All The News From Miscellanea

© '94 '96 '97

Dick Holland '97

"I did the deed": Dr. Doyle's voluntary confession of his complicity in the first, albeit impermanent, death of Sherlock Holmes.

WHY has nothing been done about this????

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Since '94 this column has sought to write a series on Miscellanea's most popular honorary citizen: Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Attempts at arranging an interview through correspondence to 221 B Baker St. were returned with a note stating "Mr. SH is out of town on a case and cannot be contacted."

Signed by Ms. *****

Persistence did not avail us but providence did.

We at Misc., have, over the years(2), developed an uncanny ability to accurately report that news which is totally unconfirmable. Even in the presence of strongly contradictory evidence, our beliefs were never swayed. This unreasoning strength, was the most probable cause of the incredible accountings which follow, having been delivered into our hands for publication.

On our oath, all that follows is a true account of an occurrence on a late December day of '96 and thereafter.

--------------------------- The occurrence ---------------------------

Imagine, if you are able, my trepidations when arriving at my office, in a preemergent dawn of a winter day, I found a scribbled stack of notes, such as I will describe in more detail presently, impaled by my own quilled pen, driven deeply into the surface of my desk, much as hurricanes have been known to drive a straw deeply into the mighty oak tree.

Which looked somewhat like this rough sketch

"Was this a defiant or violent expression of a disturbed individual ......that may still be in the building????" Without turning my head, my eyes looked about. If my worst fears were in fact reality, I would not encourage this most unwelcome guest to suspect that I had seen his ominous 'calling card'. To do so might touch the flame to the powder, setting off the rage of a disordered mind. Yet, there was a fascination in it - a need to know. But my morning's wintered, soot grimed eyes fought my brain's fascination, and denied to my vision the clarity I required to

The News From Miscellanea

assess the seriousness of my position. I was blinded by fear.

I have often heard it said that when we lose the function of one of our senses, another becomes predominant. To my horror, I came to know that this is absolutely true. Sight impaired, reason in disarray, my sense of hearing became so acute that I actually heard, coming from the farthest corner of the room, measured sounds of low, steady breathing. From a full thirty feet away if an inch. Breathing was exactly what I did not want to hear. I am familiar with the insidious profile of the Sociopath: Icy calm and unemotional while engaged in his terrible courses. I believed it possible that I had blundered into such a man.....until it spoke....gently, with a resonance and warmth that disarmed fear and made an absurdity of my terror. He approached, speaking softly. He was a man...not the monster of such proportions as only a coward of equal proportions could have imagined. I had been unmasked, by myself, as being so much less of a man than I had ever imagined myself to be, and I felt, keenly, my diminished worth. I was not always so. If you are to accept anything that I am to recount of this morning's affair I can tell you that my self appraisal is truly the most reliable, since I have lived it and lived long enough to experience this morning , and realize what I have become. Neither have I been granted the insight to so keenly judge any other as cruelly as I have myself, and with the foregoing consideration in mind, I decided to allow my trespassing visitor the broadest latitude to explain himself.

"Have I startled you, sir?" He asked. I shook my head an honest and vigorous no! (Startled was not the right word.)

"I had expected to be gone before your arrival - you are ahead of your time this morning. My deepest apologies, I have done in your pen, I fear, but the manuscripts I had expected to leave for you are irreplaceable originals and their subject of such importance, to so many, that I could not chance using your half filled lamp black bottle to secure the documents in place. A quick glance of the subject matter will, I think, confirm my need for the greatest caution, especially since the outside door and your desk are in direct alignment with this morning's blustering winds."

I was required by his assignment to extract the impaling pen from the oaken desk top. Though I grasped it firmly, the quill slipped through my hand. A second try and it would not budge, so deeply was it seated. The third try yielded the prize - the manuscripts were free in my possession and the desecrating pen found its home on the floor. Briefly, just for the smallest, measurable part of a second, I thought, "Any man with the strength to drive that soft quill so deeply into solid oak, must be the most dangerous man alive." Reason returned made me add, "to his enemies, of course. I was certainly not his enemy and he was not mine."

