Sherlock Holmes Edwardian Parodies and Pastiches I: 1900-1904

By Bill Peschel

Welcome to 223B Baker Street! The debut of Sherlock Holmes in the pages of The Strand magazine introduced one of fiction’s most memorable heroes. Arthur Conan Doyle’s spellbinding tales of mystery and detection, along with Holmes’ deep friendship with Doctor Watson, touched the hearts of fans worldwide, and inspired imitations, parodies, songs, art, even erotica, that continues to this very day.

“Sherlock Holmes Edwardian Parodies and Pastiches: 1900-1904” collects more than 55 pieces — short stories, poems, newspaper clippings, and cartoons — all published during the opening years of Conan Doyle’s literary career. Included are works by Mark Twain, P.G. Wodehouse, Bret Harte, and more. Also included are many of the original illustrations and more than 200 footnotes identifying obscure words, historical figures, and events that readers were familiar with at the time.

Peschel Press’ 223B Casebook Series is dedicated to publishing the fanfiction created by amateur and professional writers during Conan Doyle’s lifetime. Each book covers a particular era, publication, or writer, and includes lively mini-essays containing insights into the work, Conan Doyle, and those who were inspired by him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peschel Press
• Release date: Aug 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310012105

Bill Peschel

Bill Peschel is a recovering journalist who shares a Pulitzer Prize with the staff of The Patriot-News in Harrisburg, Pa. He also is mystery fan who has run the Wimsey Annotations at www.planetpeschel.com for nearly two decades. He is the author of the 223B series of Sherlock Holmes parodies and pastiches, "The Complete, Annotated Mysterious Affair at Styles," "The Complete, Annotated Secret Adversary" and "The Complete, Annotated Whose Body?" as well as "Writers Gone Wild" (Penguin Books). He lives in Hershey, where the air really does smell like chocolate.

Book preview

Introduction

Welcome back to another volume in the 223B Casebook series! This one covers the period 1900 to 1904, a time of great change in Arthur Conan Doyle’s life. He moved into the public sphere by running for parliament, and revived Holmes twice, the first time temporarily with The Hound of the Baskervilles, and then permanently with The Adventure of the Empty House.

By this time, it became clear that Holmes was going to endure. Although he had gone over Reichenbach Falls at the end of 1893, the flood of appearances in stories, cartoons, and ads did not abate. If anything, it ballooned, which is why this and future volumes will cover five years, after the 12-year span in the first. In fact, an argument could be made that these parodies and pastiches played a major role in keeping Holmes alive. Each new appearance reminded the public that Sherlock existed, and no matter how entertaining they were, there was only one true Holmes, and one man who could write him.

As the original Holmes spread deeper into the world, his parody doppelgangers underwent changes as well. This was partly due to the times. Queen Victoria died in 1901 and Britain mourned her passing and looked forward—not without some trepidation—to the Edwardian Age. When Britain marched into the Boer republics under the banner of imperialistic expansion, Holmes and Watson marched along with them (The Adventure of the Pink Pearl). People’s rising interest in the automobile—Conan Doyle among them—is reflected in The Affair of the Lost Compression. The dubious question of who wrote Shakespeare’s plays was given the stink-eye by John Kendrick Bangs and Charlton Andrews. Even America’s presidential election of 1904 became fodder for humor in The Adventure of the Campaign Issue and The Lost Democratic Majority.

Then there is Holmes as a pre-postmodern meta commentator, squabbling with his creator over money (The Adventure of the Second Swag), defending Conan Doyle from Brigadier Gerard’s accusation of plagiarism, and mocking the plots of best-selling books (The Book of 1900). Several stories even combined characters from different authors, anticipating Alan Moore’s The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen by a century.

For the first time, Holmes acts as a social critic, commenting on the trusts’ abuse of power in Sherlock Holmes Analyzes a Perfect Stranger. In future books, he’ll be portrayed as a villain, representing forces that oppress workers. Holmes as a capitalist tool, if you will.

