The Investigations of Sherlock Holmes

by John Heywood

  “Let me describe the circumstances. I have two colleagues who work with me in the laboratory, Dr Kerr and Mr Collingwood Wynter. There is also the laboratory assistant I mentioned, Arthur Johns. These three are the only ones, besides myself, who have keys to the building. We also have two advanced students who research there regularly, and on occasion we bring undergraduate students to the laboratory.

  “The laboratory consists of one main room and two small offices. The main room houses the tanks and the plant.”

  “The ‘plant’?” I interrupted.

  “The equipment needed to regulate the tanks. Their temperature, aeration, salinity and so on must be maintained at the correct levels to preserve the life of the specimens.

  “In an alcove in this main room is the larder, where we store the food for the specimens. The food is of various types for the various different specimens we keep, but a good deal of it consists of fresh fish from the market, as I have described. We have an arrangement with the market fishmongers.

  “About three weeks ago Johns, our assistant, mentioned to me that we seemed to be getting through more fish than formerly, and asked if he should increase the order. I instructed him to do so, which he did, but still the supply was not enough. Yet Johns was most emphatic that he was not feeding the specimens more than formerly. We were mystified, and decided that Johns should henceforth take careful stock of the food, recording the number of fish fed to the specimens each day. This immediately produced the most strange result. On the first night that Johns started to keep these records, there were eight fish lying in the tin when he left the building. The following morning, he came in and found only five. We assumed some mistake on his part, but no; similar results have obtained night after night. Almost every night two or three fish vanish from the tin. We checked, and checked again. Was Johns dishonest or negligent? We asked ourselves. It seemed unlikely, for the man has served us well and faithfully for years, but to be certain, we arranged that on one night Kerr should stand in for Johns, and on another night that Wynter should do likewise. The substitutions made no difference; on the mornings in question, a few fish were, as usual, found to be missing. We have carefully examined all windows and doors for signs of forced entry, and found none.

  “So there we are, Dr Watson. We have been entirely unable either to explain this continued theft of fish, or to end it. We are at a loss.”

  The professor, having laid the facts before me, shrugged his shoulders, and sat back. He turned to Holmes:

  “May I ask what you, sir, what you make of this trivial case?”

  “I make nothing of it,” replied Holmes, leaning back in his chair. “There are as yet too few facts to go on, and I would no more rush to a hypothesis on insufficient data than would you, Professor. I suggest a visit, as early as is convenient, to the scene of these frightful crimes.”

  The Professor pulled out his watch. “It is scarcely six o’clock. Dinner will be served in Founder’s Hall at eight. If we go to the laboratory now, we shall have more than an hour there. Will that suffice?”

  A few minutes’ walk through quiet, ancient lanes brought us to the laboratory, a tall brick building set back from the road. The Professor found the outer door unlocked. “Ah! I expect Kerr or Wynter is here, working late,” he said, as he let in myself and Sherlock Holmes. We all three moved down the vestibule and entered the main chamber. It was filled with perhaps two dozen glass tanks of different sizes, most of them full of water. The floor was wet and covered with duck-boards. A constant humming, gurgling sound filled the air; it was, the Professor explained, the noise of the filtration and temperature control systems. As he was expatiating on the technicalities of salinity pumps, a door at the far end of the room opened and a man emerged. He saw us, hesitated a moment, and then walked briskly up. He was a russet-haired man of middle years, a little below middle height, with something of the terrier about him.

  “May I introduce Dr Kerr?” said the Professor. “Kerr, Dr Watson and Mr Holmes.” We were standing by the largest of the glass tanks, and as the formalities of introduction were observed, I saw, over the newcomer’s shoulder, something strange: a dark shape, about the size of a man, flapped slowly through the tank from one side to the other.

  The professor noticed my surprise. “Our latest acquisition!” said he proudly. “The giant soft-shelled turtle. A most fascinating beast; it comes from the China Sea. Feel how warm the water has to be,” he said, putting his palm again the glass. “No, don’t do that!” he suddenly exclaimed.

