The Adventure of the Tired Captain A Sherlock Holmes Case

by Gaschnitz, K. Michael

  As the cab departed I pulled a dark coloured bottle from my inside pocket. I opened it and held it out for the dog, so he could take the scent from it.

  As a doctor I was quite familiar with anise. The fragrant scent and pleasant taste made it a popular ingredient in many medicines. It was when I saw the bottle on Holmes chemical table that an idea had quickly flashed through my mind. I would empty some of the contents of the bottle onto the soles of Holmes new shoes before bringing them to him. I then quickly consumed a couple of his cigarettes and one of his foul little cigars to cover the smell of the tincture. I had also spilled the remainder of the mixture onto the cabs wheels after helping my friend into the cab. I knew that Toby would follow such a scent to the ends of the earth. He had helped us before with such a thing.

  I had learned such little tricks from the detective himself and now I would use them against him.

  I attached a long lead to Toby’s collar and the eager animal took the scent. In my haste I thought little nor cared less as to the possibility that Moran may be following me. I felt sure that once I was at Mary’s side I could protect her from any danger.

  We set off down the street having to return to the sidewalk numerous times in order to avoid being rundown. We drew many stares, a middle age man and a shaggy mongrel sprinting briskly along some of London’s busier thoroughfares. Often I would have to restrain the animal for a few moments while I regained my breath. I hoped that we would reach the end of our trail before my legs and wind gave out.

  From Baker Street, we turned onto George Street and lumbered past Manchester Square. We then followed High Street, turned onto Marylebone Road and then Portland Place all the while trying our best to avoid our fellow travelers. We did however become entangled with a young lad bringing beer to the labourers who were involved in their eternal struggle to repair the roadway. Screaming my apologies over the clamorous and obviously temperamental steam roller I continued on.

  Toby stopped suddenly as we reached Oxford Street. Appearing confused, the little creature began running around in circles. I stood still, breathing heavily while he ran from street to sidewalk and back again, looking up at me expectantly. I was at a loss as to what to do when suddenly the dog seemed to make up his mind and began pulling me along the pavement. It suddenly occurred to me that he must have come to the spot where Holmes had disembarked from the hansom and while it would have continued down the street Holmes of course would have used the sidewalk. Toby was now following the scent of the preparation which I had applied to the soles of Holmes’ shoes.

  The dog followed the trail across Oxford Street and down Regent Street, turning off the crowded sidewalks of Regent Street we passed Hanover Square and crossed New Bond Street. My legs seemed to be made of India rubber and my shoulder began to throb again. Just as I came to the conclusion that I could continue no longer, Toby stopped of his own accord. I stood with my chest heaving and tried to regain my breath, when suddenly Toby again began to strain against the leash, pulling me towards a large building which I recognized as Claridge’s Hotel. I tried to restrain the little animal however he seemed intent on approaching the hotel. This seemed to me to be a pretty clear indication that Holmes had entered that particular establishment.

  After regaining my strength I began to circle the hotel in order to reassure myself that the detective had not passed through the building and out the other side in an attempt to throw any would be pursuers off his scent. The dog did not again pick up the trail until we were once more standing in front of the massive edifice.

  Now that I knew where Holmes had gone I was only too happy to whistle for a cab. I wearily climbed into the vehicle, slumped onto the seat and pulled the canine sleuth in after me. I instructed the cabby to take me back to Pinchin Lane so that I could return the invaluable Toby to his master. I leaned back against the seat and enjoyed the ride. A light drizzle had started to fall and as evening approached, the day began to cool.

  After thanking Sherman for the use of the four footed detective I instructed the driver to take me back to Brooke Street.

  It was close to seven o’clock by the time I returned to Claridge’s. Although I was anxious to be reunited with my lovely wife I did not at the moment want to risk meeting up with Holmes, should he still be there. Instead I went to the hotel’s dining room and ordered a cold beef sandwich and a beer as I had not eaten all day. By eight o’clock I was ready to begin my search and was prepared to knock on every door in the building if it was necessary and Holmes be damned.

  I took from my vest pocket the photograph of Mrs. Hudson which Billy had obtained for me and began making rounds of the hotel staff. Holmes likeness to Mrs. Hudson was so exact that the first porter which I approached had no difficulty recognizing him from the picture which I proffered.

  “You recognize this lady then?” I asked the young man.

  “Yes sir.”

  “Do you know in which room she is in?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Is she still there?”

  “She was there half an hour ago when I took up the evening paper.”

  “Can you tell me the room number?”

  “Oh no, sir!” He sounded horrified at the thought. “It is more than my position is worth. The guv’nor would have my head if he knew I was showing strange men up to a lady’s room.”

  “And rightfully so,” I thought to myself.

  “Is there anything else, sir?”

  I paused, “have you heard of Sherlock Holmes, lad?” I asked quietly.

  “Oh yes, sir,” he said enthusiastically. “I have read both A Study in Scarlet and The Sign of Four. They are wonderful stories. I most of all enjoy the Irregulars,” he said referring to the small band of boys which Holmes employed.

