The Big Book of Sherlock Holmes Stories (128 page)

In our wanderings I saw no sign of Holmes. Having strolled the grounds of the circus, and after having partaken, at Mary's behest, of some sort of gooey confection made from nuts, bits of dried fruit, chocolate and caramel, much of which I was still trying unobtrusively to pry from my teeth, we headed for the main tent, as it was nearly three. While purchasing our tickets
we were met by Countess Willoughby, Mr. Osgood, and Inspector Lestrade. I introduced my wife to the gathering, and we took seats near the large wooden ring which served as the stage area. The ring was floored with a generous amount of sawdust, and much to my dismay, I began to sneeze once again.

“Mr. Watson…” began the Countess.

“Doctor, Countess,” I corrected her.

“Forgive me. Dr. Watson, I do not understand what we are doing here. Perhaps you can shed some light?”

“I should be delighted to, but I am as much in the dark as you. Sherlock Holmes is the most knowledgeable person I know, but I must confess that I still do not entirely understand all of his methodology. If it is any comfort to you, from what I know of my friend, you shall have your answers, and most likely your daughter, before the day is up.”

Lestrade complained, “No good will come of building this lady's hopes up. Scotland Yard has been investigating this case for three days as well, and we have drawn no conclusions. Holmes is good, I'll grant you, but I dare say he's not so good as to deliver this lady's daughter on a silver platter!”

Mr. Osgood agreed. “Yes, Dr. Watson. Suppose you are wrong. I should think that instilling false hope is something you would wish to avoid.”

“Mr. Osgood, Inspector Lestrade,” said my wife, “I was once a client of Sherlock Holmes. I am confident that he will solve this mystery and return your daughter to you. If anyone can, he can.”

“Thank you, my dear,” replied the Countess. “You are very kind.”

At that moment, the crowd fell silent. The circus was about to begin. Mary took my hand and we settled down to enjoy the show. Neither of us had been to the circus since we were children. The ringmaster, in his jodhpurs, red frock coat, and top hat, introduced the acts each and all, and the band played merrily as the performers took their places in the large circular stage area. A lovely young lady led six stallions of varied colors around the ring, and demonstrated her mastery of horsemanship. The tent fairly vibrated with applause. Next, a colorful clown on stilts juggled three lit torches. He tried to blow them out, one by one, but every time he transferred them from hand to hand they relit, one by one, much to Mary's delight. Finally dousing the flames, he walked across the ring, but seemingly unaware of the tightrope which blocked his passage, became entangled in it. His stilts shot out from under him, leaving him dangling from the rope. After many precarious antics he gained the top of the rope and proceeded to walk its length to a small platform. He bowed to the thunderous applause of the crowd, and in doing so fell to the net below, and then ran off. Next came the elephants, followed by some acrobats and then it was again time for the clowns, this time several of them dressed in the costume of a fire brigade. The “fire clowns” ran circles around one another in an attempt to “save” a burning building, bumping into each other, falling down, dusting off, and falling down again. One clown jumped into the crowd, tweaked Mary's nose, pulled my moustache and bolted back into the ring. Mary told me that the clown was very familiar somehow, but I explained that he had been the same stilt-walking clown from earlier in the show. After the clowns had failed to “save” the building, they rapidly retreated from the tent, as the crowd roared with laughter. Several foreign chaps and scantily clad young ladies flew through the air on trapeze, after which a young man, about twentyish, I would say, led a teenaged boy to a door-sized wooden wall and fastened him to it by the arms and legs. The man then stepped back and displayed a set of dangerous looking knives, which he proceeded to throw directly at the boy. Mary held my hand as I caught my breath, and the crowd was silent with fear. He hurled the knives one by one, impaling
them in the wooden wall, each time narrowly missing the boy. Only when the boy was completely surrounded by knives was he released and able to take his bows with the young man. Several additional acts followed, including trained dogs, more clown antics, a dancing Russian bear, and an additional display of acrobatics. At the end of the show, Mary and I, along with Countess Willoughby, Mr. Osgood, and Inspector Lestrade, headed for the Torture King tent, which I took note of previously.

