I was, as ever, stunned by his ability to retrieve such trivia from the depths of his memory. “What else can you discern, Holmes?”
“This is a non-standard paper size and the residue of gum along the top is most suggestive. It has been torn from a notepad. Possibly one used by a professional man. It is written in cheap black ink, which has faded considerably over the years since this was written. The hand is free-flowing, but lazy - undoubtable that of a person well-used to firing off short missives. It will not surprise you to learn that the author is a medical man.”
I coughed unexpectedly at the disclosure. “Really! You gathered that from some black ink and the style of handwriting?”
My colleague grinned once more. “No, he’s signed it ‘Owen Douglas, MD’.”
We both laughed and Holmes went on to reveal more. “It’s dated ‘12th March 1884’, and starts simply, ‘To my dearest James’. The address of the intended recipient is ‘7 Crescent Grove, Clapham Common’. As for the contents, you had better read that yourself.”
I joined him at the table and was handed the note. It read:
Please accept this book (one that I remembered you had wanted for your collection) as a small token of my appreciation for what you have given me.
I used the Influence to re-start the heart of a local man, Wright Littlewood, who had suffered a heart attack. He has recovered admirably, but I will keep you informed of his progress.
I am loath to broadcast my success more widely, for fear that it may be deemed to have been a dubious professional act. However, I am now even more convinced that your invention has the power to save lives.
I am forever in your debt and remain,
Yours faithfully,
“Well, what are we to make of it, Watson? Is it not a most baffling, yet fascinating, memorandum?”
“It is,” I replied. “I know that others have claimed success in using electricity to resuscitate patients. In 1774, a country doctor claimed to have applied an electric shock to the chest of a young girl to re-establish her pulse. Since then, many have carried out experiments on the power of defibrillation, albeit mainly on animals. Most recently, in the 1840’s, the Italian physicist, Carlo Matteucci, published his studies into the electrical properties of animal tissue. So the idea that a doctor could successfully induce ventricular fibrillation using shock treatment is within the realms of possibility.”
“Excellent!” exclaimed Holmes. “Then let us assume for the moment that the incident referred to is genuine. The note is a personal one, so we have the task of discovering who ‘James’ is or was.”
“Well clearly he is also a medical man,” I ventured.
“It would be tempting to think so, but the use of the word ‘invention’ makes me wonder if our man might be a pioneer in a broader field. That he wanted to own a copy of the Hauksbee book further suggests that his interests may be more scientific and mechanical rather than medical.” He pointed once more at the note before us. “And there is something about the use of this term ‘Influence’-I believe I am right in saying that some of the electrostatic generators that have been developed in recent years are sometimes referred to as Influence Machines.”
“That may well be the case, but where does that leaves us? Without a surname, we may still be on a wild goose chase. In any case, Holmes, are you really intent on pursuing this, given all of the other demands on your time?”
I could already tell what his answer would be. When my colleague was fired up to this extent, he was hard to dissuade. “There is more to this matter than we have yet discovered. And you forget - we have an address!”
“But how do you know that this fellow has not died and his book collection has been sold or given to the dealer from whom I purchased it?”
“A good point, my friend. And one that is easily checked. Let us test your theory. What was the name of the book dealer?”
“It was Bumpus’s on Oxford Street.”
“Splendid. Then we will take in some fine London air and enjoy a stroll on this particularly pleasant afternoon.”
* * *
It was less than a mile to the bookshop. The capital was bathed in warm summer sunshine and the temperature had soared. Walking at the pace dictated by Holmes, I found it uncomfortably clammy, clad as I was in a thick tweed jacket with matching waistcoat.
I took the opportunity to fire questions at Holmes in an attempt to slow him down, but the quest proved fruitless. “How do we know the book wasn’t stolen?” said I, breathlessly.
“The Bumpus family are reputable dealers - their business is built upon that. They will keep records, or know from where all their stock comes,” he shot back at me. “Now, come on, Watson, keep up!”
Once inside the large book shop, it took me just a few seconds to spot the assistant who had sold me the book earlier that day. He was most helpful, if not a little concerned at first that I wished to return the book. Having satisfied him on that score, Holmes explained the nature of our quest, saying that we had discovered a personal note within the cover of the book and now wished to return it to the book’s original owner. Could he therefore tell us anything about from where the book had come?
The subterfuge worked perfectly. “The book was brought in the previous week by a well-dressed man of about sixty. He had only the one volume to sell. Naturally, before agreeing to buy the manuscript, I asked him why he wished to sell. In response, he said that he knew the book to be collectable, and of great value to those with a mind for science. As such, he was loath to dispose of it. But for very personal reasons, he could no longer bear to hold on to it.”
“I see,” said Holmes. “And did the man give any indication of where he lived?”
“Yes. I think I remember him saying something about travelling in from Clapham Common.”
“Excellent! Then we will not trouble you further. For that is indeed our man!”
The assistant seemed slightly disconcerted by Holmes’s exuberance, but, when thanked, bid us, “Good day then, gentlemen,” as we headed for the door.
