Free The Exploits of Sherlock Holmes by John Dickson Carr, Adrian Conan Doyle Page B

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    many cards have been played from his hand?"
    "Sir?"
    "You did not observe? Tcha, that is most unfortunate! Then I beg of you carefully to
    consider a vital question. Have these figures been gambling?"
    "My dear Holmes—" I began, but my friend's look gave me a pause.
    "You tell me, Mr. Baxter, that the cards upon the table have been moved or at least
    disturbed. Have the gold coins been moved as well?"
    "Come to think of it," replied Mr. Samuel Baxter, after a pause, "no, sir, they haven't!
    Funny, too."
    Holmes's eyes were glittering, and he rubbed his hands together.
    "I fancied as much," said he. "Well, fortunately I may devote my energies to the problem,
    since I have nothing on hand at the moment save a future dull matter which seems to concern
    Sir Gervase Darlington and possibly Lord Hove as well. Lord Hove—Dear me, Miss Baxter,
    is anything wrong?"
    Eleanor Baxter, who had risen to her feet, now contemplated Holmes with startled eyes.
    "Did you say Lord Hove?" asked she.
    "Yes. How should the name be familiar to you, may I ask?"
    "Merely that he is my employer."
    "Indeed?" said Holmes, raising his eyebrows. "Ah, yes. You do type-writing, I perceive. The
    double line in the plush costume a little above your wrist, where the typewritist presses against
    the table, proclaims as much. You are acquainted with Lord Hove, then?"
    "No, I have never so much as seen him, though I do much type-writing at his town house
    in Park Lane. So humble a person as I—!"
    "Tcha, this is even more unfortunate! However, we must do what we can. Watson, have
    you any objection to going out into such a tempestuous night?"
    "Not in the least," said I, much astonished. "But why?"
    "This confounded sofa, my boy! Since I am confined to it as to a sick-bed, you must be
    my eyes. It troubles me to trespass upon your pain, Mr. Baxter, but would it be possible for
    you to escort Dr. Watson for a brief visit to the Room of Horrors? Thank you; excellent."
    "But what am I to do?" asked I.
    "In the upper drawer of my desk, Watson, you will find some envelopes."
    "Well, Holmes?"
    "Oblige me by counting the number of cards in the hand of each wax figure. Then,
    carefully keeping them in their present order from left to right, place each set in a separate
    envelope which you will mark accordingly. Do the same with the cards upon the table, and
    bring them back to me as quickly as you may accomplish it."
    "Sir—" began the ancient man in excitement.
    "No, no, Mr. Baxter, I should prefer not to speak now. I have only a working
    hypothesis, and there seems one almost insuperable difficulty to it." Holmes frowned. "But it is
    of the first importance to discover, in all senses of the word, what game is being played at that
    wax exhibition."
    Together with Samuel Baxter and his grand-daughter, I ventured forth into the rain-
    whipped blackness. Despite Miss Baxter's protests, within ten minutes we were all three
    standing before the gambling tableau in the Room of Horrors.
    A not ill-looking young man named Robert Parsnip, clearly much smitten with the charms of
    Eleanor Baxter, turned up the blue sparks of gas in dusty globes. But even so the gloomy
    room remained in a semi-darkness in which the ranks of grim wax figures seemed imbued
    with a horrible spider-like repose, as though waiting only until a visitor turned away, before
    reaching out to touch him.
    Madame Taupin's exhibition is too well known to need any general description. But I was
    unpleasantly impressed by the tableau called "The History of a Crime." The scenes were
    most lifelike in both effect and colour, with the wigs and small-swords of the eighteenth
    century. Had I in fact been guilty of those mythical gambling lapses charged upon me by
    Holmes's ill-timed sense of humour, the display might well have harassed my conscience.
    This was especially so when we lowered our heads under the iron railing, and approached
    the two gamblers in the mimic room.
    "Drat it, Nellie, don't touch them