“How did you enjoy the show?” Mary asked the group as a whole.

“Very amusing,” the Countess answered, although it was obvious she was distracted by other concerns. Osgood agreed.

“Well, since you asked,” Lestrade said unpleasantly, “I think it was rubbish. All just stuff and nonsense.”

We stood silently as a group in front of the designated meeting area, awaiting Holmes's arrival. Numerous patrons, and even many of the performers on their way to the changing tent, passed by, but there was as yet no sign of Holmes. One clown, the featured performer throughout the show, stopped before us to further display his antics. He pulled three colored balls from a pocket and juggled them in a number of different patterns before tossing them high into the air and allowing them to fall directly on his head. His body crunched lower to the ground as each ball hit until he was flat on his back. Mary, Osgood and I applauded. The Countess then turned to me and said, “Dr. Watson. While this is all quite amusing, I am finding it hard to keep my spirits light in the face of our purpose here.”

“Quite right,” added Osgood, “where is this Sherlock Holmes of yours?”

Just then the clown jumped up and onto his hands, where he stood momentarily. “I seem to have turned myself around. You all look so tall. But if I keep this up I'll lose my head.” He righted himself, then placed a pipe between his teeth, from where he retrieved it I could not say, and then blew into the stem, causing a great cloud of ash to erupt into the air. “I say, would you have some tobacco that I can borrow? My pipe has gone empty.”

“Well, no actually, I do not,” I said.

“Just as well,” said the clown, “it would probably smell like an old Persian slipper, anyway.”

“As a matter of fact…wait a moment. How could you know that?”

“Elementary, my dear Watson.”

“Holmes!?”

“Holmes? Sherlock Holmes?” The startled Countess asked.

“What's all this then, Holmes?” Lestrade said.

“Excuse me, but I seem to be a bit confused…” Osgood said.

“All your questions will be answered. Please follow me.” Holmes started off in the direction of the dressing tent and our party obligingly followed. “Sorry to have taken you all by surprise like this, but it was necessary,” he explained. “My theatrical inclinations have been a long time without expression. It was good to utilize my talents once again.” He stopped outside the tent, and proceeded with his explanation. “While at your home, Countess, I found several clues which led me here. The sawdust on your floor was fouled with soil and animal refuse. Had it been tracked in from a carpentry shoppe or similar establishment it would have been purer.” He removed his red rubber nose and yarn fringed bald pate wig. “The knife that impaled your daughter's photograph was not thrust in, but thrown from across the room, as indicated by the angle at which it hit. Furthermore, the knife is a specially balanced one, edged for use in a knife throwing act. The shattered glass from the frame was spread in a pattern that suggested an impact of great force. Had the knife been thrust into the photograph manually, the pattern would have been less remarkable. Finally I detected a faint odor of greasepaint in the room. Someone connected with this circus, the only one within reasonable distance, seemed the logical choice.”

“Astounding,” I said.

“Simple deductive reasoning, Watson. The culprit, obviously an amateur, overturned and disturbed both furniture and belongings in an effort to simulate a robbery, or perhaps a struggle, but the ruse was unconvincing. Had he sought to rob the house, valuables would have been missing, and furniture left undisturbed. If the purpose of the break-in was a kidnapping, belongings would not have been touched, and had there been an actual struggle, I find it unlikely that large, heavy pieces of furniture would have been overturned while trying to apprehend a small, seventeen year old girl.”

“Mr. Holmes,” the Countess interposed, “you said at my house that my daughter is safe. How can you be so sure? And where is she?”

“She is here, madame. You have seen her. You all have.”

“Here,” objected Lestrade. “What do you mean?”

“You'll see soon enough. Please accompany me into the tent.”

Once inside, we found ourselves in the company of several performers in varying stages of undress, many in the process of removing makeup. Holmes walked to the center of the room and spoke aloud. “Pardon me, but my friends have joined me so that we may solve a crime.” He looked around the room, and his gaze fell upon the young man who had performed the knife throwing act, who suddenly appeared nervous, and began edging his way towards the exit. Holmes nodded to a burly toff, the Man of Steel, from the show, who blocked the young man's passage and said, “Aye wouldn' go nowheres if aye was you,” and so he gave up the attempt.