Reading these stories in chronological order, we also can see how Arthur Conan Doyle’s life and works inspired responses from the literati. His resurrection of Holmes in The Hound of the Baskervilles and The Adventure of the Empty House led to The Cat of the Bunkervilles and The Bound of the Asterbilts. Even personal events in his life was fodder; his foray into parliamentary politics was commented on in How Holmes Tried Politics as well as a recently discovered parody.

There was also room in this volume for humor, both low and high. Alongside the silly stories, such as the case of the stolen doormat and how a man’s coat reveals details of his domestic life, are contributions from pros such as Mark Twain, Bret Harte, and Finley Peter Dunne. Even more interesting are the amateurs who drew from their life experiences. There’s the doctor who treated Watson as the no-nonsense medical man he would be in real life, someone who wouldn’t have put up with Holmes’ condescension for an instant. A couple of New England schoolboys tried their hand at a pastiche, both of whom coincidentally grew up to become Paris-trained architects. A future U.S. federal court judge brought Holmes and Watson to the University of Virginia, giving us a glimpse of collegiate life at a time when it was out of reach of many.

Digging up these stories was fun, especially with the help of those who are thanked in the acknowledgements. But so was learning everything I could about the stories behind the stories. I hope you’ll enjoy them, too.

Bill Peschel

Hershey, Pa.

April 29, 2015

How the Book Was Organized

The 223B Casebook Series had two goals: To reprint the majority of the parodies and pastiches published in Conan Doyle’s lifetime, especially rare items not readily available, and stories under a single subject, such The Early Punch Parodies of Sherlock Holmes, or around an author such as John Kendrick Bangs. Examples of material published in the single-subject books will appear in the chronologically-based books, but not all of them.

The stories in the chronological books appear in the order in which readers of the time would have seen them. This way, readers can see how writers changed their perception of Sherlock as the canonical stories were published. Stories for which dates could not be found, such as those published in books, were moved to the back of the year.

Each chapter begins with a description of Conan Doyle’s activities that year. I tried to keep the essays self-contained, but some events, such as Conan Doyle’s longtime relationship with Jean Leckie, span years, and you may have to read the essay in earlier books in the series to fully understand them.

The stories were reprinted as accurately as possible. No attempt was made to standardize British and American spelling. Some words have undergone changes over the years—Shakespere instead of Shakespeare and to-morrow for tomorrow—they were left alone. Obvious mistakes of spelling and grammar were silently corrected and paragraphs were broken up to aid readability.

Acknowledgements

An ability to inaccurately determine the size of a project got me in this mess, so I’m grateful to discover fans of Sherlockian parodies who were happy to open their files and browsers and offer their generous help and advice.

Charles Press and Peter Blau contributed the fruits of their researches. Scott Harkless again proved a capable researcher, hunting through the electronic databases of Puck and other magazines to find what I needed. Denise Philips at the Hershey Public Library again came through with many of my requests, including especially rare volumes that I never thought would appear on my desk.

The following people and books were especially helpful in preparing the 223B Casebook series.

*    Charles Press for his Parodies and Pastiches Buzzing ‘Round Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, which provided me with a shopping list.

*    Bill Blackbeard for Sherlock Holmes in America.

*    Frederic Dannay and Manfred Lee (Ellery Queen) for their ill-fated The Misadventures of Sherlock Holmes.

*    Philip K. Jones for his massive (10,000 entries!) database of Sherlockian pastiches, parodies, and related fiction.

*    John Gibson and Richard Lancelyn Green for My Evening With Sherlock Holmes and The Uncollected Sherlock Holmes.

*    Paul D. Herbert for The Sincerest Form of Flattery.

*    Peter Ridgway Watt and Joseph Green for The Alternative Sherlock Holmes: Pastiches, Parodies and Copies.

*    The Sciolist Press, Donald K. Pollock, and the other editors behind The Baker Street Miscellanea.

*    Jeff Katz for contributing The Downfall of Our Old Friend Sherlock Holmes.

*    Ian Schoenherr for finding several wonderful parodies.

*    The Baker Street Irregulars, from whose magazine several stories were drawn for the 223B Casebook Series.

Statue of Sherlock Holmes – Marylebone Road London by Lonpicman, desaturated from the original on Wikipedia, was used under Creative Commons license.