All this time I was still deprived of clear sight. When he had first approached me, I lit the small candle on my desk. He did not enter the limited circle of light, nor did he seem to be avoiding it. The candle was between us, closer to me, awarding me the disadvantage. He remained standing, I, sitting and later thanked random chance that this was the arrangement, for what I read and that which he

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The News From Miscellanea

explained to me nearly unseated me. Were I to have been standing it most surely would have toppled me. Picking up the papers, I read . . . the notes.

My visitor has left now - departing before the false dawn. I am overwhelmed by our good fortune not only for what was contained in the notes, which I am directed to share with all, but with his promise to continue to reinforce them with others. Ours is, it was agreed, to be a relationship which will be continued much as it was begun, with only the imperfection corrected. That is the manuscripts will be left before I arrive. I have promised to appear no sooner than punctually, thus

granting his secure egress from my office - oh, there will be no more violence done to his papers or my writing instruments since I provided him a key to my desk drawer which will become the residence of all future, hand delivered correspondence.

Fully aware that some might feel there was yet another defect left unaddressed, I confess I share with you a disappointment that I cannot tell you who he is, and my description, will, with apologies in advance, not be found to be satisfactory. Know that I stand beside you in this frustration and forgive me in what is to follow, as I describe him thusly: "His shadow betrayed no secrets and cast no light." I was able to discern nothing.

----------------------The Notes------------------

The notes, I am pleased to state, are written in a manner favoring substance over art.They contain, as nearly as we can reason, factual accountings of unpublished cases and musings of Sherlock Holmes during the periods in the great man's life, some very recent, when he lived alone. Times little discussed by his intermittent companion, the good doctor, since he knows so very little of them. We trust you will not be offended that we have christened this collection of artifacts as,

"The Lesser Casebook of Sherlock Holmes." ©'96

That the accounts are often written in the first person singular, is disturbing. We will not attempt to explain that which we do not understand. It is beyond our modest powers of deductive reasoning to do so. Our responsibility is to recognize the inherent importance of this find and publish them for your edification, and that we will do forthrightly and without delay.

:

The first adventure is:

"The Case of the Timid Thief"

From"The Lesser Casebook of Sherlock Holmes"

After so often having advised Watson, that exercise before breakfast is most beneficial I have since finding myself left to my own devices again, decided this morning, that I might evaluate the veracity

of that advice which was, when given, pure conjecture. To make a game of it, I planned to curcumnavigate,

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afoot, a ten square block area. Walking briskly, did not prevent noontime from arriving before my breakfast.

Solitude does indeed betray judgement. I had miscalculated either the distance or the speed of my stride. I do believe it was both. Reorienting myself I realized good fortune had stopped me directly in front of an accounting office that I had once consulted, while on a case of such little significance, that I cannot recall it clearly. On entering the building,and being greeted by the owner as a long absent friend, I observed his business had prospered. There were now three clerks hunched over recording the day's business, where only one had been previously required.

"You have been three times blessed, my good man."

"Four times, now that you are here, Mr. Holmes, and it was meself that was thinking of you just this very morning." [*He was very Irish]. "I've a riddle for you"... [*I don't particularly care for riddles, they are deceitfully crafted .]. "Come, Mr. Holmes, honor me with a wee bit of your time and I'll reward ye well - I remember your love of pastries, I have one laid out in me office and tea is in its cozy. I'll share them both with you while I tell you the riddle that made me think of you this morning. See what sense you can make of it." There was no excusing how rapidly I deserted my principles ."Nothing would suit me better", I said, hurrying to my belated breakfast. We sat, he bisected his lunch, poured my tea, and began his peculiar tale.

The Riddle

is that it is impossible

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"Do you realize that you have already done so? Since it is your belief that you cannot eliminate, or more accurately, identify the impossible you have failed to realize that having paid my fee, the lunch, Tim, I am at your service. Your problem, is solved, I shall do the eliminating for you and in short order. I am experienced in these matters. We must start by containing that which is impossible - and eliminating that which is irrelevent- if we cannot do that, we are undone."

I began with asking about doors, locks, windows, the resting place of the cash box and such other things that satisfied me he had a secure building. "We now know it is not possible for an intruder to be involved, therefore we also know the thief to be one of your employees. Three clerks, a janitor, and serviceman who come and go - anyone else?" There were no others.

