Sherlock Holmes and the Mystery Writer

by Fred Thursfield

  “No there is nothing I have forgotten...but rather something you said as you left the Mermaid that indicates to me you may know where Miss Jeffery is being kept.” Thomas smiled knowingly at Sherlock “even if I did know Mr. Holmes you would have to agree that I would be a fool to give such valuable information up.” The badger thinking he held the high ground continued “after all, if a man has in his hand the winning cards in a game with high stakes he would be a fool to reveal what he has too early.”

  Sherlock with some irritation in his voice replied “Mr. Malone your contemptible arrogance will force me to take drastic measures.” “Drastic measures Mr. Holmes?” In the past that would have meant John drawing his army service revolver and taking aim to motivate the suspect Sherlock thought to him self.

  “I’m afraid this time you are out matched Mr. Holmes. Do you know why they call me the badger? Badgers despite their size are by their confrontational nature, a nasty animal. They are aggressive, they show no fear, are single minded in their assault, do not retreat but press their attack and their sharp claws and teeth are employed for only one purpose. Mr. Holmes, I admire such an animal and try to emulate as many of its talents and skills as I can.”

  Sherlock noticed that the stance of the badger was starting to change. Being unaware of Thomas’s style of fighting he would have to take a moment and observe in order to defend him self accurately.

  Thomas still somewhat in a relaxed state sized up Sherlock planning where to strike the first effective blow. He had no intent to kill Sherlock but rather to disable the consulting detective long enough for Thomas to make a clean escape.

  Hoping he was lulling Sherlock into an unguarded state the badger continued “from your reputation I assume you are well versed in several different styles of fighting or combat?” In a rare show of pride Sherlock answered back “I have travelled to several countries and when one presents a particularly interesting type or form I make a study of it to include in my arsenal of defence. I can then draw on this knowledge when I am dealing with dangerous persons thus precluding the need for a fire arm.”

  Then in a radical change of character the badger dropped his London, Margate Road accent and started addressing Sherlock in an accent that any linguist would easily identify as coming from Dramorra, Ireland.

  The badger smiled knowing in his mind what was about to take place. “Are you familiar with the type of fighting I make a living at?” Sherlock regarded Thomas with some disdain and answered “Bare knuckle boxing or fighting. The only sport, if indeed if it could be called a sport, that attracts people such as yourself to participate.”

  “You may look down on what I do for a living Mr. Holmes but it is a sport that serves many purposes.” Sherlock countered “Other than knocking a man senseless to the ground or killing him outright for the financial gain of others, I see no purpose to this “sport.”

  “It serves another less known but useful function to my purpose.” Sherlock’s interest was momentarily piqued “from time to time when I am employed, there are troublesome people who want to know too much about what I am doing or why. My particular expertize in the sport of bare knuckles boxing assures that they will no longer be troublesome.”

  As Sherlock saw the badger clench his right fist and draw his arm back in preparation to strike him Thomas said with great conviction “and you Mr. Holmes are starting to be quite troubling.” Not being able to anticipate the speed and direction of his opponent’s first blow Sherlock felt the badger’s right fist violently connect with his lower left jaw.

  Momentarily caught off balance Sherlock felt the pain from the point of impact radiate up into his skull. Regaining his equilibrium he realized the dangerous strength he was facing and why so many of the badgers opponents never lived to see the end of a fight.

  Now striking a boxer’s defensive pose Sherlock watched the badger trying to anticipate where and when he would strike next. Thomas smiled at his opponent’s predictable defence and derisively commented “ah the Marquis of Queensbury rules then Mr. Holmes.” “That” the badger said cockily “is where I have the advantage over you in my form of fighting there are no rules.”

  For the next few minutes Sherlock due to the unpredictable fighting style of the badger was forced to take a defensive stand to the badger’s offensive stand. Blocking and equally suffering as many of the hard and sharp blows to his body as he was forced to endure.

  When the badger realized that his opponent had more stamina and would not easily be disposed of he found for the first time he had to halt his attack and catch his breath. Putting his hands on his knees to draw in more breath Thomas looking up and grudgingly commented to Sherlock. “Mr. Holmes, you are proving to be a most worthy opponent, certainly far more challenging than other men I have fought. However this fight must come to an end.”

  Sherlock also catching his breath reached into an inner pocket to retrieve a handkerchief. He used it to wipe away the blood that had started to flow from his right nostril. The flow of blood started after he had received a particularly brutal smashing blow obviously intended to break his nose.

  Noting that the crimson flow had stopped...Sherlock replaced the now soiled handkerchief...fixed the badger a particularly cold stare and calmly asked “Mr. Prescott do you have any knowledge of the Japanese fighting art of Aikido?”

  Still catching his breath the badger shook his head no...as Sherlock began to instruct Thomas he placed his feet shoulder-width apart, with one slightly further back, allowing him to change foot positions as he needed. This also allowed him to move his weight back and forth to parry each attack. Sherlock kept his knees slightly bent at all times to allow both quick and unfettered foot movement.

