Alright. It's getting closer and closer to the release date (Christmas Day, of all days) of the new Sherlock Holmes movie, starring Robert Downey, Jr. as Sherlock Holmes and Jude Law as Watson.
Now, if you've ever SEEN Robert Downey, Jr., you KNOW he wouldn't make a good Holmes just by the looks of him. I mean, it specifically says in the books that Holmes is very thin and has 'austere' features. And...Robert Downey, is NOT very thin (not that he's fat either. He's too healthy looking) and...he does NOT have 'austere' features.
Now, for Watson. Jude Law LOOKS the part. Whether he can act the part is a whole other story. I don't know much about him, but I would personally make him Sherlock Holmes. He looks more the part. I'd take Downey right out of the picture.
Heh. Judging from the trailer (which, if you have not seen, DON"T SEE IT. It's bad. If you have, you should agree with me, if you're even a Holmes fan), it's probably going to at LEAST be rated PG-13, if not R. Probably R. And that's just the Youtube trailer. I do think they're just using the name Sherlock Holmes to draw more people in. It's supposed to be a major action adventure movie. And...again, judging from the trailer, they really emphasize Holmes' boxing.
Which...he doesn't do, even once, in the entire canon. I do think he only mentions his boxing days once or twice.
Which brings me to the question: Does Holmes have a six pack? If you answered 'no', judging from what we conclude from the books, guess again. Robert Downey does, and you see it, in the boxing scenes, for most of the trailer. When he's not making out with Rachel McAdams, who plays...guess who...Irene Adler.
Very odd. *laughs* Er...strange, WEIRD (lol Grace), unearthly, singular, grotesque...the list goes on.
That brings me to another point. One of the main storylines is Holmes' relationship to Irene Adler. Which, I might say, is NOT much except for admiration for her outsmarting him in the books. Only they take it and expand it, and push it way out of bounds. You'd know what I mean, if you watched the trailer. But don't. lol I'm not going to go there. It's like...mushy gushy romance. Which is NOT Holmes. Or even Watson! He wasn't even like that with his fiancee!! GAH!
And you know, I've deduced this much from only the trailer. It's gonna be bad. So I forewarn you, my fellow Holmesians,
DO NOT SUPPORT THIS MOVIE.
I'm not going to. I hope I'm not the only one who feels this way.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
The Adventure of the Gold-Engraved Box - Part 4
Holmes occupied himself for over an hour, intently studying the journal. Occasionally he would pause and write something in his notebook. I was naturally curious, yet knew better than to disturb him, so I settled back into my chair to wait. By then I was beginning to feel a bit ill - no doubt due to the large meal I had consumed several hours before. Holmes, as usual when he was on a case, hadn't eaten anything, and I simply could not waste Mrs. Hudson's excellent shepherd's pie.
I must have dozed off, for when I next caught a glimpse of Holmes he was standing near the window, staring out attentively. I rose to join him.
"Any progress?" I inquired, still feeling ill and attempting to supress a yawn.
Holmes only pointed toward the street. "Your man, leaning against the lamp-post."
I caught sight of the man near the lamp-post across the street. He appeared to be casually observing those around him, but as I looked closer, I noted he was watching our flat. "How long has he been there?"
Holmes turned to me. "I believe since just before Miss Baylor took leave."
I could only surmise why the man I had met at Hyde Park would be watching the flat. I became a little nervous for Mrs. Hudson. "Shouldn't we warn Mrs. Hudson?"
Holmes shook his head. "No need to worry her over such a trifle." He drew the blinds and went back to his arm chair. As I returned to the settee, he reached across and passed the worn, red journal to me. "See what you can make of page 2."
I could see nothing unusual about the specified page, which read:
"This day, Queen Mary informed me of her plan to flee Scotland. She is to go to England, in hopes that Queen Elizabeth will show her favor. She wishes for Jinny, Gwen, Blair and I to accompany her. I would be very pleased, but for the fact that dear Gavin and I must call off the wedding until I return. How I shall miss him!
Ailsa (5)"
I scrutinized the page for a few more moments before commenting, "The only thing out of the ordinary on this page is the number "5" beside the signature. Unless I am mistaken..."
Holmes shook his head. "No, you are correct, Watson. I've deduced that the "5" simply means page five." He smoked thoughtfully, watching my movements intently.
I turned to page five automatically; on it was a very long string of numbers, each seperated by a tiny dash. It read:
"2-3-3-5-8-3-12-6-15-2-20-4-25-1-33-1-35-1-40-3-48-3-56-2-66-1"
"Well, Watson?" Holmes questioned. His notebook once again lay open on his knee. "You know my methods; apply them."