"Congratulations, my friend, you have eliminated everyone else in London as fully qualified impossibilities. The janitor and service people? They are morning employees, since, I observed, they have already left the building. You have solved the case," I said, feigning great enthusiasm, as I have so often for Watson.

"Have I done that now? Who did I catch then? Did I say? I've forgotten.!" He was smiling broadly. I told him it couldn't be simpler. It could be no

other than one of his three clerks. "And he shall have written his confession by this time tomorrow." I could see that he clearly didn't believe I could produce such results so fast, but was very amused by my approach.

I instructed him to follow my advice faithfully as to form and sequence as follows. "Leave the building now, for an hour, when you return I shall leave. Avoid your desk and leave the roll top up. Be the last to leave this evening and in the morning the first to arrive. Set two pastries and tea on your desk top. I shall join you for a celebratory breakfast. Your felon will be busily writing his confession before I arrive."

I returned home, a long walk which gave me a great deal of time to think that this was not a case at all in the classic sense / more of a happening. Much too quickly concluded, for my taste. I have always favored the game, over the endgame. But there are sometimes exceptions. Simplicity has a certain purity about it. I realized I was rationalizing but I was unable to fool myself, I knew what was lowering my spirits. "I shall have no one to share this day's adventure with this evening by the fire. It isn't worthy enough to be chronicled, but at least I have occupied myself today, and it is a healthy beginning. Tomorrow I must return to the scene, there is tidying up to be done. Even the endgame, however anticlimactic, must be served."

In the morning, several hours walk in the chilling air found me back at the office of

The News From Miscellanea

Timothy McGary. "I've caught the thief and I have his confession here in me hands, Mr. Holmes, " he loudly proclaimed, waving his empty palms high, over his head and chuckling. His joke was meant to be at my expense.

"Then my services to you are concluded? " I asked.

.

"If yourself is true to your reputation, I'd be betting that they soon will be."

"Betting, my friend, is what has caused your problems. It will not solve them. I have decided that you are to solve your own riddle. Be so good as to visit your three clerks, examine today's progress, and bring to me anything you find to be unusual. Hurry now - this sorry business must be finished."

A pale and puzzled man soon returned, visibly shaken, holding an accounts ledger in his hand. "Look, Mr. Holmes, 'tis the scribblings of a child on today's pages. They can't be read, can they be explained? My clerk is mute on the subject."

"As promised, you are holding his confession in your hand. It is irrefutable. Yesterday, when I asked you to leave the office, I used the hour of your absence to open the concealed safe box cubby hole and insert an armed rat trap deep into the opening, replacing the paneling which hid its existence / instructed you to avoid the desk on your return, lest you set off the delicate mechanism / and waited. By leaving work late and arriving early, you narrowed your clerk's opportunity down to the time that you were out fetching the pastries. The thief caught himself during the time you were gone. No more than an hour ago. The blow must have been very cruel, indeed, to have disabled his penmanship so completely, but it will pass. Now you know the who and how of your riddle, I shall tell you the why, and we will be done. Your timid thief does not possess the dedication of purpose to sufficiently refine his shoddy craft. He is an expensive annoyance, not a danger. The mirror image of this unfortunate man bears the unmistakable hallmark of a compulsive gambler. In this regard, he is a flawed felon. His choice to resist funding his vice by crime was as morally clear to him as it was impossible for him to achieve. The limited deposits into your cash box were divisions of winnings from rare instances of successful wagers. Now mark this well, my friend. A repentant compulsive is not a reformed compulsive. In the matter of an uncontrollable vice, I am perhaps, London's most knowledgeable and forgiving man. The law will not be necessary here. Your clientele is diverse. Find him a position with a firm where no cash transitions occur and thereby confine his thefts to his own wages. The man has no talent for crime."

"This business is finished. Good-bye Tim, and remember what the Irishman should have said, 'Keep the wind to your back, your friends by your side and always, Mr. Timothy McGary, keep your eyes on your cash box.' I'm off now to visit an old friend. If I hurry I shall arrive just before dinner. One last bit of business before I depart Tim, allow me to compliment you on your excellent choice of pastries today, they were both delicious."

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