  Like a school master instructing a class room full of delinquent children Sherlock began; “The art of Aikido evolved from a variety of classical Japanese combative arts. Many forms and movements in Aikido stem from sword, knife, stick, spear, or archery movements. However, the majority of Aikido comes from an extremely effective open-hand fighting art called Daito-ryu Aiki-jujutsu.

  The hand and arm movements in aikido are mainly spirals and circles. Choppy cuts and swings like in other martial arts are mostly used to attack. The circular motion allows your arms to move with momentum when pulling your opponent through his attack. Strength is achieved through the continuous movement, while the hands remain open to grab and hold.”

  When Sherlock had finished the instruction his pose and mindset were one and he was fully prepared to defend himself against any assault from the badger. Thomas very much less than impressed with this unknown style of fighting commented “I’m impressed, or should I say that I am not, that you have travelled to another country to learn a fighting style that has no practical use in this country.

  Here results are measured by the number of times a man’s fist can connect with another to get the results desired. But as I stated earlier Mr. Holmes, I have matters to attend to” then thinking that the contest was already over and that Sherlock was disposed of “concerning Miss Jeffery. So I suggest we finish this.” The badger took up his bare knuckle fighting pose and set to strike another blow against Sherlock.

  But now the contest had unexpectedly changed because each time the badger tried to land a blow against Sherlock his fist instead of connecting with flesh passed by its target and was dissipated into thin air. Like a sapling moving in a summer breeze Sherlock fluidly moved to the left or the right to avoid being hit when a particularly fast blow was coming towards him he easily deflected it with his left or right arm.

  Realizing that with each passing moment spent defending himself against the badger was one less moment that Winfred might have to live...and now fully realizing the real threat that Thomas might present Sherlock wrestled with a difficult decision. He decided to bring this contest to an end. With the next blow from the badger coming towards him rather than fluidly deflecting it Sherloc
k grabbed hold of the hand with his own left, in one assured move pulled the badger towards him and with his right he made a tightly clenched fist and directed it towards the badger’s trachea.

  With this somewhat violent action there was the fracturing sound of small bones being broken in the throat followed by the wheezes of a man now desperately gasping for air. Suddenly no longer able to breathe there was a final look of surprise and shock on the badgers face as his life slipped away. With that, Sherlock released his Aikido grip on him and let his now dead opponent fall to the street.

  Chapter 48

  As I had done for several mornings I chose a table in the busy hotel dining room where Sherlock and I could breakfast and be assured that our conversation would not be overheard. Sherlock’s morning arrival seemed to take longer than usual because of the news that I wanted to share with him as to where Winifred was being held captive.

  It was when the waiter was refilling my cup with freshly brewed coffee I saw Sherlock appear at the entrance to the dining room asking the server where I was seated. Seeing me he quickly made his way to my table.

  As he sat down I could tell that a great weight had been lifted form his shoulders. Dismissing the attending waiter after pouring his cup of coffee and casually adding cream and sugar to the cup he announced “Mr. Malone, one of Miss Jefferies captors will no longer be an impediment to us locating her.”

  I quickly filled him in on what Miss Taggart had revealed of Winifred’s whereabouts. At that instant we both stopped our breakfast looked at each other for a brief time and then spurring into action. Sherlock raised his hand into the air announced “waiter!” to one who was passing and asked him to bring the bill for the meal.

  With Sherlock collecting his coat I collected mine along with my handbag. We both quickly made our way to the entrance of the Lancaster Gate hotel. There as fortune would have it was a motor taxi with its engine idling waiting for a fare.

  With Sherlock entering first then myself as I closed the passenger door I gave the driver our destination “WH Matthews and company 109 Old Street, Stepney” turning around and looking a little surprised at a woman giving a destination the driver nonetheless tipped his cap politely and answered “yes miss.” Although he didn’t say anything as the motor taxi pulled away I could tell Sherlock was as concerned about Winifred’s precarious state as I was.

  Chapter 49

  The motor taxi made a final left turn onto Old street and pulled up in front of what appeared to be a disused business. The faded sign read WH Matthews & Co., 109 Old Street below the title of the business. The sign still indicated the services it had offered some time ago; Residential Conveyancing -Company Commercial, Business -Commercial Property.

  Peering through the large dust covered front windows the condition of the unlit outer office more than convinced both Sherlock and I that it had been some time since this office had transacted any type of business and it was not the sort of location to keep a hostage.

  Before formulating any type of rescue Sherlock inquired as to whether I had the right address. I assured him that I made clear to Miss Taggart when I was questioning her in the market, that should she provide the wrong information I would make her life most difficult and her pick pocket days would come to an end. I warned her that I would not rest and would employee as many people as possible to follow her every move. I am confident this is the correct address.

  Uncertain of what we would discover we proceeded to the front entrance. While Sherlock reached into an inner pocket to retrieve his infamous lock picking tools (a skill John had never agree with) I tried the door knob, it turned and I gently pushed the door inwardly.