I studied the numbers once more. "It is a cipher, to be sure," I said, attempting to sound confident in my deduction.
"To be sure," Holmes echoed.
I waited for more information from my friend, but he said nothing more. He could be incredibly patient when the mood suited him. I resumed the recitation of my deductions. "Every other number becomes incresingly larger...the first being "2," the third being "3," the fifth being "5" and so on."
Holmes smiled. "Precisely, Watson. He held out his hand for the journal, then leaned back in the arm chair and began to study the page once more, making notes in his notebook.
"The cipher is very simple," he began. "As you know, I am familiar with most types of ciphers and codes; this happens to be one of them." He finished writing in his notebook and passed it to me. "It is solved by coupling the numbers from the beginning."
I studied the page in Holmes' notebook, filled with several rows of numbers written in his precise handwriting. I began to follow his chain of thought. "The first number corresponds to one word..."
"In this case, a word in the paragraph," Holmes said.
"And the second to a letter in that word," I finished.
Holmes nodded. "See here, he said, moving to join me on the settee and pointing to one of his notes with the stem of his pipe. "The "2" corresponds to the second word, "day," whereas the "3" corresponds to the letter "y." Therefore, the first letter of the solution is "y.""
I nodded and began deciphering the code as Holmes moved back to his chair with his notebook. Coming upon the second letter, though, I ran into a problem. Holmes was puffing silently on his pipe, watching me again. "Holmes, the second letter is "n." Words in English simply do not start with the letters "y" and "n!"" By this time I was quite agitated, not only with the fact that my methods appeared to be failing, but also because I was feeling very ill.
"I've come to that, Watson." Holmes took no notice of my flustered mood. Instead, he turned his notebook around to face me. Another collection of letters formed a long string across the page, seperated by commas, in this order:
"y, n, r, a, o, e, s, j, b, r, e, a, m"
"Why, it is an anagram," I remarked.
"Correct again, Watson. Now, to solve the anagram." Holmes rose and went to his desk, strewn with papers from past cases and current chemical experiments, and set to work solving the puzzle.
I watched, sullenly, for a few moments before copying the letters in my own notebook and attempting to solve the anagram myself. I wasn't long into it, however, when Holmes startled me by leaping out of the desk chair and hurrying to the table where the abandoned index lay. He strode about the room, scanning the pages quickly. He paused for a moment to place the stem of his pipe on a page, then returned to the table to retrieve the box.
"What is it, Holmes?" I asked.
A hand-motion served as the reply as he signaled for me to join him. I abandoned my notebook on the settee and went to his side as he stood leaning against the mantle. He lifted the first lid of the box and entered four digits: "1-5-6-6."
"Holmes," I said, becoming annoyed at his ignorance. He had included and even taught me a few things that afternoon, and was acting as if I were not even present. I tapped his shoulder. "What was the anagram?"
" 'Year James born,' " He answered, without even a glance in my direction.
"James?" I was thoroughly confused.
"Mary Stuart's only son," Holmes said. He pushed the flower petals as he had done the previous evening.
The next moment seemed as if it were an eternity. I realized that I was holding my breath, and glanced at Holmes, whose eyes were glittering with anticipation. His long, thin fingers prodded the edges of the second lid as he lifted it to reveal a small, yellowed piece of parchment tied with a red ribbon lying on a shallow bed of red velvet.
Holmes went to his arm chair, and I followed absentmindedly, my eyes never leaving the parchment. I was enchanted. To think that a piece of history was lying right before our eyes! I must confess, this cheered me, as I stood behind the chair, looking over my friend's shoulder as he pulled the parchment out of the box and untied the frayed, red ribbon.
My hopes were dashed as he unrolled the parchment, only to reveal a series of short scribbles covering the entire page. Holmes, however, was smiling, and he moved the box to the table and went to the desk to retrieve his notebook.
"There must be something more to this than scribbles," I remarked sourly as I took up the box to examine it.
The red velvet lining covered what appeared to be some kind of thick metal - perhaps solid gold. The distance between the outer edge of the box to the inner edge of the lining was nearly four centimeters, making it impenetrable from the outside. The box itself was nearly twenty centimeters from the lid to the bottom; yet the depth of the inside only measured about six centimeters. Why should the inside of the box be so small and shallow, with such a drastic difference in size in comparison to the outside?
