Sherlock Holmes and the Discarded Cigarette

Title Page

 

SHERLOCK HOLMES AND THE DISCARDED CIGARETTE

 

As related from the case notes of Dr. John H. Watson M.D
.

 

 

by

Fred Thursfield

Publisher Information

 

First edition published in 2012 by MX Publishing

335 Princess Park Manor, Royal Drive, London, N11 3GX

www.mxpublishing.com

 

Digital Edition converted and distributed in 2012 by

Andrews UK Limited

www.andrewsuk.com

 

© Copyright 2012 Fred Thursfield

The right of Fred Thursfield to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.

 

All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without express prior written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted except with express prior written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.

 

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The opinions expressed herein are those of the authors and not of MX Publishing.

 

Cover design by
www.staunch.com

Chapter 1

 

London, September 1895

 

It had been raining almost steadily for most of the month of September, the atmosphere this inclement weather had created in the city was a cold gray and damp one, these were the kinds of conditions that made you go about your daily business quickly if you were forced to be out of doors for any length of time or made you stay indoors with a warm coal fire in the hearth if you didn't need to be.

I hadn't really taken much notice of the weather myself what between attending to my morning rounds at St. Bartholomew's hospital, seeing patients in my surgery during the afternoon then home to spend the evening with my wife Mary. About the only time I ever noticed the miserable conditions at all was while I was stepping in and out of hansom cabs on my way to or from daily appointments.

The only person I was worried about the most during this time of year was my friend Holmes who unless he had a case to unravel, a problem that needed to be solved or some scientific experiment to conduct that would further add to his knowledge of crime I could imagine him pacing about in his rooms at 221B Baker street like some trapped animal looking for a way out.

Of course Holmes always had a “solution” (as he called it) to this problem which he kept safely locked in his desk drawer, I only hoped that a case worthy of his talents would come to him soon via some messenger or that I might have a cause to visit with him thus keeping “the solution” safely locked away where it was.

For years I had gradually weaned him from his habit which had threatened more than once to check his remarkable career now I knew that under ordinary conditions he no longer craved for this artificial stimulus, but I was well aware that the fiend was not dead, but only sleeping.

A reason for visiting my friend after a long absence presented its self a few days later when one evening after dinner when my wife announced she had just received a letter in the morning post from her sister in Brighton inviting Mary to come for an extended visit.

Next morning before heading to St. Bartholomew's hospital to conduct my morning rounds I escorted my wife and her luggage to Paddington station in time for her to board the London to Brighton train that would take her to her waiting sister.

Waving a fond fare well while standing on the station platform next to her carriage I found myself surrounded by a small group of people waving good bye to their friends and loved ones. I marveled at and watched as the large black steam engine, with two short blasts of its whistle came to life and slowly started pulling the collection of passenger carriages away from the station and down the tracks that would eventually take it to its passengers to their final destination then I made my way to the hospital to start my day.

Chapter 2

 

After my hospital rounds in the morning and attending to my surgery in the afternoon I hurried back to my home to pack a bag containing a change of clothes, my shaving kit and my service revolver then stepped outside in hopes of hailing a handsome cab
that would take me to my friend.

The reason for a medical doctor a medical doctor owning a service revolver (from my time as a physician in the British Army medical corps in Afghanistan), much less having the knowledge of how to use it might seem to be a bit of a contradiction but the phrase “Quickly Watson, get your service revolver!” rang through my head as I was packing. All too often Holmes and I had found ourselves facing some dangerous and unpredictable characters in the course of solving a crime and I wanted to be prepared.

Seeing a black handsome cab arrive shortly in front of our house through the large parlor window I picked up my bag, headed out the door locked it and then seated myself in the cab “Where to Gov?” came the cab drivers booming voice from behind and slightly over head of me.

I gave him Holmes address then settled into a long ride that would take me across London and temporarily back to my bachelor days. As I listened to the sounds of the horses hoofs, the hansom cab's wheels on the wet cobble stone street and watched as the rainy late afternoon city scenery passed in front of and beside me I hoped my visit with Holmes wasn't going to be only about reminiscing and keeping my friends spirits up, I was genuinely looking forward to some type of adventure.

Sometime later we made a final right hand turn and I was again heading up a familiar street. When we stopped in front of the house I had known as a bachelor for some time, I let myself with my bag in hand out of the cab, paid the fare then walked to the entrance.

When Holmes and I had roomed together from 1881 until 1890, I would always let myself in with my key thus saving Mrs. Hudson (the house keeper) the bother of opening the door and announcing to Holmes that I had arrived. But I was only a guest now; so I knocked politely on the front door to announce my presence.

“Coming, coming” I heard an older familiar female voice on the other side of the door acknowledging that she had heard my announcement. The door opened inward and there in the door way stood a face and a form I had never quite forgotten, “Dr. Watson what a pleasure to see you again” Mrs. Hudson said with a smile that looked both happy and relieved at the same time.

