by David Marcum
By mid-afternoon, we returned to Layton’s. The manager himself was on the sales floor, albeit under the guise of inspecting the displays, and a glance around us told us that others were subtly watching for anything untoward. McKenzie made a small gesture toward us that we should proceed to his office, and when the door was closed, he informed us that key people in each department were aware of the situation and were playing their part to keep Elizabeth from being alone. Holmes advised him that I would be walking Miss Wiggins home that evening.
Holmes and I went back to the sales floor. “Watson, I shall be making other inquiries and requests this afternoon. I have a few thoughts as to what kind of person we’re looking for, and I’ll meet you back here before the end of the sales day.” With that he left, and I spent the next few hours walking through the departments as if I were a gentleman shopper, going so far as to buy new handkerchiefs and braces. Parcel in hand, I kept an eye on the time, and as the employees made ready to close up for the evening, I spotted Holmes near the front entrance. He walked over and quietly pulled me aside. “I’ll explain this later, but for now, I’d like you to walk Miss Wiggins home by way of Merivale’s Music Hall. Do you know where it is?” I nodded yes, and he continued. “Make no effort to hide that you’re accompanying her, and the more obvious you are, the better. I want you to take her there to show her the poster indicating what acts are performing there. Draw her attention to the performer who goes by the name ‘Wellston the Illusionist’. I’d like her to examine the illustration and see if he looks familiar. I’ll meet you at Baker Street once you’ve made sure she’s home safely.”
I knew I would get no more from him, as his explanations for his actions often came after the conclusion of an investigation. Elizabeth joined her co-workers as they prepared to make their way home after a long day on their feet. She saw me and smiled, and I joined her. “Elizabeth, I’m walking you home this evening, but we’re going to take a detour to Merivale’s Music Hall. Mr. Holmes feels that it’s possible you may recognize one of the performers shown on the program.” We left the store, and as we passed through the busy streets, I made no effort to see if we were being followed. We made pleasant conversation and soon found ourselves in the front of Merivale’s and the poster. Elizabeth inspected the bill of acts and amidst the listing of singers, actors, comedians, and acrobats, she found the name Wellston. The illustration was that of a man attired in formal evening wear and holding a deck of cards. The poster promised that “Wellston the Illusionist will thrill you with his sleight of hand!” She turned and nodded her head ever so slightly. “That’s him.” I took her arm and we left Merivale’s, excited that I could affirm Holmes’s suspicion.
We completed our journey, and once Elizabeth was home, with the door locked and instructions to scream like a banshee should anyone disturb them, I returned to Baker Street. I found our rooms empty and took a seat to wait for Holmes. I must have dozed off, testament to my restless night, and awoke to find my friend taking off the jacket and hat of a workman. I must have looked rather confused as I asked him, “What outfit is this, and where have you been? And when did you grow a beard?”
He smiled and asked “Didn’t you see me near Merivale’s? No? I was there and saw you and Miss Wiggins, but I was happier to see that you were accompanied, at a distance, by no other than Wellston the Illusionist. He followed you, and had a clear view of Elizabeth as she viewed his likeness. Watson, I believe that we are nearing the end of this, but we must take steps to ensure her safety, especially as he knows his identity is no longer a secret.”
It was not unusual that I was somewhat unaware of how Holmes had arrived at such a point in an investigation. “Please tell me how you came to suspect this man, and what plans are in play to protect the Wiggins family.”
By this point, he had completed removing his disguise and sat down to remove his boots. “It is my theory that when you have eliminated the impossible, then whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. The crucial factors in this string of thefts have been the ever-changing costumes of the suspect, and the fact that he was free to enter the stores throughout the day when most men are at work. That led me to consider that he was either wealthy enough not to have a profession, or that he worked during the evening. If he was wealthy enough not to work, he could possibly afford all the costumes he’s been seen wearing. That type of wealth does raise the question of why he found it necessary to steal, but we know that mental derangement or debts could drive him to it. If he worked during the evening, then how did he come to have access to so many changes of clothing? Most men who work during the evening or night aren’t well enough off to purchase these costly items. And let’s not forget that Elizabeth said he sported gray hair, glasses, and false teeth. So here we have a man who is free during the day, and has access to costumes and disguises. Do you follow me?”
When he explained it, it all seemed fairly simple. “A man of the theatre! Of course!”
“But more than the theatre. We know that our thief was able to secrete the stolen items on his person, whether in his hands, pockets, or bags. That told me he had some experience as a pickpocket, or someone who performs such sleight of hand for a living. After examining the newspaper advertisements for the music halls, I found several illusionists on the bills. There were a few false starts, but by the fourth theatre I’d found a likely suspect. He was young enough to play an older man, but not too old to play a younger man. He had access to costuming and disguises and performed in the evening. And if you inspected the illustration, I’m sure you noticed that he held his slightly clubbed foot at an odd angle.”
Well, that had escaped my notice, much to my chagrin. “I believe you’ve found our man, and if he knows his identity is revealed, Elizabeth is in even more danger. Have you a plan?”
