Sherlock Holmes and the Baker Street Dozen
Sherlock Holmes and The Baker Street Dozen
A collection of thirteen short stories
Val Andrews
Table of Contents
The Kinema Mystery
The Strange Case of the Burmese Jungle Fowl
The Incident of the Baker’s Watch
All This and the Giant Rat of Sumatra!
The Lobster Quadrille
Sherlock Holmes and the Gypsy Switch
The Gantry Point Wreckers
The South Downs Railway Mystery
The Case of the Flying Messengers
Sherlock Holmes and a Fraud in Baker Street
The Teacup Mystery
The Maestro’s Problem
The Baker Street Conjurer
The Kinema Mystery
The sounds produced by an arriving client and the tread upon the stairs which followed had long been a source of entertainment for Sherlock Holmes. He would tell what sort of a visitor to expect and more often than not he was accurate. Mr Septimus Gregson proved to be very much as Holmes had predicted as he appeared in the doorway; heavily built, ponderous and smoking a Havana cigar of a brand known as Perfecto. I could understand how the detective had read the message of Gregson’s tread but I was amazed that he had been able to detect the exact brand of the cigar after giving his nasal passages such abuse through strong pipe tobacco for so long.
Gregson spoke with the tones of a self-made man; grammatically correct, yet with the trace of a London accent. He shook hands with us both as Holmes made the introductions and said, ‘Mr Holmes, Doctor Watson, it is good of you to see me at short notice, but the matter is pressing. I hesitate to use the words urgent or serious because I do not believe there is a risk worse than that of loss of property.’
Holmes indicated a comfortable chair and I draped his greatcoat across a high backed seat. ‘Just tell me what it is that troubles you, Mr Gregson, and Watson and I will decide upon its degree of gravity.’
Gregson started to explain, ‘I am the owner of three London kinema theatres. You are, I feel sure, familiar with the moving pictures as a form of entertainment?’
I said, ‘Holmes and I attended a performance of that remarkable invention at Maskelynes a few years ago.’
Holmes added, ‘But I thought that the novelty had worn off and the invention was confined now to demonstrations in fairground booths, empty shops and other fly-by-night entertainments?’
Gregson replied, ‘This was true until quite recently but now, as we are moving into the twentieth century, the moving pictures are growing up. I have caused three purpose-made kinemas — as I call them — to be built. These have seating to rival that of a music hall with a special silvered screen upon which to project the images. The films, as we call them, are accompanied by a pianist who captures the mood of each scene.
‘The aisles are carpeted and there is in each building an attractive entrance lobby with a booking office and stalls for the sale of cigars, cigarettes and confections. I must tell you that my little chain of kinemas has really taken off and other showmen are already trying to copy my methods.’
After a very short pause Holmes said, ‘I am delighted to hear of your success, Mr Gregson, but what is the problem that you think I might help you with?’
Gregson said, ‘I’ll get straight to the point. A week ago my kinema in the Edgware Road had a stock of expensive Havana cigars stolen from the lobby.’
With a vague hint of impatience Holmes said, ‘You have informed the police?’
He answered, ‘Yes sir, but the crime, minor as it was, baffled them. You see, the theft must have been committed during the night, after the kinema was closed, yet there was no sign of a forced entry. When the staff arrived in the morning everything was exactly as it should have been, except for the missing cigars. I was myself the last to leave the building to lock it, and the first to arrive to unlock it on the following morning.’
I murmured, ‘Let us hope that with forewarning it will never happen to your other enterprises.’
He said, ‘That is just the point, doctor, I was willing to write the incident off, puzzling and irritating as it might be but three days later a second of my kinemas was robbed of its cigars. The circumstances were the same as at Edgware Road, with my resident manager experiencing the same thing. Now I fear for the safety of all three buildings. There appears to be some sort of master criminal who can enter and leave my secured premises without leaving any sort of trace. It is not practical to regularly transport the stock of cigars in and out of the buildings. Moreover, their sale is a very useful added source of profit — at least, it was!’
