The Rivals of Sherlock Holmes

by Graeme Davis

  Mrs. Lobenstein sighed, and her countenance told of her dismay; but the flame of hope had warmed her heart into a heat that was not to be immediately cooled. “Gentlemen,” said she, “accompany me once more round the cells and secret places—let me be satisfied with my own eyes that a thorough search has been made, and it will remove my doubts that you have overlooked some obscure nook wherein the wretches have concealed my little girl.” The range of chambers was again traversed, but without success, and the widow was compelled to admit that every possible place had been looked into, and that a farther sojourn in the house was entirely useless. The old lady sat down upon the last stair of the second flight, and with a grievous expression of countenance, looked into our several faces as we stood around her, as if she was searching for that consolation it was not in our power to bestow. Tears rolled down her checks, and mighty sobs told of the anguish of her heart. I was endeavoring to rouse her to exertion, as the only means of breaking the force of her grief, when my attention was drawn to the loud yelping of a dog, a small cocker spaniel, that had accompanied us in the carriage from Mrs. Lobenstein’s house, and in prowling round the building, had been accidentally shut up in one of the rooms. “Poor Dash!” said the widow, “I must not lose you; my dear Mary was fond of you, and I ought to be careful of her favorite.” I took the hint, and walking down the gallery, opened the door of the room from whence the barking proceeded. It was the apartment that contained the articles of wearing apparel, which Mrs. L. had visited in her round, without discovering any token of her daughter. But the animal’s superior instinct enabled him to detect the presence of a pair of shoes that had graced the feet of the little Mary when she quitted her mother’s house, on the day of her abduction. Immediately the door was opened, the faithful creature gathered up the shoes in his mouth, and ran to his mistress, and dropped them at her feet, inviting her attention by a loud and sagacious bark. The old lady knew the shoes in a moment—“Yes, they are my girl’s—I bought them myself for my darling—she has been here—has been murdered—and the body of my child is now mouldering in the grave.” A violent fit of hysterics ensued, and I consigned her to the care of the wife and sister of the under-keeper, who had not been allowed to leave the house.

  I deemed the finding of the shoes to be of sufficient importance to recall the magistrate, who was in the carriage at the door, and about to start for London. He immediately alighted, and inquired into the particulars of the affair. Directly it was proved that Mary Lobenstein had been in the house, L— rushed up stairs, and dragged the keeper into the presence of the magistrate, who sternly asked the man why he had deceived him in declaring that the girl had never been there. The fellow was evidently alarmed, and protested vehemently that he knew no female of the name of Lobenstein—and the only clue he could give to the mystery of the shoes was, that a young girl answering our description of Mary, had been brought into the house at night time about a fortnight ago, but she was represented as an insane prostitute, of the name of Hill, who had been annoying some married gentlemen by riotous conduct at their houses—and it was said at first that she was to remain at the Farm for life—but that she had suddenly been removed by Nares, but where, he could not say. L— shook his head ominously when he heard this statement, and it was evident to us all that the mother’s suspicions were right, and that a deed of blood had been recently perpetrated. The best means of ascertaining the place of burial was consulted on, and we adjourned to the garden to search for any appearance of freshly disturbed ground, or other evidence that might lead to a discovery of her remains. When we had crossed the yard, and were about entering the garden gate, L— suggested the propriety of fetching the little dog, whose excellent nose had afforded the only clue we had been able to obtain. I went back for the animal, but he refused to leave his mistress, and it was not without some danger of a bite, that I succeeded in catching him by the neck, and carrying him out of the room. I put him on his feet when we were past the garden gate, and endeavored to excite him to sprightliness by running along the walk, and whistling to him to follow, but he sneaked after me with a drooping tail and a bowed head, as if he felt his share of the general grief.