  “Then you have also heard of Dr. Watson?” I asked, warming to the lad.

  “Oh yes, sir. He is the silly old fool who follows Mr. Holmes around like a puppy dog.”

  “Um yes,” I stammered. “However if not for him you would not be reading of Mr. Holmes, or of the Baker Street Irregulars.”

  “Are you associated with Mr. Holmes?” he asked in awe.

  “I am his older brother, Mycroft,” I lied.

  “I did not know that he had a brother. I saw Mr. Holmes once in Covent Garden and you are much shorter and fatter than he is,” he said with the tact and innocence of the young.

  “We need some help with this case in which we are involved.........,” I replied ignoring this unintended insult. “I am sorry I don’t remember your name.”

  “It’s Jimmy, Mr. Holmes.”

  “Do you think that you would be able to assist my brother and I in this matter, Jimmy?” I asked.

  “Oh yes Mr. Holmes,” he said, his chest puffing out with pride. “If you come with me I can show you in which room the old lady is staying.”

  “No, that would not do at all. All I ask is that you keep your eyes open and let me know when she leaves. Here is half a crown for your trouble,” I said taking a coin from my pocket. “The moment that she vacates her room let me know. I will be in the dining room.” After taking all the trouble to secrete my wife I was sure Holmes would not risk allowing her to dine in public. I also knew that he could, and often did, go without food for extended periods so I felt that the restaurant would be an ideal sanctuary.

  “Do you think that Dr. Watson will write this up as one of Mr. Holmes adventures?” the boy asked, dropping the coin into his pocket.

  “I’m sure he will Jimmy.”

  I went into the dining room and ordered tea. A half hour later the young porter reappeared.

  “The old lady has left sir. Did you wish to follow her?”

  “No Jimmy, it is her associate that we are most interested in.”

  “The pretty blonde lady?” he asked.

  “You have seen her!” I exclaimed excitedly.

  “Yes, Mr. Holmes,” he replied “she was sitting in a chair reading a book when I took a telegram up to the old woman.�
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  “You are certain that the old lady is gone?”

  “Quite certain sir, she left right after she received the telegram, but surely she is not a threat,” he replied as he led me up and down a winding series of stairways and corridors. Presently however the boy stopped in front of a door.

  “There is more to her than meets the eye,” I told the young man truthfully.

  The lad left and the moment that I was alone I rapped quietly on the door. There was no reply. Holmes would, of course instruct her to answer the door only in response to a secret knock or something of a like nature.

  “Mary, it is I, John,” I called out softly.

  I could hear the bolt being drawn back and a moment later the door was flung open and Mary rushed into my arms. For a long time we embraced and with the closeness of our bodies I could feel that she was feverish.

  “You are not well my dear?” I asked her.

  “A little summer cold perhaps, it is nothing to worry yourself about.”

  “Holmes has gone?”

  “Yes John, Mr. Holmes has gone. There was supposed to be another ‘guard’ here,” she spat out the words with some bitterness, “however Mr. Holmes received a telegram saying that he could not be here tonight.”

  “Who is this other man?” I asked.

  “He too is a doctor and appears to be an intimate of Mr. Holmes, as they call each other by their Christian names.”

  “I am surprised that he left you alone, it is most puzzling.”

  “He said something about a prior engagement.”

  “I think that we should leave here, before Holmes returns. I see the strain has already affected you.”

  “He told me that he would not return until noon tomorrow, and I would be safe as long as I remained inside my room. Let us spend the night here and leave first thing in the morning.”

  I was only too happy to agree with her however I first had some business to take care of before retiring for the night. I again found the young porter and thanked him for his assistance. I gave him a half-crown plus another shilling, swearing him to secrecy.

  “I will stay the night and interrogate the old lady’s associate. She is a tough character and it will no doubt take several hours to get the answers I am looking for.”

  With those words I left him and went back to Mary’s room. We did not sleep.

  CHAPTER 4

  We awoke the next morning to a persistent tapping on the door. Fearing that it might be Holmes’ watch dog I was only too willing to let this summons go unanswered however my wife had no such qualms. Fortunately it was only one of the red liveried hotel servants bringing us breakfast.

  “We did not order any breakfast,” Mary said to the fellow.

  “As long as Holmes is paying we might as well take advantage of it,” I replied handing the man a coin.

  I ate ravenously however Mary could only manage a cup of coffee as she was still a little feverish.

  “Make yourself ready as quickly as possible dear,” I said rising from the table and kissing her on the forehead, “I will return shortly.”

  A plan had begun to take shape in the early hours of the morning as I lay watching Mary sleep, but as of yet I had only a vague idea as how to execute it. At this hour there were very few people about, yet I would need help and from whatever quarter it may come. I strolled purposelessly down the corridors, not quite knowing what I should do. It was then that I noticed a young porter coming towards me carrying the luggage of one of my fellow guests. As the lad stopped in front of a door I called out to him.

  “Excuse me, son,” I said.

  “Good morning, sir,” he replied pleasantly. “How may I help you?”

  “The man who occupies this room, can you tell me if he is alone?”

