Jenkins blustered, "Everyone know'd it. They been talkin' in the pub and all."

"I see," said Holmes, thoughtfully. Turning to me, he spoke quickly. "Watson, stay here with the constable. Assist the inquiry with your usual skill. Captain Blount and I must return to London at once. Join us when you are through here."

"But Holmes," I began. "Not now, Watson. Later," he interrupted.

Several days passed before the coroner decided that Tommy Wickham had been murdered by persons and causes unknown. I could finally leave Lesser Griffton and the Queen's Hive. Eagerly I retraced our journey, anxious to reach Baker Street and report to Holmes.

Upon reaching our rooms, I found Holmes in the midst of his chemicals, where, judging from the disorder, he had been for some time.

"Ah, Watson! I didn't think they would take quite so long to decide the crime was untraceable."

"How did you know the conclusion, Holmes?" I asked.

"I fear both the murderer and the method were a bit too subtle for the good folk of Sussex," he replied.

"Have you discovered the truth, Holmes?"

"Patience, Watson. You've had a long journey today. Let me finish this experiment while you get some rest. We shall have visitors tomorrow and all shall be made clear."

It was good to be back in my own bed, but my night was restless nonetheless. I kept thinking of the captain and his lost love, recalling my own married happiness, wishing he, too, could have shared the same joy.

The next day I was up early and found Holmes enjoying a hearty breakfast. From his pleased expression, he had evidently completed his chemical work.

"Join me, Watson," he said. "Our first visitor should be here shortly."

Just as I was finishing my last piece of toast, the bell rang. I could hear several sets of footsteps on the stairs. Holmes went to the door and, asking Mrs. Hudson for hot tea, ushered in a tall, slim young woman, pale and dressed in deepest mourning.

"Miss Wickham," he said, "May I present my good friend, Dr. Watson."

Stunned, I rose from my chair as Holmes escorted her to a seat near the fireplace. Just as she was settled with a warming cup, another visitor arrived.

"Watson, prey attend to the Captain," said Holmes.

Indeed, upon seeing Miss Wickham, he stammered, "Caroline, is it you?" and fainted dead away.

Milk and biscuits soon brought him around. He and Miss Wickham talked softly together, first with tears, then with smiles. Finally we were joined by Inspector Lestrade and an unknown gentleman who quietly stood by the door.

"Good," exclaimed Holmes. "We can begin."

"Upon reading the letter sent to Captain Blount and recognizing the name Wickham, I realized a long-standing feud had erupted in further violence. The Foreign Office," Holmes nodded towards the man by the door, "had been following the affair for some time. Mycroft told me of Tommy Wickham's return from the tropics of Africa with both birds and bees, deadly bees. While Tommy and the Parson planned to engage in commercial development of jasmine honey, the Darcy's realized the African bees could be turned into killers, tiny, virtually untraceable, and deadly. Capturing a swarm, the Darcy's bred the bees so their venom was concentrated, far surpassing the usual strength of a sting. Their plan was to discredit the Wickhams by accusing them of endangering the public with their dangerous bees, no matter how good their honey. They would say the Wickhams'disregard of the common good proved the account of their ancestor's malfeasance was true. _Pride and Prejudice_ was fact, not fiction. Unfortunately, there was a tragic accident that turned into murder."

"Holmes, what do you mean?" I wondered.

"The Parson was working with oil of jasmine, attempting to infuse tealeaves with the scent. The odor attracted the killer bees, which stung him unmercifully. Miss Wickham reached him as he lay dying."

In response to an encouraging glance from Holmes, Miss Wickham took up the story. "I found Father in hospital, delirious and almost unable to speak. When he recognized me, he rallied long enough to urge me to sample his newest honey, a pot of which sat on his bedside table. I agreed so as not to agitate him. He then gave me a lengthy letter, explaining the Darcy-Wickham connection and the terrible plot."

"Yes," said Holmes. "We have read the letter."
"But how?" she asked.
"Do go on," he replied. "All will become clear."

"Very well," she said. "When I realized the import of what Father had written, I knew I had to break off my engagement to Phineas for the sake of the country."

"Oh, my poor girl," the Captain murmured, patting her hand.