Out on the street, Holmes was elated. “Our man is still alive, Watson! It just remains for us to pay him a visit. Then, hopefully, all will become clearer.”
“I wonder what these ‘very personal reasons’ were for wanting to sell the book after a decade or so.”
“That we cannot know until we speak to him,” replied Holmes. “Now, we will catch a cab back at Baker Street. Before we make the journey out to leafy Clapham, there is something I must just check.”
Holmes insisted on leaving me out on the street when we made it back to 221b. He had only been gone for some six or seven minutes when he re-emerged from the door, a broad grin lining his face.
Seated within the interior of a hansom cab a short while later, he explained, “I am getting sloppy with age, Watson. Had I checked my trade directories earlier, we would have discovered that our man was indeed still alive. A quick search of the address revealed that the occupant of ‘7 Crescent Grove, Clapham Common’ is none other than a ‘James Wimshurst’. Interestingly, I could find no doctor by the name of ‘Owen Douglas’ registered in the county of Yorkshire. If necessary, I will check later whether there is a doctor of that name elsewhere in the country.”
* * *
It was a six-mile cab journey out to Clapham. I was surprised by how much the area had changed since I had last ventured there. Alongside the grand mansions in Old Town and those that fronted the common, there were newer developments, including those of Crescent Grove and Grafton Square.
The cabbie set us down outside the large gates of 7 Crescent Grove. It was an impressive building set within a fair-sized plot. Holmes wasted no time in passing through the gates and heading up the gravel drive towards the grand doorway. At the door, he pulled on a bell cord and, some moments afterwards, we were greeted by a thin, wan-
faced maid. Holmes presented his card and we were told to step inside while the master of the house was informed of our arrival.
The James Wimshurst who came to greet us was an affable fellow of medium build, with a full, greying beard and balding head. He instructed the maid to arrange for some tea to be brought to his study and invited us to follow him to the room, which sat across the entrance hallway to the left.
Inside the study, we could see that he had something of a passion for scientific and mechanical devices. On every surface stood telescopes, small steam engines, and strange globes containing wheels, cogs, and metal wiring. Framed around the walls were engineers’ drawings and technical charts, and in the bay window was housed a large collection of reference books, all of a scientific or technical nature.
Wimshurst was the first to speak. “It is indeed a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes. I enjoy reading of your exploits. And I am hoping that this is your chronicler, Dr. Watson?”
I nodded and, having shaken hands, Wimshurst invited us to take seats around a small oval table. At Holmes’s request, he then explained the nature of his work. He had been born in Poplar and was apprenticed as a shipwright. Following a move to Liverpool, his career progressed rapidly, and he had eventually become the chief shipwright surveyor for the Board of Trade at Lloyds.
Encouraged to say something about the assortment of devices scattered around the room, Wimshurst beamed and explained that he devoted much of his free time to experimental works. He had invented a vacuum pump which enabled the stability of ships to be determined, and had experimented with ways of electrically connecting lighthouses to the mainland. But in the late 1870’s he had begun to focus on his real interest - the creation of electrical influence machines for generating electrical sparks for scientific purposes. He went on to say that he had a well-equipped workshop in the garden containing all of the tools and instruments he treasured.
With these pleasantries completed and the arrival of the tea tray, Holmes then took the lead, keen to explain the nature of our visit. He withdrew from a pocket the note written by Dr. Douglas, opened it and placed it on the oval table in front of Wimshurst. The demeanour of our host changed immediately. He looked visibly shaken, his hands began to tremble, and tears began to well up in his eyes. As he looked up from the note towards Holmes, he could only whisper, “Where did you get this?”
Holmes apologised for his abruptness in revealing the document. He explained how he had been given the Hauksbee book as a gift and had discovered the note tucked within the leather binding of its cover. He then added, “I sincerely hope you will forgive us, sir, but we wished only to discover the story behind the note. If you would prefer us to leave, we will of course do so.”
Wimshurst had begun to regain some of his composure. He smiled weakly and then replied. “Gentlemen, this has come as something of a shock. I had no idea that the note was still with the book. It must be a good ten years since I received both from my good friend Owen Douglas. It was only last week that I sold the manuscript, for I could no longer bear to have it in the house.”
I did my best to ease the tension. “Yes, Mr. Wimshurst, we called in a Bumpus’s and were told that you had sold the book for personal reasons.”
“That is something of an understatement. I will do my best to outline the story for you. You may then understand why I felt it necessary.”
He took a final sip of his tea and placed the cup down on the tray. “After the move to Liverpool, my wife and I became acquainted with a young country surgeon named Owen Douglas. He had a thriving medical practice in the town of Lepton on the outskirts of Huddersfield. Owen was something of a medical pioneer and shared my interest in all things mechanical. Like me, he collected rare scientific texts.
“For the three years from 1880, I began to work on a new type of electrostatic generator, capable of producing very high voltages. The influence machine was very different to some of the early generators upon which I had worked, relying on friction to produce an electrical charge. My machine was constructed with two large insulated contra-rotating discs mounted in a vertical plane, two crossed neutralising bars with wire brushes, and a spark gap which was formed by two metal spheres. In this way, an electrical charge is separated through electrostatic induction, or influence, rather than friction.