Finally, my gratitude and love to my wife, Teresa, who unsheathed her red pen and decorated the manuscript with corrections, advice, and suggestions. That she had to write Do I get a thanks? here shows you how much I need her.

An effort was made to determine the copyright status of these pieces and obtain permission to publish from the rightful copyright holders. If I made a mistake, please contact me so that I may rectify the error.

Got parody?: If you have an uncollected Sherlock Holmes story that was published between 1888 and 1930, please let me know the title and author. If I don’t have it and can use it, you’ll earn a free trade paperback of the book it’ll appear in plus an acknowledgement inside! Email me at [e-mail] or write to Peschel Press, P.O. Box 132, Hershey, PA 17033-0132.

Get the newsletter: If you want to learn more about my books, my researches and the media I eat, sign up for the Peschel Press newsletter. Every month, you’ll get a chatty letter about what we’re publishing plus a glimpse behind the scenes at a growing publishing house. Visit either www.planetpeschel.com or www.peschelpress.com and look for the sign-up box.

1900

Image No. 5

Conan Doyle, sketched by Mortimer Menpes in South Africa, 1900.

At the end of 1899, Arthur Conan Doyle was a popular author on the verge of becoming a public figure. To the world, he presented the image of everything a Victorian gentleman of his 41 years could want. He had a family—his wife of 19 years, Louise (also known as Touie), his 10-year-old daughter Mary and his seven-year-old son Kingsley—and he was master of Undershaw, the elegant home he built near Hindhead in the county of Surrey.

But over his shoulder he felt haunted by Sherlock Holmes. Conan Doyle had killed him off in 1893 because he distracted the public from the historical works that were meant to endure. But The White Company, Rodney Stone, and Uncle Bernac, while praised, were modest successes, and his Brigadier Gerard stories were not as popular as Holmes. Because he needed cash to finish paying for building Undershaw, Conan Doyle revived Holmes for the stage. With American actor William Gillette wearing the deerstalker, Sherlock Holmes was a raging success, but it revived pressure on Conan Doyle to bring the detective back.

Also behind the scenes lived the woman: Jean Leckie. After Touie was diagnosed with tuberculosis seven years ago, Conan Doyle had formed a passionate attachment to her. Rather than hurt Touie by seeking a divorce, he chose to keep her in the dark and maintain a chaste relationship with Jean until she died. As Touie’s health slowly deteriorated, she would stay at Undershaw with the family, and take trips to Switzerland where it was believed the cold mountain air would help restore her health. Meanwhile, her husband wrote, gave speeches, attended meetings, wrote numerous letters to the press on public issues, and indulged his fondness for sports, especially cricket and golf. In between, there were carefully arranged and chaperoned visits with Jean, with family and friends enlisted to keep the truth from his wife.

As the year opened, Conan Doyle prepared to march for British imperialism. At the end of 1899, Britain had declared war against the Boer republics in southern Africa. The discovery of diamonds there had attracted English settlers who were agitating for voting rights. They were encouraged by businessmen such as Cecil Rhodes, who would profit from a British takeover. (In fact, secretly encouraged by politicians at home, Rhodes had financed a failed raid on the republics in 1895.)

With the declaration of war, Conan Doyle attempted to enlist despite his mother’s protests: "There are hundreds of thousands who can fight for one who can make a Sherlock Holmes or a Waterloo! If the nation was polled, the Ma’am wrote her son, everyone—unless perhaps some unsuccessful novelists!"—would urge him to stay home.

But Conan Doyle felt he couldn’t support the war without serving somehow. Philanthropist John Langman solved his problem by recruiting him to run a field hospital that he was financing. In March, two trains bearing supplies and recruits left London and within a month reached Bloemfontein in South Africa.

It was the first time Conan Doyle experienced war. In his letters home he was cheerful and energetic, but hid the grimmer reality in his diary, observing that You could find your way from Modder to Bloemfontein by the smell of dead horses. When not treating patients, he visited the front, played football and cricket, and began writing a history of the war. Then typhoid struck the hospital, and soon the patients were dying off, up to 60 a day at the worst. He continued to treat the men with enthusiasm. He knew he was being tested, and he would not be found wanting. He also would later catch a mild dose of cholera that would leave his digestion unsettled for the next decade.