Then I knew the answer. There must have been another compartment underneath the red velvet; yet I could see no way to reach it. Pushing the thoughts of my illness aside, I reached inside and pushed on the bottom of the box. It was solid. I reached across to the table where Holmes kept his strange tools and pulled out a small one that appeared to have some resemblance to a knife. I slid the knife along the edge of the velvet lining near the bottom, from corner to corner, to pull the lining away from the bottom of the box.
Holmes must have caught sight of what I was doing, for he rushed at me so quickly that I became startled and dropped the tool. "Watson, what are you doing?"
I explained to him my thoughts, and he dropped to his knees beside the chair and fingered the piece of velvet I had removed from the box before lifting it out himself. I looked inside, and saw a tiny gold door, which Holmes slid aside to reveal a ring attached to the bottom of the box. He took hold of the ring and pulled upward.
The whole bottom of the box came away to reveal another deeper, red velvet-lined compartment. Inside was a black silk pouch, tied with a drawstring.
Holmes took the pouch by the string and lifted it before our eyes. "Watson," he began quietly, "you have found the crown jewels of Scotland."
Suddenly, I felt the most ill I had been since I had awakened, and the last thing I heard as Holmes dissolved into blackness was a metallic clang as the gold-engraved box fell to the floor.
I must have dozed off, for when I next caught a glimpse of Holmes he was standing near the window, staring out attentively. I rose to join him.
"Any progress?" I inquired, still feeling ill and attempting to supress a yawn.
Holmes only pointed toward the street. "Your man, leaning against the lamp-post."
I caught sight of the man near the lamp-post across the street. He appeared to be casually observing those around him, but as I looked closer, I noted he was watching our flat. "How long has he been there?"
Holmes turned to me. "I believe since just before Miss Baylor took leave."
I could only surmise why the man I had met at Hyde Park would be watching the flat. I became a little nervous for Mrs. Hudson. "Shouldn't we warn Mrs. Hudson?"
Holmes shook his head. "No need to worry her over such a trifle." He drew the blinds and went back to his arm chair. As I returned to the settee, he reached across and passed the worn, red journal to me. "See what you can make of page 2."
I could see nothing unusual about the specified page, which read:
"This day, Queen Mary informed me of her plan to flee Scotland. She is to go to England, in hopes that Queen Elizabeth will show her favor. She wishes for Jinny, Gwen, Blair and I to accompany her. I would be very pleased, but for the fact that dear Gavin and I must call off the wedding until I return. How I shall miss him!
Ailsa (5)"
I scrutinized the page for a few more moments before commenting, "The only thing out of the ordinary on this page is the number "5" beside the signature. Unless I am mistaken..."
Holmes shook his head. "No, you are correct, Watson. I've deduced that the "5" simply means page five." He smoked thoughtfully, watching my movements intently.
I turned to page five automatically; on it was a very long string of numbers, each seperated by a tiny dash. It read:
"2-3-3-5-8-3-12-6-15-2-20-4-25-1-33-1-35-1-40-3-48-3-56-2-66-1"
"Well, Watson?" Holmes questioned. His notebook once again lay open on his knee. "You know my methods; apply them."
I studied the numbers once more. "It is a cipher, to be sure," I said, attempting to sound confident in my deduction.
"To be sure," Holmes echoed.
I waited for more information from my friend, but he said nothing more. He could be incredibly patient when the mood suited him. I resumed the recitation of my deductions. "Every other number becomes incresingly larger...the first being "2," the third being "3," the fifth being "5" and so on."
Holmes smiled. "Precisely, Watson. He held out his hand for the journal, then leaned back in the arm chair and began to study the page once more, making notes in his notebook.
"The cipher is very simple," he began. "As you know, I am familiar with most types of ciphers and codes; this happens to be one of them." He finished writing in his notebook and passed it to me. "It is solved by coupling the numbers from the beginning."
I studied the page in Holmes' notebook, filled with several rows of numbers written in his precise handwriting. I began to follow his chain of thought. "The first number corresponds to one word..."
"In this case, a word in the paragraph," Holmes said.
"And the second to a letter in that word," I finished.
Holmes nodded. "See here, he said, moving to join me on the settee and pointing to one of his notes with the stem of his pipe. "The "2" corresponds to the second word, "day," whereas the "3" corresponds to the letter "y." Therefore, the first letter of the solution is "y.""
I nodded and began deciphering the code as Holmes moved back to his chair with his notebook. Coming upon the second letter, though, I ran into a problem. Holmes was puffing silently on his pipe, watching me again. "Holmes, the second letter is "n." Words in English simply do not start with the letters "y" and "n!"" By this time I was quite agitated, not only with the fact that my methods appeared to be failing, but also because I was feeling very ill.