  We walked round the garden without discovering any signs that warranted farther search. We had traversed every path in the garden, excepting a narrow, transverse one, that led from the gate to a range of green and hot houses that lined the farthest wall. We were on the point of leaving the place, satisfied that it was not in our power to remove the veil of mystery that shrouded the girl’s disappearance, when the dog, who had strayed into the entrance of the narrow path, gave extraordinary signs of liveliness and emotion—his tail wagged furiously—his ears were thrown forward—and a short but earnest yaffle broke into a continuous bark as he turned rapidly from one side of the path to another, and finally ran down toward the green house with his nose bent to the ground.

  “He scents her,” said L—; “there is still a chance.” Our party, consisting of the magistrate, L— and two other officers, the under-keeper, the locksmiths, and myself, followed the dog down the narrow path into the centre of a piece of ground containing three or four cucumber beds, covered with sliding glass frames. The spaniel, after searching round the bed, jumped upon the centre frame, and howled piteously. It was evident that he had lost the scent. L— pointed out to our notice that the sliding lid was fastened to the frame by a large padlock—this extraordinary security increased our suspicions—he seized a crow bar from one of the smiths, and the lock was soon removed. The top of the frame was pulled up, and the dog jumped into the tan that filled the bed, and commenced scratching with all his might. L— thrust the bar into the yielding soil, and at the depth of a foot, the iron struck a solid substance. This intimation electrified us—we waited not for tools—our hands were dug into the bed, and the tan and black mould were dragged from the frame with an eagerness that soon emptied it, and exhibited the boarding of a large trap door, divided into two parts, but securely locked together. While the smiths essayed their skill upon the lock, the magistrate stood by with lifted hands and head uncovered—a tear was in the good man’s eye—and he breathed short from the excess of his anxiety. Every one was visibly excited, and the loud and cheerful bark of the dog was hailed as an omen of success. L—’s impatience could not brook delay. He seized the sledge hammer of the smiths, and with a blow that might have knocked in the side of a house, demolished the lock and bolt, and the doors jumped apart in the recoil from the blow. They were raised—a black and yawning vault was below— and a small flight of wooden steps, green and mouldy, from the effects of the earth’s dampness, led to the gloomy depths of the cavern.

  The little dog dashed bravely down the stairway, and L—, requesting us to stand from between him and the light, picked his way down the narrow, slimy steps. One of the smiths followed, and the rest of us hung our heads anxiously over the edge of the vault’s mouth, watching our friends as they receded in the distant gloom. A pause ensued; the dog was heard barking, and an indistinct muttering between L— and the smith ascended to the surface of the earth. I shouted to them, and was frightened at the reverberation of my voice. Our anxiety became painful in the extreme—the magistrate called to L—, but obtained no answer; and we were on the point of descending in a body, when the officer appeared at the foot of the stairs. “We have found her,” said he—we gave a simultaneous shout. “But she is dead,” was the appalling finish of his speech, as he emerged from the mouth of the vault.

  The smith, with the lifeless body of Mary Lobenstein swung over his shoulder, was assisted up the stairs. The corse####### of the little girl was placed on one of the garden settees,******** and, with heavy hearts and gloomy faces, we carried the melancholy burden into the house. The mother had not recovered from the shock which the anticipation of her daughter’s death had given to her feelings; she was lying senseless upon the bed where she had been placed by the keeper’s wife. We laid the body of her daughter in an adjoining room, and directed the woman
to perform the last sad duties to the senseless clay while we awaited the parent’s restoration. The magistrate returned to London; the smiths were packing up their tools preparatory to departure, and I was musing in melancholy mood over the events of the day, when the forbidding face of the keeper’s wife peeped in at the half-opened door, and we were beckoned from the room.

  “Please your honor, I never seed a dead body look like that there corpse of the little girl up stairs. I’ve seed a many corpses in my time, but there’s something unnatural about that there one, not like a dead body ought to be.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why, though her feet and hands are cold, her jaw ain’t dropped, and her eyes ain’t open—and there’s a limberness in her limbs that I don’t like. I really believe she’s only swounded.”††††††††

  L— and I hurried up stairs, and the smiths, with their baskets of tools dangling at their backs, followed us into the room. I anxiously searched for any pulsation at the heart and the wrists of poor Mary, whose appearance certainly corroborated the woman’s surmise, but the total absence of all visible signs of life denied us the encouragement of the flattering hope. One of the smiths took from his basket a tool of bright, fine-tempered steel; he held it for a few seconds against Mary’s half-closed mouth, and upon withdrawing it, said, with a loud and energetic voice, “She is alive! Her breath has damped the surface of the steel!”