The plague had passed by June, and Conan Doyle wrapped up his work with the hospital. Working hard on his history, he visited Pretoria, the captured capital of the Transvaal, toured the battlefields, and interviewed British commander Lord Roberts. The next month, he returned to England by boat with most of his history completed. During the journey, he befriended a reporter, Bertram Fletcher Robinson, who would later inspire The Hound of the Baskervilles.

At Hindhead, as the war moved into a guerrilla conflict that would end in mid-1902, he worked on his history, renewed his social friendships, and played sports. At Crystal Palace Park, debuting in a first class match for the Marylebone Cricket Club against London County, he took the wicket of the legendary W.G. Grace. Grace later would have his revenge by clean-bowling Conan Doyle.

It was at another cricket match that an incident caused a temporary breach in the family. Conan Doyle was squiring Jean at Lord’s when they unexpectedly met two people he hadn’t told about his affair: his sister, Connie, and her husband, E.W. Hornung. Although they accepted his explanation at the time, they later shunned Conan Doyle, which left him livid at his sister: If it is good enough for those who are intimately affected by it why on earth should it not be good enough for her.

In September, he entered politics, agreeing to run as the Liberal Unionist candidate in Edinburgh Central. He fought a hard battle, giving several speeches a day, sometimes with his old mentor Joseph Bell on the platform. Hopes were high for victory, but on the day of the vote, disaster struck. A religious crank placarded the district with signs claiming that Conan Doyle was a secret Catholic. He had explained to the voters that his family was Roman Catholic, but he was not, but the damage was done. He lost by 569 votes. He considered suing that wretched fanatic, and to overturn the vote, but the former would be fruitless and the latter, he thought, could hurt his reputation.

In October, The Great Boer War was published, and Conan Doyle used his book as a platform to advocate for army reforms. Seeing the Boer farmers holding off trained British soldiers, he proposed forming civilian gun clubs to encourage target shooting. In times of war, these semi-trained reserves could be called upon to fight. Army experts rebelled at being lectured by a civilian. In response, Conan Doyle organized the Undershaw Rifle Club, and soon the sounds of rifle volleys echoed across the fields of Hindhead.

To promote his scheme, he urged Strand editor Greenhough Smith to publish an article about the club. At the end, he added an emphatic answer to the question he suspected was on Smith’s mind: when I have anything on the stocks I’ll let you know. Poor Sherlock R.I.P.

Publications: The Green Flag and Other Stories of War and Sport (March); The Great Boer War (Oct.).

Image No. 6

Conan Doyle cigarette card, 1901.

The Red Mark

Dodo

The Red Mark was published on Feb. 3 in Pick-me-up, a Punch competitor. The identity of Dodo is tantalizing elusive. In his general parody collection At the Mountains of Murkiness, from which this was taken, bookseller / publisher George Locke concluded from Dodo’s weekly appearance in the magazine that he was a staff member. He may or may not be the same Dodo who wrote the humorous book, A Trip to Mars in 1901, illustrated by an artist with the wonderful English name of S.H. Hebblethwaite. An even longer shot would be Irish journalist and radical politician William Marcus Thompson (1857-1907), who also wrote under the Dodo pseudonym.

I found my friend Don Uncoyle poring over a small piece of rag.

I’ve called to see you about the disappearance of Dan O’Brien, I said. He nodded, but made no answer.

The police, as usual, have to rely upon an amateur; our only hope is in you. Is it murder?

He blew his nose violently upon the rag, and rose hurriedly and lit his briar with a red-hot coal. He took me to the wall—there was a red mark upon it. He measured it. It was one inch by three-eighths of an inch, height two feet nine and a half from the ground.

Is it murder? I whispered.

He shook his head, nodded violently, and shook his head again. I had never seen him so grim and mysterious before. Evidently the public was to be kept in ignorance until the closing chapter. Dan O’Brien had been a journalist and was known in every pub in Fleet Street and its surroundings. He had not been seen for a week and foul play was feared. He was known to have had three ha’pence upon him, for he had gone round to friends trying to borrow another ha’penny in order that he might buy two pennorth of rum. As the police said, many a man had been murdered for less.

