The Adventures of the Eleven Cuff-Buttons. Thierry James Francis

Monsieur La Violette, the Chief Cook of this noble castle."

      "Harrigan, you may pour me out another glass of wine," interposed the Earl before the butler had a chance to leave the room.

      After His Lordship had been refreshed and Harrigan had departed, the Earl said to Holmes:

      "Now go on with the bad news. Let's see what kind of an alibi Louis the soup-maker, pancake-tosser, and egg-breaker, has to offer."

      And he nudged the fatuous Inspector Letstrayed in the ribs. That worthy, who had been thoughtfully regarding the ceiling for some time, jumped back in surprise.

      Just then Thorneycroft returned with the cook, – a short, fat, and irascible-looking man, with black eyes that seemed to snap fire as he returned the stare of the phlegmatic Letstrayed, black hair, and a black mustache and imperial, à la Napoleon III.

      "Ah, Monsieur La Violette, what do you know concerning the recent sad affair here at the castle, – the theft of the diamond cuff-buttons, you know?" said Holmes, as the Frenchman faced him.

      "The diamond cuff-buttons, I know, eh? Sacré bleu!" shouted the Frenchman, his face blazing red with anger, as he nearly hit the ceiling in his wrath. "You mean to insinuate that I know where they are, you – you! If you were a gentleman, I'd challenge you to a duel for that!"

      "Here, here, keep your shirt on a minute, Louis," Holmes advised reassuringly. "I didn't mean to insinuate anything at all. I was just looking for information."

      La Violette regarded Hemlock Holmes for a moment with the bitterest disdain, then he answered:

      "Well, if you're such a smart and sagacious detective as you have been cracked up to be, you could ascertain who pilfered those accursed cuff-buttons without using such common methods as lining up the servants, and asking them if they stole them or not. Any one of the servants is likely to be guilty, except only Harrigan, Blumenroth, and myself. All the others are unspeakable imbeciles! Go ahead, then, and get your information, without casting your despicable insinuations upon me."

      Holmes shrugged his shoulders, and looked at the Earl.

      Barnabas Letstrayed at this point evidently thought it was up to him to pull off something; and he did, – more than he thought.

      "Er, Hi say," he began, with great importance, as he motioned to the cook's cuffs, "aren't those the lost cuff-buttons this fellow is wearing now? They look just like them, Hi think."

      Every one stared at La Violette's cuffs, and that worthy nearly had an apoplectic fit, as the Earl, after having taken one look at the cook's jewelry, leaned back in his chair and laughed.

      "Say, Inspector, those aren't the lost Puddingham cuff-buttons by some lengths. They're diamonds, all right, but the resemblance ends there. The stolen ones are at least twelve times bigger; that's all."

      And the Earl laughed again.

      Louis La Violette didn't laugh, however, but made a mad rush at the obese police inspector from London, who had so grievously and wrongly accused him.

      "Pig-dog, scoundrel, liar!" he yelled at the top of his voice. "I'll carve you up into ribbons for that! Take that, you big heap of over-grown beef-fat!"

      And the infuriated Gaul launched a blow with his fist at Letstrayed that knocked that astonished person out of his chair and tumbled him flat on the floor, with the chair upside down on top of him.

      "Here, don't let's have another attempted murder in the castle, La Violette," remonstrated Holmes, as he pulled back the enraged cook from a further assault on Letstrayed; "contain yourself. Letstrayed is only a rumdum, anyhow, as I have found out from long experience with him. He's always making bad breaks like that. You really mustn't mind him."