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.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
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.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Holmes Book Review: "The Canary Trainer"
I'm hoping to start a series of related posts with this one; all relating to various published books about Sherlock Holmes NOT written by Arthur Conan Doyle. They are also known as "pastiches." So...yeah. I will write a few, and Grace is free to write a few too, I know she's read at least one or two of them (she recommended one to me :D).
This book is called "The Canary Trainer." The book jacket description is below in italics if you wish to read that without ANY minor (note the word minor) spoilers whatsoever. (yes, I did include a few spoilers but nothing major. You gather most of it from the book cover anyway :D)
It was written by Nicholas Meyer. Actually, take that back. It's directly from the memoirs or John H. Watson, M.D., and EDITED by Nicholas Meyer. (he claims to have found the original manuscript stowed away in a university library...)
So. It's a pastiche of Sherlock Holmes. But not just any pastiche. A really well-written, keep-to-the-original-facts pastiche. AND the best part is: Sherlock Holmes' brilliant mind is put to the extreme test against another of the most brilliant minds in fiction.
The Phantom of the Opera.
Alright, so the author had to take the liberty of pushing the story of the Phantom forward (by...10 years I think, not that much.) which he did, in a believable way, to make it fit in with the chronology. I didn't mind a bit. I didn't even notice, until I read the acknowledgements at the end, in which the author thanks Arthur Conan Doyle and Gaston Leroux.
The story really opens when Watson visits the retired Holmes at his home on the Sussex downs...keeping bees, of course. He has organized his notes and wants to know what exactly Holmes did during the three years he was supposed dead. (did you ever wonder?) Holmes first ignores the question, than faces it reluctantly, and the story is begun (narrated by Holmes but of course published by Watson.)
Holmes, after escaping death at Reichenbach Falls, as we know, took on the name "Sigerson" and posed as a Norwegian, which I believe was briefly mentioned in "The Empty House." He admits he decided to become 'someone else' for awhile - he dropped his detective work and immersed himself in the world of music - teaching violin in Paris, until his landlady (by no means as patient as Mrs. Hudson) threatened to kick him out. He then, after attending the Paris Opera, witnesses the resignation of a violin player for the orchestra (for the opera performances) and is informed that he may audition for the part the next day.
Holmes auditions, and of course gets the part - meeting the orchestra conductor, Gaston Leroux, in the process. He then learns that the man so eager to leave the opera the previous night did so because of fear - fear of the Opera Ghost.
Of course, this sparks Holmes' interest...he investigates this mysterious creature (of course, with an open mind - we all know he does not believe in the supernatural) on his own for awhile, interacting with such famous characters as Christine Daae, the star of the Phantom of the Opera; Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny; the bumbling managers Mssrs. Moncharmin and Richard; and eventually, in a final confrontation in his house under the Opera Garnier, the Phantom himself.
And of course, no trip to the Paris Opera involving Sherlock Holmes would be complete without adding the famous soprano: the topic of so much debate regarding their relationship, Irene Adler (which, I must admit, puts an ever-so-tiny bit of romance in there between the two...Mr. Meyer did a good job making it believable though.) right in the middle.
Overall, the author did supurbly keeping to the character of Holmes...he didn't change at all, from manner to habits and it was surprisingly easy to imagine Jeremy Brett as Holmes solving the case (which, so far, only the original canon has been able to do for me). And of course, the other characters were exactly the same as always.
This book was so much fun to read, as it combined the best of both of my favorite books: the Phantom of the Opera and Sherlock Holmes. I give it a 4 & 1/2 out of 5 stars...and recommend it to any Sherlock Holmes fan (or Phantom Phan, but in this case, it's more of a Holmes book. It reads like one of his original cases.)
(Book jacket description):
"Located by computer in the bowels of a major university where it had collected dust for over half a century, this missing manuscript by the biographer of Sherlock Holmes reveals for the first time a hitherto unknown episode in the life of the Great Detective.