Don Uncoyle led the way to the river. Looking carefully along the brickwork on the side of Waterloo Bridge, we saw the fatal red mark. Uncoyle measured it. It was two feet nine and a half from the ground. Up the steps we saw it at intervals on both sides, each mark at the same height.

Is it his life’s blood? I asked.

Still the great detective did not reply. He winked first one eye, and then the other, and then closed both. I knew that I must put full trust in him.

We visited the Lamb and Lark tavern near Blackfriars.

Have you seen Dan O’Brien? I asked the landlord.

Don’t know him by name, was the reply.

Rather rosy in the face, deepening to purple about the nose. Writes church notes for several papers.

I have several customers answering to that description, said the landlord, he might be here, and he might not.

A tug at my trouser leg, which broke my braces to my intense inconvenience, startled me. I looked round. The long form of Don Uncoyle was bent, and he was measuring a mark on the wainscotting.

It was the red mark.

My marvellous friend did not wait for long, but rushed into Ludgate Hill and into the Bodega, opposite the King Lud. I saw him fruitlessly searching the walls, but here he was thwarted. He looked at each marble-topped table, at each chair, but he was evidently non-plussed.

He sat down and called mutely for wine—red wine—and looked anxiously into it. Still no signs of the missing man. I was getting uncomfortable and so were the attendants.

Suddenly Uncoyle brought out his measure and measured the height of the table—two feet nine and three-quarters. I saw a look of intelligence steal over his usually phlegmatic countenance, and then, heedless of the glasses on the table, he turned it upside down.

Underneath was the red mark, and I never saw a more triumphant, almost diabolic, smile on any man’s face than I saw on his then.

He hurried across to Fleet Street and into the Portugal, and there he eagerly examined the walls, but here again he was disappointed.

Suddenly I noticed on the swing doors a faint red mark. I looked closely—it was on both. Uncoyle measured; two feet nine and a half from the ground.

Good, he said.

You think you will find him.

Oui, non, jah, nein, he answered in his quick, idiomatic way.

He hurried to the Punch tavern and, instead of examining the walls, sat down on a stool and called for the time of the day. I wondered why he had suddenly ceased to look for the red mark, but I was soon to know.

Half-past eleven, the barmaid answered him, and what will you take, sir?

You have a dustbin? he asked abruptly—nay, almost fiercely.

Well, what if we have? It isn’t on tap, she answered.

It is in the drawing room, he ejaculated.

It isn’t; it’s in the yard, but there’s no dust allowed in it now, because we have to put our dust out.

I knew it, he said almost gleefully. That is what they keep a chucker-out for. Come quickly, and he grasped my arm and led me to the back of the premises. On the wall leading there he pointed out to me a streak of red. The height was two feet nine and a half from the ground. On the back door also.

The fatal red mark!

He stopped on the threshold and borrowed my ear.

That red mark, he said, was made by O’Brien.

Finger? I said.

Nose, he answered.

But surely his nose is more than two feet nine and a half from the ground.

Not when he crawls, said Don Uncoyle. "Listen—he had intended to paint the town red. He must have succeeded in getting that two of rum. He couldn’t stand, he crawled, and the bloom came off his nose."

At last I understood. I grasped my friend’s hand, and the tears were in my eyes.

We shall find him in the disused dustbin sleeping it off, he said simply.

And we did.

The Book of 1900

Edgar Turner

This chapter from The Girl with Feet of Clay reveals the humorous side of Edgar Turner (1857-1942), who was known for his adventure novels such as The Purloined Prince, The Armada Gold, and The Submarine Girl. Starting with the title—a reference to Richard Le Gallienne’s best-selling Quest for the Golden Girl—Turner lampooned popular authors such as Marie Corelli, Jerome K. Jerome, and Conan Doyle.