“Now, young Master Errol Smithy, or should I use your real name, Chuck Hanson? I shall make a series of statements, and you will answer yes or no depending on the accuracy. You are personally acquainted with Countess Willoughby's daughter, Alexandra, are you not?”

“Well, I…We kind of…” Hanson stammered and looked around the room for help, but none was forthcoming.

“Yes or no, Mr. Hanson?”

“Yes.”

“You are in love with Alexandra, and have been since you met her in America last year.”

“Hey, how could you know that?”

“That qualifies as a yes, wouldn't you say, Watson?”

“Indubitably, Holmes.”

“You have, in fact, been lovers, and plotted this kidnapping ruse so that you could be married.” Countess Willoughby gasped. Osgood helped her to a seat.

“Look, we knew her mother would never approve of us. I'm just a circus brat from the poor side of the tracks. We planned to get hitched back home, in New Jersey, but when they moved back to England, I had to find a way to be with her. I sold all of my belongings, except my knives, and used all of my savings to book cheap passage to England and then got the job with the circus here. I contacted her as soon as I could and we planned the whole thing.”

“Logically, your lack of money would present a problem, and hence the reason for the kidnapping ruse.”

“At first we were just going to run off and elope, but I thought of the kidnapping scheme to get some money to make our start in life a little easier. Don't blame Alex. It's all my fault. I just love her so.” He flopped down into the nearest chair and laid his head in his hands.

Holmes asked Lestrade for the ransom note. The inspector handed it to him. “This was the most incriminating piece of evidence in unravelling the puzzle. Attend. ‘If you ever want to see Alexandra alive again, deliver a sum of one thousand British pounds to the Charing Cross train station on April 29th at noon.' The note refers to ‘Alexandra,' a familiar use of the name, indicating personal acquaintance. Secondly, the reference to ‘British pounds' suggested to me that the ‘kidnapper' was someone who thinks in terms of a different monetary system. American dollars are unique and standard across that
country, whereas the European designation of ‘pound notes' as currency are issued by any of several countries. Local residents would not specify the country of origin. Only an American in a foreign country would make such a distinction. Next point,” Holmes continued, “the use of ‘train station' rather than ‘railway station' is American, as is the note's poor grammatical style in general. There are numerous other clues, but they are of no great moment.” He handed the note back to Lestrade. “I left the home of the Countess and came immediately to this circus, where I was hired temporarily as a new performer. Over the past three days I have had the opportunity to discover, at leisure, all of the additional information that I required from the company of performers and from young Chuck himself. He is twenty-one years old, from Hackensack, New Jersey, in America, and as you may have observed during his act, is left-handed.

“When the circus arrived in Tunbridge Wells, the closest stop to London on the touring schedule, he and Alexandra waited for an opportunity to carry out their plan. The only time the Countess left the house with any regularity was on Friday, but the circus had late performances those nights. When the Countess rescheduled her outing, it was exactly the turn of luck that they had hoped for. Tuesday is the only day on which the circus has no performances. It was a very fortunate happenstance indeed that the supposed abduction could be carried out without his absence from the circus being noticed.”

“All right, Holmes.” Lestrade interrupted, a little too loudly. “You've told us how you found him out, and that he had means and motive, but aside from what he says, what evidence do you have that the girl was involved of her own free will?”

“Inspector, your investigation of the Willoughby premises was incomplete. When I investigated Miss Alexandra's bed chamber, I took particular note of the items on, or rather the items missing from, her vanity and wardrobe. Nothing was disturbed to suggest a theft, but small gaps with empty hangers in the wardrobe indicated the removal of a few select pieces of necessary apparel. And no young lady of proper breeding would feel complete without her brush and hand mirror, which were conspicuously missing from the vanity. In addition, only Alexandra knew the exact time that her mother and the maid would be away from the house, and for precisely how long.”