  The man was right. Proper remedies were applied to the daughter and to her parent, and L— had the gratification of placing the lost Mary within her mother’s arms.

  Miss Lobenstein’s explanation afforded but little additional information. When she was brought to the Farm by the villain Mills and his friend Billy the ostler, she was informed that it was to be the residence of her future life. She was subjected to the treatment of a maniac, her questions remained unanswered, and her supplications for permission to send to her mother were answered with a sneer. About three nights ago, she was ordered from her room, her shoes were taken off that she might noiselessly traverse the passages, and she was removed to the secret cell in the garden; some biscuits and a jug of water were placed beside her, and she had remained in undisturbed solitude till the instinct of her favorite dog led to her discovery, shortly after she had fainted from exhaustion and terror. There is little doubt but that the ruffians were alarmed at the watchings and appearances of the indefatigable L—, and withdrew their victim to the securest hiding-place. I had the curiosity, in company with some of the officers, to descend into the Secret Cell; it had originally been dug out for the foundation of an intended house; the walls and partitions were solidly built, but the bankruptcy of the projector prevented any farther progress. When Farrell and his gang took possession of the place, it was deemed easier to cover the rafters of the cellar with boards and earth, than to fill it up—in time, the existence of the hole became forgotten, save by those most interested in its concealment. Farrell contrived the mode of entrance through the glass frame of the forcing bed, and when the adjacent green-houses were constructed, an artificial flue or vent was introduced to the depths of the cell, and supplied it with a sufficiency of air.

  Mrs. Lobenstein refused to prosecute the spinster Bishop, the malignancy of whose temper preyed upon her own heart, and speedily consigned her unlamented to the grave. The true particulars of this strange affair were never given to the public, although I believe that its occurrence mainly contributed to affect an alteration in the English laws respecting private mad houses and other receptacles for lunatics.

  The magistracy of the county knew that they were to blame in permitting the existence of such a den as Farrell’s Farm, and exerted themselves to quash proceedings against the fellows Mills and Nares, and their coadjutors.‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡ A few months’ imprisonment was the only punishment awarded them, and that was in return for the assault upon the head of the police; but in Billy, the ostler, was recognized an old offender—various unpunished offences rose against him, and he was condemned to “seven penn’orth”§§§§§§§ aboard the hulks at Chatham.¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶ The greatest rogue escaped the arm of justice for a time; but L— has since assured me he has every reason to believe that Farrell was, under a feigned name, executed in Somersetshire for horse stealing.

  The Farm was converted into a Poor House for some of the adjacent parishes; L— received his reward, and when I left England, our heroine Mary was the blooming mother of a numerous family.

  * His penniless widow.

  † Various

  ‡ The Hanseatic League was an alliance of merchant guilds from northern Europe, principally Germany, which dominated Baltic trade in the Middle Ages. German towns like Bremen and Hamburg are still proud of their membership in the League.

  § Tallow is beef or mutton fat.

  ¶ Washing, in this instance. Literally translated from the original Latin, “lavatory” means “washroom.”

  # French: “from before,” “former.”

  ** A hawker or peddler. The word had yet to acquire its current negative connotations.

  †† It was common at that time to mistake a German (Deutsch) person for Dutch.

  ‡‡ A slang term for money.

  §§ Snitching.

  ¶¶ Your share.

  ## The sea.

  *** I was certain.

  ††† Dance, as in 1950s America.

  ‡‡‡ Horse.

  §§§ Meaning uncertain. Perhaps an ankle-height boot with a low heel, or possibly high at the back with a low instep.

  ¶¶¶ Spelled “stile” now.

  ### Stableman.

  **** A fast, four-wheeled carriage, similar to a stagecoach.

  †††† A coachman who rides one of the horses rather than sitting on the coach itself. More commonly spelled “postilion.”