  We were both sure that the protesting sound the rusted hinges were making would attract unwelcome attention but as the door opened all the way all we were only met with was a thick coating of dust and silence. We carefully walked past the unused chairs, desks and filing cabinets any sounds of our proceeding foot steps indicating our progress to the back of the office were muffled by the thick carpet of dust under our feet.

  At the back of the unoccupied office was a plain wall and set in it was a door which at first sight Sherlock and I presumed was a rear exit to a back lane. To both Sherlock’s and my surprise there was a band of warm electric light shining out from under the bottom of the door.

  Quickly formulating a plan, Sherlock indicated that he would enter the lit room first (then I would follow) to deal with whoever might be occupying the room. With a decisive turn of the door knob and his shoulder to the door to force it open should it be locked the door burst open to reveal quite a different sight from the room we had just left.

  The clean moderately sized room was lit from electric light fixtures mounted on the two dark oak panelled side walls. Occupying most of the space was a long oblong table surrounding by matching chairs. At the head of the table much to our surprise sat a gentleman who apparently had been unmoved by our arrival.

  Closing the file he had been studying he calmly looked up at us both and said “ah Mr Holmes and Mrs Watson. It is a pleasure to meet the great detective and the widow of his famous biographer. I had no doubt that with your combined skills you would arrive here to locate Miss Jeffery. As you can see, she is not here.” “I must comment on your friend Mrs Watson. She has certainly proven to be persistent in denying any knowledge of the Survivors list or of its contents.

  Less civilized individuals would have resorted to more persuasive methods to obtain the information but that was not our intent. So while Miss Jeffery can not serve her primary function of returning the list, she still has some value as leverage against those (here he stopped and gave both Sherlock and myself a hard look) who might know of its whereabouts.”

  Sherlock growing tired of this line of conversation and the superior attitude of the man sitting at the table interrupted “and where is Miss Jeffery at this moment? “For our purposes Mr Holmes she is safe. But with your unannounced visit she will have to be moved.” Fearing for her life I burst out “I want Winfred returned now!” The man gave me a particularly condescending smile and coldly asked “and what can you, Mrs Watson do to make that happen?”

  Chapter 50

  During my final days visiting with John at St. Bartholomew’s hospital he and I tried to share as much with each other as we could knowing that our time together was growing short. We relived the events of our first meeting; our marriage, shared memories of the home we had built together, the many memories in it we had created, our summer vacations together, Christmases, the trying times during the war, John’s role as Sherlock’s chronicler, our shared personal friendship with the consulting detective and of course my husbands last request to document further Sherlock Holmes cases.

  The most difficult request was saved for last. I could tell that my husband had been struggling with asking me for some time but knew what he wanted to discuss. John felt that what he was proposing might some day be necessary. That day was now. I reached into my hand bag withdrew John’s service revolver pointed it at my tormenter and again requested Winfred’s release.

  Sherlock was both impressed and a little surprised at my unexpected solution to what was amounting to an impossible impasse. The man at the table was having a less than favourable reaction at seeing a woman drawing a weapon from her handbag obviously having been trained as to how to use it and now it was aimed at him.

  Rendered speechless and feeling the colour drain from his face he weighed his options at that moment and shakily returned “I will take you to her immediately.”

  Winfred’s place of confinement was not far from the abandoned office. It was typical of a lot of the rooming houses located in Stepney. It was a two story structure with faded paint, ramshackle in appearance and much in need of repair. We carefully entered the rooming house then the man said he would have to locate the lady who held the key to Winfred’s room.

  As Sherlock and the ma
n set off into the interior of the rooming house to locate the house keeper I surveyed the surroundings and thought that we couldn’t release Winfred soon enough. While I was taking stock of the scene from somewhere near the rear of the house I heard a woman’s name being called in a somewhat nervous manner, then a woman’s impatient voice replying back “I’m coming I’m coming.”

  Returning with her escort to the entrance the house keeper eyed me suspiciously and “you know I can’t release the lady without proper instructions.” Sherlock with a new found pride in me returned with a nod in my direction “I think you will find instruction enough in Mrs. Watson’s pistol.”

  With that, the four of us proceeded up a flight of rickety stairs to the second floor and then found ourselves facing a locked door. The housekeeper slowly inserted the key into the lock and turned it.

  Sherlock reached over and turned the door knob. The door opened inwardly to reveal a very surprised and very much relieved Winfred Jeffery. Coming toward the door of her very bare room Winfred exclaimed “Mary, Mr. Holmes, it is good to see you both again.”

  Epilogue

  There are three final parts of this chronicle to document. The first being that after rescuing Winfred and having her agree to stay at the Lancaster Gate hotel until she was recovered enough to return to Gravesend, Sherlock went to see his brother to close the matter of the Survivors list.

  It was agreed between Sherlock and his brother that due to the political sensitivity of the document it would be placed in a safety deposit box at a bank somewhere in the United Kingdom and that only Mycroft would have any knowledge of its location.

  A few days later Winfred decided she was well enough to make the journey to her home. “My home and my writing are both in shambles and I should return to tend to both.” She explained to me as she was finishing her packing. Later with a motor taxi ride from the hotel all we arrived at the train station to see Winifred off.