Henry T. Folsom, who adopts the more widely accepted date of 1881 for A Study in Scarlet, proposes the years 1881 to 1883 as the two missing years (noting, as does Dakin, nineteen years from 1881 to 1903 after subtracting the Great Hiatus). Folsom suggests that Watson served a second tour in the army from 1881 to 1883, during which he received his second wound.
A more radical approach is that of Shulamit Saltzman, in “The Other Watson,” who argues that the first Watson substituted (with Holmes’s permission) his nephew J. H. Watson after marrying Mary Morstan in 1889, and thus Watson II truthfully stated that he had been with Holmes for seventeen years.
1 “The Veiled Lodger” was published in the United States in Liberty on January 22, 1927, and in England in the Strand Magazine in February 1927.
2 See “Holmes’s Career,” page 1705 for a consideration of the mathematics here.
3 Donald A. Redmond, in “Still Sits the Cormorant,” identifies the politician as Joseph Chamberlain, who was associated with a scandal in the 1890s relating to a mutual assurance society lampooned by Punch as the “Cormorant Friendly Society.” Derek Hinrich suggests that the “politician” was “Dollmann,” the pseudonym of the English traitor described in Erskine Childers’s Riddle of the Sands (1903), whose plans for a British invasion involved a German troop ship called the Kormoran (cormorant).
4 Watson clearly was not living with Holmes on the precise date of this case. To explain the separation, H. W. Bell argues that Watson had married again and so was living away from Baker Street. Gavin Brend proposes that Holmes and Watson had temporarily parted because of a quarrel, which he attributes to Holmes’s strictures on Watson’s gambling. But neither D. Martin Dakin nor Dorothy L. Sayers puts much stock in the change of address: Dakin suggests that Watson was substituting for a colleague and living at that doctor’s residence to do so, and Dorothy L. Sayers offers that Watson may have been staying with friends, such as Mr. and Mrs. Percy Phelps.
5 This is evidently a joke, for the “smoke-laden” atmosphere must have been created by Holmes himself indulging in the same habit.
6 In Victorian England, milk was not delivered in bottles. The milkman carried on his cart a large churn, from which the milk was drawn in a small can or tin.
7 George Wombwell (1778–1850) was the proprietor of England’s largest travelling menagerie. It is said that Wombwell started his enterprise with two snakes, purchased from a sailor on the docks at the Port of London. A skilled marketer, Wombwell generated a considerable amount of publicity in 1825 by staging a controversial match between six bull mastiffs and Wombwell’s two trained lions, Nero and Wallace. The public subsequently flocked to see the famed lions, and Wombwell built up an impressive collection of animals that included tigers, zebras, polar bears, and two rhinoceroses (billed as the “Largest Quadruped in the World, the Elephant Excepted”). Upon his death, The Times eulogised Wombwell by writing, “No one probably has done so much to forward practically the study of natural history amongst the masses.”
8 In 1853, George Sanger (1827–1911) and his brother John Sanger (1816–1889) formed a small travelling circus. By 1871, it had become so popular that they were able to buy Astley’s Amphitheatre and stage grand productions both there and at Agricultural Hall, all the while continuing to tour England. The brothers, who called themselves Lord George and Lord John, attracted curiosity and attention at every town they visited, parading their gilded wagons and eccentric performers through the streets to the circus field. “Lord” George’s wife, who danced with snakes in the lion’s cage (and had once performed with Wombwell’s menagerie), would often ride in the lead wagon, dressed as Britannia with a lion at her feet. The brothers dissolved their partnership and went their separate ways in the late 1870s, each forming his own travelling show.
9 Ceded to the British in 1801, the city of Allahabad, which means “City of God,” was the site of heavy fighting during the Indian Mutiny. A. N. Wilson reports that British Colonel James Neill (see appendix to “The Crooked Man”) “killed as many Indians in Allahabad alone as were killed on his own side in the entire two years of fighting.”