Holmes blew through the mouthpiece of a briar prior to filling it with the black shag which seemed to have been chosen for that day. ‘I can see the problem; if no locked premises are safe then your only course is to employ a night watchman.’
Gregson assented but added, ‘This would reduce my profits, and yet perhaps be no help.’
I said, ‘How can it fail to prevent a repetition?’
He said, ‘Because this is no ordinary thief, there is almost a touch of the supernatural in it all.’
Holmes chuckled, ‘A ghost of Bill Sykes perhaps? Oh come, Mr Gregson, we are dealing with a real life crime carried out by a criminal who is very much alive.’
Gregson asked, ‘You will help me then?’
Holmes nodded, ‘Of course, for it is an enigma worthy of my involvement.’ Then he turned to me, ‘Watson, send Billy for a hansom, the third on the rank, for we are bound for the Edgware Road.’
Almost opposite the Metropolitan Music Hall we saw the brand new kinema with its rich blue letters on the façade. Holmes examined the locks of the already opened doors at the front entrance. He took his lens to the close scrutiny and mumbled, ‘I am not saying that these locks could not be opened other than with the keys, but I feel that some trace or scratch might be left and there is none. In any case this very busy thoroughfare is well patrolled by night. I am more interested in other means of entry. Let us go inside, Gregson.’
We discovered that the only other doors were of the exit variety, opening onto a side alley. These could be opened only from the inside, by means of a pressure bar and Gregson showed us the fearsome-looking bar and padlocks fitted to the exterior at night. Windows, there were few and all of them far too small for a man to pass through. Gregson explained, ‘Daylight is unwelcome in a kinema. The windows are solely for ventilation.’
We sat in the front row of the kinema stalls, Holmes glancing keenly around him as if seeking inspiration. The screen filled most of the wall which formed one end of the simple building. At each side of the screen there were velvet draperies, swagged for effect. Behind us, at the entrance end, there was a moving-picture projector standing upon a sturdy base, raised up and with steps for the operator to mount that he might attend the machine.
At length, Holmes rose from his seat and paced around the auditorium. He explained to me, rather as if I was of limited intellect, ‘You see, Watson, unlike a theatre proper there is no stage and in consequence no backstage area. No wings, flies or dressing rooms, just a solid wall with a screen attached to it.’ I took no offence at his style of comment, knowing from experience that he was simply thinking aloud for his own benefit. As Gregson and I made for the entrance Holmes dallied, and lifted one of the drapes beside the screen. I thought I saw him pick something up and place it in his wallet. When I asked him about this he made light of it. ‘Probably nothing of importance, Watson, but if it proves otherwise you will soon know. Tell me, Gregson, do your cleaners do a good job?’
Gregson waved an all-encompassing hand around him, ‘Can you see
any reason for me to complain of them?’
Holmes had dismissed the cab, so we hailed another which took us to the second of the crime-affected kinemas, this time in a suburb of Finchley. Here we were confronted by an almost identical scenario. The building had obviously been fashioned from the same architectural plans. Again we examined all, and again Holmes dallied to peer beneath one of the drapes at the same side of the screen as the one he had looked under at Edgware Road. This time he evidently found nothing to interest him but, rather as from an afterthought, peered under the drape at the opposite side of the screen. I thought I caught a gasp of satisfaction from him, as he picked up a small object once more.
As we left the kinema we piled into the hansom cab, which Holmes had retained in anticipation of our stay being a shorter one than at the Edgware Road kinema. ‘Where is your third and last exhibition venue, Gregson?’
The impresario said, ‘Not far from here at Wood Green.’ Soon we were in another leafy suburb and confronted by another Gregson kinema of a design now very familiar to us. We made the same investigative round, Holmes even repeating his examination of the floor beneath the drapes at each side of the screen. This time, evidently, he found nothing of interest.
