The Misadventure of Shelrock Holmes (28 page)

series of startling events which threw the whole county into a temporary turmoil. Had it not been for the unparalleled coolness and sagacity of Picklock Holes the results might have been fraught with disaster to many distinguished families, but the acumen of Holes saved the situation and the family plate, and restored .the peace of mind of one of the best fellows in the world.

The party at Umbrosa consisted of the various members of the Silver family, including, besides Mr. and Mrs. Silver, three high-spirited and unmarried youths and two charming girls. Picklock Holes was of course one of the guests. In fact, it had long since come to be an understood thing that wherever I went Holes should accompany me in the character of a professional detective on the lookout for business; and James Silver, though he may have at first resented the calm unmuscularity of my marvellous friend's immovable face, would have been the last man in the world to spoil any chance of sport or excitement by refraining from offering a cordial invitation to Holes. The party was completed by Peter Bowman, a lad of eighteen, who to an extraordinary capacity for mischief added an imperturbable cheerfulness of manner. He was generally known as Shockheaded Peter, in allusion to the brush-like appearance of his delicate auburn hair, but his intimate friends sometimes addressed him as Venus, a nickname which he thoroughly deserved by the almost classic irregularity of his Saxon features.

We were all sitting, I remember, on the riverbank, watching the countless craft go past, and enjoying that pleasant industrious indolence which is one of the chief charms of life on the Thames. A punt had just skimmed by, propelled by an athletic young fellow in boating costume. Suddenly Holes spoke.

"It is strange," he said, "that the man should be still at large."

"What man? Where? How?" we all exclaimed breathlessly.

"The young puntsman," said Holes, with an almost aggravating coolness. "He is a bigamist, and has murdered his great aunt."

"It cannot be," said Mr. Silver, with evident distress. "I know the lad well, and a better fellow never breathed."

"I speak the truth," said Holes, unemotionally. "The induction is perfect. He is wearing a red tie. That tie was not always red. It was, therefore, stained by something. Blood is red. It was, therefore, stained by blood. Now it is well known that the blood of great aunts is of a

lighter shade, and the colour of that tie has a lighter shade. The blood that stained it was, therefore, the blood of his great aunt. As for the bigamy, you will have noticed that as he passed he blew two rings of cigarette smoke, and they both floated in the air at the same time. A ring is a symbol of matrimony. Two rings together mean bigamy. He is, therefore, a bigamist."

For a moment we were silent, struck with horror at this dreadful, this convincing revelation of criminal infamy. Then I broke out:

"Holes," I said, "you deserve the thanks of the whole community. You will of course communicate with the police."

"No," said Holes, "they are fools, and I do not care to mix myself up with them. Besides, I have other fish to fry."

Saying this, he led me to a secluded part of the grounds, and whispered in my ear.

"Not a word of what I am about to tell you. There will be a burglary

here to-night."

"But Holes," I said, startled in spite of myself at the calm omniscience of my friend, "had we not better do something; arm the servants, warn the police, bolt the doors and bar the windows, and sit up with blunderbusses — anything would be better than this state of dreadful expectancy. May I not tell Mr. Silver?"

"Potson, you are amiable, but you will never learn my methods." And with that enigmatic reply I had to be content in the meantime.

The evening had passed as pleasantly as evenings at Umbrosa always pass. There had been music; the Umbrosa choir, composed of members of the family and guests, had performed in the drawing-room, and Peter had drawn tears from the eyes of every one by his touching rendering of the well-known songs of "The Dutiful Son" and "The Cartridge-bearer." Shortly afterwards, the ladies retired to bed, and the gentlemen, after the customary interval in the smoking-room, followed. We were in high good-humour, and had made many plans for the morrow. Only Holes seemed preoccupied.

I had been sleeping for about an hour, when I was suddenly awakened with a start. In the passage outside I heard the voices of the youngest Silver boy and of Peter.

"Peter, old chap," said Johnny Silver, "I believe there's burglars in the house. Isn't it a lark?"

"Ripping," said Peter. "Have you told your people?"

THE UMBROSA BURGLARY

"Oh, it's no use waking the governor and the mater; we'll do the job ourselves. I told the girls, and they've all locked themselves in and got under their beds, so they're safe. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"Come on then."

