Holmes for the Holidays

by Martin H. Greenberg (ed)

  Here our visitor paused once more to wipe his face with his handkerchief. He put it away and then said, "You must help me, Mr. Holmes. I fear that I am losing my mind or that the ghosts will somehow destroy me."

  "In your uncle's case, did anyone else see the ghosts of which he told you?"

  "No, or if so, he never told me of any witnesses."

  "And has no one else seen the strange apparitions that appeared to you?"

  "I am a widower," said Scrooge. "My wife died ten years ago, and since that time I have been a man of solitary habits and have lived alone. No one else saw what I have seen. But I know that I have seen it."

  "I am sure that you know what you have seen," said Holmes. "And I will do what I can to help you."

  I was astonished. Never would I have believed that Holmes could allow himself an interest in a story that seemed so fantastically unreal. Ghosts? Doorknobs that transformed themselves into faces? These were the very kinds of tales that Holmes abominated.

  However, he seemed to have a genuine concern for our visitor, and he assured him that he would do all he could to assist him.

  "You must, of course, be perfectly frank with me," he told Scrooge. "And you must answer all my questions, no matter how odd they may seem to you."

  "I have heard of your methods, as I said. I will answer whatever you might ask."

  "Good," said Holmes. "First of all, tell me about your place of business. How many employees do you have, and what is their character?"

  "I employ seven men, including my clerk. All have worked for me for quite some time, five years at the least. The clerk, Timothy Cratchit, has been with me ever since I inherited the business from my uncle, and a more loyal employee I should never hope to have. His father served before him as clerk for my uncle just as faithfully. As to the others, their character is beyond reproach, with the possible exception of one Randall Tomkins, who is a fine man when sober but who on occasion is most decidedly not sober. On those occasions, which are unfortunately not infrequent, he does not appear at the firm of Scrooge and Marley."

  "Very well," Holmes said, and I was gratified to hear his next question, which seemed to reflect his attention to my own earlier theory. "What meals do you eat, and where do you take them?"

  "I rise early and break my fast with a slice of bread and an apple. I take lunch in the Bull and Boar, just around the corner from my office, and I often take dinner there as well, though there are other places where I dine when the mood is on me. Should I name them?"

  "That is not necessary at present. Do you take tea?"

  "Certainly. That is a daily ritual at the firm of Scrooge and Marley. Are you of the belief that some clot of cream or dab of biscuit is causing the appearance of these ghosts?"

  "That remains to be seen. Tomorrow, Dr. Watson and I will visit you at your offices. As for today, I recommend that you go home and rest. Do not allow yourself any visitors. Should any come, simply tell them that you are unwell. I do not believe that your ghosts will visit you on a Sunday."

  "I am afraid that you are taking me lightly," Scrooge said, mistaking Holmes's comment for a joke.

  "On the contrary," said Holmes. "I assure you that I am taking you most seriously indeed. You have asked for my help and advice. If you do not choose to follow it, then I cannot accept your case."

  Scrooge rose and settled his hat on his head. "I will do what you say. At what time will you arrive tomorrow?"

  "As to that, I am not yet sure. But we will be there at one time or another. You may count on it."

  "I will," said Scrooge, and then he left our quarters.

  "I am most surprised at you, Holmes." said I when Scrooge was gone. "I had assumed that you had no curiosity about ghosts."

  Holmes was rummaging round, searching for the Persian slipper where his tobacco was kept. "And you were quite correct in your assumption. Considering the fact that ghosts do not exist, it would be difficult to develop an interest in them. Ah, here it is."

  He filled his pipe, and when he got it going to his satisfaction, he said, "We will be visiting the offices of Scrooge and Marley tomorrow afternoon. I am sorry to have presumed of you, Watson, that you would accompany me. I should have asked. But you will go, won't you?"

  "Of course," said I. "I'm sure it will be as enlightening as any venture on which I have accompanied you."

  "Good old Watson," said Holmes, a wreath of smoke surrounding him. "I knew that I could count on you. And you may want to take your revolver. It is best to be prepared."

  "I hardly think that a revolver would be much use against a ghost," I said.