"Holmes, master sleuth, was also an accomplished violinist. Following his discharge from therapy with Sigmund Freud (see "The Seven Per-Cent Solution"), we now learn that he journeyed to Paris and there found employment as a pit musician at the Paris Opera.
"The year is 1891, Paris is the capital of the western world, and its opera house is full of surprises. First and by no means least is the sudden reappearance of the great love of Holmes' life, an accomplished singer from Hoboken, New Jersey.
"Second is the series of seemingly bizarre accidents - each more sinister than the last - allegedly arranged by the "Opera Ghost," an opponent who goes by many names and is more than equal to Holmes.
"Alone in a strange and spectacular city, with none of his normal resources, Holmes is commissioned to protect a vulnerable young soprano, whose beautiful voice obsesses a creature no one believes is real, but whose jealousy is lethal.
"In this dazzling, long-awaited sequel to "The Seven Per-cent Solution," the detective pits wits against a musical maniac, and we are treated to an adventure unlike any other in the archives of Sherlock Holmes."
There you have it :D The first Sherlock Holmes pastiche review on the blog. I seriously think anyone should read it though - it's a great book. Did I mention I read it in one day? *wink*
This book is called "The Canary Trainer." The book jacket description is below in italics if you wish to read that without ANY minor (note the word minor) spoilers whatsoever. (yes, I did include a few spoilers but nothing major. You gather most of it from the book cover anyway :D)
It was written by Nicholas Meyer. Actually, take that back. It's directly from the memoirs or John H. Watson, M.D., and EDITED by Nicholas Meyer. (he claims to have found the original manuscript stowed away in a university library...)
So. It's a pastiche of Sherlock Holmes. But not just any pastiche. A really well-written, keep-to-the-original-facts pastiche. AND the best part is: Sherlock Holmes' brilliant mind is put to the extreme test against another of the most brilliant minds in fiction.
The Phantom of the Opera.
Alright, so the author had to take the liberty of pushing the story of the Phantom forward (by...10 years I think, not that much.) which he did, in a believable way, to make it fit in with the chronology. I didn't mind a bit. I didn't even notice, until I read the acknowledgements at the end, in which the author thanks Arthur Conan Doyle and Gaston Leroux.
The story really opens when Watson visits the retired Holmes at his home on the Sussex downs...keeping bees, of course. He has organized his notes and wants to know what exactly Holmes did during the three years he was supposed dead. (did you ever wonder?) Holmes first ignores the question, than faces it reluctantly, and the story is begun (narrated by Holmes but of course published by Watson.)
Holmes, after escaping death at Reichenbach Falls, as we know, took on the name "Sigerson" and posed as a Norwegian, which I believe was briefly mentioned in "The Empty House." He admits he decided to become 'someone else' for awhile - he dropped his detective work and immersed himself in the world of music - teaching violin in Paris, until his landlady (by no means as patient as Mrs. Hudson) threatened to kick him out. He then, after attending the Paris Opera, witnesses the resignation of a violin player for the orchestra (for the opera performances) and is informed that he may audition for the part the next day.
Holmes auditions, and of course gets the part - meeting the orchestra conductor, Gaston Leroux, in the process. He then learns that the man so eager to leave the opera the previous night did so because of fear - fear of the Opera Ghost.
Of course, this sparks Holmes' interest...he investigates this mysterious creature (of course, with an open mind - we all know he does not believe in the supernatural) on his own for awhile, interacting with such famous characters as Christine Daae, the star of the Phantom of the Opera; Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny; the bumbling managers Mssrs. Moncharmin and Richard; and eventually, in a final confrontation in his house under the Opera Garnier, the Phantom himself.
And of course, no trip to the Paris Opera involving Sherlock Holmes would be complete without adding the famous soprano: the topic of so much debate regarding their relationship, Irene Adler (which, I must admit, puts an ever-so-tiny bit of romance in there between the two...Mr. Meyer did a good job making it believable though.) right in the middle.