For The Book of 1900 chapter, Turner anticipated superstar team-ups such as Marvel’s Avengers. To write a sure-fire best-seller, he proposed combining six popular heroes: Sherlock Holmes; C.J. Cutcliffe Hyne’s unscrupulous Captain Kettle; Guy Boothby’s occultist criminal mastermind Dr. Nikola; Rudyard Kipling’s rambunctious schoolboys from Stalky and Co.; Anthony Hope’s Rudolf Rassendyll from The Prisoner of Zenda; and the Skipper, a creation of W.W. Jacobs who is best known for his horror story The Monkey’s Paw.

Blanco Watson looked at me benevolently and said:

Would you like to write the book of 1900?

Who would not? said I, with a smile.

I, for one. But you would?

I estimated the market value of the book of 1900 and replied:

Yes.

Well, he said, I will tell you how to. Take the heroes of six recent popular romances and write a romance round them. You will thus appeal to the six sets of people interested in the respective heroes. The popularity of your romance will equal the total popularity of the six romances. You will have written the book of 1900.

I do not quite understand.

The argument is simple. Many people regard Captain Kettle as a personal friend, and would read your romance if it contained information about him. So also with Doctor Nikola and other notable gentlemen. Of course the information would have to be reasonable. Of course, too, the individuality of the heroes would have to be maintained.

That, I said, would be difficult.

On the contrary, it would be easy. You would only need to tabulate the eccentricities of each in matters of speech, appearance, weapons, and morality, and to work by the tables.

But, I said, a popular romance must have a plot.

Your plot would be created by your heroes.

How?

Let us, he replied, "choose your heroes. Six will be, I think, the best number. We will choose Captain Kettle, Doctor Nikola, Sherlock Holmes, Rudolf Rassendyll, Stalky & Co., and, for low comedy relief, Mr. Jacobs’s Skipper. Sherlock Holmes and Rudolf Rassendyll are supposed to be dead, but you can easily say they are not.

"It is necessary that the six should be brought together. Doctor Nikola shall arrange this. He learns that the philosopher’s stone is buried on a certain Pacific island and resolves to seek it. Early in 189—he charters the steamboat The Naughty Mermaid and engages Captain Kettle and a crew.

"The stone was buried by one of Rudolf Rassendyll’s ancestors, into whose possession it had come. Being a pious man, he thought that it should not be used. But, being a pious man, he thought that it should not be utterly lost. Accordingly, in his will he described the burial-place and charged his descendants to see that it was not disturbed.

"Rudolf Rassendyll guesses Doctor Nikola’s purpose and applies to Sherlock Holmes for advice. He listens, injects cocaine, plays his violin, and thinks. Then he proposes that they should disguise themselves and join the expedition. They do so. They are, in fact, two of the crew who sign on under Captain Kettle.

"Thus you have four of the six on board The Naughty Mermaid. If Stalky & Co. leave school and become stowaways, you will have five. And if The Naughty Mermaid runs down Mr. Jacobs’s Skipper off Gravesend and afterwards picks him up, you will have the six.

"It is now necessary that the heroes should show their fighting powers. Doctor Nikola shall arrange this also. As The Naughty Mermaid is passing the Nore, he comments on her rate of speed. ‘By James, sir!’ says Captain Kettle, ‘attend to your own contract. This is mine.’ Doctor Nikola draws his revolver. Captain Kettle sends it flying over the funnel. They close and wrestle up and down the deck.

"At this moment Mr. Jacobs’s Skipper comes up the hatchway, followed by Stalky & Co., whom he has discovered in the hold. ‘Avast there!’ he shouts and endeavours to separate the combatants. ‘Here’s a giddy lark,’ cry Stalky & Co. and endeavour to prevent him doing so.

‘Shall we join in?’ whispers Sherlock Holmes. ‘Yes,’ replies Rudolf Rassendyll, ‘I long to have the Doctor by the throat.’ They join in. For a minute or two the struggle between the six is terrible. Then Mr. Jacobs’s Skipper breaks away, seizes a hose, and plays a stream of water on the others. Peace follows.

You are right, I remarked. The heroes would create the plot. There are a hundred possibilities.

