By 1907, photography had expanded well beyond the domain of journalism, thanks in no small part to the innovations of the Eastman Kodak Company, which brought out the popular Kodak camera in 1888. Targeted toward the general public under the slogan “You push the button—we do the rest,” this hand camera, one of several on the market, could take up to one hundred pictures on negative film. The amateur photographer processed his or her prints by sending the entire camera to the Eastman factory in Rochester, New York. (A British factory in Harrow, Middlesex, was opened in 1891.) Soon, even children were being encouraged to take pictures, with the 1900 introduction of Kodak’s Brownie camera. Named after Palmer Cox’s cartoon characters, the camera cost one dollar and, according to the ads, could be “operated by any school boy or girl.” In the first year of production, 150,000 units were shipped to stores. For the dedicated amateur photographer, supplies were easily at hand. Harrod’s Stores’ 1895 Catalogue offered a complete line of cameras, films, plates, lamps, developing chemicals, papers, and printing equipment for the hobbyist.
28 To extravasate is to force blood out from a vessel into surrounding tissue. In this case, Holmes evidently noticed several red splotches underneath the dead man’s skin.
29 This paragraph replaces the following, which appears in the original text: “Neither am I bound to say have I. And yet it is of capital importance. Anything which will define the instrument used will help us towards the criminal.”
30 The original text uses the word “suggestion” and goes on: “But, as you say, the idea cannot be seriously entertained. What about a wire scourge with little bands of metal upon the wires. Have I not read somewhere of such a scourge?”
31 Deleted from the original text: “Yes, yes, but how does it advance us? The one argument for an arrest is that you could search the man’s possessions.”
32 The phrase “the naturalist Dr. Mordhouse” is deleted from the original text and “Stackhurst” inserted.
33 The original text reads, “I turned upon the Doctor.”
34 Tellingly, “he” in the original text.
35 Cyanea capillata, the Lion’s Mane Jellyfish, is one of the world’s largest jellyfish. Its bell can grow up to three feet across, its fine tentacles a stunning thirty feet in length.
36 In the original text, the paragraph reads: “‘Its day is done!’ cried the naturalist. ‘Help me, Holmes!’ ”
37 This sentence is substituted in the published version for the following: “Our explanations were unnecessary for Dr. Mordhouse had arrived with a chocolate-backed book in his hand.”
38 Reverend John George Wood (1827–1889) was the author of nearly sixty books and numerous popular articles—many of them geared toward children—intended to demystify the study of natural history. Neither a scientist nor a particularly skilled writer, he was nonetheless able to make natural history both interesting and comprehensible to lay people, and his work inspired countless subsequent naturalists. Wood’s Out of Doors: A Selection of Original Articles on Practical Natural History, was published in London by Longmans, Green in 1874 and appeared in new editions in 1882 and 1890.
39 Appearing in the original text: “I will leave the book that you may read the full account for yourself.”
40 Wood’s warnings are repeated in his New Illustrated Natural History (ca. 1895), where he writes: “Lest any of my readers should become fellow-sufferers with myself, I advise them to be very careful when bathing after a strong south-west wind has prevailed, and if ever they see a tawny mass of membranes and fibres floating along, to retreat at once, and wait until it is at least a hundred yards away.”
41 “Undoubtedly the reverend gentleman was particularly sensitive to the sting of this jellyfish,” Joel Hedgpeth writes, “for his account is by all odds the most harrowing in the literature of marine natural history.” Fortunately, although jellyfish stings may be as alarmingly severe as Wood describes, Hedgpeth notes that, at least in North Atlantic waters, “there is no recorded fatality that can be attributed solely to jellyfish poisoning in temperate waters.”