  ‡‡‡‡ Welt.

  §§§§ A light, two-wheeled carriage.

  ¶¶¶¶ Ten shillings and six pence. Worth £57.23 (US $76.79) in 2018, according to online sources.

  #### A wagon and a hearse. Burton is using phonetic spelling to convey the character’s accent.

  ***** Chaise.

  ††††† Clothing.

  ‡‡‡‡‡ Doubled back.

  §§§§§ Wallop.

  ¶¶¶¶¶ Confederate.

  ##### Confusingly, at the time, “front” could mean something like “face” rather than the side on which the main door was situated.

  ****** The door on the side of the coach facing away from the house.

  †††††† Handcuffs.

  ‡‡‡‡‡‡ Five pounds and five shillings. Worth £572.25 (US $767.94) in 2018, according to online sources.

  §§§§§§ French: “out of action.”

  ¶¶¶¶¶¶ The Acts of Parliament governing lunacy and madhouses were not significantly reformed until 1845, and permitted many abuses.

  ###### French: “childbirth.”

  ******* Bethlem (sic) Royal Hospital, nicknamed Bedlam, was one of London’s earliest and most notorious madhouses.

  ††††††† French: “detainees.”

  ‡‡‡‡‡‡‡ Cramped.

  §§§§§§§ An archaic spelling.

  ¶¶¶¶¶¶¶ Disuse.

  ####### Corpse (archaic).

  ******** Benches.

  †††††††† Swooned.

  ‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡ Colleagues.

  §§§§§§§§ Literally seven pennies’ worth: underworld slang for a seven-month sentence.

  ¶¶¶¶¶¶¶¶ Decommissioned ships used as floating prisons.

  THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGÊT

  by Edgar Allan Poe

  1842

  Poe’s “The Murders in the Rue Morgue,” published in 1841, is widely credited with having founded the modern detective genre. His protagonist, C. Auguste Dupin, may have been inspired by Eugène François Vidocq, a former criminal who founded France’s famous Sûreté Nationale, as well as what is thought to be the world’s first private de
tective agency. Poe’s inspiration for the following story is drawn from life: in July of 1841, the body of Mary Rogers was found floating in the Hudson River in Hoboken, New Jersey. Her murder remains unsolved; several conflicting theories were proposed at the time, and the case was much debated in the press.

  Using the character of Dupin, Poe conducts a thorough critical analysis of the evidence, the press reports, the various witnesses, and some relevant science, and although he does not name the murderer, he indicates a clear line of inquiry which might have led to the case being solved. As it was, however, interest in Mary Rogers waned when another murder case stole the headlines nine weeks later.

  Published forty-five years before A Study in Scarlet, “The Mystery of Marie Rogêt” shows many of the hallmarks of a Sherlock Holmes story. Dupin’s “ratiocination” anticipates the deductive reasoning of Holmes. His unnamed associate provides an audience for the great detective and commentary for the readers, in much the same way as Watson did. The unnamed Prefect of Police, G—, who brings Dupin this case and those in the other stories, plays the role of Lestrade in “The Adventure of the Six Napoleons,” “The Boscombe Valley Mystery,” and other stories.

  Doyle wrote fifty-six short stories and four novels starring Holmes; Poe only wrote three short stories featuring Dupin. Had Poe written more Dupin tales, Holmes’s place in literature and popular culture might not have been so secure.

  Es giebt eine Reihe idealischer Begebenheiten, die der Wirklichkeit parallel lauft. Selten fallen sie zusammen. Menschen und zufalle modifieiren gewohulich die idealische Begebenheit, so dass sie unvollkommen erscheint, und ihre Folgen gleichfalls unvollkommen sind. So bei der Reformation; statt des Protestantismus kam das Lutherthum hervor.

  (“There are ideal series of events which run parallel with the real ones. They rarely coincide. Men and circumstances generally modify the ideal train of events, so that it seems imperfect, and its consequences are equally imperfect. Thus with the Reformation; instead of Protestantism came Lutheranism.”)