The Misadventure of Shelrock Holmes (18 page)

NIKKI : But Ellery, how did he leave the house in the first place in order to come bac\ as the messenger?

ELLERY : He didn't leave at all, Nikki.

INSPECTOR: Now I see it! He prepared his escape in advance. He had this telegraph messenger's uniform ready. And a telegram, which he'd sent to himself some time ago. All he had to do today was change the date and reseal the envelope.

ELLERY: Yes, Dad, and when he spotted you this morning waiting for him outside the house, he quickly went back in, shaved off his beard, put on the uniform, told Biggs to play stupid, and then hid in the only place you did not search —

INSPECTOR: The rolltop desk!

ELLERY : Precisely. Just before I phoned about the desk, he saw that the coast was clear —nobody was in the study or foyer. So he jumped out of the desk, ran to the front door, opened it, went out and stood in the portico —

VELIE: Then why didn't Piggott at the front gate see him, Ellery?

ELLERY : He couldn't, Sergeant. Remember when you and Dad first

saw Little Jim re-enter the house this morning, Dad said you'd "lost" him — couldn't see him in the portico until you got closer to the front door ? ... So then Phillimore rang the bell, delivered his "telegram," and calmly asked for a pass to get him off the premises!

VELIE: Makin' diis little devil sneakier dian a Jap. Come along quietly, Phillimore, or I'll break you in little pieces. (INSPECTOR QUEEN, SERGEANT VELIE, and JAMES PHILLIMORE exeunt)

NIKKI: That was a mighty clever plot, Ellery.

ELLERY : Wasn't it ? I especially call to your attention, my dear Nikki, the brilliant wording of Little Jim's spurious telegram. It convinced Inspector Queen that this daring criminal had escaped, when all the time he was in die house waiting for a pass from the Inspector himself to get him out!

Detective: SHERLOCK HOLMES Narrator: WATSON

THE ADVENTURE OF THE REMARKABLE WORM

by STUART PALMER

Stuart Palmer, creator of Hildegarde Withers, one of sleuth-dom's most beloved detectivettes, is at the time of this writing Lieutenant Stuart Palmer of the United States Army. Good luck^, Stu, and best wishes from millions of fans!

Lieutenant Palmer wrote this pastiche just before entering the service of his country. He wrote it especially for this boo\ — for which your Editors will be eternally grateful and for which every reader will heartily sing out his fervent thanks. The "misadventure" stems from one of Dr. Watson's many provocative and teasing remarks —this one to be found in "The Problem of Thor Bridge' l wherein Watson referred to "a third case worthy of note . . . that of Isadora Persano, the well-known journalist and duellist, who was found star\ staring mad with a matchbox in front of him which contained a remarkable worm, said to be unknown to science"

Lieutenant Palmer's pastiche, so cleverly, so ingeniously contrived, reflects a lifetime adoration of The Great Man — and in an even greater degree, an underdog sympathy for The Great Man's Boswell, whose detectival prowess has until now been most sadly neglected. But read for yourself this utterly delightful and satisfying "misadventure"

Another pastiche of Sherlock^ Holmes by Lieutenant Palmer is scheduled to appear in the July 1944 issue of "Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine" It is titled "The Adventure of the Marked Man."

THE CASE-BOOK OF SHERLOCK HOLMES; London, Murray, 1927; New York, Doran, 1927.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE REMARKABLE WORM 109

s

HERLOCK HOLMES turned abruptly away from the bay window, against which all day a raw April wind had been driving rain. The spring of '93 will be remembered as unusually inclement, even for London, and as always the dreariness of the weather conspired with professional inactivity to force Holmes farther and farther into the depths of black depression.

I was therefore not surprised to see him cross to the mantelpiece in three quick strides, obviously in search of the needle I abhorred. "Holmes, I beg of you!" cried I, half rising from my easy chair. Ordinarily I should not have ventured to remonstrate with my friend, but all day the Jezail bullet in my shoulder 2 had been sending excruciating pains down my right side as far as the knee, and I was not in the most tolerant of moods.

Holmes stopped short and turned toward me, the morocco case in his hand. "My dear Watson," he said, "can you suggest anything better than a 7 per cent solution of cocaine?"