He nodded. “The plain clothes police are keeping watch around the Wiggins’s home tonight. Tomorrow morning, I will make certain that Elizabeth arrives at Layton’s safely, and once there, she will be watched over. I’d like you to again meet her at the employee door when the store closes, and let her know all will be well and to follow instructions. As you prepare to start your walk to her home, one of the Irregulars will approach you with a story that you are urgently needed elsewhere. Tell Elizabeth to return inside, and then you must leave. Take a round-about route back to the store, and then to her home. Do it quickly, and take up a spot outside where you can observe but not be observed yourself. I will take it from there.”
The morning found me feeling even less well-rested than the previous day, but ready to bring this situation to a close. I counted the hours until I felt it was time to take up my post outside of Layton’s. The employee door opened and the weary workers began their trek home. I spotted Elizabeth and went to her side. Leaning in, I told her that Mr. Holmes’s plan meant I would be leaving her and, with that, she should return to the store. She was a brave girl and nodded her understanding. We had only taken a few steps when I felt a pull at my sleeve. It was Malcolm, one of the Irregulars I had seen about with Wiggins. “Dr. Watson! You’ve got to come with me. Mr. Holmes sent me to fetch you. You’re to come with me to the Embankment. There’s been some terrible business.” He was so convincing that anyone near us would have believed him, and I had no doubt that our thief was somewhere in the vicinity. Taking his cue, I turned to Elizabeth and told her “You must return to the store and go inside. I will try to get back to you soon.” Although she looked nervous, she did as she was told.
I left with Malcolm, and as we rounded the corner as if making our way to the Embankment, I thanked him for his part in the ruse, gave him a shilling, and sent him on his way. I circled around, and once on the other side of the store, was able to see the employee door from across the square. I hesitated and was somewhat surprised to see Elizabeth leave the store and begin her journey home alone, although I had no doubt that Holmes had instructed her to do so. As he had requested, I took
to the side streets and as quickly as I could, found my way to the Wiggins’ neighborhood. Locating a place to hide while keeping an eye on the entrance was easily accomplished. There were a few other residents about, so it seemed logical that Wellston would try to gain entry to the residence rather than accost her in the street in front of witnesses.
The wait was brief. Making her way up the street was Elizabeth, head down as she walked toward the safety of her home. I looked back and saw a figure I knew to be Wellston, dressed as a common workman, but favoring his foot a bit. As anxious as I was to grab him, I realized that Holmes’s plan required that I stay in place until needed. Elizabeth entered the building and, moving more quickly than I would have thought possible, Wellston climbed the steps and opened the door into the foyer, only a moment behind her. I feared I could wait no longer and, as I began to move toward the building, I saw Holmes moving rapidly in the same direction. Before either of us could make our own entrance, the door opened and Wellston went tumbling down the steps.
We looked at his prone figure, then up to the door where Elizabeth stood, only it wasn’t Elizabeth. It was Mrs. Wiggins, holding a broom in her trembling hands, dressed in the black dress that her daughter wore to work. “You don’t touch my children or by God, I’ll have your guts for garters!” She said it with such fervor that I didn’t doubt her for a moment. Holmes moved to Wellston and grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket, pulled him upright and kept a tight grip on him to prevent him from escaping.
What followed was a commotion that drew the attention of anyone in shouting distance. Included in the small gathering crowd were two members of the police force who came from inside where they had been hiding, and two more from opposite ends of the building. Wellston began to voice his astonishment that he, an innocent man, had been so abused by a crazy woman brandishing a broom. Heads began to pop out of windows, drawn by the shouting.
Holmes looked less than charmed by his performance. “The game is up. We know you’ve stolen from any number of shopping establishments and worse, seemed to be intent upon harming the witness to your crime.” Looking at the police, he continued. “Gentlemen, I will accompany you as you take this man to the station, but before you do, might I suggest you examine him for any weapons.” Wellston looked amazed that this advice had been given, but maintained his innocence. “You’ll find that I have nothing of the sort. I demand you release me.”
But the constables were much more inclined to listen to Holmes. While one officer stood on each side of Wellston, a third searched him. Wellston’s expression changed as a knife was pulled from his boot, which elicited a far stronger reaction. “I don’t know where that came from! You must have planted it on me!” Not an original defense, but a frequently used one. His denial fell on deaf ears as he struggled while they clapped the cuffs on him. Holmes looked quite pleased with himself. “Watson, please stay with the Wiggins family. I will return shortly.”
I realized that in the midst of this, Elizabeth had quietly joined us. Her mother swept down the steps and took her in her arms. Together, they watched as Wellston was led away. It didn’t take long for the furor to die down and I joined the Wiggins family in their rooms. There were tears of relief, as well as a parade of neighbors anxious to hear what had caused the ruckus. Holmes returned in little more than an hour, and told us what had transpired at the station.
“Mrs. Wiggins, Elizabeth, both Dr. Watson and I must congratulate you for your bravery in carrying out this masquerade.” He then went on to explain to me that Mrs. Wiggins had been inside the store’s employee door and when Elizabeth went back inside at my request, they changed dresses with one another. “I felt certain that from a distance our friend Wellston wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between mother and daughter. I was equally confident that he wouldn’t attempt to harm her on the street with so many witnesses, and that any attack would take place at your home.”