"I've come to that, Watson." Holmes took no notice of my flustered mood. Instead, he turned his notebook around to face me. Another collection of letters formed a long string across the page, seperated by commas, in this order:
"y, n, r, a, o, e, s, j, b, r, e, a, m"
"Why, it is an anagram," I remarked.
"Correct again, Watson. Now, to solve the anagram." Holmes rose and went to his desk, strewn with papers from past cases and current chemical experiments, and set to work solving the puzzle.
I watched, sullenly, for a few moments before copying the letters in my own notebook and attempting to solve the anagram myself. I wasn't long into it, however, when Holmes startled me by leaping out of the desk chair and hurrying to the table where the abandoned index lay. He strode about the room, scanning the pages quickly. He paused for a moment to place the stem of his pipe on a page, then returned to the table to retrieve the box.
"What is it, Holmes?" I asked.
A hand-motion served as the reply as he signaled for me to join him. I abandoned my notebook on the settee and went to his side as he stood leaning against the mantle. He lifted the first lid of the box and entered four digits: "1-5-6-6."
"Holmes," I said, becoming annoyed at his ignorance. He had included and even taught me a few things that afternoon, and was acting as if I were not even present. I tapped his shoulder. "What was the anagram?"
" 'Year James born,' " He answered, without even a glance in my direction.
"James?" I was thoroughly confused.
"Mary Stuart's only son," Holmes said. He pushed the flower petals as he had done the previous evening.
The next moment seemed as if it were an eternity. I realized that I was holding my breath, and glanced at Holmes, whose eyes were glittering with anticipation. His long, thin fingers prodded the edges of the second lid as he lifted it to reveal a small, yellowed piece of parchment tied with a red ribbon lying on a shallow bed of red velvet.
Holmes went to his arm chair, and I followed absentmindedly, my eyes never leaving the parchment. I was enchanted. To think that a piece of history was lying right before our eyes! I must confess, this cheered me, as I stood behind the chair, looking over my friend's shoulder as he pulled the parchment out of the box and untied the frayed, red ribbon.
My hopes were dashed as he unrolled the parchment, only to reveal a series of short scribbles covering the entire page. Holmes, however, was smiling, and he moved the box to the table and went to the desk to retrieve his notebook.
"There must be something more to this than scribbles," I remarked sourly as I took up the box to examine it.
The red velvet lining covered what appeared to be some kind of thick metal - perhaps solid gold. The distance between the outer edge of the box to the inner edge of the lining was nearly four centimeters, making it impenetrable from the outside. The box itself was nearly twenty centimeters from the lid to the bottom; yet the depth of the inside only measured about six centimeters. Why should the inside of the box be so small and shallow, with such a drastic difference in size in comparison to the outside?
Then I knew the answer. There must have been another compartment underneath the red velvet; yet I could see no way to reach it. Pushing the thoughts of my illness aside, I reached inside and pushed on the bottom of the box. It was solid. I reached across to the table where Holmes kept his strange tools and pulled out a small one that appeared to have some resemblance to a knife. I slid the knife along the edge of the velvet lining near the bottom, from corner to corner, to pull the lining away from the bottom of the box.
Holmes must have caught sight of what I was doing, for he rushed at me so quickly that I became startled and dropped the tool. "Watson, what are you doing?"
I explained to him my thoughts, and he dropped to his knees beside the chair and fingered the piece of velvet I had removed from the box before lifting it out himself. I looked inside, and saw a tiny gold door, which Holmes slid aside to reveal a ring attached to the bottom of the box. He took hold of the ring and pulled upward.
The whole bottom of the box came away to reveal another deeper, red velvet-lined compartment. Inside was a black silk pouch, tied with a drawstring.
Holmes took the pouch by the string and lifted it before our eyes. "Watson," he began quietly, "you have found the crown jewels of Scotland."
Suddenly, I felt the most ill I had been since I had awakened, and the last thing I heard as Holmes dissolved into blackness was a metallic clang as the gold-engraved box fell to the floor.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Watch This if You Need a Smile!
This video is priceless. I thought I would share it, because it made me grin from ear to ear from the very beginning :D It's all footage of JB playing Sherlock Holmes...and I must be honest, his laughter is infectious...even though he doesn't laugh all that much in the series as a whole (you know how Holmes is...). This clip was made by RebeccaWilde of youtube...I do not take any credit for the video. Enjoy it, and I hope it makes you smile :D
A Neat Poem...