  “I believe that he arrived alone last evening,” he said with a puzzled look on his homely face.

  “It is necessary that we search his rooms. I have a warrant,” I said quickly flashing him a scrap of paper which I had taken from the writing table in my room, “however the task would be much easier if he was not there. In five minutes time return to his room and inform him that there is a gentleman caller at the front desk and that he is requested to come down.”

  “It is easy enough to do Inspector,” the lad said happily. “I too am going to be a policeman when I get old enough,” he added.

  It was obvious that the boy was under the impression that I was with Scotland Yard. I did not disillusion him of the fact. Lying was becoming as familiar to me as an old friend.

  I returned to my wife’s room and waited for the boy to come back. In a matter of ten minutes or so there was a knock on the door. It was the porter.

  “Mr. Williams has gone down to the front desk sir. He was quite put out at the inconvenience but I told him that it was important.”

  I thanked the lad, and handed him a shilling for his trouble. He went away whistling happily.

  I returned to the room of the man named Williams and knocked on the door. No one answered. The lock was easy enough to jemmy using one or two of the instruments from the small medical kit which I always carried with me and quickly I slipped inside. In an instant I had done what I had set out to do and was back in my own room.

  Quickly I helped my wife finish packing her few belongings and with one arm protectively around her waist we proceeded down the stairs to the front desk.

  From somewhere in a back room I could hear the deep baritone voice of a man loudly complaining about the competency of the staff, conditions in the hotel and the state of the country in general. I took out my billfold to settle the account but changed my mind. If Holmes was going to go behind my back even in such a cause then he must bear the expense. Mary and I climbed into one of the cabs which were waiting at the door and we were off.

  My practice that day was extremely busy and I was sitting at my desk in the late afternoon updating my patient records when Holmes burst in. He was carrying a bowler hat.

  “Watson, I have some distressing news,” he said with a candor to which I had become accustomed. “Your wife has vanished.”

  I had steeled myself for his arrival and done my best to prepare for the questions which I knew must inevitably follow.

  “What do you mean vanished? What has become of her?” I tried my best to sound shocked.

  “Calm yourself Watson, all is not lost,” he said looking at me with his steel gray eyes.

  “Fortunately the culprit has conveniently provided us with a number of clues.”

  “What sort of clues, Holmes?” I asked nervously, not wanting to meet his gaze.

  “You are equipped with a microscope and scalpel?” he asked looking around the room.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “May I make use of them?” he asked

  “As you wish Holmes,” I replied, puzzled by the request.

  “As a doctor you will be aware that there are physical differences between the distinct races aside from the obvious one,” he said to me, taking an envelope from his pocket and placing the contents under the microscope.

  “I have heard something of the kind,” I said wryly.

  “Tell me what you see Watson,” he said motioning me over to the delicate instrument.

  “It appears to be a hair, Holmes,” I said peering into the eyepiece.

  “It is indeed a hair. What you may or may not know Doctor is that the hair of members of the Negroid race tends to be kinky and have an uneven distribution of pigment while that of the Caucasian tend to be straighter and have a more even distribution of pigment. The image on the right is a section of Negroid hair while the image on the left is a section of my own hair. You will notice that the hair on the right is also flatter than my own hair. This is another typical racial characteristic. I have made a study of the subject and perhaps I shall one day write a monograph upon the differences in the hair of persons of distinct racial origins.”

  “A rather esoteric subject, I would think Holmes.”

  “
No subject is too trivial for the serious investigator, Watson,” he said severely.

  “This hair then came from Mary’s room?” I asked returning to the business at hand.

  “This hair came from the bowler hat which I have here and which was left in your wife’s room.”

  “So the man to whom this hat belonged is a Negro?” I replied with genuine incredulity.

  “Not only is the man a Negro but he is left handed, quite intelligent, an American, not much given to physical exertion and as recently as last evening he traveled on the Underground.”

  I had no trouble registering my typical look of bafflement at these deductions.

  “How do you deduce that he is left handed?”

  “Look closely Watson. There is definite wear on the left side of the brim where the hat is normally clutched as it is put on and taken off. That the wearer is not used to physical exertion, you can see by the inside band. Although the hat is far from new it is not discolored as much by perspiration as one might expect thus indicating the owner does not walk anywhere when he can ride. That he is intelligent one may deduce from the size of the object. Anyone with such a large head must have something in it.”

  “And the fact he is an American?” I asked.

  “Printed upon the man’s calling card, which was tucked into the inside lining, was the man’s name and the fact that he was a graduate of Tuskeegee Institute in Alabama which is a Negro school.”

  “Is it not unusual to have printed upon your card the name of your school?” I asked.

  “To each his own, Watson.”

  “There are any number of further indications that the man is an American. Claridge’s is an expensive hotel and most English travelers who stay there would probably employ their own valets. The Americans, especially Negroes, would be less likely to engage servants. This would explain the traces of soot upon the hat. Soot which he would have come in contact with while riding on the Underground.

  “The cigarette end which I found in the room was also of an American manufacture but most telling of all were his boots.”