than five minutes, although it seemed like half an hour to me. Eventually, I heard the window being quietly closed, a movement of the curtain, then soft footsteps once more across the library floor. The door was opened and closed, and the room returned once more to silence. I was all alone! I cannot tell you what relief swept over me at that moment! I waited five or ten minutes, then made my way up to my room, remembering to go by way of the side staircase, to avoid the creaking floorboards on the landing outside the bedrooms. I looked at my watch when I got to my room, and it was then five minutes to midnight.”

“Could you see if there was a lamp still lit in any of the bedrooms?” asked Holmes.

“No, all were in darkness. I climbed into bed and went to sleep, and heard nothing further. I believe the rajah was snoring, but it didn’t bother me.”

“Thank you for this information,” said Holmes after a moment. “I appreciate how uncomfortable the situation must have been for you, and how difficult to tell me. Whether it will have any bearing on my own investigation, I cannot say, but you need have no anxiety about such a delicate confidence: neither Dr Watson nor I shall ever repeat what you have told us.”

Holmes’s manner was one of polite if subdued interest in Brocklehurst’s story, but when the young man had shaken hands and left us, looking greatly relieved at having unburdened himself of his secret knowledge, Holmes’s manner changed completely. He sprang to his feet and paced about the floor in silence for several minutes.

“Was it Lady Latchmere or Miss Wiltshire?” I asked at length.

“It was Lady Latchmere, Watson. It must be.”

“Does this new information change your view of the case?”

My friend shook his head vehemently. “On the contrary,” said he, “it confirms precisely what I had already deduced. I doubt Mr Brocklehurst appreciates the significance of what he has told me.” Then he resumed his silent pacing about, and would say no more. At length he sat down at his desk with a frown, and took up a sheet of notepaper and a pen.

“How best to proceed?” said he aloud, speaking as much to himself as to me. “If I go there, I at once place myself at a disadvantage, and everything I say is simply denied. If on the other hand, I send a summons to come to this address, then the recipient suffers all the anxiety of wondering what it is that I know, and how to respond.”

He scribbled a few lines on his notepaper. “There,” said he after a moment: “‘If you bring the pendant, I may be able to save you from disgrace. If you do not, then the truth must come out, and you will be ruined.’ That should do it!”

When he had sealed and addressed his letter, he rang for the maid and instructed her to send it at once by special messenger, then he curled up in his chair by the fire and closed his eyes, as if exhausted. An hour and a half later, the maid brought in a letter that had just been delivered. Holmes roused himself, tore open the envelope and scanned the contents, then tossed it over to me without comment. The note was a brief one, and ran as follows:

Dear Mr Holmes – Propose to call on you this evening at nine o’clock.

Banniphur

At a quarter past eight there came a ring at the front-door bell. A few moments later, the maid announced the Honourable Miss Arabella Norman. She was a small, somewhat frail-looking elderly lady, with grey hair and a slight stoop. Holmes waved her to his chair by the hearth and brought up another chair for himself. For several minutes she sat there in silence, warming her hands at the fire, then Holmes spoke:

“You have something to tell us, I believe,” said he, “concerning the events of Saturday night.”

She turned to him, but did not respond.

“You wish to tell us,” Holmes continued, “that on Saturday night you could not sleep and, as you lay awake, you heard Lady Latchmere’s bedroom door open and her footsteps on the landing. You opened your door a crack and saw that, clad in a dressing gown over her nightclothes, she was going downstairs. On an impulse, you crossed the landing and entered her bedroom, where you unlocked her jewel case – the key was in the lock – and removed the Latchmere Pendant. To make it appear the work of an intruder, you took a glove, from a pair that lay under a straw hat on a chair, and threw it from the window to the lawn below, where you knew it would be found the following morning. You then returned to your own room, and hid the pendant in your luggage.”

Miss Norman did not reply, and after a few moments, during which I could see that he was observing her features keenly, Holmes continued:

“Now you have returned home with your booty, and have realized that your momentary impulse has placed you in a difficult – even possibly disastrous – situation. You do not really want the pendant: you cannot wear it, and nor can you possibly sell such a well-known piece of jewellery. What is to be done? And then you received my letter, offering a way – perhaps the only way – out of your difficulty.”