10 An excellent white Burgundy, further evidence of Holmes’s gourmet tastes (see “The Noble Bachelor,” note 37).
11 Eugenia Ronder was fortunate (or unfortunate, according to her point of view) to escape the fate of Ellen Bright, the Lion Tamer at Wombwell’s menagerie. Attacked by a tiger in 1880, she died at the age of seventeen.
12 Bill Mason makes the interesting suggestion that Leonardo was not dead. “After all,” he writes, “Leonardo had ‘a clever scheming brain,’ and the likelihood of someone so physically fit drowning at a seaside resort would appear to be as slim as it would be ironic. No, Leonardo would be more likely to end seven years of looking over his shoulder by faking his own death.”
13 Prussic acid is another name for hydrogen cyanide, an almost-colourless, volatile, and highly poisonous liquid compound that, in vaporous form, smells faintly of bitter almonds. (In water, it is called hydrocyanic acid.) It is used to produce rubbers, fibres, and plastics, and was discovered in 1782 when extracted from the pigment Prussian blue. Thirty minutes of exposure to two to five hundred parts of hydrogen cyanide per one million parts of air is usually sufficient to cause death; in one form of capital punishment, the condemned prisoner, seated in an airtight chamber, is exposed to a lethal amount of hydrogen cyanide gas, created by dropping cyanide into sulphuric acid.
THE ADVENTURE OF SHOSCOMBE OLD PLACE1
There is nothing about Watson’s narrative of “Shoscombe Old Place” to suggest that Watson planned it to be the last tale he would write of Sherlock Holmes. Yet it was, appearing in 1927, when Watson was seventy-six years old. Perhaps Watson suffered some sudden illness or debility preventing him from further writing. Perhaps his wife urged him to lay down his pen, or perhaps she died. There is something fitting about a case of concealed death and investigations of crypts as a finale. In any event, as this tale opens, Holmes is still on the “cutting edge” of detective work, pioneering the use of the microscope as an investigative tool. Watson reveals that he was (at least in 1902, when the case likely took place) an habitué of the race track. As in “The Creeping Man,” Holmes uses his newly found skills as an observer of dogs to uncover the mystery. Once again, he demonstrates his disdain for the “upper classes,” as he confronts the amoral Sir Robert Norberton: “As to the morality or decency of your own conduct, it is not for me to express an opinion,” he demurs coldly.
SHERLOCK HOLMES HAD been bending for a long time over a low-power microscope. Now he straightened himself up and looked round at me in triumph.
“It is glue, Watson,” said he. “Unquestionably it is glue. Have a look at these scattered objects in the field!”
I stooped to the eyepiece and focussed for my vision.
“Those hairs are threads from a tweed coat. The irregular grey masses are dust. There are epithelial scales2 on the left. Those brown blobs in the centre are undoubtedly glue.”
“Well,” I said, laughing, “I am prepared to take your word for it. Does anything depend upon it?”
“It is a very fine demonstration,” he answered. “In the St. Pancras case you may remember that a cap was found beside the dead policeman.3 The accused man denies that it is his. But he is a picture-frame maker who habitually handles glue.”
“Is it one of your cases?”
“No; my friend, Merivale4 of the Yard, asked me to look into the case. Since I ran down that coiner5 by the zinc and copper filings in the seam of his cuff they have begun to realize the importance of the microscope.” He looked impatiently at his watch. “I had a new client calling, but he is overdue. By the way, Watson, you know something of racing?”
“It is glue, Watson,” said Holmes. “Unquestionably it is glue.”
Frank Wiles, Strand Magazine, 1927
“I ought to. I pay for it with about half my wound pension.”6
“Then I’ll make you my ‘Hand
y Guide to the Turf.’7 What about Sir Robert Norberton? Does the name recall anything?”
“Well, I should say so. He lives at Shoscombe Old Place, and I know it well, for my summer quarters were down there once.8 Norberton nearly came within your province once.”
“How was that?”
“It was when he horsewhipped Sam Brewer, the well-known Curzon Street moneylender, on Newmarket Heath. He nearly killed the man.”
“Ah, he sounds interesting! Does he often indulge in that way?”
