“‘Keep your forgiveness for those who ask for it,’ he answered, turning away from me, with a sneer. I saw that he was too hardened for any words of mine to influence him. There was but one way for it. I called in the inspector, and gave him into custody. A search was made at once, not only of his person, but of his room, and of every portion of the house where he could possibly have concealed the gems; but no trace of them could be found, nor would the wretched boy open his mouth for all our persuasions and our threats. This morning he was removed to a cell, and I, after going through all the police formalities, have hurried round to you, to implore you to use your skill in unravelling the matter. The police have openly confessed that they can at present make nothing of it. You may go to any expense which you think necessary. I have already offered a reward of £1000. My God, what shall I do! I have lost my honor, my gems, and my son in one night. Oh, what shall I do!”
He put a hand on either side of his head, and rocked himself to and fro, droning to himself like a child whose grief has got beyond words.
Sherlock Holmes sat silent for some few minutes, with his brows knitted and his eyes fixed upon the fire.
“Do you receive much company?” he asked.
“None, save my partner with his family, and an occasional friend of Arthur’s. Sir George Burnwell has been several times lately. No one else, I think.”
“Do you go out much in society?”
“Arthur does. Mary and I stay at home. We neither of us care for it.”
“That is unusual in a young girl.”
“She is of a quiet nature. Besides, she is not so very young. She is four-and-twenty.”
“This matter, from what you say, seems to have been a shock to her also.”