1 turned toward the table, decanted three fingers of good Irish whisky into a tall glass and then filled it to the brim with sparkling water from the gasogene. 3 "If you will not listen to me as a medical man, then give heed to an old comrade in arms. Try this, I beg of you. It is a far milder poison."

Languidly Holmes accepted the glass, raised it to his lips, and then put it aside with a wry smile and a shake of his head. "Revolting, Watson, most revolting."

More than a little nettled, I replied, "But my dear fellow! As a man who makes a point of keeping good Burley tobacco in a Persian slipper, and who toasts two-and-six Trichinopoly cigars in a coal scuttle before the fire, your sense of taste cannot be so terribly affronted by a whisky-and-soda."

Holmes bowed mockingly. "Touche, Watson. I must confess that in the process of developing my faculties to their highest point it is possible my sense of taste has atrophied. Tobacco in its moist 4 normal state repels me. So, by the way, does this atrocious mixture of fer-

2 Connoisseurs: Please note.

3 Connoisseurs: Please note.

110 THE ADVENTURE OF TH'E REMARKABLE WORM

mented potato juice and carbon-dioxide gas. Granted for the moment that you are correct in arguing that the final results are less deleterious to the system than the habitual use of cocaine, still I have always found the latter drug a specific in exalting and stimulating the mental

processes."

Here he stopped, cocking his head toward the door. "As exalting, shall we say, as the sudden appearance of a new problem?"

There was another quick step in the passage, and then a nervous hammering upon our door. Holmes paused only to adjust the shade of the reading lamp so that it fell upon the vacant chair in which our visitor must sit, and then crossed to the door and flung it open.

The man who staggered into our sitting room was perhaps of some eight and thirty years, though his cadaverous aspect made him appear superficially older. His apparel spoke of Savile Row, though it hung loosely upon his gaunt frame like the dress of a neat scarecrow. He looked about him anxiously, turning from Holmes to me and back again. I could not help noticing that there were deep gentian circles beneath his faintly bulging eyes, and that the man was obviously in the grip of a powerful emotion.

"Mr. Holmes?" he gasped.

"Please sit down," said Holmes, indicating the visitor's chair. "I am he. And this is Dr. Watson, my friend and colleague. If I may say so, it would appear that you are far more in need of his professional services than of my own."

"I must be the judge of that," retorted our caller sharply. He sank wearily into the chair, grasping the arms with bloodless trembling hands. "I will begin at the beginning," said he. "My name is Persano." He hesitated, took a deep breath, and went on. "Isadora Persano."

Holmes nodded. "Indeed? Can it be that you are the journalist over whose signature have recently appeared a number of controversial articles? In the Sketch, I believe."

Persano bowed, brightening a little. "I had no idea, Mr. Holmes, that my poor efforts had come to the attention of such a celebrated person as yourself. It is true that I have published a few diatribes dealing with widely held popular superstitions . . ."

"Incidentally sinking home a few good thrusts at the medical profession, I believe?" Holmes nodded toward me, a flicker of amuse-

ment in his eye. "The good doctor here has not read them, so we may all still speak as friends. And now, Mr. Persano, having had a recent opportunity to study organized medicine at first hand in one of our London hospitals, you wish to consult me — "

"But this is black magic, sir!" interrupted the journalist.

"Not in the least. The faint but definite odor of iodoform and ether which clings to your person, plus an obviously recent loss of weight, plus the fact that you are wearing a hospital nightgown in place of a shirt, can only indicate the conclusion I mentioned."

A flickering smile crossed Persano's face. "Oh, I see. For a moment you gave me a start. But now that you explain I see how simple it all is."

Holmes nodded wearily. "As usual, I have made a mistake in disclosing the steps by which I arrive at my deductions. But let us get on, Mr. Persano. You wish to consult me about the object which bulges in your right-hand coat pocket?"

Isadora Persano fumbled nervously, and then thrust out at us a small glass flask, well stoppered. Even as he held it forth he kept his eyes averted, as if the very sight of the thing in the bottle were to be avoided as the glance of Medusa.

"Mr. Holmes, you must help me! I must find out the truth or lose my reason forever. Only a day or so ago — I have somehow lost track of time —I was the happiest man in the realm. Today — " and here he shuddered, a full perspiration breaking out on his pale brow — "today I am the most miserable. This — this Thing that I hold in my hand is the reason."