  "Indeed," said Sherlock Holmes.

  # # #

  The next day was dark with clouds, and cold enough to crack stones. A thick, greasy fog slid around the buildings and rolled down the streets. Holmes and I spent the day indoors, I reading a book of memoirs written by one of my fellows from the Afghanistan campaign, Holmes going through his commonplace books and reading in some of the many volumes of chemical and criminal lore that he kept in a jumble about our rooms. Finally, at about half past three, he said, "It is time to pay our visit to the firm of Scrooge and Marley, Watson. Are you prepared?"

  I patted the pocket of my jacket where I had secreted my revolver earlier in the day. "Yes, Holmes. I believe that I am."

  We shouldered into heavy coats and wrapped our scarves around our necks. Holmes put on a travelling cap with earflaps, and I chose a black bowler. Both of us wore warm gloves.

  What with the fog, the clouds, and the lateness of the hour, it was quite dark by the time we descended to Baker Street. The Christmas crowds were bustling about, but the people were subdued by the brutal weather, and the sounds of their voices were distorted by the thick murk. In the distance we could hear someone faintly singing a carol, and the gaslights were rosy gold smears.

  "Do you know where we are going, Holmes?" I asked.

  "To the firm of Scrooge and Marley."

  "I meant the direction."

  "I looked it up in my directory. It is not far from here, and I doubt that we can find a cab in this weather, so we must walk. Stay by my side, and you will not get lost."

  Indeed it was the kind of evening on which one might easily get lost. The fog gathered around us so closely that I could hardly see Holmes's face, though he was but two feet from me at the most. The cold seeped in below the hem of my coat and crept up the sleeves.

  "It hardly seems like Christmas." I remarked.

  "Ah, but it will," Holmes said, "when Mrs. Hudson prepares for us a magnificent Christmas goose."

  "Do you suppose there will be pudding as well?" I asked.

  "I hope so," said Holmes. "But come along, Watson. We cannot dawdle."

  He led me on at a goodly pace, but I was able to keep up and not lose sight of him. When we reached our destination, I was flushed and out of breath, but Holmes seemed to be breathing quite naturally.

  "Here we are," said he, looking at the sign that appeared through the fog above the door. "Scrooge and Marley."

  It was not a prepossessing building. The portion of the walls that I could see was streaked with soot, and the clammy stones were slick with little runners of ice. We went inside, and the atmosphere did not greatly improve. The walls were dark, the lights were dim, and the stove did not glow brightly, although I could detect that the chill in the air was not quite as profound as that outside the doors. Six men on stools bent over their account books at cramped desks.

  "Our client seems to have inherited something of the frugal nature possessed by his great uncle," observed Holmes as he began to unwrap his scarf.

  As he said this, Scrooge himself appeared from an inner office. "Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson. I was afraid that you had forgotten our appointment."

  "I do not forget appointments," said Holmes, removing his gloves.

  "I am sure that you do not," said Scrooge. "At any rate, you have arrived just in time for tea. Will you take it in my office with me?"

  Holmes nod
ded. "In a moment. Which of these men is Randall Tomkins?"

  Scrooge indicated a portly man at one of the desks. His back was to us, but I had a feeling that he was listening to our every word.

  "Watson and I would like to have a brief private conversation with Mr. Tomkins," said Holmes. "May we use your office before we take tea?"

  "But the tea is steeping now," protested Scrooge.

  "This will not take long. If you would be so good as to ask Tomkins to step in, Dr. Watson and I will go to your office now."

  Without waiting for a reply from Scrooge, Holmes walked away. I, not knowing what else to do, followed him, and within seconds we were joined by Tomkins, whose portly physique was complemented by the red and pitted nose of the habitual toper. He was twisting his hands together as if he were washing them, and his eyes did not linger long in one place.

  "Do you know me?" asked Sherlock Holmes.

  "I.. . do not."

  Holmes stared at him, his gray eyes hard.

  "That is to say, perhaps I do. It isn't easy to say for sure, you know. It has been a while since our last meeting."

  Holmes turned to me. "Tomkins and I have crossed paths in the past. He has reason to wonder about my being here, no doubt, considering his former career. I assume that you have changed, Tomkins?"