I came across this poem in a book I just finished reading called "The New Adventures of Sherlock Holmes," and thought I would share it. It was written by Mollie Hardwick in 1987 (as far as I can tell...there's not much info on the same page)...You should read it aloud, it didn't make as much sense the first time I read it to myself but I read it aloud just now and it sounded better :D But anyway, it's very cool, so enjoy!
"221 B"
Coin of ours can never ransom
Years now prisoner to Time:
Roars the bus, where once the hansom
Trotted on the trail of crime.
No more now a Stradivarius
Played by fingers long and fleet
Sounds the dirge of plans nefarious
Foiled by Him of Baker Street.
Could we, with an eye clairvoyant,
Find the dear remembered door,
Which, with trembling, many a client
(Fair or famous) stood before?
Here it was that Roylott forced an
Entry, like some savage bear;
Here, bright eyes of Mary Morstan
Fell to Watson's ardent stare.
Were a time-restoring charter
Granted by the grace of Heaven,
Who would not this tired age barter
For a night of 'eighty-seven,
When, as fog through pane and curtain
Softly grey comes creeping in,
Wise--Immortal--Strange and Certain -
Sherlock plays his violin.
- Mollie Hardwick (C) 1987
"221 B"
Coin of ours can never ransom
Years now prisoner to Time:
Roars the bus, where once the hansom
Trotted on the trail of crime.
No more now a Stradivarius
Played by fingers long and fleet
Sounds the dirge of plans nefarious
Foiled by Him of Baker Street.
Could we, with an eye clairvoyant,
Find the dear remembered door,
Which, with trembling, many a client
(Fair or famous) stood before?
Here it was that Roylott forced an
Entry, like some savage bear;
Here, bright eyes of Mary Morstan
Fell to Watson's ardent stare.
Were a time-restoring charter
Granted by the grace of Heaven,
Who would not this tired age barter
For a night of 'eighty-seven,
When, as fog through pane and curtain
Softly grey comes creeping in,
Wise--Immortal--Strange and Certain -
Sherlock plays his violin.
- Mollie Hardwick (C) 1987
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
The Adventure of the Gold-Engraved Box - Part 3
At precisely six o' clock Holmes, who had appeared to be asleep in his chair, startled me by proclaiming he heard the steps of our awaited guest. As I made my way to the door, Mrs. Hudson opened it abruptly.
"A Miss Violet Baylor to see Mr. Holmes," she announced, then retreated calmly.
Miss Baylor stepped into the sitting room shyly as I motioned for her to enter. She was one of the most beautiful women to set foot in our Baker Street sitting room. Her golden hair hung in long ringlets down her back beneath a scarlet-coloured bonnet. A matching shawl draped about her shoulders, and she clutched a small, leather-bound book in her right hand. Her dark eyes glanced around the room nervously, then finally came to rest on the figure of my friend as he eyed her from his chair.
Holmes rose from the chair to greet our visitor. He motioned for her to sit in the chair opposite his own - facing the window, as was his custom. I watched as he inspected her while she took her seat.
"Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Sherlock Holmes, or Doctor Watson?" She inquired, appearing a little distressed by Holmes' piercing gaze.
"I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson," Holmes replied, finishing his evaluation of our guest and leaning back in his chair. After a slight pause, he inquired casually, "Where is your companion?"
Miss Baylor's struggled to hide her suprised expression. "I've heard of your extraordinary powers, Mr. Holmes, yet I am a bit perplexed as to how you've reached that conclusion. Surely you have not seen my companion out the window from your chair!" After regaining her composure, she added, "he is my fiancee, Johnathan Hawkins."
Holmes chuckled. "I do not possess extraordinary powers as you say, Miss Baylor. I simply have trained myself to notice all that I see." He pulled his pipe down from the mantle. "You have splatters of mud all over your right arm; mud splatters are customary of the dog-cart. However, you do not have mud-splatters on your left arm. If you had been alone, you would have sat in the middle of the cart; therefore, I concluded that you had a companion while travelling, which could be the only reason a lady of your social standing would be persuaded to sit to the side of the cart and risk soiling your new dress."
Miss Baylor smiled. "It sounds so simple, now that you have explained it."
Holmes turned to me. "Watson here has remarked the same more than once." He then reached for the little gold box. "Miss Baylor, does this have any significance to you?" He held it in the palms of his hands for her inspection.
The young lady leaned forward. "Not that I can recall, sir," she replied.