Overall, the author did supurbly keeping to the character of Holmes...he didn't change at all, from manner to habits and it was surprisingly easy to imagine Jeremy Brett as Holmes solving the case (which, so far, only the original canon has been able to do for me). And of course, the other characters were exactly the same as always.
This book was so much fun to read, as it combined the best of both of my favorite books: the Phantom of the Opera and Sherlock Holmes. I give it a 4 & 1/2 out of 5 stars...and recommend it to any Sherlock Holmes fan (or Phantom Phan, but in this case, it's more of a Holmes book. It reads like one of his original cases.)
(Book jacket description):
"Located by computer in the bowels of a major university where it had collected dust for over half a century, this missing manuscript by the biographer of Sherlock Holmes reveals for the first time a hitherto unknown episode in the life of the Great Detective.
"Holmes, master sleuth, was also an accomplished violinist. Following his discharge from therapy with Sigmund Freud (see "The Seven Per-Cent Solution"), we now learn that he journeyed to Paris and there found employment as a pit musician at the Paris Opera.
"The year is 1891, Paris is the capital of the western world, and its opera house is full of surprises. First and by no means least is the sudden reappearance of the great love of Holmes' life, an accomplished singer from Hoboken, New Jersey.
"Second is the series of seemingly bizarre accidents - each more sinister than the last - allegedly arranged by the "Opera Ghost," an opponent who goes by many names and is more than equal to Holmes.
"Alone in a strange and spectacular city, with none of his normal resources, Holmes is commissioned to protect a vulnerable young soprano, whose beautiful voice obsesses a creature no one believes is real, but whose jealousy is lethal.
"In this dazzling, long-awaited sequel to "The Seven Per-cent Solution," the detective pits wits against a musical maniac, and we are treated to an adventure unlike any other in the archives of Sherlock Holmes."
There you have it :D The first Sherlock Holmes pastiche review on the blog. I seriously think anyone should read it though - it's a great book. Did I mention I read it in one day? *wink*
Sunday, June 7, 2009
The Adventure of the Gold-Engraved Box - Part 2
My time at Hyde Park was, I had believed, completely wasted. I arrived and located the elm which the note referred to and it's corresponding bench; but, finding the area void of all activity, I seated myself on the bench and began my observations. The fog had begun to lift, yet I noted nothing worthy of reporting to my friend.
After a time I became quite bored. I decided to stroll on the path leading to the bench where I was seated, but before I could leave, a large, dark-haired fellow approached me. He seated himself opposite me, and began a casual conversation. I was glad for the distraction, seeming as my afternoon had been almost wasted by idleness, and we chatted as if we were old friends.
We talked for quite some time. He was very friendly, and inquired after my friends, including Sherlock Holmes. I kept the information about his current case to myself, however, thinking it was best for everyone involved.
After awhile I determined my time would be better spent at Baker Street, and, upon bidding my new friend farewell, I left him situated on the bench. By then the fog had gone, and the return trip went speedily.
At Baker Street, I found the sitting room empty. I called for Holmes, but determined he was still out. I went to my writing desk and began a new chapter of the narrative that had been consuming so much of my time.
Mrs. Hudson entered the room with my supper a few hours later. I thanked her heartily and began eating. On her way out, she gave a start as a man pushed past her and entered the room.
"Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes in?" he inquired.
"Not at the moment," I answered. "He is expected back at any time, however," I added, offering to take his coat while he waited.
The man chuckled and twirled his dark moustache between his fingers. "No, thank you, Watson. I will remove it myself, and return it to the trunk in my bedroom."
I began to laugh. "Yet another clever disguise, Holmes."
Holmes smiled. "Mrs. Hudson, please bring my dinner up," he said, as he stepped into his bedroom and closed the door.
A few moments later he emerged in his dressing gown, holding a small, gold-engraved box. The top and bottom appeared to be made of solid gold gold. Each of the four sides had two large and intricately engraved roses, and many long vines and leaves wrapped around the edges. Seating himself in his arm chair, Holmes began a thorough examination of the box.