Her voice trembling, she went on. "So I went to the lobby, penned a hasty note, sealed it with my tears, and asked an attendant to post it. Upon returning to Father, I found him struggling for breath. I was about to go for help when my cousin Tommy entered the room. When I turned back to Father, I realized it was too late. I collapsed in a faint. I awoke in a nursing home. The doctor said I was suffering from an attack of brain fever and should rest. Then a message came from you and I resolved to respond to your request, pausing only for the appropriate clothing I had worn following the death of my dear mother some years ago."

Miss Wickham stopped, obviously shaken by her narrative. Captain Blount continued to comfort her and she laid her lovely head upon his shoulder.

"Thank you for sharing your unhappy tale with us," said Holmes."Permit me to explain what happened while you were ill.

"When the Captain brought your note to us, I realized the combination of the scent of jasmine and the stickiness of honey meant only one thing: the Darcy game was afoot. The mention of Eastbourne recalled my knowledge of the South Downs as a center of apiculture. Not knowing what deviltry the Darcy's would try next, we hastened to Little Griffton, a village previously singled out by Mycroft.

"The Queen's Hive had Wickham's jasmine honey and mead. It also had a secret den. I was hoping that we would find you there, but the feather I picked up in the passage led me to suspect it was your cousin's workshop, not yours. There was a woman there, but my close inspection revealed a faint trace of a beard. However the family resemblance had to be strong if Tommy was to successfully masquerade as you. He, too, was trying to concentrate the oil of jasmine. He, too, had been strung. But only one sting was necessary to kill him.

"I was wrong in thinking he had ingested poison in the taproom. Upon contemplation, I realized that Tommy, dressed as the parson's daughter, would not have sat close enough to one of the yeomen to be recognized or to permit his drink to be poisoned. Then I thought of the innkeeper, who could easily have added something to the mead. But neither explained the mark of the bee sting. When all else failed, I accepted the obvious: The one sting was apparently sufficient to kill a grown man. My own chemical experiments later confirmed it was possible to produce such venom.

"Tommy had apparently dressed as Miss Wickham because the village would expect her presence, given the recent death of her father and he did not want to provoke any inquiries about her. Where, then, was the real Miss Wickham? The telegram to Lestrade asked him to contact all the nursing homes in the area, seeking a young woman recently admitted."

"Why didn't you ask the local constable to conduct the inquiry?" Lestrade asked.

"Because I realized just who the local constable was and how he knew of the hidden room. Anyone in the village would know that Tommy and Caroline Wickham were cousins and resembled one another. But who better to know of a hidden room in the inn than the innkeeper and his constable son."

"Holmes! How ….?" I ejaculated.

"You know my methods, Watson. My suspicions were confirmed by a simple search of licensees that revealed a Mr. Jenkins ran the Queen's Hive. Further search of public records showed Mr. Jenkins' wife was a Darcy by birth, and the connection was made clear.

"When Lestrade found the nursing home where Miss Wickham was recovering, their records indicated she had been brought in by a young man who resembled her. I surmised that Tommy, wishing to prevent his cousin from interfering with his plans and wanting the Parson's letter for himself, carried her to a distant nursing home, keeping her unconscious during the trip through judicious use of concentrated oil of jasmine.

"He never realized the Darcys and Jenkins were related. He thought he'd be safe with the greedy innkeeper, safe to develop his commercial enterprise. Little did he know the Darcys were threatened by the growing success of the jasmine honey, concerned that the Parson's death would be traced to the altered bees, and decided Tommy must die. It was the constable who then brought the bee into the inn, removing its body after it had stung Tommy."

"What will happen now, Holmes?" I enquired.
"I plan to supervise the destruction the Lesser Griffton hives. They contain the most dangerous bees in Sussex."
"And I," said Lestrade, "will initiate action against the Jenkins, father and son."
"But what of the Darcys and their evil cabal?" I asked.
"Mycroft and the gentleman by the door will see to them," was the reply.

It was several months later that I found my friend in an especially contemplative mood.

"What is it, Holmes?"
"Ah, Watson. I was thinking about the spring blossoms and the innocent bees industriously flying among them. I am afraid my destruction of the hives in Little Griffton may have altered the workings of nature there. Could I have eliminated the killer bees by merely segregating their queen? I shall have to give this further study _in situ_. The Eastbourne area was pleasant enough. Well, when I am ready to retire from London, we shall see." So saying, he lit his third pipe of the day.