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Authors: Jack Adrian (ed)

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‘P
ETER TODD'
was just one of
the twenty-five or more pseudonyms employed by Charles Hamilton (1876-1961) in
a writing career that spanned nearly seven decades, during which he banged out
(mostly on a 1900s' Remington) upwards of an awesome 70 million words. That's
roughly 950 average-length novels. Or, to put it another way, fourteen books a
year,
every
year, for nearly
seventy years. Except Hamilton didn't much write books.

His forte was schoolboy fiction for weekly papers such as
Pluck, Boys' Friend, Boys' Realm, Boys'
Herald, Popular, Modern Boy, Gem
and, especially,
Magnet.
There were 1,683
issues of the
Magnet-,
Hamilton, under his best-known pen-name Frank Richards—the name he used
when writing about his most famous creation Billy Bunter, the Fat Owl of
Greyfriars School—wrote nearly 1,400 of them. At the peak of his creative
powers (roughly, the 1920s) he was producing two 20,000-word stories a week as
well as an assortment of shorter material. He once wrote an 18,000-word story
in a single day. At a time when the average income was £180 a year, Hamilton
was earning well over £3,000. One could, if asked, continue to pile up Ripley-esque
one-liners about Charles Harold St John Hamilton till the cows come home.

But perhaps the most striking fact of all is that he was a very good
writer. To be sure, when reading his stories belief must to a great extent be
suspended (Hamilton wrote of great public schools, but had never been to one);
even so he had a fine grasp of character and an unusual understanding of the
darker, less agreeable side of a boy's nature; his dialogue was generally
excellent (read it aloud and it works), and he had the natural yarn-spinner's
priceless gift of being thumpingly readable. Too, having a short way with
humbug and a sharp eye for the absurdities of adult life he could at times be
an inspired comic writer (and only a man with a highly developed sense of
humour, after all, could have translated 'Won't You Come Home, Bill Bailey'
into Latin). His school stories are full of mordant asides on politicians,
retired military men, elderly pedagogues, faddists, pettifogging bureaucrats,
tax inspectors (especially tax inspectors).

Hamilton used the 'Peter Todd' pseudonym mainly for his Sherlock Holmes parodies,
of which (here's another It's-A-Fact) he wrote well over sixty, all—with their
pawky jokes, nimble puns, satirical stings—uniformly delightful. In 1975 the
Mysterious Press published a selection in
The Adventures of Herlock Sholmes
—highly recommended.
Here's one that's never made it between hard covers before. . .

 

 

C
HRISTMAS tomorrow!' Herlock Sholmes remarked thoughtfully.

I started.

'My dear Sholmes!' I murmured.

Herlock Sholmes smiled.

'You are surprised, Jotson, to hear me make that statement with such positiveness,'
he remarked. 'Yet, I assure you that such is the case.'

'I acknowledge, Sholmes, that I ought no longer to be surprised at
anything you may say or do. But from what grounds do you infer—'

 'Quite simple, my dear Jotson. Look from the window upon the slushy
streets and the hurrying crowds, all indicative of the approach of Christmas!'

'True! But why tomorrow precisely?'

'Ah, there we go a little deeper, Jotson. I deduce that Christmas occurs
tomorrow from a study of the calendar!'

'The calendar!' I exclaimed, in astonishment.

'Exactly!'

'As you know, Sholmes, I have endeavoured to study your methods, in my
humbler way, yet I confess that I do not see the connection—'

'Probably not, Jotson. But to the trained, professional mind it presents
no difficulties. Christmas, you are aware, falls upon the twenty-fifth day of
the month!'

'True!'

'Look at the calendar, Jotson!'

I obeyed.

'It tells you nothing?'

'Nothing!' I confessed.

Sholmes smiled again, a somewhat bored smile.

'My dear fellow, the calendar indicates that today is the twenty-fourth!'

'Quite so. But—’

'And as Christmas falls upon the twenty-fifth, it follows—to an acute mind
accustomed to rapid deductions—that tomorrow is Christmas!'

