“No,” Holmes agreed. “But not an indictment in itself. Especially not in the absence of motive. Mr Upton, the final staff member?”
“Yes. Miss Orietta Lombardo. She is our most recent hire. She’s twenty six, a foreigner but a most diligent worker, even with her commitments at home.”
Holmes’s eyes flicked up. “Struggles, you say? And how long has she been with you?” “Three months. She is careful, courteous, a little quiet perhaps, but excellent in all aspects. She mostly helps Mrs Smith with gift wrapping, ribboning, and decorating display boxes.”
“Does she handle money?”
“Only occasionally. If we’re busy and a customer wants to pay quickly, she will assist. I have always found her work exemplary when I have checked it.”
Holmes was silent for a moment. “Tell me about her home life struggles.”
“She lives in rented rooms in Pimlico. I’ve met her sister, Gigliola, a cripple since birth who uses a crutch and sometimes apparently suffers frequent seizures. Orietta cares for her. They came over from Milan a year ago, I believe. Their father was a University lecturer who died, and they had no family left in Italy. Orietta came over and brought her sister Gigliola with her. She’s very devoted to her. Indeed in all aspects she is integrity itself.”
Holmes cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve met this sister yourself?”
“Yes, once. I called round to bring Orietta some sample cards she had left behind and required. The sister answered the door. Very pleasant girl. Pale, dark haired, with a sweet smile but little English. She walked with a heavy limp and used a crutch. She thanked me and gave a little bow. Her hands were trembling, I remember.” “She is lucky to have a family to aid her,” said Holmes softly.
“Her integrity and devotion places her high in my trust and esteem, Mr Holmes”
Holmes sat back and drew at his pipe, eyes narrowing as he pondered. “Have you received any further communications beyond the letters? Telephone calls? Personal visits?”
“None,” replied Upton. “Only the letters. They were always typewritten and as you can see posted to the shop directly from various London locations.
“Have there been any actual tampering with your products?” “Nothing evident . No complaints of sickness. No deaths. I now check every batch myself. But the fear is worsening and my nerves are tattered. It would ruin us if word got out.”
Holmes rose and began to pace, his long legs striding the length of the hearthrug. “Mr Upton, we are dealing with a mind that wishes to destroy your reputation through fear. We need to act quickly. Post your reply in Standard in the affirmative in order to gain us some time whilst i investigate.”
He continued “Mr Upton, when is your next day when all of your staff are present?”
“Saturdays. Always. We send out large orders every weekend.”
“Then you shall see me at your premises this Saturday morning to view your workplace and meet your staff. Watson, if you are free?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Gregson, you may station an officer discreetly nearby in case events take an interesting turn.”
He returned to Mr Upton, “I shall need access to the rear of the premises, the stockroom, the kitchens, and all of the staff. Also, reply to the ransom demands as indicated acquiescing to the demands. It will allow us time to investigate without fearing that the blackmailer follows through with their threats.” With this Holmes showed the Inspector and Mr Upton the door.
Holmes turned to me and smiled, “A most intriguing case my dear Watson, one I must ponder over a pipe.” With this, he sat back in his armchair and reaching for his favourite pipe and tobacco he closed his eyes.
It was with no small curiosity that I accompanied Holmes, early afternoon of the following Saturday to Bond Street. The frosts of December had left its glistening film upon every sill and railing, and the bright shopfronts gleamed beneath a pale winter sun.
There is a peculiar atmosphere upon Bond Street at such an hour: a mingling of the carriages of the well to do, the quick stepping errand boys carrying boxes tied with ribbons, and the watchful tradesmen standing within their doors, ready to pounce upon custom.
Charbonnel et Walker’s premises were situated in a block of tall, narrow shops, their windows already glittering with festive decorations. The front glass displayed tier upon tier of delicate confections. Boxes of gilt and crimson stacked in tempting pyramids, each tied with a satin bow, and the trays beneath laden with shining bonbons, chocolate creams, and sugared fruits. To my untutored eye, the display was a triumph of taste and luxury.
Mr Upton awaited us at the entrance, his dark features brightened with relief at our appearance. He pressed Holmes’s hand warmly and said:
“You cannot know what it means to me to have your counsel, Mr Holmes. My nights have been haunted with visions of poisoned chocolates in the hands of our patrons. Come, I shall show you every aspect of my business.”