Holmes leaned back thoughtfully, eyeing the box. "You may be interested to learn that this box belonged to your grandmother, Margaret Baylor."
"Then how came it to be in your possession, sir?"
Holmes stood. "That is for another time." Opening the box, he added, "I was hoping you would supply me with the combonation for this lock."
Miss Baylor emitted a sound I took for a laugh. "I don't see how I could, Mr. Holmes, seeming as I have never before set eyes on that box."
Holmes raised a finger. "Ah! But what of the journal?"
Our lady visitor took a deep breath before beginning. "When I was informed that you had called, and on an important matter of family hisory, I thought of the journal and how it may be of some use to you."
Holmes nodded. "I see. To whom did it belong?" He walked to the window and looked out of it, waiting for the rest of the story.
"This journal has been in my family for years - well over three-hundred. As far as I know, Mr. Holmes, it has been passed from mother to daughter for many generations. My ancestors originate from Scotland..."
"It is exactly as I expected!" Holmes cried from his post by the window and waving his pipe. Turning to see Miss Baylor's startled expression, he calmed himself and motioned for her to go on.
She paused for another moment, as if to make sure of the absence of another interruption, and resumed. "The journal has been well kept, though several of the earlier entries signed by a certain...Ailsa Todd, seem to be in some sort of code."
Holmes turned around so suddenly that Miss Baylor lept from her chair. I noted that our guest's nerves were on edge, and sent Holmes an admonishing look. He barely acknowledged it, however, and returned quickly to the chair. Seating himself, he motioned for Miss Baylor to sit. She did, but she still appeared very tense and ready to spring from the room at any moment.
"Please accept my apologies, Miss Baylor. Watson will tell you that I am prone to sudden movements and exclamations -" his voice trailed off slowly. Suddenly resuming his normal tone, he leaned back. "Now. Is anything known about Ailsa Todd, other than the coded entries?"
Miss Baylor looked at me questioningly. "Yes," she began hesitantly. I nodded, hoping to encouarge her, and she continued, a little more at ease. "She was a very trusted maidservant to Mary Stuart, the Queen of Scotland, in 1560."
"Ah ha!" Holmes nearly lept out of his chair, but upon seeing the strange, nervous look on the face of our guest he restrained himself and rose slowly, abandoning his pipe on the arm of his chair. Miss Baylor clutched the journal so tightly that her knuckles were white. By then it was apparent that the lady possessed some kind of nervous condition, and that she should not be startled more than necessary. I placed my hand gently over hers in an attempt to loosen her grip on the journal. She calmed almost immediatly, and then glanced over at Holmes' chair, stifiling a laugh. A strange smell was coming from the pipe, and I realized that it was burning a hole in the arm of the chair.
Holmes strode around the room, stroking his chin, lost in thought. I lept to retrieve the pipe, but it was too late: there was a large black hole in the arm of the chair to match several others that had been put there by other . I shook my head, but the incident was enough to make Miss Baylor laugh aloud. Holmes raised his head in confusion, and I myself stifled a laugh. When he shook his head and resumed his pacing, I returned to my own chair, happy that our guest was feeling a bit better.
"Does that mean anything, Mr. Holmes?" Miss Baylor asked after a few moments, apparently fully recovered.
Holmes leaned against the mantle thoughtfully. "Miss Baylor," he said slowly, turning to our guest, "it means everything."
Miss Baylor and I sat for some moments in perplexed silence while watching Holmes, who remained standing, turn over all of the newly acquired information in his head.
"Miss Baylor," said I, "I'm afraid Holmes is not going to reveal anything else tonight -"
She nodded understandingly. "I shall leave the journal with you, Doctor, and return to Derbyshire then. Please do inform me of how this strange mystery ends," she stated before I showed her to the door. We exchanged some words, then I left her to her dog-cart and waiting fiancee.
Holmes was still leaning against the mantle when I returned. He had taken up his pipe again, and blue clouds of smoke floated about the room. I had quietly returned to the setee and took up the journal to read a few pages when Holmes turned to me abruptly, as he had been doing since our guest arrived.
"Watson, find the 'S' volume of my index, please." He returned to his armchair and ran his free hand through his hair as I searched for the volume in question.
"Really, Holmes," I ventured to say, "you ought to stop that obnoxious habit of jumping out of chairs and shouting so loudly - I'm afraid Miss Baylor has a nervous condition and was on edge the entire time she was in our presence."
