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started at the unexpected sight. “Good gracious! But where …”
    He returned the gem to his pocket and smoothed back his hair.
    “The least of the jewels,” he said softly. “It lay beneath her, and I was able to retrieve it without her knowledge.”
    Misery kept me mute.
    A hoarse cough from the door caught our attention. A large constable stood on the threshold, holding his hat and frowning.
    “Now, wot’s all this then?”
    * * * *
    I excused myself and left Holmes to explain the situation to the constable, for I still had my patient to attend. Her Grace rested in a cheerful morning room, while Sheppington sat on a footstool by her side. With a thunderous expression, Denbeigh paced the length of the room.
    There was little I could do save admonish Denbeigh for worrying his mother, assure myself that her pulse remained strong, and vow to return again in a quarter hour to ensure she continued to improve.
    I closed the morning room door behind me and turned to face a tremendous bustle and clamour. Apparently the police had arrived in force while I attended the dowager duchess, for a handful of constables were endeavouring to contain the count’s guests in the ballroom. I returned to the receiving room.
    “There you are, Watson,” said Holmes. “You remember Mr Athelney Jones of Scotland Yard.”
    He indicated a stout, ruddy-faced man, whose small, bright eyes nearly disappeared into heavy folds of flesh.
    “Of course I do,” I replied, as Jones wheezed a greeting.
    “Bad business, this,” said Jones. “Dowager Duchess of Penfield attacked, eh? Not to mention that foreign count. I’ve examined the room and will need to ask them a few questions, of course.”
    “Her Grace is still quite shaken and should not be disturbed,” I said firmly. Certainly too shaken to be questioned by Jones. “I believe Count von Kratzov’s physician is attending him now. He will be able to answer as to the count’s current condition. When I last saw the count, he was unconscious.”
    “Ah.” Jones pursed his lips. “You were there when the attack occurred?”
    “Not in the room, no.” I explained what I had seen. “I cannot tell you more.”
    “Just so, Doctor.” Jones nodded vigorously, his jowls quivering like the dewlaps of a dog on the scent. “Mr Holmes showed me the smashed case. No sign of the jewels. What were they? Diamonds?”
    “The von Kratzov emeralds are priceless and renowned throughout Europe,” replied Holmes.
    “Are they, indeed?” Jones did not appear impressed.
    “That is why the count instituted so many precautions: the locked door, the trusted servant stationed outside, the jewels themselves housed in a case,” I added.
    “Which did nothing to prevent the theft,” Jones said bluntly. “So although the window was broken, the iron bars are too closely spaced to allow even a child to enter or exit. Common sense tells us the glass was broken by accident.” He tugged at the waistcoat of his grey suit. “The facts are clear, gentlemen. The thief slipped by the count’s man and entered the room. He then pocketed the emeralds, but before he could leave, the count and Her Grace surprised him. The thief attacked them, and after you and Mr Holmes here entered, he escaped in the confusion.”
    “A most interesting theory,” said Holmes. I met his gaze, but did not speak.
    “Facts, Mr Holmes! Facts! As I’ve had occasion to remind you before, you should avoid theories and focus strictly on the facts. There can be no other explanation that fits the facts you and the doctor have presented.”
    As he spoke, a constable approached and waited to one side. Jones lifted a finger and directed his attention to the young man. Frowning at Holmes and me, the constable murmured to Jones.
    “Good, good!” said Jones, then turned to us. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”
    Holmes waited until Jones and the constable hurried off in the direction of the ballroom.
    “Now is our opportunity, Watson. Let us see what