Sherlock Holmes smiled, although his eyes were fixed on the art historian. When he spoke, however, his manner was cordiality itself. ‘I can appreciate dedication to one’s pursuits. Mr Carlton, I wonder if you could give me an account of what happened last night.’
‘Perhaps we can go to my study,’ he said. ‘Looking at that thing in front of me is hardly conducive to conversation.’
‘Certainly,’ replied Holmes. ‘Lestrade, I should like to speak to the maid. Perhaps you would be kind enough to fetch her? Thank you. Now, Mr Carlton, I am at your disposal.’
With a dismissive nod of his head, John Carlton led us across the hallway to the study. It was a small, cluttered room, lined with shelves of leather-bound volumes. There were display cases in the corners of the room, each one filled with a