I found the volume and turned around to continue my scolding, but Holmes appeared to have retreated inside himself and was staring vacantly into the fire, the long, thin forefinger of his right hand pulling at the newly acquired burn-hole in the arm of his chair. I sighed and tapped his shoulder, giving up on the scolding all together. He looked at me with a faraway look in his eyes. I waved the book in front of him, a bit annoyed that he had been ignoring me, and he took it quietly and scanned the pages without reply.
After a moment he propped the volume open on his knee. I had by then settled in the chair opposite and was reading the first entry of the journal when he called my name.
"Watson," he said, pointing to a paragraph with his pipe stem, "here it is."
I went to his chair and read the entry over his shoulder.
"Stuart, Mary. Queen of Scotland, 1543-1587. Born 1542. Crown jewels discovered missing before flight to England, 1568. Excecuted 1587, England."
"The box contains the missing jewels, then?" I ventured.
Holmes laughed. "I do not believe so, Watson. After the queen was excecuted, many attempts at finding the jewels were made." He clapped the index shut. "Even Scotland Yard, as you may recall, attempted to recover them a few years ago, but without success. The box, however, may contain a clue as to where the jewels were hidden." He set the index aside and rubbed his hands together eagerly. "Now, let us have a look at this piece of history," said he, reaching for the journal.
"A Miss Violet Baylor to see Mr. Holmes," she announced, then retreated calmly.
Miss Baylor stepped into the sitting room shyly as I motioned for her to enter. She was one of the most beautiful women to set foot in our Baker Street sitting room. Her golden hair hung in long ringlets down her back beneath a scarlet-coloured bonnet. A matching shawl draped about her shoulders, and she clutched a small, leather-bound book in her right hand. Her dark eyes glanced around the room nervously, then finally came to rest on the figure of my friend as he eyed her from his chair.
Holmes rose from the chair to greet our visitor. He motioned for her to sit in the chair opposite his own - facing the window, as was his custom. I watched as he inspected her while she took her seat.
"Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Sherlock Holmes, or Doctor Watson?" She inquired, appearing a little distressed by Holmes' piercing gaze.
"I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson," Holmes replied, finishing his evaluation of our guest and leaning back in his chair. After a slight pause, he inquired casually, "Where is your companion?"
Miss Baylor's struggled to hide her suprised expression. "I've heard of your extraordinary powers, Mr. Holmes, yet I am a bit perplexed as to how you've reached that conclusion. Surely you have not seen my companion out the window from your chair!" After regaining her composure, she added, "he is my fiancee, Johnathan Hawkins."
Holmes chuckled. "I do not possess extraordinary powers as you say, Miss Baylor. I simply have trained myself to notice all that I see." He pulled his pipe down from the mantle. "You have splatters of mud all over your right arm; mud splatters are customary of the dog-cart. However, you do not have mud-splatters on your left arm. If you had been alone, you would have sat in the middle of the cart; therefore, I concluded that you had a companion while travelling, which could be the only reason a lady of your social standing would be persuaded to sit to the side of the cart and risk soiling your new dress."
Miss Baylor smiled. "It sounds so simple, now that you have explained it."
Holmes turned to me. "Watson here has remarked the same more than once." He then reached for the little gold box. "Miss Baylor, does this have any significance to you?" He held it in the palms of his hands for her inspection.
The young lady leaned forward. "Not that I can recall, sir," she replied.
Holmes leaned back thoughtfully, eyeing the box. "You may be interested to learn that this box belonged to your grandmother, Margaret Baylor."
"Then how came it to be in your possession, sir?"
Holmes stood. "That is for another time." Opening the box, he added, "I was hoping you would supply me with the combonation for this lock."
Miss Baylor emitted a sound I took for a laugh. "I don't see how I could, Mr. Holmes, seeming as I have never before set eyes on that box."
Holmes raised a finger. "Ah! But what of the journal?"
Our lady visitor took a deep breath before beginning. "When I was informed that you had called, and on an important matter of family hisory, I thought of the journal and how it may be of some use to you."
Holmes nodded. "I see. To whom did it belong?" He walked to the window and looked out of it, waiting for the rest of the story.
"This journal has been in my family for years - well over three-hundred. As far as I know, Mr. Holmes, it has been passed from mother to daughter for many generations. My ancestors originate from Scotland..."
"It is exactly as I expected!" Holmes cried from his post by the window and waving his pipe. Turning to see Miss Baylor's startled expression, he calmed himself and motioned for her to go on.
She paused for another moment, as if to make sure of the absence of another interruption, and resumed. "The journal has been well kept, though several of the earlier entries signed by a certain...Ailsa Todd, seem to be in some sort of code."
