The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures Page 2
Over the years I have tracked down some of the original cases from papers at Scotland Yard, old newspaper files, and documents held in private archives. On rare moments I have stumbled across papers which almost certainly came from Watson's despatch box, but I fear that most of those records are hidden in one or more private collections, possibly not even in England, purchased, I dare say, for a phenomenal price.
The trail is complicated by many false avenues and windings. Not even Watson was helpful. Frequently in his published cases he disguised the names of individuals, for obvious reasons, and falsified dates and locations, so that when he recorded that Holmes was investigating such-and-such a case it was as likely that Holmes was somewhere else at that time involved in a very private affair. Watson did his job well in masking the trail, and it will probably never be fully uncovered.
However, the time has come for me to share the product of some of my research. It is far from complete, but for fear that something may happen to me or to my own papers, I thought
it was right to place some of it in print. Perhaps the existence of this book may bring me into contact with others who have access to further papers. Who knows?
In this volume I have pieced together something of the investigations of Sherlock Holmes and have presented twenty-six new cases completed by fellow researchers who have helped me in my quest. I have endeavoured to show where these cases fit into Holmes's career and how they relate to the known cases. In an appendix at the end of this book I also provide a complete chronology of Holmes's life and known cases, including some of the other write-ups of his investigations where I believe there has been a genuine effort to get at the truth.
Let us begin our quest, therefore, and return to the early days of Sherlock Holmes.
Mike Ashley
Part I: The Early Years
There is precious little record of Holmes's early life. It is unusual that someone so famous could keep the details of his life so secret that it becomes necessary to think that it was deliberate. Holmes had little interest in the trivia of personal biography, so it is unlikely that he would have bothered to have disguised the trail. But others may certainly have done so in order to protect him, and thoughts turn immediately to his elder brother Mycroft Holmes who had considerable influence in government circles and could have easily pressed the right buttons in order to close whatever shutters were necessary.
We must therefore rely on what Watson himself tells us. In "His Last Bow", which takes place in August 1914, Watson refers to Holmes as "a tall, gaunt man of sixty". It is the only occasion where he mentions his age. We must be careful as he was describing Holmes in disguise as the Irish-American spy Altamont. Had Holmes aged himself or made himself look younger? We don't know. And did Watson mean precisely sixty, or was he in his sixtieth year— in other words fifty-nine? If we accept it at face value, and since no other clue is given as to Holmes's birthday, then we must conclude that Holmes was born in either 1853 or 1854, or at the latest in 1855. I prefer the earlier date because in "The Boscombe Valley Mystery" Holmes refers to himself as middle-aged which suggests forty-something. That story took place in 1889 or 1890 which would make Holmes's year of birth earlier than 1850, but middle-aged is an indeterminate phrase and we can assume that a birth year somewhere in the early 1850s is as close as we'll get. We may take some clue from the year in which Holmes retired, which was at the end of 1903. Did he do this on his fiftieth birthday? It would be an appropriate landmark.
Holmes came from a line of country squires but somewhere in his veins was the blood of the French artist Claude Vernet, from whose family Holmes also claimed descent. We do not know where Holmes was born, but his general dislike of the countryside suggests that he was raised somewhere remote, and as we shall see he certainly spent some of his youth in Ireland. This coupled with his reticence to discuss his childhood suggests that it might not have been happy, and we can imagine an almost reclusive child already intent upon his studies in logical deduction. Holmes was almost certainly educated at a private school before progressing to university.
It is at university that his abilities as a solver of puzzles came to the fore. Two of the recorded cases throw some light on Holmes's University days. "The Gloria Scott", Holmes tells us, was the first case in which he was engaged. He refers to the case again in "The Musgrave Ritual" saying that the Gloria Scott case "first turned my attention in the direction of the profession which has become my life's work." It is thus of some importance to date this investigation, but it is here that we first encounter Watson's masking of facts. We could put a rough dating on it on the assumption that Holmes went to university when he was about eighteen or nineteen, which would place it in the period 1868 to 1872, and he talks about it occurring after two years at university, or between 1870 and 1874. In "The Veiled Lodger" Watson tells us Holmes was in active practice for twenty-three years. Since he retired in 1903, counting back would bring us to 1880, but we must also deduct the years of the Great Hiatus between "The Final Problem" in April 1891 and Holmes's return in "The Empty House" in early 1894, a gap of three years. So he established himself as a consulting detective in 1877. We know from "The Musgrave Ritual" that Holmes set up his practice soon after university, so we can imagine he finished his university years around 1876.A span of university education from 1872 to 1876 therefore sounds realistic in the chronology and would place the Gloria Scott case in about 1874.
However, in the course of "The Gloria Scott" Holmes refers to events aboard the ship having taken place thirty years earlier in 1855, which would place the story in 1885. This has to be wrong, because Holmes and Watson met in 1881 by which time Holmes had been in practice for four years. Clearly there is some deliberate shifting of dates in this story, perhaps through Holmes's faulty record keeping (always possible, as he was not a great record-keeper of things he regarded as unimportant), or Watson's erroneous transcription of the
case or, we should not forget, through Watson trying to hide the time of Holmes's university years.