"Mrs. Hudson's box!" I exclaimed. "However did you find it?"
"It was not easy. It had been sold three times after the pawn shop." My friend's eyes never left the little box.
"But how did you acquire the information as to where it was?" I asked. "Tradesman do not give out clients information to just anyone."
Holmes chuckled, raising his head to look at me. "I thought of that. I went in disguise, as you know. I hoped to give the impression that I was the original owner of the box and wished to retrieve it. The clerk believed my little act, and after some persuasion, gave me all of the information about it and the woman who bought it."
Mrs. Hudson entered the room with Holmes' dinner. The glint of the gold box caught her eye. She stared at it for a few minutes before leaving, never once emitting a sound.
"I do believe she is rather annoyed with the whole business," I stated, as Holmes moved to the table and began his supper. I seated myself in the chair opposite my friend.
Holmes nodded. "Yes, and I hope to clear up the situation as quickly as possible. Now, what of your time at Hyde Park?"
I began my description of the place at the park where I had spent my morning. I announced that I had noted nothing worthy of his attentions; all the while he acted uninterested. Deciding to keep nothing to myself, I began to describe the friendly man with whom I had talked. This caught his attention, however, and he became alert and stopped eating abruptly.
"His name?"
I was taken aback by the question. I tried to think back to the conversation, but could not recall him ever telling me his name. "I don't believe he told me," I admitted.
Holmes shook his head. "You say he had a dark moustache and hair?"
I nodded, puzzled. What was it about the stranger that had sparked his curiousity?
"And he was large?"
"Very muscular. Tall, as well," I replied.
Holmes' face had turned grave during this conversation. I became worried as he pushed back his half-eaten dinner.
"This situation grows more and more serious," said he.
I could get no more of him for another hour. He sat in his chair, smoking his pipe and examining the box by turning it over and over. It was very quiet, so I found a book and settled in my own chair.
"Watson."
I looked up from my book. "Yes, Holmes?"
After a slight pause, he replied, "Tell Mrs. Hudson to be sure all door and windows are locked and the blinds drawn."
I was sure she had always done this, but did as he said. Mrs. Hudson was eagerly awaiting developments, but, seeming as my friend had disclosed no information, I had nothing to give.
Returning to our rooms I found Holmes, bent over the box once more. He was running his long fingers over the engravings. I closed the door quietly, so as not to disturb his examination.
"It is the flowers, Watson," he said.
"The flowers?" I went to my friend's chair.
He pointed out the delicate little flower on the left side of the panel he had been examining, then turned it over and did the same on the next panel. They were exactly the same, whereas the flowers on the right were all different. He then began to push gently on each tiny petal.
I watched him work for some time in silence, and had finally resolved to taking up my book when Holmes gave a shout.
"Halloa! I've got it, Watson!"
Like an excited child Holmes pushed in one of the tiny petals on the bottom of the first rose. He turned the box and repeated the gesture, this time on the top of the rose. On the last rose the box made a clicking sound, and Holmes raised the lid.
Inside the lid was another sort of lock, comprised of three different-sized key holes and a combonation lock. Holmes gave a frustrated sigh and set the box aside.
"I do believe a visit to the Baylors of Derbyshire is in order for to-morrow," he stated, leaning back in his chair and running his hand through his dark hair.
"What of Mrs. Hudson? Do you believe there is any danger in leaving her behind, if the man at Hyde Park is behind this?" I asked.
Holmes shook his head. "I'll be going alone. You will stay behind and keep Mrs. Hudson in the flat." He reached for his pipe again. "However, I do not believe your man is the only one behind this. No, it is much deeper than that." Lighting his pipe, he added, "He is only one small thread of the web..."
At this I heard no more; the phrase was all too familiar. "You suspect Moriarty?"
Holmes closed his eyes and drew a deep breath through his pipe. "I suspect no one."
He smoked for some time in silence, his eyes half shut. No matter how hard I pressed him, he would not talk. I bade him good night with no answer, and retired to my room for the night.