“Well, he has the name of being a dangerous man. He is about the most daredevil rider in England—second in the Grand National9 a few years back. He is one of those men who have overshot their true generation. He should have been a buck in the days of the Regency—a boxer, an athlete, a plunger10 on the turf, a lover of fair ladies, and, by all account, so far down Queer Street11 that he may never find his way back again.”
“Capital, Watson! A thumb-nail sketch. I seem to know the man. Now, can you give me some idea of Shoscombe Old Place?”
“Only that it is in the centre of Shoscombe Park, and that the famous Shoscombe stud and training quarters are to be found there.”
“And the head trainer,” said Holmes, “is John Mason. You need not look surprised at my knowledge, Watson, for this is a letter from him which I am unfolding. But let us have some more about Shoscombe. I seem to have struck a rich vein.”
“There are the Shoscombe spaniels,” said I. “You hear of them at every dog show. The most exclusive breed in England. They are the special pride of the lady of Shoscombe Old Place.”
“Sir Robert Norberton’s wife, I presume!”
“Sir Robert has never married. Just as well, I think, considering his prospects. He lives with his widowed sister, Lady Beatrice Falder.”
“You mean that she lives with him?”
“No, no. The place belonged to her late husband, Sir James. Norberton has no claim on it at all.12 It is only a life interest13 and reverts to her husband’s brother. Meantime, she draws the rents every year.”
“And brother Robert, I suppose, spends the said rents?”
“That is about the size of it. He is a devil of a fellow and must lead her a most uneasy life. Yet I have heard that she is devoted to him. But what is amiss at Shoscombe?”
“Ah, that is just what I want to know. And here, I expect, is the man who can tell us.”
The door had opened and the page had shown in a tall, clean-shaven man with the firm, austere expression which is only seen upon those who have to control horses or boys. Mr. John Mason had many of both under his sway, and he looked equal to the task. He bowed with cold self-possession and seated himself upon the chair to which Holmes had waved him.
“You had my note, Mr. Holmes?”14
“Yes, but it explained nothing.”
“It was too delicate a thing for me to put the details on paper. And too complicated. It was only face to face I could do it.”
“Well, we are at your disposal.”
“First of all, Mr. Holmes, I think that my employer, Sir Robert, has gone mad.”
Holmes raised his eyebrows. “This is Baker Street, not Harley Street,”15 said he. “But why do you say so?”
“Well, sir, when a man does one queer thing, or two queer things, there may be a meaning to it, but when everything he does is queer, then you begin to wonder. I believe Shoscombe Prince and the Derby16 have turned his brain.”
“That is a colt you are running?”
“The best in England, Mr. Holmes. I should know, if anyone does. Now, I’ll be plain with you, for I know you are gentlemen of honour and that it won’t go beyond the room. Sir Robert has got to win this Derby. He’s up to the neck, and it’s his last chance. Everything he could raise or borrow is on the horse—and at fine odds, too! You can get forties17 now, but it was nearer the hundred when he began to back him.”
“But how is that if the horse is so good?”
“The public don’t know how good he is. Sir Robert has been too clever for the touts.18 He has the Prince’s half-brother out for spins. You can’t tell ’em apart. But there are two lengths in a furlong19 between them when it comes to a gallop.20 He thinks of nothing but the horse and the race. His whole life is on it. He’s holding off the Jews till then.21 If the Prince fails him he is done.”
“It seems a rather desperate gamble, but where does the madness come in?”
“Well, first of all, you have only to look at him. I don’t believe he sleeps at night. He is down at the stables at all hours. His eyes are wild. It has all been too much for his nerves. Then there is his conduct to Lady Beatrice!”
“Ah! What is that?”
“They have always been the best of friends. They had the same tastes, the two of them, and she loved the horses as much as he did. Every day at the same hour she would drive down to see them—and, above all, she loved the Prince. He would prick up his ears when he heard the wheels on the gravel, and he would trot out each morning to the carriage to get his lump of sugar. But that’s all over now.”
“Why?”
“Well, she seems to have lost all interest22 in the horses. For a week now she has driven past the stables with never so much as ‘Good-morning’!”
“You think there has been a quarrel?”