  I had lifted up the heavy lid of the tank, and was about to dip my fingers into the water.

  “Don’t be misled by the creature’s lazy movements, Dr Watson; it can strike like a cobra. Last term an undergraduate lost half his finger in that way. One of Wynter’s undergraduates. You were present at the time, were you not, Kerr?”

  “Indeed I was,” Kerr answered. “The young fool was teasing the beast, dabbling its food around in the water. It snapped up half his index finger in an instant - nipped off the top two phalanges, clean through the bone.”

  I was happy enough to leave this treacherous creature and move on to the next tank. “Ah, this one is less dangerous,” said the professor. “Less rare too.” I peered through the glass, but could see through the murky water no creature of any kind, only a large rock. “It spends most of the day under that hollow rock,” explained the professor. “The common octopus; Dr Kerr here is investigating its ability to change colour to match its background, as does a chameleon. Now, these creatures lie more in my sphere of interest,” he continued, indicating a table ranged with tiers of small tanks. The tanks all contained a bed of mud or sand above which the water was clear or cloudy, still or bubbling. Various tubes protuded from the lids, and each tank bore a neat but to me incomprehensible label; ‘Turkomans Tekke 83 B/C4 (mangrove), I read, or ‘Merghi Isl. 82 E8 (litoral)’.

  “We have had these shipped from temperate and tropical waters throughout the world,” said the professor. “The variety of marine life contained in these small tanks would astonish you, sir. Every month in this laboratory new species, new genera are discovered. The so-called Glass Shrimp here - a creature quite transparent, with all its internal organs and workings clearly visible; the perfect model for our students.” As he spoke, the professor unlocked a glass-fronted cabinet and took from it a box. “Or here, for instance, I can show you a remarkable worm, as yet entirely unknown to science.”

  Holmes must have fallen behind and slipped away surreptitiously, for as the professor was sliding open the lid of the box, we were interrupted by my friend’s voice from the other side of the laboratory.

  “Where does this door lead?”

  “Ah! Mr Sherlock Holmes returns us to the matter in hand. It leads to a small office; allow me to show you.” He crossed the laboratory and unlocked the door for Holmes. The detective entered and peered about him, listened attentively, and tapped upon the walls, until, apparently satisfied, he stepped back into the main chamber. “That alcove yonder I take to be the where the fish are kept,” he said, and strode over to it.

  It was evident that the alcove was indeed used for storage; in it were piled sacks of salt and sand, coils of tubing for the tanks, and the like. This miscellaneous collection included a meat-safe, standing some two feet above the floor, with a perforated door held shut by a simple catch. Holmes opened it, and brought forth what he and I had come to this great and ancient city to investigate: an enamel dish, containing four mackerel in iced water. This was nothing out of the ordinary, our host assured us. Johns, the laboratory assistant, would have left the fish there, as usual, ready for the morning feed, before going home for the evening. Kerr and the professor wondered if perhaps they should have told Johns of Holmes’s visit, but Holmes declared himself content that Johns knew nothing of it, for he wanted no special preparations; wishing, on the contrary, to find everything on his visit as
it would have been at any other time. As he spoke, Holmes was inspecting the alcove with his customary care, examining with particular attention the ventilation bricks behind the meat-safe. This done, he asked to be shown the remaining rooms that comprised the Marine Department of the School. These were two small offices, one each for Professor Hendricks and Dr Kerr, accessible from the main chamber where we stood. Mr Wynter had his office on the other side of the vestibule, on the part of the building given over to the rest of the School of Natural History. The three offices were examined in turn by Holmes, tapping here and there on the walls, and peering at the floor and desk tops and window-ledges through his magnifying lens.

  At length his investigation of the premises was completed. The two dons were naturally eager to know if he had come to any conclusion, but he would not be drawn. “I have seen all I can usefully see here, gentlemen. Dinner is at eight o’clock, I believe you said. I shall spend the time until then considering this interesting little problem.