The audience were beginning to arrive and quite soon from the lobby we could hear the tinkling of a piano and a little later the laughter and appreciation of a small but lively audience. We peered in through the curtained door to the auditorium and saw the flickering images of riders straight from the great plains and then those of comedians in police uniforms, falling over each other. Holmes remarked, ‘The public, Watson, are easily entertained!’
We sat upon a chesterfield in the lobby and Holmes was particularly thoughtful, ‘If there is any pattern in the thief’s mind, tonight would be a likely time for this very place to be robbed.’ I worked it out in my mind. Seven nights ago the robbery at Edgware Road, three nights later that at Finchley. I had to agree that we were present at a possibly opportune time but, to my extreme disappointment, Holmes bade me return to Baker Street. ‘Inform Mrs Hudson that I will not be present for dinner — and Watson, you may not see me for some hours.’
Not until the early hours of the following morning did I see Holmes again but I had not retired for the night, preferring to smoke quietly and doze by the sitting-room fire. Then at about two of the clock there were the sounds of a hansom arriving, and soon Sherlock Holmes stood before me with a gleam of triumph in his eyes.
‘Well, Watson, my dear fellow, you can chronicle another case solved by Sherlock Holmes! The sheer ingenuity of it all suddenly struck me like a bolt from the blue. The thief did not need to break in to make the robbery because he was already inside. You see at the conclusion of the performance there is a momentary blackout, before the auditorium lights are raised. He took advantage of that to secrete himself behind a drape at one side of the screen. Then, when all but he had left, he was able, with all the time he needed, to take that which he had come for, a bag full of expensive cigars.’
I could see the ingenuity of this but spotted at once a flaw in the plan. ‘How then, pray, did he get out?’
Holmes laughed, ‘He did not, at least not until the staff had arrived and opened the building upon the following morning. When he heard them coming he hid himself once more behind his drape, and awaited a suitable moment to make his escape unobserved through the now unsecured side exit into the alley. Probably he took advantage of all persons present being lured to the cigar stall. Anyway, those first two occasions but not this time! I took equal advantage of the blackout to hide behind the screen. Although it hid me I could still see through due to the nature of its making. I waited until he returned with the loot. When I apprehended him, Gregson and the local police came to my prearranged signal; a police whistle.’
I gasped at the ingenuity and yet the simplicity of it all. Yet one thing still puzzled me. I asked, ‘Holmes, what really told you that he hid behind a drape?’
He smiled, ‘Well, I could not know for sure until I caught him redhanded, but suspect it, ah, that was another matter. It was only for the sake of being thorough that I glanced under the curtains at Edgware Road. I found this.’ He took out his wallet and tipped out a cigarette end. ‘Egyptian Pasha, an unusual brand.’ He tipped a second cigarette end into his palm. ‘This one, also a Pasha, I found under a curtain at Finchley. Had he been there long enough I would have found a third tonight. It is difficult for a regular smoker to be long denied his drug!’
The Strange Case of the Burmese Jungle Fowl
My friend Mr Sherlock Holmes solved many, or most, of his principal cases through the science of deduction allied to his amazing energetic activity. Yet there were other cases often of a less than serious nature which he solved simply through that enormous general knowledge which was stored in his file of a brain, plus his alertness of eye. Just such a case was that of the disappearing jungle fowl.
We came into contact with these exotic birds through Holmes’s association with a certain Mr Chapman who had a rather unusual occupation in the importation and trade in exotic creatures from the four corners of the globe. He operated from premises just off the Fleet Street end of the Strand which from the outside looked as unremarkable as the average warehouse, yet from which emanated the sounds produced by a myriad of exotica. Inside Chapman’s, of course, the stock of his trade could be clearly seen. Huge cages on wheels housed lions, leopards and bears, whilst an elephant or two could usually be seen, chained and swaying their great grey bodies at the far end of the large building. Between these larger creatures were stationed boxes, baskets and hutches containing smaller examples of his strange trade; snakes, civets, even small crocodilians and glass bells and tanks containing strange fish and amphibians. Above hung cages which housed hawks and eagles as well as the more usual cockatoos and macaws. I need hardly add that the noise within Chapman’s was indescribable, with shrieks, snarls and other wild cries, plus those made by the scampering of rats in the deep litter as they were stalked by the owner’s domestic cats.