A hundred! he exclaimed. "No, a thousand! Rudolf Rassendyll might touch Captain Kettle on his poetic side. Stalky & Co. might become detectives and discover who Sherlock Holmes is. As a practical joke, Mr. Jacobs’s Skipper might attempt to scuttle The Naughty Mermaid. Captain Kettle might tell Doctor Nikola what his mother was. Yes, there are a thousand possibilities."

The heroes would all reach the Pacific island?

They arrive, he replied, "late one evening, cast anchor, and sleep. Early the next morning the islanders board The Naughty Mermaid and surprise them. After a brief conflict, during which Mr. Jacobs’s Skipper has his wooden leg pierced by a poisoned arrow, the heroes are captured.

"The queen of the island, before whom they are brought, is a girl of extraordinary beauty. Rudolf Rassendyll and Mr. Jacobs’s Skipper fall in love with her. She herself falls in love with Captain Kettle. Alas! She does not know it is in vain. She does not know that he has a wife and children at North Shields.

"For the sake of Captain Kettle she treats the heroes kindly. She lodges them in huts near her own and sends them more bananas and baked monkeys than they can possibly eat. Occasionally, she organises a ‘tom-tom’ serenade and is wildly happy when Captain Kettle replies with his concertina.

"Although far from the old schoolhouse, Stalky & Co. maintain the old traditions. They do not forget that it is the duty of boys to be boys. At least once every day they cry, ‘I gloat.’ At least once every day a cocoanut drops on the head of a native, or some other amusing incident happens.

"But the chief interests are, of course, the loves of Doctor Nikola and Sherlock Holmes for the philosopher’s stone, of the queen for Captain Kettle, and of Rudolf Rassendyll for the queen.

"Doctor Nikola and Sherlock Holmes search for the burial-place described in the will of Rudolf Rassendyll’s ancestor. The great temptation has drawn Sherlock Holmes from the paths of analytical virtue. Like Doctor Nikola, he is determined to obtain the stone for himself by foul means or fair.

"For a long time they fail to discover the burial-place. The reason is curious. Since the visit of Rudolf Rassendyll’s ancestor, the principal village of the island has been rebuilt on a new site. The part occupied by the royal hut is the burial-place.

"At last a remark of the oldest inhabitant puts them on the scent. Simultaneously they discover that the stone lies ten feet below the floor of the royal hut. They are in despair. One of the island laws is that no one save the queen for the time being and her husband may enter the royal hut.

Presently, however, Doctor Nikola ceases to despair. Why should he not become the husband of the queen for the time being, enter the royal hut, and dig up the stone? He decides that he will. The fact that the queen is in love with Captain Kettle shall help him.

Blanco Watson paused. I waited impatiently. The situation interested me.

Blood, Iago, blood! he exclaimed suddenly. "Let loose the dogs of war! Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest! Up, guards and at ’em!

"Yes, the public shall have its sensations. One evening, Captain Kettle receives a proposal of marriage from the queen. He tells the villager who brings it to wait and walks to the beach. There, facing the sea, he considers what reply he shall send.

"The queen is very beautiful, and the temptation to accept the proposal is great. But memories of his wife and the meeting house at North Shields gather about him, and their voices seem to call to him across the sea. Long he strives against the temptation, and finally, with a great effort, he prevails.

"The next moment he is conscious that someone is approaching him stealthily. He turns, but too late. Doctor Nikola, who is the someone, leaps forward, raises on high a knife, and strikes. Captain Kettle groans, clutches at the knife, and sinks to the beach insensible. The stars pale, and the winds moan in terror.

"The stars and the winds are not the only witnesses of the attack. Sherlock Holmes and Mr. Jacobs’s Skipper also see. Each is hidden behind a rock and does not know of the presence of the other. Each now watches Doctor Nikola, the former with anxiety and the latter with horror.

"First, he takes a wig and a beard from his pocket and puts them on. Then he strips Captain Kettle of his clothes and dresses himself in them. Sherlock Holmes swears softly. He sees that the wig, the beard, and the clothes have given Doctor Nikola the appearance of Captain Kettle.

"He concentrates his thoughts. Doctor Nikola evidently intends to make the queen think he is Captain Kettle and then to marry her, enter the royal hut, and dig up the philosopher’s stone. How is this to be prevented? There is only one certain way.