42 The word “Inspector” is substituted for “Mr. Holmes” in the original version.
43 Of course, Murdoch, living up to Holmes’s initial doubts about him, might well have planted the jellyfish in the tide pool “with diabolical malice aforethought,” Joel Hedgpeth theorises. His plan was to murder McPherson, then subject himself to the jellyfish’s “tawny membranes” as a cover for his own crime. But Hedgpeth points out that no two jellyfish stings produce identical symptoms, and that the striking similarity between Murdoch’s reaction and J. G. Wood’s written account should have immediately raised Holmes’s suspicions. “Beyond all doubt,” Hedgpeth writes, “this dark, brooding, ‘ferocious tempered’ young man, disappointed in love and capable of throwing innocent dogs through windows, had conceived a most ingenious crime and to allay suspicion had caressed his own monstrous pet. But his own injuries were not serious enough, and so he found ways to reproduce those experienced by Dr. Wood.” Hedgpeth adds that the long hair of an Airedale terrier should have protected it from the potency of the jellyfish’s sting, and that therefore Murdoch must have poisoned the dog and placed it at the scene of the crime, to throw Holmes further off his scent.
44 “Fi, fi, Sherlock!” Nathan L. Bengis exclaims. “Even the ‘gentlemen of the police force’ should have seen through that one.” He accuses Holmes of being “downright befuddled” in jumping to conclusions with the folded towel and yet not noticing that McPherson’s skin, as well as his coat, shoes, and hair, would have still been wet by the time Holmes examined the body. This, not a rumpled towel, would have proved that McPherson had been in the water. “What is quite incredible and unpardonable,” Bengis writes with surprising vehemence, “is your sorry attempt to exonerate yourself. Surely at least in retrospect the flimsiness of your excuse should have been apparent to you, and you should have been too ashamed of your performance to make a permanent record of it for future generations.”
Edward F. Clark, Jr., defends Holmes by explaining that the ocean water would have largely dried or been blotted off and that any residue would have been commingled with sweat. He renders a verdict on Bengis’s charge of “not proven.”
Bengis’s observation is also considered by Hirayama Yuichi and Mizuochi Masako. They argue that since Holmes could not have missed these signs, then McPherson never did enter the water. Instead, he was murdered by Tom and William Bellamy (inspired by Ian Murdoch), with the Lion’s Mane used as a weapon. In Sidelights on Holmes, however, John Hall refutes their theory, primarily on the grounds of the size of the jellyfish and the impossibility of transportation. Instead, he suggests that McPherson, partially undressed, put his shoes back on to investigate the strange object that he saw on the beach, slipped on some rocks, and was stung.
Mary Ann Kluge makes the startling observation that all of the remarkably un-Holmesian characteristics of the detective—so overwhelmed with nature that he couldn’t work, overlooking obvious clues, delighted with solving a simple mystery, following up random clues, awestruck by a beautiful woman, and trusting of a woman’s intuition—fit a well-known personality: Dr. Watson! She concludes that Holmes and Watson had exchanged places to permit Holmes to carry out various secret missions.
45 “You have nearly met me at my Waterloo” and “You have nearly met me at what might have become my Waterloo” appear in the original text.
46 The perpetually dubious D. Martin Dakin concludes that “The Lion’s Mane” is a pseudonymous story: a tale of “pure invention” not intended for publication, written at Holmes’s request and with the use of his notes. O. F. Grazebrook uses harsher language, labelling it an “impudent forgery.” But Tom Alessandri urges the reader to remember that Holmes did not write “The Lion’s Mane” until 1919 or 1920, when he would have been sixty-five or sixty-six. The story therefore presents a fascinating look “as to how a genius reviews and attempts to revitalize a past career” and permits us to view “a
lonely bee-keeper who seems sincerely to miss his old friend.”
Examination of the changes evidenced in the manuscript of “The Lion’s Mane,” detailed above, suggests other possibilities. The story as originally written reflected poorly on Holmes, telling of his “Waterloo” suffered at the hands of the knowing Dr. Mordhouse/Mordhurst. It showed Holmes with little of his powers remaining. It is difficult to square this depiction with that of Holmes presented in “His Last Bow,” where Holmes is as he was before retirement, in full command of his powers. Perhaps the original “Mordhouse” version of “The Lion’s Mane” was fiction, written (by Holmes, Arthur Conan Doyle, or even some functionary in the war department) to establish “cover” for Holmes, designed to lull the Germans into believing that he was not a factor to be considered in their plans for England. Yet for whatever reason, the idea of publishing this cover story was abandoned. Later, Arthur Conan Doyle rewrote it for publication.
