"So he was here just this morning?"
Sherlock's mind was racing. It all added up - the footprints, the open vault, the note in the atlas - they all led to this antique shop. As he glanced at an ornate brass-rimmed mirror that caught his reflection in the dusty sunbeams, he felt that he knew what was coming next. If the thief had tried to dispose of that chess set here, it was all over.
"Yes sir, I'm just in 'ere minding me own business, polishing this oak chair what I got in 'ere yesterday, when this chap runs in, in a great big rush 'e was too, and wants to give me this old chess set, says it's from the sixteenth century. Now a deal's a deal, I says, so I asked 'im if I could inspect it, and ..."
The man kept talking, but Sherlock's attention trailed off. A glimmer of a satisfied smile teased his lips. The suspect had truly given the game away.
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