  "Oh, yes, sir. No more of the old light-fingered Randall Tomkins, sir." He held up his right hand and his gnarled fingers. The thick knuckles indicated that he was afflicted with severe arthritis. "Just hard work and the occasional drink, but that's all there is."

  "I am afraid that the drink is more than occasional," remarked Holmes.

  Tomkins looked abashed. "In that you are right, but I am doing as best I can, sir. I do have an honest job, and Mr. Scrooge has been kind not to dismiss me when I backslid. I hope you're not about to get me into some difficulty with him, sir. This job is my salvation."

  "I do not think that I am going to cause you any difficulties," said Holmes. "You may return to your desk, Tomkins."

  "Thank you, sir," Tomkins said, backing out of the office.

  "Is Tomkins involved in this, Holmes?" I asked. "Does he have something to do with the ghosts?"

  "That is quite doubtful," said Holmes, though he had no time to tell me why, for Scrooge came into the office.

  "Do you know Tomkins?" he asked. "He seemed to indicate that you were an old friend."

  "I know him," said Holmes.

  "That is a point in his favour, I'm sure," said Scrooge. "Are you and Dr. Watson ready now to take tea?"

  Holmes rubbed his hands together. There was a definite chill in the air.

  "Who will serve us?" he asked.

  "Cratchit. He makes quite a delicious pot of tea."

  "Ah, yes. The faithful Cratchit. Where does he make the tea?"

  "There is a small gas burner in the back of the building near his office. Cratchit is a man who likes privacy, and he prefers to work away from the others here. But let me call him now."

  He went out, and I said to Holmes, "I am not certain that I know where this is leading us. Can you see any evidence here of ghosts and apparitions?"

  "None at all," said he. "But you should remember I did not expect to see any such evidence, considering that ghosts cannot and do not exist."

  At that moment, Scrooge returned, followed shortly by a man whom I assumed to be Cratchit. He was small and bent and walked with a shuffling step. To my physician's eye he appeared to have been at one time a victim of some debilitating disease, which he must have overcome by no less than the most difficult of struggles. His wizened face was wreathed with a beneficent smile, and he said as he set the tea tray on Scrooge's desk, "God bless you, gentlemen, and the happiness of the season to you."

  "Cratchit," said Scrooge, "this is Dr. Watson. And this is Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

  Cratchit smiled and gave a slight bow. "I am most glad to meet you, sirs. I have heard something of your exploits, Mr. Holmes, but surely your talents are not needed here at the firm of Scrooge and Marley?"

  "No need to worry yourself about that," said Scrooge. "Please do the honours, Mr. Cratchit, and pour."

  As Cratchit reached for the pot, which was covered in a white crocheted cosy. Holmes said, "I believe that I might know something of your family, Mr. Cratchit. Do they not come from America?"

  Cratchit drew back his hand. "Oh, bless us, no, Mr. Holmes. I have worked here with Mr. Scrooge for something more than thirty years, alongside my father for a great deal of that time, and my father worked for Mr. Scrooge's uncle long before I began here."

  "But you have American relations," Scrooge said. "I know that your father mentioned them more than once."

  "Bless me, yes," said Cratchit. "My own great-uncle, Samuel Cratchit. He was a rambling sort of a man, and left home before ever I was born."

  "Quite the adventurer, to hear your father tell it," said Scrooge. He looked at Holmes. "Samuel Cratchit lived among the savage red Indians for years, panned for gold on the Pacific slope, and later went to the wilds of Alaskan Yukon, where he was supposedly mauled and killed by a grizzly bear."

  "Yes, yes, Uncle Samuel was quite the frontiersman," said Cratchit. "Shall I pour, Mr. Scrooge?"

  "Just a moment," said Holmes. "Dr. Watson, as you may know, has a habit of jotting down my own more sensational exploits for the public prints. Perhaps he might be interested in telling some tale or another about your uncle. You say he lived among the savages, Mr. Scrooge?"

  "There is not much to the tale," said Cratchit. "He was adopted by them for some reason or another, but they were a peaceful tribe, and he grew weary of their simple life. Shall I pour, sir?"