In fact my own research has revealed two episodes that happened to Holmes while at university that have previously gone unrecorded. They reveal that Holmes's years at university were not without incident and it is not surprising that it has been difficult to tie him down, since he spent time at two universities. I am grateful to Peter Tremayne and Derek Wilson for their help in bringing the record of the episodes into their final form from scraps of evidence left by Watson. I have deliberately set the stories in reverse order of internal events because of the relative discovery of the episodes by Watson. The first happened during the period of Holmes's apparent death, whilst Watson learned of the second after Holmes's return. Here then, for the first time ever, are the earliest records of Sherlock Holmes.
The Bothersome Business of the Dutch Nativity - Derek Wilson
The death of my dear friend, Sherlock Holmes, affected me more than a little and had I not had the demands of a growing medical practice and the care of a loving wife the loss which I, and indeed the nation, had suffered must have seriously undermined my constitution. For a long time I could scarcely bear it when my affairs took me to places where some of Holmes's greatest triumphs had been enacted or where together we had faced dangerous villains or petty scoundrels. As for Baker Street, I avoided it completely; always ordering cab drivers to proceed by some roundabout route when conveying me through that part of London.
Yet time, as has often been observed, is a healer. I shared that experience common to all bereaved people: the transformation of memories from dreams almost too painful to be endured into visitations of consolation. Increasingly I found myself turning over the leaves of my journals and the printed accounts of Sherlock Holmes's cases which I had been privileged to record. Much of the material I had garnered about my friend consisted of tantalizing scraps — hints about his earlier life and oblique references to cases of which I knew nothing. As the months passed more and more of my leisure time was spent in trying to arrange my memor
abilia in some logical order so that I might obtain a grasp of the sweep of Holmes's life. I lost no opportunity of asking others who had known my friend for any details that might have eluded me and it was in this way that what I call the Bothersome Business of the Dutch Nativity came to my attention.
In the spring of 1893, my wife and I were invited to Oxford to spend a few days with the Hungerfords. Adrian Hungerford was a fellow of Grenville college and he and Augusta were distant relatives of Mary's. Despite Mary's insistence that I should enjoy meeting her cousins it was with no very great enthusiasm that I accompanied her from Paddington station on the short journey to England's most ancient centre of learning. As usual my beloved helpmeet was right. The Hungerfords were an intelligent and relaxed couple of middle years who gave us a welcome as warm as it was genuine.
It was on the second evening of our stay that Adrian Hungerford invited me to dine with him at his college. I enjoyed an excellent meal on the high table in Grenville's ancient hall over which I was able, with some effort, to hold up my end of an erudite conversation with the master and the dean. After dinner I retired with the dozen or so fellows to the senior combination room where, over the ritual of claret, port and cigars, discussion, somewhat to my relief, ran into less scholarly channels.
"Am I not right in thinking, Dr Watson, that you were at some time associated with that detective fellow ... what was his name ... Hutchings?" The speaker was a shrivelled little man enveloped in a rather gangrenous master's gown who had been earlier introduced to me as Blessingham.
"Holmes, Sherlock Holmes," Hungerford corrected before I had a chance to reply. "Watson helped him with several of his cases, isn't that so, John?" He turned to me with an apologetic smile. "You must forgive our isolationism, old man. We spend most of our time here behind a raised drawbridge protected from the more sensational doings of the outside world."
"Helped with several cases, did you say?" Blessingham, who was obviously hard of hearing, cupped a hand to his ear and leaned closer. "Well, you weren't here for his first case, were you?" He reached for the claret decanter, drained it into his glass and brandished it in the direction of a steward who hurried forward with a replacement.
"You refer, Sir, to the Gloria Scott, I assume," I said.
"Gloria who? Never heard of the woman."The old man gulped his wine. "No I mean the nonsense about that painting."
I was suddenly aware that other conversations had stopped and that all eyes had turned towards Blessingham. Several of them registered alarm.
Rather hastily the dean said, "Our guest doesn't want to hear about that lamentable incident."
By this time my curiosity was, of course, thoroughly aroused. "On the countrary," I said. "I am always eager to hear anything about my late friend."
The master made a flapping gesture with his hand. "It was nothing and best forgotten. Holmes was only with us for a short time."
"Holmes was here?" I asked with genuine surprise. "At Grenville? I had no idea ..."
"Yes, 1872, I think ... or was it '73? I know it was around the same time that Sternforth was up. He's making quite a
name for himself in Parliament now. Have you heard from him recently, Grenson?" Skilfully, the master turned the talk to other matters.
It can be imagined that this unlocking and hasty refastening of a hitherto unknown part of Holmes's early life stirred
considerable excitement within me. It was with difficulty that
I contained all the questions I was longing to ask about it. Not until the following afternoon did I have the opportunity to
interrogate Hungerford on the matter. Mary and I were taking a stroll through Christchurch Meadows with our host and hostess and I contrived to urge Hungerford to a slightly faster pace so that we might walk on ahead.
