Sherlock Holmes and The Adventure of the Ruby Elephants by Christopher James

Braithwaite. Let us suppose he is referring to an object; the Stradivarius for instance. “ All art, all hope, all love has gone. I will go now to the mountain of light. Only there will you find the truth.”’ Ah,’ professed Mycroft. ‘Here is where it becomes more difficult.’
    â€˜Yes,’ sighted Holmes. ‘My own reasoning had taken me to a similar point.’
    â€˜Difficult,’ said Mycroft, raising a finger, ‘but not entirely opaque.’
    My friend’s eyes gleamed.
    â€˜He mentions the word jewel in the previous sentence for a reason. The only jewel I know with that name is the Koh-I-Noor.’
    Holmes clapped a hand to his forehead.
    â€˜What a glock I have been!’ he cried. ‘Watson, I have been as gulpy as a schoolgirl. The Koh-I-Noor. It means mountain of light!’ I stared at the brilliant brothers and inevitably felt somewhat dim-witted in their company. I was aware of the famous gem, but I remained confused.
    â€˜But what possible significance could this have?’
    â€˜Unless I am very much mistaken,’ said Holmes, summoning the bill, ‘someone is planning to steal the diamond. Find the thief and we will find the murderer.’
    â€˜But it has not yet been stolen?’
    â€˜Rest assured it will be.’
    â€˜Then we must also warn the Queen!’ I cried.
    â€˜There should be no cause for alarm. We must let time do its work!’

SIX - The Confectioner
    After a magnificent lunch of sardines and an 1884 vintage claret, Holmes was housed once again in his favourite leather chair. He was absorbed in a periodical from The Royal Institute of Chemistry, while disappearing like a stage magician in a fog of his own tobacco smoke.
    â€˜Do you have any fixed views,’ my friend enquired, ‘on the question of stereochemistry?’
    â€˜None at all,’ I remarked. ‘I am a perfect blank on the subject.’
    â€˜Think of it then, as the relative distances between atoms in a molecule. Compare it for example,’ he said, tapping the bowl of his pipe gently, ‘with the variable distances between you and I, and Mrs Hudson downstairs. Together we make up our household, just as atoms make up a molecule. At any one moment our whereabouts can be plotted on a three dimensional model. We would never inhabit exactly the same coordinates twice.’
    â€˜Oh I don’t know about that Holmes,’ I countered. ‘For instance, you are prone to muse at length in your chair, whereas I am likely to be found at the window, pondering the comings and goings of the street, the perambulations of the flower girls and businessmen.’
    â€˜Ah, yes,’ agreed Holmes. ‘An estimable point, but you have not factored in the constant motion of Mrs Hudson, who occupies the same space for little more than a second at any given time.’
    â€˜And what is the possible significance?’
    â€˜Her movements, as the third in our triumvirate, give the whole an entirely distinct signature.’
    â€˜I am not certain I have divined the upshot,’ I confessed.
    â€˜Nor am I,’ my friend conceded, refilling his pipe bowl in much the same way that a squirrel restocks a tree cavity with nuts for the winter. ‘And yet the unique signature of any given object, animate or inanimate, at any given moment, would make the work of detection a matter for the chemist rather than the policeman.’ The smoke curled above him, as it would a genie newly emerged from his bottle.
    â€˜With the exception of yourself, Holmes,’ I ventured, ‘I have yet to see a scientist leap through a window clutching a Webley Bulldog,’ Holmes managed a thin smile then cast the periodical to one side.
    Following our scientific exchange, Holmes grew increasingly restless. He paced the room, once or twice took up his violin, drew back the bow and played a desultory bar of some mournful air before laying it down again.