THE ADVENTURE OF THE VEILED LODGER1
“The Veiled Lodger” is the shortest of Dr. Watson’s stories, and there is virtually no detection on exhibit. As in “The Red Circle,” a troubled landlady asks Holmes to investigate her own lodger, a woman despondent over a murder plot gone horribly wrong. Holmes, who has never hesitated to ignore society’s rules himself, nonetheless moves to prevent the woman from committing the ultimate rejection of society: suicide. While some question Watson’s authorship of the tale, the attitudes expressed here by Holmes about higher justice coincide with those evidenced by him in “The Blue Carbuncle” and “The Boscombe Valley Mystery.” Also, none can doubt the Watsonian tone to the narrator’s deliberate suppression of a “story concerning the politician, the lighthouse and the trained cormorant.”
WHEN ONE CONSIDERS that Mr. Sherlock Holmes was in active practice for twenty-three years, and that during seventeen of these I was allowed to co-operate with him and to keep notes of his doings,2 it will be clear that I have a mass of material at my command. The problem has always been not to find but to choose. There is the long row of year-books which fill a shelf, and there are the dispatch-cases filled with documents, a perfect quarry for the student not only of crime but of the social and official scandals of the late Victorian era. Concerning these latter, I may say that the writers of agonized letters, who beg that the honour of their families or the reputation of famous forbears may not be touched, have nothing to fear. The discretion and high sense of professional honour which have always distinguished my friend are still at work in the choice of these memoirs, and no confidence will be abused. I deprecate, however, in the strongest way the attempts which have been made lately to get at and to destroy these papers. The source of these outrages is known, and if they are repeated I have Mr. Holmes’s authority for saying that the whole story concerning the politician, the lighthouse, and the trained cormorant will be given to the public. There is at least one reader who will understand.3
It is not reasonable to suppose that every one of these cases gave Holmes the opportunity of showing those curious gifts of instinct and observation which I have endeavoured to set forth in these memoirs. Sometimes he had with much effort to pick the fruit, sometimes it fell easily into his lap. But the most terrible human tragedies were often involved in those cases which brought him the fewest personal opportunities, and it is one of these which I now desire to record. In telling it, I have made a slight change of name and place, but otherwise the facts are as stated.
One forenoon—it was late in 1896—I received a hurried note from Holmes asking for my attendance.4 When I arrived I found him seated in a smoke-laden atmosphere, with an elderly, motherly woman of the buxom landlady type in the corresponding chair in front of him.
“This is Mrs. Merrilow, of South Brixton,” said my friend, with a wave of the hand. “Mrs. Merrilow does not object to tobacco, Watson, if you wish to indulge your filthy habits.5 Mrs. Merrilow has an interesting story to tell which may well lead to further developments in which your presence may be useful.”
“Anything I can do—”
“You will understand, Mrs. Merrilow, that if I come to Mrs. Ronder I should prefer to have a witness. You will make her understand that before we arrive.”
“Lord bless you, Mr. Holmes,” said our visitor, “she is that anxious to see you that you might bring the whole parish at your heels!”
“Then we shall come early in the afternoon. Let us see that we have our facts correct before we start. If we go over them it will help Dr. Watson to understand the situation. You say that Mrs. Ronder has been your lodger for seven years and that you have only once seen her face.”
“And I wish to God I had not!” said Mrs. Merrilow.
“It was, I understand, terribly mutilated.”
“Well, Mr. Holmes, you would hardly say it was a face at all. That’s how it looked. Our milkman got a glimpse of her once peeping out of the upper window, and he dropped his tin6 and the milk all over the front garden. That is the kind of face it is. When I saw her—I happened on her unawares—she covered up quick, and then she said, ‘Now, Mrs. Merrilow, you know at last why it is that I never raise my veil.’ ”
“Do you know anything about her history?”
“Nothing at all.”
“Did she give references when she came?”
“No, sir, but she gave hard cash, and plenty of it. A quarter’s rent right down on the table in advance and no arguing about terms. In these times a poor woman like me can’t afford to turn down a chance like that.”
“Did she give any reason for choosing your house?”