  “One last question, Professor: do you know where your colleague Mr Wynter is to be found?”

  “Good Lord, you don’t suspect Wynter, do you?” asked the professor with a nervous laugh. But still Holmes would not be drawn. “I suspect everybody,” he replied with a bland smile. “It is my métier.”

  “I cannot tell you with any certainty where he is to be found at this moment. Do you know, Kerr?”

  “I do not,’ said he, ‘but he told me that he is intending to dine in Hall tonight.”

  “Excellent!” cried Holmes. “I wish you a pleasant evening, gentlemen. Until eight o’clock!” And with these words he turned on his heel and left us.

  The remaining three of us went our separate ways. I made a solitary return to All Saints through the University Gardens, which now, as the sun was setting, were almost deserted of visitors. The path of the river guided me back by a meandering route to the college. There I found Professor Hendricks and Dr Kerr in the company of a third man, gaunt and stiff, who was introduced to me as Mr Collingwood Wynter. He, I remembered, was the man who had sat up alone in the laboratory all one night, in an attempt to surprise the thief. We had not sat talking long before Holmes joined us, completing our little party. He begged leave to ask a few questions of Wynter: where exactly he had passed that night when he had waited up for the intruder or intruders, and what he had heard and seen? Wynter’s answer was that he had passed the night in the vestibule, and had seen and heard nothing. He himself had himself thoroughly checked the offices and other rooms, and locked them. No entry into the main laboratory was possible except by way of the vestibule, in which he had sat awake all night, fortified by black coffee. These answers seemed to satisfy Holmes, and our conversation became general. At eight o’clock the bell sounded, and all in the common-room, guests and dons alike, rose and followed the master into the hall. Dinner was served to us at the head of the hall, while below us sat the undergraduates, a livelier and noisier company than their elders.

  We five were a little constrained. There was some suppressed excitement, as we wondered if the secret of the laboratory fish was soon to be revealed, mingled perhaps with some mutual suspicion between the three colleagues. Talk did not flow freely; topics of conversation were pursued with the simulated enthusiasm of those who are determined to talk of anything other than what is uppermost in their thoughts. It was not until dessert was over and the port circulating that Kerr finally broke the ice, by asking Holmes outright if he had found a solution to the mystery. The answer, given as casually as if he were giving us the time of day, was that he had. He had identified the thief, and it only remained to confirm the identification by observation. The thief would almost certainly steal that night, as was his habit, and any of us who cared to join Holmes in a night vigil at the laboratory would be able to witness the theft. We pressed Holmes to identify the culprit, but he refused to do so. “Come, gentlemen, I have hidden nothing from you; you have the same evidence to guide you as I do. Does the solution not suggest itself to any of you?” He looked to us each in turn, but no answer was forthcoming. The hint of a smile flickered across his lean face. “No matter. In a few hours you shall see for yourselves. Still, it might amuse you in the meantime to see if deduction will enable you to predict what we will see. I would advise you to consider two matters. First, the matter of motive. Who has something to gain by removing the fish? Why would that individual not go to the fishmonger’s? The second matter is that of means. Who could have gained access to the fish? Mr Wynter told us that on the night of his vigil all means of entry were secure, and anyone entering the laboratory must have first passed him. He says nobody passed him. What do you conclude from that?” With these remarks, Holmes left us to our own devices, and would answer no further questions on the topic.

  At eleven o’clock that night we left the college and followed the mediaeval alleys leading to the ‘aquarium’. As Hendricks was unlocking the outer door, Holmes earnestly enjoined us to complete silence from the moment that we were in the building, and insisted too that no lights be lit, with the result that, once in the building, we were obliged to grope our way to our place of concealment. This, Holmes had decided, was to be Dr Kerr’s office, whose windows gave a view of the main laboratory, including the alcove containing the fish. We settled down in the dark and waited. At first the laboratory seemed as black as pitch, but as my eyes adjusted I was able to make out a few details that detached themselves from the general darkness: a gleam from some pail or carboy, the doors to the other parts of the building, the skylight glimmering overhead, and the huge tanks. Once I made out the silhouette I had seen earlier of the giant turtle swimming silently in its tank.