"What was that talk last night about Sherlock Holmes and a painting?" I enquired. "It seemed to embarrass some of your colleagues."
"A number of the older fellows are certainly still troubled by the episode even after all these years," Hungerford mused, directing his gaze along the river. "I must say that surprises me rather."
"But what was it about?" I almost shouted in my exasperation. "Old Blessingham called it Holmes's first case yet I have never heard of it."
Hungerford smiled at my impatience. "Well, Holmes was obviously an honourable man. The people over at New College enjoined him to secrecy on the matter and he faithfully kept silence."
"But surely there's no need to maintain the mystery any longer," I urged.
"I suppose not. It was really nothing more than a storm in an academic teacup; and yet in a closed little world like ours such incidents do tend to assume greater importance than they merit."
"Look, Hungerford," I said, "you can tell me the story. We doctors are able to keep confidences, you know."
Thus prompted my distant cousin related the story which, with a few emendations and name changes (made to honour my side of the bargain) and with additional details furnished later by Holmes himself, I can now set before the public.
It all began, as far as Holmes was concerned, at Paddington station. It was the autumn of 1873 and he had just enrolled at Grenville College after a year or two at Trinity in Dublin. On this particular late afternoon he was returning to Oxford after a day spent in the British Museum Reading Room. He had selected an empty, first-class smoking compartment and was looking forward to a quiet journey in the company of a recent dissertation on alkali poisons derived from plants in the Americas. The train made its first clanking convulsion preparatory to departure when a distraught figure appeared on the platform and grabbed the door handle. With a sigh of resignation Holmes leaped to his feet and helped a young man with a flapping topcoat into the compartment.
As Holmes slammed the door and the train gathered speed the stranger collapsed onto the seat opposite, spreading a pile of books and papers and other belongings out beside him. "Thank you, sir, thank you," he panted.
"Not at all. I perceive that you have had a particularly harassing afternoon." Holmes surveyed a young man in his late twenties of startlingly pale appearance. Even though flushed with exertion, his cheeks were as though drawn in pastels. His hair was the colour of white sand and the eyes that peered through thick-lensed spectacles were of the lightest blue. "It is always aggravating to mistake the time of one's train and then to have one's cab stuck in traffic — quite wretched."
The other man leaned forward, mouth open in astonishment. "You cannot possibly ... Are you some kind of spirit who consorts with mediums?"
Now it was Holmes who was momentarily nonplussed. "Do you mean am I a medium who consorts with spirits?"
"That is what I asked, sir. If you are I must tell you straight out that I don't disapprove of such dabbling in forbidden waters ... no, not at all."
Holmes laughed. "Then let me set your mind at rest. I am a student of very terrestrial sciences. There was nothing otherworldly about my observations. As to your mistake about train times, I simply perceived that your Bradshaw was out of date." He pointed to the bulky Bradshaw's Railway Guide which lay among the stranger's papers. "This particular train has been departing ten minutes earlier since the end of September."
"To be sure; to be sure," the other muttered, "but your reference to the traffic?"
"Even simpler, sir. It has been raining lightly for the past ten minutes yet only the upper part of your clothing is wet. Clearly you were obliged to leave the protection of your cab before reaching the station. That you did so in some haste is evidenced by the fact that, having paid the driver, you are still clutching your purse in your hand."
"Remarkable," said the stranger, sitting back in the seat. "You are obviously a very observant young man. May I know your name?"
"Sherlock Holmes, undergraduate of Grenville College, at your service, sir."
"Grenville, eh? Then we are close neighbours. I am ..."
"William Spooner, fellow of New College. Please, do not register surprise, sir. You are one of the
celebrities of Oxford." "The Spoo", as the young lecturer in Ancient History and Philosophy was known to undergraduates, had already acquired that reputation for eccentricity which was later to spread well beyond the confines of the university.
Spooner nodded mournfully. "Ah, yes, it's those things I say, isn't it? I can't help myself you know; they just pop out like habbits from a role."
After exchanging a few more courtesies each passenger settled to his own occupation for the journey. Holmes returned to his paper. Spooner spent a considerable time organizing his possessions into some semblance of order and arranging them on the overhead rack, then extracted a slim volume of Ovidian
poetry from the pocket of his surtout, curled himself into the opposite corner and began to read with the page held close to his face. Yet neither was able to concentrate. Holmes was intrigued by the albino and was conscious that Spooner was taking no less interest in him. Several times the younger man glanced surreptitiously across the intervening space only to find that New College's most remarkable resident was staring fixedly at him. Once or twice Spooner opened his mouth as though he would speak but either the words would not come or he thought better of them. At last, however, he did break the silence.
"Mr Holmes, I apologize for disturbing you. I wonder, would you mind if I asked you to discuss a certain matter ... delicate, bewildering?"