“And a bitter, savage, spiteful quarrel at that. Why else would he give away her pet spaniel that she loved as if it were her child? He gave it a few days23 ago to old Barnes, what keeps the ‘Green Dragon,’ three miles24 off, at Crendall.”
“That certainly did seem strange.”
“Of course, with her weak heart and dropsy25 one couldn’t expect that she could get about with him, but he spent two hours every evening in her room. He might well do what he could, for she has been a rare good friend to him. But that’s all over, too. He never goes near her. And she takes it to heart. She is brooding and sulky and drinking, Mr. Holmes—drinking like a fish.”
“Did she drink before this estrangement?”
“Well, she took her glass, but now it is often a whole bottle of an evening. So Stephens, the butler, told me. It’s all changed, Mr. Holmes, and there is something damned rotten about it. But then, again, what is master doing down at the old church crypt at night? And who is the man that meets him there?”
Holmes rubbed his hands.
“Go on, Mr. Mason. You get more and more interesting.”
“It was the butler who saw him go. Twelve o’clock at night and raining hard. So next night I was up at the house and, sure enough, master was off again. Stephens and I went after him, but it was jumpy work, for it would have been a bad job if he had seen us. He’s a terrible man with his fists if he gets started, and no respecter of persons. So we were shy of getting too near, but we marked him down all right. It was the haunted crypt that he was making for, and there was a man waiting for him there.”
“What is this haunted crypt?”
“Well, sir, there is an old ruined chapel in the park. It is so old that nobody could fix its date. And under it there’s a crypt which26 has a bad name among us. It’s a dark, damp, lonely place by day, but there are few in that county that would have the nerve to go near it at night. But master’s not afraid. He never feared anything in his life. But what is he doing there in the night-time?”
“Wait a bit!” said Holmes. “You say there is another man there. It must be one of your own stablemen, or someone from the house! Surely you have only to spot who it is and question him?”
“I guess he had not heard us coming. He let out a yell, and away he went as hard as he could lick.”
Frank Wiles, Strand Magazine, 1927
“It’s no one I know.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because I have seen27 him, Mr. Holmes. It was on that second night. Sir Robert turned and passed us—me and Stephens, quaking in the bushes like two bunny-rabbits, for there was a bit of moon that night. But we could hear the other moving about behind. We were not afraid of
him. So we up when Sir Robert was gone and pretended we were just having a walk like in the moonlight, and so we came right on him as casual and innocent as you please. ‘Hullo, mate! who may you be?’ says I. I guess he had not heard us coming, so he looked over his shoulder with a face as if he had seen the devil coming out of hell. He let out a yell,28 and away he went as hard as he could lick it in the darkness. He could run!—I’ll give him that. In a minute he was out of sight and hearing, and who he was, or what he was, we never found.”
“But you saw him clearly in the moonlight?”
“Yes, I would swear to his yellow face—a mean dog, I should say. What could he have in common with Sir Robert?”
Holmes sat for some time lost in thought.
“Who keeps Lady Beatrice Falder company?” he asked at last.
“There is her maid, Carrie Evans. She has been with her this five years.”
“And is, no doubt, devoted?”
Mr. Mason shuffled uncomfortably.
“She’s devoted enough,” he answered at last. “But I won’t say to whom.”
“Ah!” said Holmes.
“I can’t tell tales out of school.”
“I quite understand, Mr. Mason. Of course, the situation is clear enough. From Dr. Watson’s description of Sir Robert I can realize that no woman is safe from him. Don’t you think the quarrel between brother and sister may lie there?”
“Well, the scandal has been pretty clear for a long time.”
“But she may not have seen it before. Let us suppose that she has suddenly found it out. She wants to get rid of the woman. Her brother will not permit it. The invalid, with her weak heart and inability to get about, has no means of enforcing her will. The hated maid is still tied to her. The lady refuses to speak, sulks, takes to drink. Sir Robert in his anger takes her pet spaniel away from her. Does not all this hang together?”
“Well, it might do—so far as it goes.”
“Exactly! As far as it goes. How would all that bear upon the visits by night to the old crypt? We can’t fit that into our plot.”
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 110