  "Please do," Scrooge said.

  There were four teacups on the tray, and Cratchit filled them carefully, not spilling a drop.

  "Milk?" he asked when he was done, picking up a delicate china pitcher. He poured as we requested, and then he said, "Sugar?"

  When the tea was poured, we extended out hands for our cups, except for Holmes, who in an unexpectedly clumsy motion reached for one of several biscuits that lay on the tray. In doing so, he brushed his hand ponderously against Scrooge's cup, causing Scrooge to spill most of his tea on the tray, where it soaked into the biscuits and the cosy. It also splashed onto the arm of Scrooge's suit, and Holmes brushed at it with his napkin so vigorously that Scrooge dropped his cup to the floor where it shattered into several pieces.

  "My word, Mr. Holmes," said Scrooge. "It is only a spot of tea."

  Indeed it was, and I was taken somewhat aback to see how Holmes was behaving. He was not normally so clumsy in his actions.

  "Bless us all," said Cratchit, fairly hopping about in agitation. "Whatever shall we do for another cup? Mr. Scrooge never misses having his tea."

  "He must do without it today, however, it appears," said Holmes.

  He was still brushing at Scrooge's sleeve, and at that moment the napkin slipped from his fingers and to the floor. He bent to retrieve it, and as he raised up, he struck the edge of the tea tray heavily, upsetting another of the cups.

  "I say, Holmes." I had been looking forward to having one of the biscuits, but it now seemed that I was not to have that pleasure. "Are you quite well?"

  "I am fine, Watson, I assure you. I am sorry, Mr. Scrooge, that we will have to forgo the tea on this visit. Perhaps you can have Mr. Cratchit remove the tray before I do any further damage."

  Cratchit was bent to the floor, picking up the pieces of the broken cup. He straightened and said, "Mr. Scrooge never misses his tea."

  "Today he must," said Holmes firmly. "Mr. Scrooge?"

  "You are right, of course," said Scrooge. "Remove the things, Mr. Cratchit. I can always have tea tomorrow."

  Cratchit gathered everything onto the tray and took it from the room. With a backward glance and a half-hearted smile, he said, "God bless you all, gentlemen," and then he was gone.

  "Well, Mr. Holmes," said Scrooge, "this has not proved to be a particularly auspicious meeting.
I am afraid that you have done nothing to dispel the worry that afflicts me."

  "On the contrary," said Holmes. "I have done everything to dispel it. You need not fear ghosts tonight or ever, Mr. Scrooge. I can say with some certainty that they will not appear to you tonight or ever again."

  Scrooge's jaw dropped. "What? But how can you say that? You have done nothing here but upset my tea tray and break one of my cups!"

  Holmes allowed himself a half smile. "That is how it may appear to you. It is quite different if seen through other eyes, however. Is that not so, Watson?"

  I nodded my assent, although I had seen no more than Scrooge. I, however, was much better acquainted with Holmes than Scrooge, and I knew that if he said that no more ghosts would appear, then the matter was settled.

  "Very well," said Scrooge. "But what if you are wrong?"

  "I am not wrong," said Holmes. "You will sleep peacefully tonight and each night thereafter if your conscience is clear. I suggest you make a start to clear it by allowing a bit more warmth in your building." He turned to me. "Come along, Watson. Let us have one last word with Mr. Cratchit before we leave. He appeared most upset by my indelicate bumbling."

  We left Scrooge scratching his head in puzzlement and made our way to the back of the building where Cratchit sat hunched over his desk in a cramped little room no larger than a closet. He turned with a jerk when Holmes entered.

  I had to stand without the door, there being no room for me inside, but I could hear all that Holmes said.

  "I know what you have done, Mr. Cratchit," said he. "And what your father did before you." Cratchit started to protest, but Holmes raised a hand to silence him. "There is no need to deny it. I have read something of Ebenezer Scrooge and his way of conducting business, and I have heard of Ebenezer's ghosts from his nephew. I am sure that what your father did, he did in hopes of working some kind of change in Scrooge, and in that, he was successful. But it was a dangerous course that he pursued, and you should never have chosen it for yourself."