Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 124, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 757 & 758, September/October 2004

“I suspect that that Sloat has already disposed of it.”

“Why do you think so?” Watson asked.

“Elementary,” Holmes said. “He had the other ill-gotten gains on his person. Why not the ring, too? I deduced from his clothing that the blackguard lives in the company of a woman; both the jacket and trousers of his sack suit had been darned with identical stitching, though in places that wear through at different rates — the elbow and the inseam — suggesting that they were repaired by the same person, though at different times. The conclusion must be that a wife or female companion did the work. His request of Mr. Goodcastle here regarding the secret compartment makes clear that he does not trust people, so he would be loathe to leave the ring in an abode where another person dwells and would have kept it on him until the special music box was ready. Since he doesn’t have the ring on him any longer, we can conclude that he has disposed of it. And since he has no significant sums of cash with him, other than Lord Mayhew’s guineas, we can conclude that he used the ring to settle an old debt.”

“Where did he dispose of it, do you think?”

“Alas, I’m afraid that the piece is on its way overseas.”

When the others glanced at each other quizzically, Holmes continued, “You observed, of course, the fish scales on Sloat’s cuffs?”

“Well,” said Gregson, “I’m afraid I, for one, did not.”

“Nor I,” Watson said.

“They were scales unique to saltwater fish.”

“You knew that, Holmes?” the Yarder asked.

“Data, data, data,” the man replied petulantly. “In this line of work, Gregson, one must fill one’s mind with facts, but only those that may perchance bear on a criminal venture. Now, the scales could mean nothing more than that he’d walked past a fishmonger. But you certainly observed the streaks of pitch on his shoes, did you not?” When the others merely shook their heads, Holmes sighed, his visage filled with exasperation. He continued. “You gentlemen know the expression, ‘devil to pay.’ ”

“Of course.”

“The figurative meaning is ‘to suffer consequences.’ But most people don’t know its literal derivation. The phrase has nothing to do with handing money over to fallen angels. The devil is that portion of a sailing vessel between the inner and outer hulls. To ‘pay’ it is to paint the outer seams with hot pitch to make them watertight. Obviously climbing between the hulls is an unpleasant and dangerous job, usually meted out as punishment to errant sailors. The pitch used is unique and found only around the waterfront. Because of the fish scales and the tar, I knew that Sloat had been to the docks within the past several hours. The most logical conclusion is that he owed the captain of a smuggling vessel some significant sum of money and traded the ring to him in exchange for the extinguishing of the debt.” Holmes shook his head. “The ring could be on any one of dozens of ships and all of them out of our jurisdiction. I’m afraid Lord Mayhew will have to look to Lloyd’s to make himself whole in this matter. In the future, let us hope, he will use better locks upon his windows and doors.”

“Brilliant deductions,” said Gregson of the white face and flaxen hair.

Indeed it was, Goodcastle noted, despite the fact that it was completely incorrect.

Holmes pulled a cherrywood pipe from his pocket, lit it, and started for the door. He paused, glanced around the shop, and turned back to Goodcastle, his eyebrow cocked. “Sir, perhaps you can help me in another matter. Since you deal in music boxes... I have been on the lookout for a particular box a client of mine once expressed interest in. It is in the shape of an octagon on a gold base. It plays a melody from ‘The Magic Flute’ by Mozart and was made by Edward Gastwold in York in eighteen fifty-six. The box is rosewood and is inlaid with ivory.”

Goodcastle thought for a moment. “I’m sorry to say that I’m not familiar with that particular piece. I’ve never been fortunate enough to come upon any of Gastwold’s creations, though I hear they’re marvelous. I certainly can make inquiries. If they bear fruit, shall I contact you?”

“Please.” Holmes handed the shopkeeper a card. “My client would pay dearly for the box itself or would offer a handsome finder’s charge to anyone who could direct him toward the owner.”

Goodcastle put the card in a small box next to his till, reflecting: What a clever man this Holmes is. The Gastwold music box was not well known; for years it had been in the possession of the man who owned the massive Southland Metalworks Ltd. in Sussex. In doing his research into Sir Mayhew’s life in preparation for the burglary, he’d learned that Mayhew was a major stockholder in Southland.

Holmes had asked a simple, seemingly innocent question, in hopes that Goodcastle would blurt out that, indeed, he knew of the box and its owner.

Which would have suggested that he might have delved, however subtly, into Mayhew’s affairs.