“The new generator proved popular with many other scientists and engineers. Douglas was particularly enamoured with the device and insisted on taking possession of one of my early working models. He also tried to get me to take out a patent for the machine, but I resisted this, fearing a legal challenge from others who were working in the same direction.
“Throughout 1883, Owen began to tinker with the machine, believing that he could use it for some of his pioneering medical treatments. He was convinced that small electrical charges could be used, for example, to stimulate damaged nerve tissue. He would write to me on his progress, but insisted that I keep quiet about his work, fearing that he might be struck off by the British Medical Association for unethical conduct.
“In March 1884, he believed that he had achieved some success while operating on a worker who had been injured in an accident at a local meat factory. Wright Charlesworth Littlewood was a thirty-six-year-old tripe dresser who had been badly wounded with a cutting machine. He was carried from the factory to Owen’s surgery in a terribly weakened state, having lost a significant quantity of blood. On the operating table, he then suffered a heart attack and stopped breathing. Alone with his patient, Owen believed he had but one hope to save Littlewood. With his adapted electrostatic generator in full motion, he sent a sizeable electrical charge into the man’s chest and was stunned to find that the heart had indeed restarted. The note you have before you, Mr. Holmes, was written that evening.”
I was amazed to hear this and gripped by his narrative. I was both shocked and awed to hear of the surgeon’s conduct, but recognised that I too had occasionally resorted to unorthodox practises in an effort to save men on the battlefield. I was therefore in no position to sit in judgement on the ethics or efficacy of the man’s approach.
Holmes took the opportunity to ask a direct question. “I take it that this Wright Charlesworth Littlewood survived the ordeal?”
Wimshurst gave him a solemn look. “Sadly, yes.”
It was not the response I had expected to hear, and our host had evidently noted my look of surprise. “You must forgive me, Dr. Watson, but there is much more to tell. Littlewood was patched up and confined to bed for many weeks. Slowly, with the support of his wife, Helen, the man recovered and eventually went back to work. In time, he opened up his own meat factory with some success.
“Owen was delighted to see Littlewood recover. He wrote to me frequently in the weeks and months that followed convinced that my influence machine had real potential for saving lives. But try as he might, he was never able to replicate the outcome he had achieved in the factory worker’s case. With the passage of time, he shifted his attention to other ground-breaking surgical work.”
“And how did you feel about the incident?” I asked.
“At that time, I was thrilled to think that the influence machine had saved a life and might have a medical application. And every time I leafed through the Francis Hauksbee manuscript, I was reminded of Owen’s work and the close friendship we shared. That was all to change in December 1892...”
“...when Wright Charlesworth Littlewood was found guilty of the murder his sixteen-year-old daughter, Emily.”
It was Wimshurst’s turn to look surprised. “Then you know of the case, Mr. Holmes?”
My colleague answered him directly without conceit. “I have made it my business to study the details of all major criminal cases in recent years. The man’s name was so unusual that I felt it could not be a coincidence. As I recollect, the factory owner lived with his wife and daughter in the village of Honley. Emily was a sickly child of n
o great intellect and prone to epileptic fits. She was never allowed to leave the home on her own. Prone to bouts of depression and suffering from his addiction to alcohol, Littlewood slit her throat one night and was tried for the murder. He was found guilty by reason of insanity and is currently detained within the Broadmoor Criminal Lunatic Asylum in Berkshire.”
The solemn look had returned to Wimshurst’s face. “All true, I’m afraid. And the case was to have a devastating impact on poor Owen. It was talk of the villages around Huddersfield and one or two people remembered that the surgeon had once saved Littlewood’s life. Sinking into depression, he began to blame himself for what had occurred, believing that he had committed an unnatural act in using the influence machine to revive Littlewood’s heart. Twelve months ago he took his own life, convinced that he had been wrong to try and play God all those years before.”
I could not hide my dismay. “That is a truly distressing story. I can understand now why you took the decision to sell the Hauksbee book.”
“Thank you, Doctor. After Owen’s death, I could not bear to see the book in my library. I just hope that it gives you more pleasure, Mr. Holmes.”
Holmes rose from the table and extended his hand towards Wimshurst. As the two men shook hands my colleague made a final, telling comment. “Sir, you must not let this dreadful business dent your faith in science and technology and its potential to change the world for the better. We need men and women like you: The inventors, the pioneers, and the free-thinkers. Our progress as a species depends upon it.”
For much of our journey back from Clapham, Holmes and I sat in silence, each mulling over private thoughts and reflecting on the heart-rending nature of what we had discovered. This had been a short interlude in a year which saw the two of us engaged in numerous assignments, travelling the length and breadth of the country in pursuit of the strange, the criminal, and the inexplicable. But it was an episode which Holmes was never to forget. A few days after our trip to Clapham, a boxed package arrived at Baker Street, addressed to my colleague. Inside was a perfect working model of the “Wimshurst Machine”. Alongside the Hauksbee manuscript, it was a gift he has treasured for the rest of his life.
The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories - Part IX Page 46