The attraction of this strange London backwater for Sherlock Holmes was not merely that of idle curiosity, for old Chapman had been a source of useful information to the detective when the scientists at the Natural History Museum had failed him. Did I mention, for instance, his useful advice and correct identification of the giant rat of Sumatra?
We were strolling in the Strand following a meal at Simpsons with a client of Holmes’s. I believe it was I who suggested a visit to Chapman’s with Sherlock quite happy to dally there a while. We entered the building to be by the old livestock dealer himself. He was as stout and ruddy-faced as ever and wearing his usual Fair Isle jersey with twill trousers and buckle boots.
He welcomed us, ‘Mr Holmes, Doctor, glad I am to see you. Just let me finish selling Lord George some timber wolves and then my time is yours.’ We knew George Sanger of old, no more a nobleman than I.
We exchanged pleasantries as he picked out the three young wolves that he wanted. ‘Chapman, I’ll give you fifteen pounds for the three and I’ll send Alpine Charlie with a shifting den to fetch them.’ This Lord of the Ring touched his crop to his silk hat as he departed.
As soon as he was out of earshot Chapman said, ‘Great eye he has got, picks out the best of the bunch every time, but always pays over the odds. Just as well because at present I’m losing a fortune on the Burmese jungle fowl!’
Intriguing as this statement was Holmes seemed inclined to ignore it but curiosity got the best of me. ‘Lost a few to fowl pest or bumble foot?’
He shook his head, ‘No, that I could accept, for I lose a few of my specimens to disease each season. But these Jungle fowl are vanishing as fast as I can import them. Where are the little blighters going?’ He had thrown his cards on the table and politeness alone made the mildly uninterested detective pick them up. Chapman showed us the pen which housed the birds which was perhaps ten feet square with an open top and a small mesh door for access. To me the birds were
just chickens, albeit handsome ones with a beautiful gloss to their rusty red plumage.
I asked, ‘Who buys them from you?’
Chapman replied, ‘Noblemen mostly, them as has stately homes where they like them around in the grounds. None of your common-or-garden Buff Orpingtons for the likes of they.’
Holmes took the bait, ‘You see, Watson, these are the original fowl from which the domestic variety has been developed, much as the turkey was developed from the wild birds found by the American settlers. At what rate are you losing them, Chapman? No exaggeration now.’
Chapman said, ‘Oh, about six or eight a week, and that is no my eye and Betty Martin!’
I inquired, ‘They cannot fly out through the open top of the pen?’
Chapman laughed, ‘Not a chance, your jungle fowl is no flyer. At best he can rise four or five feet and break his fall with his wings. There are no perches high enough to aid an escape.’
Holmes asked, ‘There are no predatory creatures loose at night?’ He grinned, ‘Only my cats and the rats they prey upon. A jungle fowl is more than a match for a rat, yes and even a cat for that matter. What is more there would be bones and feathers about if any of them had been killed and eaten.’
Despite his seeming minimal interest I noticed that Holmes’s eyes were busy darting about him. They focused first upon the fanlight over the entrance door with its secure mesh cover, then moved along the cornice to observe the many spaces betwixt wall and ceiling. These were the access places of the rats, their way in from adjoining buildings; but their relevance had already been discounted. Then Holmes said, ‘My dear Chapman, I shall dwell upon your problem. However, the inner man calls for support. Can you recommend an establishment where we can eat in the near proximity.’ I opened my mouth and closed it again. It was true that the snack which we had taken at Simpsons had been of the lightest, but I knew the good Mrs Hudson would have a game pie for us back at Baker Street.’