I could only gaze at my amazing friend in silent admiration.

'But there will be no holiday for us tomorrow, my dear Jotson,' resumed
Herlock Sholmes. 'I have received a wire from the Duke of Hookeywalker, who—

Ah, his Grace has arrived!'

Even as Sholmes spoke the Duke of Hookeywalker was shown into our
sitting-room.

Herlock Sholmes removed his feet from the mantelpiece with the graceful
courtesy so natural to him.

'Pray be seated,' said Sholmes. 'You may speak quite freely before my
friend, Dr Jotson!'

'Mr Sholmes, I have sustained a terrible loss!'

Sholmes smiled.

'Your Grace has lost the pawn ticket?' he inquired.

'Mr Sholmes, you must be a wizard! How did you guess?'

'I never guess,' said Herlock Sholmes quietly. 'My business is to deal
with facts. Pray let me have some details.'

'It is true, Mr Sholmes, that the pawn ticket is missing,' said the duke
in an agitated voice. 'You are aware that the house of Hookeywalker has a great
reputation for hospitality, which must be kept up even in these days of
stress. It was necessary for me to give a large Christmas party at Hookey
Castle, and, to obtain the necessary funds, the family jewels were pledged with
Mr Ikey Solomons, of Houndsditch. The ticket was in my own keeping—it never
left me. I kept it in my own card-case. The card-case never left my person. Yet
now, Mr Sholmes, the ticket is missing!'

'And the card-case?'

'Still in my pocket!'

'When were the Hookeywalker jewels placed with Mr Solomons?'

'Yesterday morning!'

'And the ticket was missing—'

'Last night,' faltered the duke. 'I looked in my card-case to make sure
that it was still safe, and it was gone. How it had been purloined, Mr Sholmes,
is a mystery—an unfathomable mystery!'

'No mystery is unfathomable to a trained mind' said Sholmes calmly. 'I
have every hope of recovering the missing pawn ticket.'

'Mr Sholmes, you give me new life. But how—’

Sholmes interrupted.

'After leaving Mr Solomons' establishment, where did your Grace go?'

'I had to make a call at the Chinwag Department of the War Office, and
from there I returned to Hookey Castle.'

'You made no other call?'

'None.'

'You may leave the case in my hands,' said Herlock Sholmes carelessly. 'I
may call at Hookey Castle with news for you tomorrow.'

'Bless you, Mr Sholmes!'

And the duke took his leave.

 

 

'It is scarcely possible that a skilled pickpocket is to be found in the
Chinwag Department,' said Sholmes thoughtfully.

'Impossible, Mr Sholmes! Every official of that great Department is far
above suspicion of being skilled in any manner whatsoever!'

'True!'

'There is no clue!' said the duke in despairing tones. 'But unless the
missing ticket is recovered, Mr Sholmes, the famous Hookeywalker jewels are
lost!'

Herlock Sholmes lighted a couple of pipes, a habit of his when a
particularly knotty problem required great concentration of thought. I did not
venture to interrupt the meditations of that mighty intellect.

Sholmes spoke at last, with a smile.

'A very interesting little problem, Jotson. I can see that you are
puzzled by my deduction that the pawn ticket was lost before his Grace had
mentioned it.'

'I am astounded, Sholmes.'

'Yet it was simple. I had heard of the great social gathering at Hookey
Castle,' explained Sholmes. 'I deduced that his Grace could only meet the bills
by hypothecating the family jewels. His hurried visit to me and his agitation
could have had but one meaning—I deduced that the pawn ticket was lost or
stolen. Quite elementary my dear Jotson! But the recovery of the missing ticket—’

'That will not be so simple, Sholmes.'

'Who knows, Jotson?' Sholmes rose to his feet and drew his celebrated
dressing-gown about him. 'I must leave you for a short time, Jotson. You may go
and see your patients, my dear fellow.'

'One question, Sholmes. You are going—‘

'To the Chinwag Department.'

'But—‘

But Herlock Sholmes was gone.