With that they went along the passage and down the stairs. My mind was made up, and my trousers and boots were on in less time than it takes to tell it. I went to Holes's room and entered. He was lying on his bed, fully awake, dressed in his best detective suit, with his fingers meditatively extended, and touching one another.

"They're here," I said.

"Who?"

"The burglars."

"As I thought," said Holes, selecting his best basket-hiked life-preserver from a heap in the middle of the room. "Follow me silently."

I did so. No sooner had we reached the landing, however, than the silence was broken by a series of blood-curdling screams.

"Good heavens!" was all I could say.

"Hush," said Holes. I obeyed him. The screams subsided, and I heard the voices of my two young friends, evidently in great triumph.

"Lie still, you brute," said Peter, "or I'll punch your blooming head. Give the rope another twist, Johnny. That's it. Now you cut and tell your governor and old Holes that we've nabbed the beggar."

By this time the household was thoroughly roused. Agitated females and inquisitive males streamed downstairs. Lights were lit, and a remarkable sight met our eyes. In the middle of the drawing-room lay an undersized burglar, securely bound, with Peter sitting

on his head.

"Johnny and I collared the beggar," said Peter, "and bowled him over. Thanks, I think I could do a ginger-beer."

The man was of course tried and convicted, and Holes received the thanks of the County Council.

"That fellow," said the great detective to me, "was the best and cleverest of my tame team of country-house burglars. Through him and his associates I have fostered and foiled more thefts than I care to count. Those infernal boys nearly spoilt everything. Potson, take

my advice, never attempt a master-stroke in a houseful of boys. They can't understand scientific induction. Had they not interfered I should have caught the fellow myself. He had wired to tell me where I should find him."

Detective: SHERLOCK HOLMES

THE STRANGER UNRAVELS A MYSTERY

by JOHN KENDRICK BANGS

Here is one of the earliest — if not actually the earliest — American parodies of Sherlock. Holmes. It is really the first two chapters in THE PURSUIT OF THE HOUSE-BOAT (New Yorf{, Harper,

1897).

In this parody you will meet Sherlock Holmes in Hades -a justifiable address when you remember that Holmes was supposed to have died in 1893, at the end of "The Adventure of the Final Problem" l — that is, jour years prior to the publication of Mr. Bangs's book- How was Mr. Bangs to foresee that Holmes would be resurrected six years ajter he — and the whole grief-stricken world —had accepted with "heavy heart" the Watsoman obituary? How was Mr. Bangs to know six years in advance that Holmes would "return" to the pages of "The Strand Magazine" in October 1903, when neither Dr. Watson nor Conan Doyle himself had the slightest suspicion of so

colossal an event?

On the other hand, granting Mr. Bangs's right to assume in 1897 that the report of Holmes s death had not been exaggerated, was Hades really a justifiable address? There are those who would hold out for Heaven — or at the least, Valhalla . . .

Be as it may, you will find Holmes in company with other great and glittering personages —The Associated Shades, [Ltd.], including Sir Walter Raleigh, Socrates, Dr. Livingstone, Confucius, Shakespeare, Noah, Dr. Samuel Johnson and Bos-well, Solomon, Caesar, Napoleon, among others equally famous, all involved in a truly "hellish" mystery.

Mr. Bangs was one of our finest parodists. At his best he skillfully blended pure burlesque with cunningly conceived plot

details. The Holmes saga proved a veritable bonanza to him and he mined it lustily. If you wish to pursue the further parody-adventures of Sherlock^, as recorded by John (Watson) Bangs, gather the following nuggets:

"The Mystery of Pin^ham's Diamond Stud" - Chapter X in THE DREAMERS : A CLUB (New YorJ{, Harper, 7899)

"Sherloc^ Holmes Again" — Chapter IX in THE ENCHANTED TYPE-WRITER (New Yor^, Harper, 1899)

"ShylocJ^ Homes: His Posthumous Memoirs" -a series syndicated in US. newspapers in 1903, but never published in booJ{ form; see the next story in this anthology — the first ShylocJ^ Homes memoir ever to appear between covers

R. HOLMES & co. (New Yor^ Harper, 7906) — the burlesque escapades of Mr. Raffles Holmes, the "son" of Sher-loc{ and the "grandson" of A.]. Raffles 2