“It's good to see you again too Mrs. Hudson” I replied while trying to read her expression as I entered. Drawing me into the narrow front hall Mrs. Hudson closed the front door behind me and started to ask a question when we both heard the familiar booming voice of Holmes asking from the front door of his upstairs rooms as to who had just arrived.

“It's Doctor Watson” she answered in Holmes general direction Again from the front door of his rooms I heard “Watson it's been too long, and it looks like I will have the pleasure of your company for some time” “How did he know?” I started to ask myself then remembering I was holding my bag I answered “Mary has gone south to Brighton for a time to visit with her sister---Holmes and no doubt to take in the brisk sea air, this means until her timely return I have the pleasure of your company.”

“You made an excellent choice of temporary residence then” Holmes replied, at this point he descended the carpeted stairs to where I could see him. For the reader who has not yet met my friend I will give you a brief description of him as he was facing me while standing on the bottom stair.

Starting from the feet he was wearing dark brown bed room slippers, he was dressed in black pressed trousers, a white dress shirt but no collar or tie, all of this was carried by a tall and somewhat angular frame.

His head was topped by jet black hair which was combed straight back, his deep dark hazel eyes, set in chiseled facial features had an almost unnerving ability to pierce through you to root out the truth and his somewhat thin lips passed only the occasional hint of a of what I always thought of as a bemused smile.

I would not describe Holmes at all a stuffy straight-laced Victorian gentleman; in fact, I would describe him and his habits as “Bohemian.” He may alternate between days or weeks of listless lassitude and similar periods of intense engagement with a challenging case or with his hobby, experimental chemistry to keep his spirits up.

With a gracious sweep of his right hand in the general direction of his rooms he said invitingly “Well come up Watson and you can tell me of your latest adventures while I straighten up my parlor.” “Brace yourself Doctor Watson” Mrs. Hudson said in a low voice as she made her way past me towards the pantry to prepare the afternoon tea.

Not quite sure what to make of her comment I climbed the carpeted stairs as I followed Holmes up to his rooms. His front door was open when I walked in behind him, as I entered his familiar parlor I now knew what Mrs. Hudson had meant by her cryptic comment; for the entire room was filled with the blue gray smoke of cigarettes and cigars seemingly burning everywhere.

Chapter 3

 

As I entered Holmes parlor I exclaimed “Holmes it's a wonder that you can see or even breathe at all considering the amount cigarette and cigar smoke that is in this room right now.” “It's worse in here than any gentleman's smoking room in London.” Holmes turned and countered “Ah Watson, not a smoking room but an ongoing scientific experiment whereby I will be able to identify not only any brand of cigarette or cigar being smoked, but also its country of origin and where it was purchased.”

The over whelming smell I encountered was as if a large tobacco shop had caught fire and all of its merchandise was being consumed by the flames. Surveying the situation I saw ash trays of all sizes, colors and descriptions placed on almost every horizontal surfaces with in the room each holding burning tobacco products. I alarmingly asked Holmes “How can you breathe the air in here, how can you even see in here?” “It's all in the name of science Watson” he replied

I started to ask the obvious question as to why when Holmes put his hand up to stop me. “Think Watson at almost every crime scene what is the one most common thing that is seen but always overlooked by some minor detective of the Metropolitan Police because it seems almost too trivial or not worthy of any real attention?”

How often have we been looking for the obvious clues and witnessed only by chance a half smoked cigarette that might have been extinguished then carelessly tossed aside, possibly even by the perpetrator of the crime?”

“Realistically all this would tell us that the person was a smoker.” I replied “More than that,” Holmes continued as he picked up and examined a still smoldering cigarette “by analyzing both the paper and the tobacco of the discarded item we might discover its origins, where it had been purchased and possibly by whom, leading us another step closer to our suspect.”

“Does this have anything to do with the dense fog of cigarette and cigar smoke I encountered when I entered your parlor just now?” “Yes, what I have been doing over the last several weeks is that I have been purchasing different brands of cigarettes and cigars available from various tobacconists here in London.” Thinking to myself of what Mrs. Hudson had to endure during these scientific trials I listened as Holmes continued

With each one I would let it burn most of the way down, I would then extinguish it and commit to memory the brand, the tobacco it contained, the paper or leaf it was wrapped in, what it looked like and smelled like when I put it to my nose. To that I would add the already known information as to where it had been made, sold and who may have purchased it.” As if to illustrate the point Holmes sniffed the still lit cigarette then returned it to its ashtray and extinguished it.

Still skeptical I asked “Do you mean that if you were to find an discarded cigarette in the cold and wet high street this afternoon you could tell where it had been had been made and sold and no less the identity of the smoker?”

Looking confident as always Holmes smiled slightly then gave me a qualified answer “If it was dry and among the ones I have already committed to memory so far, yes.”

To my considerable relief it turned out that Holmes had taken a slightly less dangerous way to deal with his boredom. Finding the smoky air in his parlor harder to breathe by the minute I commented “If I don't get to breathe some fresh air in the next few minutes I shall pass out from all this thick tobacco haze.”