“Mine stands well back from the road and is more private than most. Then, again, I only take the one, and I have no family of my own. I reckon she had tried others and found that mine suited her best. It’s privacy she is after, and she is ready to pay for it.”
“You say that she never showed her face from first to last save on the one accidental occasion. Well, it is a very remarkable story, most remarkable, and I don’t wonder that you want it examined.”
“I don’t, Mr. Holmes. I am quite satisfied so long as I get my rent. You could not have a quieter lodger, or one who gives less trouble.”
“Then what has brought matters to a head?”
“Her health, Mr. Holmes. She seems to be wasting away. And there’s something terrible on her mind. ‘Murder!’ she cries. ‘Murder!’ And once I heard her, ‘You cruel beast! You monster!’ she cried. It was in the night, and it fair rang through the house and sent the shivers through me. So I went to her in the morning. ‘Mrs. Ronder,’ I says, ‘if you have anything that is troubling your soul, there’s the clergy,’ I says, ‘and there’s the police. Between them you should get some help.’ ‘For God’s sake, not the police!’ says she, ‘and the clergy can’t change what is past. And yet,’ she says, ‘it would ease my mind if someone knew the truth before I died.’ ‘Well,’ says I, ‘if you won’t have the regulars, there is this detective man what we read about’—beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Holmes. And she, she fair jumped at it. ‘That’s the man,’ says she. ‘I wonder I never thought of it before. Bring him here, Mrs. Merrilow, and if he won’t come, tell him I am the wife of Ronder’s wild beast show. Say that, and give him the name Abbas Parva.’ Here it is as she wrote it, Abbas Parva. ‘That will bring him if he’s the man I think he is.’ ”
“And it will, too,” remarked Holmes. “Very good, Mrs. Merrilow. I should like to have a little chat with Dr. Watson. That will carry us till lunch-time. About three o’clock you may expect to see us at your house in Brixton.”
Our visitor had no sooner waddled out of the room—no other verb can describe Mrs. Merrilow’s method of progression—than Sherlock Holmes threw himself with fierce energy upon the pile of commonplace books in the corner. For a few minutes there was a constant swish of the leaves, and then with a grunt of satisfaction he came upon what he sought. So excited was he that he did not rise, but sat upon the floor like some strange Buddha, with crossed legs, the huge books all round him, and
one open upon his knees.
“The case worried me at the time, Watson. Here are my marginal notes to prove it. I confess that I could make nothing of it. And yet I was convinced that the coroner was wrong. Have you no recollection of the Abbas Parva tragedy?”
“None, Holmes.”
Holmes sat upon the floor like some strange Buddha, with crossed legs, the books all round him, and one open upon his knee.
Frank Wiles, Strand Magazine, 1927
“And yet you were with me then. But certainly my own impression was very superficial, for there was nothing to go by, and none of the parties had engaged my services. Perhaps you would care to read the papers?”
“Could you not give me the points?”
“That is very easily done. It will probably come back to your memory as I talk. Ronder, of course, was a household word. He was the rival of Wombwell,7 and of Sanger,8 one of the greatest showmen of his day. There is evidence, however, that he took to drink, and that both he and his show were on the down grade at the time of the great tragedy. The caravan had halted for the night at Abbas Parva, which is a small village in Berkshire, when this horror occurred. They were on their way to Wimbledon, travelling by road, and they were simply camping and not exhibiting, as the place is so small a one that it would not have paid them to open.
Bostock and Wombwell’s Menagerie at the Crystal Palace, c.1895.
Victorian and Edwardian London
“They had among their exhibits a very fine North African lion. Sahara King was its name, and it was the habit, both of Ronder and his wife, to give exhibitions inside its cage. Here, you see, is a photograph of the performance by which you will perceive that Ronder was a huge porcine person and that his wife was a very magnificent woman. It was deposed at the inquest that there had been some signs that the lion was dangerous, but, as usual, familiarity begat contempt, and no notice was taken of the fact.
The New Annotated Sherlock Holmes: The Complete Short Stories: The Return of Sherlock Holmes, His Last Bow and The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes (Non-slipcased edition) (Vol. 2) (The Annotated Books) Page 108