Morning came soon enough, and by the time I emerged from my room Holmes had already gone. I was relieved to find Mrs. Hudson in good spirits when she arrived with breakfast.
"Any news?" She inquired cheerfully.
I shook my head. "Holmes opened the box only to discover another lock," I explained. Not wanting to disclose any more information without his permission, I promptly began to eat.
"Do keep me informed, Doctor," the landlady said before leaving.
I spent the morning tidying my room, and as I worked I tried to contrive a plan to keep the landlady indoors all day. I finally resolved to having Billy run all the errands, and when I dispatched him with his new orders, Mrs. Hudson appeared at the bottom of the stairs. She rushed up to me, looking slightly pale.
"Is Mr. Holmes in yet?" She asked nervously. She held a small paper between her thumb and forefinger.
"No, I'm afraid not," I answered. "What is bothering you?"
She held up the paper. "I've recieved another note," she said, turning it over to me. It read:
If orders are not followed in twenty-four hours, BEWARE.
I cast a surprised glance at the landlady, who appeared very worried. "I don't believe that silly little box is worth such threats!" She exclaimed, her voice full of anxiety.
"I will give it to Holmes when he returns," I said, placing my hand on her shoulder. She patted it gently.
"Very good, Doctor. I must go back to my duties."
Sherlock Holmes returned shortly after the incident. He had not been gone very long. I went out to greet him. He appeared to be quite annoyed.
Upon my inquiry of the trip, he closed his eyes. "Miss Baylor, the daughter, will be arriving at six 'o clock this evening upon my request."
"Was she not at home?"
Holmes shook his head. "I thought of sending a telegram but assumed it would not reach the Baylor household until this morning. By then it would have been too late; I would have already reached the house. They live out in the country." He removed his coat and hat and shuffled to his armchair. "I trust you have not let Mrs. Hudson from the flat?"
I told him of my plan to have Billy perform all tasks outside of the flat, and he smiled. "I knew you would think of something."
I smiled at the praise and remembered the note. Handing it over to him, I watched him read it. "I assumed it would come to this," he said quietly. "We must keep Mrs. Hudson within our sight at all times." He said nothing more about the matter, however, and settled in his chair, taking up the little box. He pulled out a few strange-looking tools that I did not recognize and set at once to picking the locks under the lid.
Holmes worked at this for little more than a quarter of an hour before he set the box aside, his task completed. All that was left was the combonation lock. When I inquired as to how he would set about discovering the combonation, he smiled.
"Hopefully Miss Baylor will bring the answer with her when she arrives." He pulled his pipe off the mantle and lit it, and smoked in silence for the rest of the afternoon.
After a time I became quite bored. I decided to stroll on the path leading to the bench where I was seated, but before I could leave, a large, dark-haired fellow approached me. He seated himself opposite me, and began a casual conversation. I was glad for the distraction, seeming as my afternoon had been almost wasted by idleness, and we chatted as if we were old friends.
We talked for quite some time. He was very friendly, and inquired after my friends, including Sherlock Holmes. I kept the information about his current case to myself, however, thinking it was best for everyone involved.
After awhile I determined my time would be better spent at Baker Street, and, upon bidding my new friend farewell, I left him situated on the bench. By then the fog had gone, and the return trip went speedily.
At Baker Street, I found the sitting room empty. I called for Holmes, but determined he was still out. I went to my writing desk and began a new chapter of the narrative that had been consuming so much of my time.
Mrs. Hudson entered the room with my supper a few hours later. I thanked her heartily and began eating. On her way out, she gave a start as a man pushed past her and entered the room.
"Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes in?" he inquired.
"Not at the moment," I answered. "He is expected back at any time, however," I added, offering to take his coat while he waited.
The man chuckled and twirled his dark moustache between his fingers. "No, thank you, Watson. I will remove it myself, and return it to the trunk in my bedroom."
I began to laugh. "Yet another clever disguise, Holmes."