Holmes turned around so suddenly that Miss Baylor lept from her chair. I noted that our guest's nerves were on edge, and sent Holmes an admonishing look. He barely acknowledged it, however, and returned quickly to the chair. Seating himself, he motioned for Miss Baylor to sit. She did, but she still appeared very tense and ready to spring from the room at any moment.
"Please accept my apologies, Miss Baylor. Watson will tell you that I am prone to sudden movements and exclamations -" his voice trailed off slowly. Suddenly resuming his normal tone, he leaned back. "Now. Is anything known about Ailsa Todd, other than the coded entries?"
Miss Baylor looked at me questioningly. "Yes," she began hesitantly. I nodded, hoping to encouarge her, and she continued, a little more at ease. "She was a very trusted maidservant to Mary Stuart, the Queen of Scotland, in 1560."
"Ah ha!" Holmes nearly lept out of his chair, but upon seeing the strange, nervous look on the face of our guest he restrained himself and rose slowly, abandoning his pipe on the arm of his chair. Miss Baylor clutched the journal so tightly that her knuckles were white. By then it was apparent that the lady possessed some kind of nervous condition, and that she should not be startled more than necessary. I placed my hand gently over hers in an attempt to loosen her grip on the journal. She calmed almost immediatly, and then glanced over at Holmes' chair, stifiling a laugh. A strange smell was coming from the pipe, and I realized that it was burning a hole in the arm of the chair.
Holmes strode around the room, stroking his chin, lost in thought. I lept to retrieve the pipe, but it was too late: there was a large black hole in the arm of the chair to match several others that had been put there by other . I shook my head, but the incident was enough to make Miss Baylor laugh aloud. Holmes raised his head in confusion, and I myself stifled a laugh. When he shook his head and resumed his pacing, I returned to my own chair, happy that our guest was feeling a bit better.
"Does that mean anything, Mr. Holmes?" Miss Baylor asked after a few moments, apparently fully recovered.
Holmes leaned against the mantle thoughtfully. "Miss Baylor," he said slowly, turning to our guest, "it means everything."
Miss Baylor and I sat for some moments in perplexed silence while watching Holmes, who remained standing, turn over all of the newly acquired information in his head.
"Miss Baylor," said I, "I'm afraid Holmes is not going to reveal anything else tonight -"
She nodded understandingly. "I shall leave the journal with you, Doctor, and return to Derbyshire then. Please do inform me of how this strange mystery ends," she stated before I showed her to the door. We exchanged some words, then I left her to her dog-cart and waiting fiancee.
Holmes was still leaning against the mantle when I returned. He had taken up his pipe again, and blue clouds of smoke floated about the room. I had quietly returned to the setee and took up the journal to read a few pages when Holmes turned to me abruptly, as he had been doing since our guest arrived.
"Watson, find the 'S' volume of my index, please." He returned to his armchair and ran his free hand through his hair as I searched for the volume in question.
"Really, Holmes," I ventured to say, "you ought to stop that obnoxious habit of jumping out of chairs and shouting so loudly - I'm afraid Miss Baylor has a nervous condition and was on edge the entire time she was in our presence."
I found the volume and turned around to continue my scolding, but Holmes appeared to have retreated inside himself and was staring vacantly into the fire, the long, thin forefinger of his right hand pulling at the newly acquired burn-hole in the arm of his chair. I sighed and tapped his shoulder, giving up on the scolding all together. He looked at me with a faraway look in his eyes. I waved the book in front of him, a bit annoyed that he had been ignoring me, and he took it quietly and scanned the pages without reply.
After a moment he propped the volume open on his knee. I had by then settled in the chair opposite and was reading the first entry of the journal when he called my name.
"Watson," he said, pointing to a paragraph with his pipe stem, "here it is."
I went to his chair and read the entry over his shoulder.
"Stuart, Mary. Queen of Scotland, 1543-1587. Born 1542. Crown jewels discovered missing before flight to England, 1568. Excecuted 1587, England."
"The box contains the missing jewels, then?" I ventured.
Holmes laughed. "I do not believe so, Watson. After the queen was excecuted, many attempts at finding the jewels were made." He clapped the index shut. "Even Scotland Yard, as you may recall, attempted to recover them a few years ago, but without success. The box, however, may contain a clue as to where the jewels were hidden." He set the index aside and rubbed his hands together eagerly. "Now, let us have a look at this piece of history," said he, reaching for the journal.
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