It had been a grim week, with London in the grip of a deep fog that hadn’t lifted in days. Yet there were momentary glimpses of gray skies even as the wind would swirl the fog off a brief corner of the sky from our window. It was growing colder day by day, and winter was just ahead.

Holmes seemed sunk in a world of his own, looking gloomily first through the papers, then throwing them down to relight his pipe. The shag tobacco made the room heavy with a blue fog of its own. He then would pick up the papers again as if expecting to find something new this time through them.

I was perusing my own notes from some of the more recent incidents in which Holmes had been involved. I was considering which might be appropriate to write of without endangering the reputations of those involved. As Holmes’ reputation had grown, his clientele had increasingly involved some of the higher strata of society, though he never refrained from helping any whose case intrigued him. Still these recent cases often would have involved families and names for which the world is not yet prepared.

As I was thinking through the Huguenot murder case, my mind also lightly went over the case most recently concluded involving the breakdown and institutionalization of a kindly and gentle woman of a most prestigious family. One at which I dare not allude, yet one that is most remarkable in revealing the brilliant work of Holmes. The strange case of the land grant scandal at Royal Tunbridge Wells also involved some of those same families. Ah, tragic.

It was into this gloomy and introspective atmosphere that Mrs. Hudson knocked and came in with a letter and handed it to Holmes.

“Hah,” Holmes exclaimed! “Perhaps something in which we can become involved.”

I waited as he skimmed over the note. It hardly looked lengthy enough to be a letter.

Finally he lifted his eyes from it, and said, “Well, it really may be little enough, but it is something.”

“And what might that be, Holmes,” I queried.

“It appears to be a trivial matter, the disappearance of the Haversmith tiara. Have you heard of it? Either the disappearance or the tiara itself?” he asked.

“Certainly,” I said. “Well, not the disappearance of a tiara, but the Haversmith name is well known. Lord Haversmith is quite a rich man and the family dates back almost to Hastings. He is associated with the hospital in Soho Square.”

“It appears the tiara disappeared as the family was driving to a ball given at the town house of the daughter’s fiancés parents, the Smyths. Their son, Algernon was affianced to Ellyn Haversmith and the ball last night was in honor of the engagement. Sir Haversmith stopped their coach briefly to step in to the hospital there, but that was very brief. And now there seems to be a good deal of confusion as to how the tiara itself could have disappeared.”

“Was Miss Haversmith wearing it, or planning to affix it at the ball before entering?”

“The note doesn’t say, but it will surely appear clearer when they come. They are due within the hour. Perhaps, Mrs. Hudson, you could prepare a bit of tea for us.”

Proceed to Part Two