Holmes smiled. "Mrs. Hudson, please bring my dinner up," he said, as he stepped into his bedroom and closed the door.
A few moments later he emerged in his dressing gown, holding a small, gold-engraved box. The top and bottom appeared to be made of solid gold gold. Each of the four sides had two large and intricately engraved roses, and many long vines and leaves wrapped around the edges. Seating himself in his arm chair, Holmes began a thorough examination of the box.
"Mrs. Hudson's box!" I exclaimed. "However did you find it?"
"It was not easy. It had been sold three times after the pawn shop." My friend's eyes never left the little box.
"But how did you acquire the information as to where it was?" I asked. "Tradesman do not give out clients information to just anyone."
Holmes chuckled, raising his head to look at me. "I thought of that. I went in disguise, as you know. I hoped to give the impression that I was the original owner of the box and wished to retrieve it. The clerk believed my little act, and after some persuasion, gave me all of the information about it and the woman who bought it."
Mrs. Hudson entered the room with Holmes' dinner. The glint of the gold box caught her eye. She stared at it for a few minutes before leaving, never once emitting a sound.
"I do believe she is rather annoyed with the whole business," I stated, as Holmes moved to the table and began his supper. I seated myself in the chair opposite my friend.
Holmes nodded. "Yes, and I hope to clear up the situation as quickly as possible. Now, what of your time at Hyde Park?"
I began my description of the place at the park where I had spent my morning. I announced that I had noted nothing worthy of his attentions; all the while he acted uninterested. Deciding to keep nothing to myself, I began to describe the friendly man with whom I had talked. This caught his attention, however, and he became alert and stopped eating abruptly.
"His name?"
I was taken aback by the question. I tried to think back to the conversation, but could not recall him ever telling me his name. "I don't believe he told me," I admitted.
Holmes shook his head. "You say he had a dark moustache and hair?"
I nodded, puzzled. What was it about the stranger that had sparked his curiousity?
"And he was large?"
"Very muscular. Tall, as well," I replied.
Holmes' face had turned grave during this conversation. I became worried as he pushed back his half-eaten dinner.
"This situation grows more and more serious," said he.
I could get no more of him for another hour. He sat in his chair, smoking his pipe and examining the box by turning it over and over. It was very quiet, so I found a book and settled in my own chair.
"Watson."
I looked up from my book. "Yes, Holmes?"
After a slight pause, he replied, "Tell Mrs. Hudson to be sure all door and windows are locked and the blinds drawn."
I was sure she had always done this, but did as he said. Mrs. Hudson was eagerly awaiting developments, but, seeming as my friend had disclosed no information, I had nothing to give.
Returning to our rooms I found Holmes, bent over the box once more. He was running his long fingers over the engravings. I closed the door quietly, so as not to disturb his examination.
"It is the flowers, Watson," he said.
"The flowers?" I went to my friend's chair.
He pointed out the delicate little flower on the left side of the panel he had been examining, then turned it over and did the same on the next panel. They were exactly the same, whereas the flowers on the right were all different. He then began to push gently on each tiny petal.
I watched him work for some time in silence, and had finally resolved to taking up my book when Holmes gave a shout.
"Halloa! I've got it, Watson!"
Like an excited child Holmes pushed in one of the tiny petals on the bottom of the first rose. He turned the box and repeated the gesture, this time on the top of the rose. On the last rose the box made a clicking sound, and Holmes raised the lid.
Inside the lid was another sort of lock, comprised of three different-sized key holes and a combonation lock. Holmes gave a frustrated sigh and set the box aside.
"I do believe a visit to the Baylors of Derbyshire is in order for to-morrow," he stated, leaning back in his chair and running his hand through his dark hair.
"What of Mrs. Hudson? Do you believe there is any danger in leaving her behind, if the man at Hyde Park is behind this?" I asked.
Holmes shook his head. "I'll be going alone. You will stay behind and keep Mrs. Hudson in the flat." He reached for his pipe again. "However, I do not believe your man is the only one behind this. No, it is much deeper than that." Lighting his pipe, he added, "He is only one small thread of the web..."