  The minutes crawled by; a few whispered words from Kerr were peremptorily hushed by Holmes, and thereafter we all remained quite still and silent. As I looked at the doors and the skylight I wondered where the intruder would make his entrance. Holmes evidently did not expect any danger, for he had asked me to leave my revolver in my room. It was a long night. The hours of our vigil were marked by the bells of the city, some chiming the quarter hours, and all, far and near, sounding the hours. Midnight passed, and one o’clock; it was shortly after a quarter past one when a sound came from within the laboratory. It was a subdued, rasping sound. We all held our breath. I looked up at the skylight, but saw nothing there moving. Something seemed to be shifting in the darkness of the empty laboratory; the lid of one of the tanks was rising a few inches, then moving slowly forward. When it had inched forward by a third of its length, it stopped moving, and what seemed to be two tapering snakes emerged, then a third, and a fourth, followed by a bulky form easing itself out. The octopus was crawling out of its tank. It slithered down the glass to the slatted floor, and walked over to the meat-safe. With a tentacle it lifted the latch, opened the door and reached inside, whence it brought out a mackerel. With another tentacle it pulled the head off and fed it into its mouth. For a few moments the creature stood there eating, the leathery skin around its beak moving as it chewed. Its eye, slotted like a goat’s, swivelled as it ate, but we, heedful of its surveillance, remained perfectly still, our breath bated, and the beast, unaware that it was under observation, continued its meal. With the now headless fish held in one tentacle, another reached out into the safe and withdrew holding a second fish, whereupon a third tentacle daintily closed the safe door. The creature turned and walked back to the tank, carrying the two fish, and slithered up the glass wall as easily as it had come down. Carefully it squeezed itself under the lid into the tank and lowered itself into the water. I heard a whispered ‘Good Lord!’ beside me as several tentacles reached up to manoeuvre the lid of the tank back into place. Safely covered again, the beast sank down through the water to the bottom of the tank, where it crept in under its rock out of sight, no doubt to consume its haul in secrecy.

  We exchanged glances of astonishment and disbelief at what we had witnessed. It was indeed one of the most extraordinary sights
I have ever seen, and not the least extraordinary thing about it was that not a sign was now to be seen of what had occurred, for the scene before our eyes was in every way identical to that which had confronted us at the beginning of our sojourn. The tanks stood dark in the moonlight, all securely lidded, as before. Any watery tracks left by the octopus had already merged indistinguishably with the constant dampness of the floor. Across from the tanks we could see the door to the safe, carefully closed, just as Johns had left it. It was as if we had fallen asleep, and the weird beast had emerged from our dreams, or nightmares. The only sign that we had not been dreaming was out of sight behind the safe door: two missing fish.

  “Of course, one can hardly suppose that the beast replaced the lid of its tank in order deliberately to erase any evidence of its excursion,” explained Dr Kerr. We were walking back to the College in the moonlight, our footfalls echoing in the empty lanes. “Foresight of that kind cannot properly be ascribed to the lower creation,” he continued, emphasing his remarks with abrupt gestures of the hand as if he were in the lecture hall. “But there is no doubt that the common octopus is a creature both intelligent and secretive. In the wild it lurks in small caves and under rocks, and will go to great lengths to hide its presence. There are numerous instances of it rolling stones before the entrance to its cave, so that it may remain undetected. The creature seems to have an instinct for deception and concealment, for covering its tracks. I suggest that in replacing the tank lid, it was merely following as nearly as it might the promptings of its nature, the tank taking the place of the kind of rock cavity where the common octopus is usually to be found.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you’re right, Kerr,” interposed the professor. “Tell me, Mr Holmes, were you as surprised as we were, or did you already suspect our octopedal thief?”