Free The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures by Mike Ashley

the DMP!”
    The mention of the Dublin Metropolitan Police had made the chairman slightly pale.
    “Your Grace, the reflection on our reputation …”
    “Damn your reputation, sir! What about my hair brush!” quivered the old man.
    It was then I felt I should intervene.
    “Excuse me, Your Grace,” I began.
    Rheumy blue eyes turned on me and assessed my youthful years.
    “And who the devil are you, Sir?”
    “My name is Holmes. I might be able to help you.”
    “You, you young jackanapes? What do you mean?”
    I heard my brother “tut-tutting” anxiously in the background at my effrontery.
    “With your permission, I think I might be in a position to recover the lost item.”
    Cloncury’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
    “Do you have it, you impudent whippersnapper?” he demanded. “By God, if you are responsible …”
    Mycroft came to my help.
    “Excuse me, Your Grace, this is my younger brother, Sherlock Holmes.”
    Cloncury glanced up and recognized Mycroft, knowing him to have the ear of the Viceroy. He looked slightly mollified.
    “Why didn’t he introduce himself properly then, hey? Very well, young Holmes, what do you mean by it?”
    “With your permission, sir,” I went on, unperturbed, “I would like to put a few questions to the chairman of the club.”
    The chairman began to flush in annoyance.
    “Go ahead, then, Mister Holmes,” instructed Cloncury. “I am sure that the chairman will be in favour of anything that stops the incursion of the police into this establishment.”
    It seemed that the chairman, albeit reluctantly, was in favour.
    “Well, sir, if I remember correctly, the wash room is next to the cloak room, is it not?”
    “Yes.”
    “Is the wash room attended?”
    “It is not.”
    “And the cloak room? Is it attended at all times?”
    “Of course it is.”
    “Your Grace, will you be so good as to show me where it was that you left your toilet box?”
    We turned in a body, headed by the duke, and passed into the wash room. He pointed to one of the ornate marble wash basins at the far end of the room. It was one of a dozen such wash basins lining the entire left handside wall of the chamber which was fronted by a series of mirrors for the use of the members. The right handside wall was fitted with toilet cubicles in dark mahogany and brass fittings, except for a small area behind the main door. The marble tiled wall here was unimpeded by anything except for a small opening. It was about two feet square, framed in mahogany and with a hatch door.
    I pointed to it.
    “I presume that this hatch connects the wash room with the cloak room?”
    “Naturally,” barked the chairman. “Now what is all this about?”
    I turned and led them out of the wash room into the cloakroom, where a uniformed attendant leapt from his chair, dropping a half-smoked cigarette into an ash tray and looking penitently from one to another of us.
    “Can I help you gentlemen?” he stuttered.
    “Yes, you can,” I assured him. “You can bring me the garment that you are holding for Colonel Sebastian Moran. I think you will find that it is a heavy riding cloak or one of those new style long, loose coats which, I believe, is called an Ulster.”
    The attendant returned my gaze in bewildered fashion.
    The chairman pushed forward.
    “Good God, sir, what do you mean by it? Colonel Moran is a respected member of this club. Why are you presuming to ask for his coat?”
    The Duke of Cloncury was looking at me with a frown of disapproval.
    “You’d better have a good explanation, young Holmes,” he muttered.
    “I believe that you want the return of your toilet case?” I asked blandly.
    “Gad, you know I do.”
    I turned to the attendant.
    “Have you been on duty for the last half an hour?”
    “That I have, sir.”
    “A short while ago Colonel Moran knocked on the hatch from the wash room side and asked if you could pass him his coat for a moment. Is that correct?”
    The man’s jaw dropped in