At this I heard no more; the phrase was all too familiar. "You suspect Moriarty?"
Holmes closed his eyes and drew a deep breath through his pipe. "I suspect no one."
He smoked for some time in silence, his eyes half shut. No matter how hard I pressed him, he would not talk. I bade him good night with no answer, and retired to my room for the night.
Morning came soon enough, and by the time I emerged from my room Holmes had already gone. I was relieved to find Mrs. Hudson in good spirits when she arrived with breakfast.
"Any news?" She inquired cheerfully.
I shook my head. "Holmes opened the box only to discover another lock," I explained. Not wanting to disclose any more information without his permission, I promptly began to eat.
"Do keep me informed, Doctor," the landlady said before leaving.
I spent the morning tidying my room, and as I worked I tried to contrive a plan to keep the landlady indoors all day. I finally resolved to having Billy run all the errands, and when I dispatched him with his new orders, Mrs. Hudson appeared at the bottom of the stairs. She rushed up to me, looking slightly pale.
"Is Mr. Holmes in yet?" She asked nervously. She held a small paper between her thumb and forefinger.
"No, I'm afraid not," I answered. "What is bothering you?"
She held up the paper. "I've recieved another note," she said, turning it over to me. It read:
If orders are not followed in twenty-four hours, BEWARE.
I cast a surprised glance at the landlady, who appeared very worried. "I don't believe that silly little box is worth such threats!" She exclaimed, her voice full of anxiety.
"I will give it to Holmes when he returns," I said, placing my hand on her shoulder. She patted it gently.
"Very good, Doctor. I must go back to my duties."
Sherlock Holmes returned shortly after the incident. He had not been gone very long. I went out to greet him. He appeared to be quite annoyed.
Upon my inquiry of the trip, he closed his eyes. "Miss Baylor, the daughter, will be arriving at six 'o clock this evening upon my request."
"Was she not at home?"
Holmes shook his head. "I thought of sending a telegram but assumed it would not reach the Baylor household until this morning. By then it would have been too late; I would have already reached the house. They live out in the country." He removed his coat and hat and shuffled to his armchair. "I trust you have not let Mrs. Hudson from the flat?"
I told him of my plan to have Billy perform all tasks outside of the flat, and he smiled. "I knew you would think of something."
I smiled at the praise and remembered the note. Handing it over to him, I watched him read it. "I assumed it would come to this," he said quietly. "We must keep Mrs. Hudson within our sight at all times." He said nothing more about the matter, however, and settled in his chair, taking up the little box. He pulled out a few strange-looking tools that I did not recognize and set at once to picking the locks under the lid.
Holmes worked at this for little more than a quarter of an hour before he set the box aside, his task completed. All that was left was the combonation lock. When I inquired as to how he would set about discovering the combonation, he smiled.
"Hopefully Miss Baylor will bring the answer with her when she arrives." He pulled his pipe off the mantle and lit it, and smoked in silence for the rest of the afternoon.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Holmes' Colossal Adjectives
One of the things that I love about Sherlock Holmes (and Watson too...this also pertains to him) is his use of really big adjectives.
I'm not going to blog forever about it but I found this quote in one of the books the other day and just started laughing...it was just like Holmes to use such big words to modify a tiny one...I thought I would share, just for the fun of it in case none of you had noticed it before.
"A lie, Watson - a great, big, thumping, obtrusive, uncompromising lie..."
- The Valley of Fear
Isn't that awesome? I love how they just continue to get bigger...that's the beauty of Victorian London (and possibly modern London...I dunno, Grace, do Londoners today use massive adjectives? lol)
I don't know how he managed to say that all in one breath. I can't even say that without putting the "un" from "uncompromising" in front of the "obtrusive." *laughs*
Hope you had a good laugh over that one :D
(picture - Of course, it's Jeremy Brett as Sherlock Holmes...hot on the trail of a criminal, most likely. Love the hat :D)
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