 

II

 

I confess that Sholmes' behaviour perplexed me. He had declared that the
pickpocket could not be found in the Chinwag Department, yet he had gone there
to commence his investigations. When he returned to Shaker Street, he made no
remark upon the case, and I did not venture to question him. The next morning
he greeted me with a smile as I came down into the sitting-room.

'You are ready for a little run this morning, Jotson?' he asked.

'I am always at your service, Sholmes.'

'Good! Then call a taxi.'

A few minutes later a taxicab was bearing us away. Sholmes had given the
direction to the driver—'Hookey Castle.'

'We are going to see the duke, Sholmes?' I asked.

He nodded.

'But the missing pawn ticket?'

'Wait and see!'

This reply, worthy of a great statesman, was all I could elicit from
Sholmes on the journey.

The taxi drove up the stately approach to Hookey Castle. A gorgeous
footman admitted us to the great mansion, and we were shown into the presence
of the duke.

His Grace had left his guests to see us.

There was a slight impatience in his manner.

'My clear Mr Sholmes,' he said, 'I supposed I had given you the fullest
particulars yesterday. You have called me away from a shove-ha'penny party.'

'I am sorry,' said Sholmes calmly. 'Return to the shove-ha'penny party, by
all means your Grace, and I will call another time with the pawn ticket.'

The duke bounded to his feet.

'Mr Sholmes! You have recovered it?'

Sholmes smiled. He delighted in these dramatic surprises.

The duke gazed with startled eyes at the slip of pasteboard my amazing
friend presented to him.

'The missing pawn ticket!' he ejaculated.

'The same!' said Sholmes.

'Sholmes!' I murmured. I could say no more.

The Duke of Hookeywalker took the ticket with trembling fingers.

'Mr Sholmes' he said in tones of deep emotion, 'you have saved the honour
of the name of Hookeywalker! You will stay to dinner, Mr Sholmes. Come, I
insist—there will be tripe and onions!' he added.

'I cannot resist the tripe and onions,' said Sholmes, with a smile.

And we stayed.

 

Ill

 

It was not till the taxi was whirling us homeward to Shaker Street that
Herlock Sholmes relieved my curiosity.

'Sholmes!' I exclaimed as the taxi rolled out of the stately gates of
Hookey Castle. 'How, in the name of wonder—’

Sholmes laughed.

'You are astounded, as usual, Jotson?'

'As usual, Sholmes.'

 

 

'Yet it is very simple. The duke carried the pawn ticket in his
card-case,' said Sholmes. 'He called only at the Chinwag Department of the War
Office before returning home. Only a particularly clever pickpocket could have
extracted the ticket without the card case, and, as his Grace himself remarked,
it was useless to assume the existence of any particularly clever individual in
a Government department. That theory, therefore, was excluded—the ticket had
not been taken.'

'Sholmes!'

'It had not been taken, Jotson' said Sholmes calmly. 'Yet it had left the
duke's possession. The question was—how?'

'I confess it is quite dark to me, Sholmes.'

'Naturally,' said Sholmes drily. 'But my mental powers, my dear Jotson,
are of quite a different calibre.'

'Most true.'

'As the ticket had not been taken from the duke, I deduced that he had
parted with it unintentionally.'

'But is that possible, Sholmes?'

'Quite! Consider, my dear Jotson. His Grace kept the pawn ticket, for
safety, in his card-case. On calling at the Chinwag Department he sent in his
card, naturally. By accident, Jotson, he handed over the pawn ticket instead of
his own card—'

'Sholmes!'

'And that ticket, Jotson, was taken in instead. That was the only theory
to be deduced from the known facts. I proceeded to the Chinwag Department, and
interviewed the official upon whom the duke called. There was a little
difficulty in obtaining" an interview; but he was awakened at last, and I
questioned him. As I had deduced, the missing pawn ticket was discovered on the
salver, where it had lain unnoticed since the duke's call.'

'Wonderful!' I exclaimed.

Sholmes smiled in a bored way.

'Elementary, my dear Jotson. But here we are at Shaker Street.'

 

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