Holmes accepted the flask and held it to the light, so that we both saw clearly its contents. Floating in a clear viscous liquid was an object both strange and repellent, a slender, wormlike creature no more than six inches in length, with an eyeless, swollen head.

I must have given vent to an involuntary exclamation, for Holmes turned to me and nodded. "Exactly, Watson! You were about to say that we are looking upon a representative of the phylla group — possibly one of the Platyhdminthes, but most certainly of a venomous breed hitherto unknown to science." He turned back to our visitor. "Mr. Persano, how did you come by this thing?"

"In all my life," cried Persano wildly, "I have never intentionally

112 THE ADVENTURE OF TH-E REMARKABLE WORM

caused harm to any living being. I have avoided Error and pursued Truth as my guiding star. Why, then, should anyone send me this object of horror incarnate?"

Holmes turned the flask, so that the motion induced in the supporting liquid caused a faint serpentine movement of the creature inside. "You have an enemy, no doubt?"

"Yes, and no, Mr. Holmes," the man replied. "All Harley Street has been my enemy since I published those articles. I was even challenged to a duel last week. But I cannot believe that any civilized human being could take so foul a revenge as this. Imagine it, Mr. Holmes! One moment I was walking along Oxford Street, my mind filled with happy, constructive thoughts, concentrating upon Health and Truth. Then — I can hardly believe it even now — a blackness descended upon me. I have vague formless memories of lying there on the pavement, with the avid faces of a curious crowd staring down at me. And then —nothing!"

"Nothing at all?" pressed Holmes.

The man shook his head. "Nothing until I awakened. In the charity ward of Charing Cross Hospital I found myself, weak and hungry and filled with the illusion of pain. Some poor soul at the other end of the room was passing on to his reward, his last struggles occupying the attention of the doctors and nurses. I seized the opportunity to recover my clothing from the locker at the foot of my bed, and made my escape, bringing with me that flask which had been placed on the night stand for my waking eyes to light upon."

"I begin to understand," said Holmes, grimly. I had expected to see him impatient at this hysterical, maudlin narrative, but on the contrary he had listened with the greatest concentration of attention.

"You have an enemy? This former dueling antagonist, perhaps?'

Persano shrugged. "Honor was satisfied when the secretary of the College of Surgeons fired over my head, and I over his. No, Mr. Holmes, I cannot believe that my persecution arises from such a

source "

ui.\.^»

"Very well," said Holmes. "By the way, when did you separate

from your wife?" Persano started. "Mr. Holmes, this is unfair! You have had prior

knowledge of me and my affairs."

THE ADVENTURE OF THE REMARKABLE WORM

"Not in the least. There is very clearly the mark of a wedding ring upon the proper finger of your left hand, and one of the buttons on your waistcoat has been replaced with thread of a different color, plainly indicating a change to a bachelor existence. Please answer the question."

"Marina and I separated last autumn," Persano said. "She returned to the practice of her profession, and is, I believe, at the moment telling fortunes at the Red Rose teashop in Lambeth. But we had no quarrel — it was just that she could not, would not, follow me into the new fields, the fresh world which opened to me when I finally got hold of the Key of the Scriptures."

I could not but detect a noticeable intensification in Holmes's manner. "Never fear, Mr. Persano. I shall do my very best to help you. Suppose you leave this unholy object with me for the time being? I think I shall have news for you within the fortnight. Your address?"

"No. 31 Tottenham Mews."

"Thank you. Will you be kind enough to note the address, Watson?" Holmes ushered our visitor to the door, then closed it after him and turned back toward the fire, his face grave and thoughtful. "Quite an unusual little problem," he said. "You will find parallel cases, if you care to consult the index, in Malvern in '84, and Hammersmith as late as year before last. The man himself was most interesting."

"No doubt you read a good deal in his appearance which was invisible to me," I remarked, rubbing my lame shoulder tenderly.

"Invisible? Ah, no, my good Watson. Just unnoticed. The man is obviously a recent convert to one of the new sects, such as that which recently came to us from Mrs. Eddy in the United States of North America. Christian Science, I believe they call it."

"Science!" I interposed sarcastically.