I looked at the family, and then asked “What happened at the police station? Did he confess?”
Holmes smiled a bit before responding. “It took a bit for Wellston to realize that his was a lost cause, but he finally confessed to stealing from many stores, even more than we thought Watson. When he was asked why he’d stolen so much and would hurt such a young girl, he looked down his nose at us. ‘A gentleman has certain tastes and those take money.’ For the sake of your family, ma’am, we won’t go into what those tastes were, but rest assured he will not be bothering you any longer.”
The stress of the past few days weighed heavily upon us and we said our goodnights. As we walked through the streets back to Baker Street, Holmes told me that he would be returning to the various department stores the next day to let them know the thief was behind bars, and that they owed it all to a young woman. “I’m going to strongly suggest that they all contribute something toward a reward for her.”
I wasn’t surprised that in the midst of all of this, that he had thought of the family’s welfare. “That will be happy news for them. I’m glad this is over.”
Holmes stopped and turned to me. “As am I. Now, shall we return to Baker Street and perhaps a glass of port? Or would you prefer to go to Merivale’s Music Hall and see what happens when their star illusionist fails to make an appearance tonight?”
The Coffee Trader’s Dilemma
by Derrick Belanger
Many of my readers have written to me, expressing their joy in reading of Mr. Sherlock Holmes through my own eyes, that of Dr. John H. Watson. I add a touch of humanity, they explain, to the coldness of the great detective’s rational mind. While these messages are intended as compliments, I take them as acknowledgements of my limitations as an author. The truth is that Holmes was not as cold and calculating as my writing may convey, and I am not always so warm and accepting of others. I tell this particular tale not because of the incredible feats of Holmes, though his improbable skill at ratiocination is present, but rather for his extra care in settling a delicate matter.
My recollection begins a decade after the original case, on a pleasant day in the spring of 1892. My dear wife Mary caught me at the breakfast table cutting an article from The Times.
“Why James, dear,” Mary called out, preferring to use her name of affection for me, “whatever are you doing, cutting up our paper before I’ve had a chance to read it?”
“Oh, my love, I always cut out articles which remind me of my lost friend.” (For at that time, it was still believed that Sherlock Holmes had perished the year before at the Reichenbach Falls.) “I assure you that I am not destroying anything which you would find of interest.”
“But whatever could remind you of Mr. Holmes in the announcement section of the paper?” inquired Mary.
“Ah, my dear, let me tell you of a case which occurred ten years ago...”
Mary joined me at the table, and thus I began my story.
It was early in my friendship with Holmes, on a rather blustery autumn day, when I returned to Baker Street from a hectic afternoon of seeing patients. Along with the windy weather came the maladies of colds, chills, fevers, and coughs. Most patients just needed to be reassured that all they required was a day of rest and time indoors to overcome their inflictions.
I took my own advice upon entering my domicile and asked Mrs. Hudson to brew me a pot of Darjeeling tea. Holmes was upstairs in our rooms, and when I entered our first floor flat, I found that not only had he not set foot outside that day, he had never changed out of his robe, rather, spending the day at his desk, poring over the work of zoologist Ernst Haeckel.
“Incredible, Watson,” Holmes explained, lifting his hawkish nose out of Haeckel’s book. “A whole realm of creatures which are neither plant nor animal. If Dr. Haeckel’s theory is proven true, it could have major implications for both of our trades.”
“You believe these microscopic beings to be the cause of some human ailments?” I asked, trying my best
to show interest. I actually was quite tired and wished that the tea kettle would boil quicker. A warmth in my belly and the comfort of my chair seemed a perfect combination for a long afternoon nap.
“I need more data before I can reach such a conclusion,” Holmes complained. “We may be on the cusp of a significant shift in scientific knowledge, or Dr. Haeckel’s theory may be disproven. Even so, we are in a golden age of reasoning, with more discoveries are on the horizon. We shall know more in the near future. Ah, I believe Mrs. Hudson approaches with your tea.” Holmes acknowledged the slight creak on the stairs to our rooms. “Interesting...” Holmes continued. “She is not alone.”
“Not alone?” I questioned, raising my brows.
“Yes, there are two distinct sets of steps on the stairs. The second person is a male, of similar height to Mrs. Hudson, of wider girth, and with an injured left leg. Here they are now.”
There was a short rap at the door. I rose and opened it to find Mrs. Hudson, smiling with tea in hand. “Here you are doctor,” said Mrs. Hudson. “I’ll just set this on the table,” she continued, brushing past me as she entered our rooms. “And Mr. Holmes, there is a Mr. Smith here to see you,” she acknowledged handing me his card.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. Watson,” my friend called to me, “please tell the gentleman to enter.”
I was still standing in the doorway. I poked my head into the stairwell and saw a balding man with a swollen lump above his brow, near the top of the steps, grasping the handrail, looking down at his left foot, and swinging his leg at the knee slightly, testing his pain.