"A Pragmatic Enigma" -the fourth story in POTTED FICTION (New Yor^ t Doubleday, Page, 1908)

T

J.H;

.HE HOUSEBOAT of the Associated Shades, formerly located upon the River Styx, as the reader may possibly remember, had been torn from its moorings and navigated out into unknown seas by that vengeful pirate Captain Kidd, aided and abetted by some of the most ruffianly inhabitants of Hades. Like a thief in the night had they come, and for no better reason than that the captain had been unanimously voted a shade too shady to associate with self-respecting spirits had they made off with the happy floating clubhouse of their betters; and worst of all, with them, by force of circumstances over which they had no control, had sailed also the fair Queen Elizabeth,

2 If you arc a student of literary genetics, you'll realize that this is perfectly possible. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, sire of Sherlock, and E. W. Hornung, progenitor of Raffles, were in real life brothers-in-law! Of course John Kendrick Bangs knew this vital fact — Hornung married Doyle's sister in 1893, thirteen years before Bangs "produced" Raffles Holmes. The only discrepancy — an amazing one, it's true — is the matter of Raffles Holmes's age. Surely Raffles Holmes, to judge merely from the illustrations in the book, was more than twelve years old!

the spirited Xanthippe, and every other strong-minded and beautiful woman of Erebean society, whereby the men thereof were rendered

desolate.

"I can't stand it!" cried Raleigh, desperately, as with his accustomed grace he presided over a special meeting of the club, called on the bank of the inky Stygian stream, at the point where the missing boat had been moored. "Think of it, gentlemen, Elizabeth of England, Calpurnia of Rome, Ophelia of Denmark, and every precious jewel in our social diadem gone, vanished completely; and with whom? Kidd, of all men in the universe! Kidd, the pirate, the ruffian — " "Don't take on so, my dear Sir Walter," said Socrates, cheerfully. "What's the use of going into hysterics ? You are not a woman, and should eschew that luxury. Xanthippe is with them, and I'll warrant you that when that cherished spouse of mine has recovered from the effects of the sea, say the third day out, Kidd and his crew will be walking the plank, and voluntarily at that."

"But the Houseboat itself," murmured Noah, sadly. "That was my delight. It reminded me in some respects of the Ark."

"The law of compensation enters in there, my dear Commodore," retorted Socrates. "For me, with Xanthippe abroad I do not need a club to go to; I can stay at home and take my hemlock in peace and straight. Xanthippe always compelled me to dilute it at the rate of one quart of water to the finger."

"Well, we didn't all marry Xanthippe," put in Caesar, firmly, "therefore we are not all satisfied with the situation. I, for one, quite agree with Sir Walter that something must be done, and quickly. Are we to sit here and do nothing, allowing that fiend to kidnap our wives with impunity?"

"Not at all," interposed Bonaparte. "The time for action has arrived. All things considered he is welcome to Marie Louise, but the idea of Josephine going off on a cruise of that kind breaks my heart." "No question about it," observed Dr. Johnson. "We've got to do something if it is only for the sake of appearances. The question really is, what shall be done first?"

"I am in favor of taking a drink as the first step, and considering the matter of further action afterwards," suggested Shakespeare, and it was this suggestion that made the members unanimous upon the necessity for immediate action, for when the assembled spirits called

for their various favorite beverages it was found that there were none to be had, it being Sunday, and all the establishments wherein liquid refreshments were licensed to be sold being closed — for at the time of writing the local government of Hades was in the hands of the

reform party.

"What!" cried Socrates. "Nothing but Styx water and vitriol, Sundays? Then the Houseboat must be recovered whether Xanthippe comes with it or not. Sir Walter, I am for immediate action, after all. This ruffian should be captured at once and made an example of." "Excuse me, Socrates," put in Lindley Murray, "but, ah —pray speak in Greek hereafter, will you, please? When you attempt English you have a beastly way of working up to climactic prepositions which are offensive to the ear of a purist."

"This is no time to discuss style, Murray," interposed Sir Walter. "Socrates may speak and spell like Chaucer if he pleases; he may even part his infinitives in the middle, for all I care. We have affairs of greater moment in hand."

"We must ransack the earth," cried Socrates, "until we find that boat. I'm dry as a fish."

"There he goes again!" growled Murray. "Dry as a fish! What fish I'd like to know is dry?"