"He steps from behind the rock, a revolver in his hand. Aiming carefully, he fires. Again the stars pale, and the winds moan. By the side of Captain Kettle falls Doctor Nikola, a bullet in his heart.

"Horror fills Mr. Jacobs’s Skipper. He is used to smuggling, bigamy, and other legitimate Limehouse crimes but not to murder. His eyes roll. His wooden leg trembles with suppressed emotion.

"Once more there is a transformation scene. Sherlock Holmes takes unto himself the wig, beard, and clothes and becomes Captain Kettle. He is a little too tall, and the trousers are consequently a little short. But, apart from this, the likeness is so good that even the holy James might be deceived.

"Immediately he has completed the change he leaves the beach. The villager meets him, addresses him as Captain Kettle, and asks for a reply to the queen’s proposal. With his usual promptitude, Sherlock Holmes grasps the situation. ‘Tell her that I say yes,’ he cries. ‘Tell her that I will marry her this very day—this very hour.’

"The queen smiles coyly when she hears of this eagerness. She resolves, however, to gratify it. First, she gives directions to her cooks to prepare a great feast. Then she sends an escort of soldiers to conduct Captain Kettle to the sacred grove where all marriages are solemnised. Then, accompanied by the island priest, she herself sets out.

"The news spreads fast. When the queen, the priest, and Sherlock Holmes enter the sacred grove they are greeted with shouts and music. Nearly all the villagers have come to see the marriage. On every side are some, carrying torches, tom-toms, rice, or old shoes.

"Rudolf Rassendyll, also, is within the grove. His face is set in melancholy. He leans against a cypress tree and sighs. He loves this queen more passionately than he has ever loved queens before. Alas! He loves in vain. She is not for him.

"Silence is proclaimed, and the shouts and music end. The priest clears his throat and begins the service. First, in accordance with the island laws, he gives notice of the proposed marriage. Then he states that he will consider any objections or suggestions submitted to him within five minutes.

"Slowly the minutes pass. The queen gazes fondly at Sherlock Holmes. In the dull light his disguise is sufficient. She notices that he seems somewhat tall and his trousers somewhat short but attributes it to his nervousness. She doubts not that he is, in truth, Captain Kettle.

"Halfway through the fifth minute, cries of astonishment come from the north part of the grove. The queen and Sherlock Holmes turn to discover the cause, the former angry, the latter anxious. Some of the villagers standing near blow torches into flame and hold them on high.

Suddenly, into the circle of light staggers Mr. Jacobs’s Skipper. The queen shrieks and faints in the arms of Rudolf Rassendyll, who has run to her from the cypress tree. Sherlock Holmes reels like a Scotland Yard detective who has mislaid a clue. They have discovered the cause of the cries of astonishment. Riding pickaback on Mr. Jacobs’s Skipper is Captain Kettle, his face pale and stern, his hand clenched on a revolver.

Again Blanco Watson paused.

Impossible! I exclaimed, he was killed.

"No, only wounded. The fact is that after Sherlock Holmes had gone, Mr. Jacobs’s Skipper crossed the beach. He saw that Doctor Nikola was dead, but that Captain Kettle, although insensible, still breathed. As quickly as possible he bound up his wound and restored him.

"When Captain Kettle heard of the transformation scenes, he guessed the truth. ‘By James,’ he muttered, ‘I will shoot him like an acorn.’ Assisted by Mr. Jacobs’s Skipper, he dressed himself in some of the clothes lying near. Then he tried to walk, but found that he could not because of the weakness consequent on his wound.

Seeing his difficulty, Mr. Jacob’s Skipper very kindly offered him a back. He accepted and rode into the village. There he learned of what was doing. ‘Go on! Go on!’ he cried. Mr. Jacobs’s Skipper obeyed. In a very short time, the two reached the sacred grove and confronted Sherlock Holmes.

What then? I asked.

"Captain Kettle covers Sherlock Holmes with the revolver. ‘Like an acorn; like an acorn,’ he mutters. Yet he hesitates to fire. His weakness and the flickering of the torches make it possible that he might miss. Besides, there is no actual blood feud between them.

"Sherlock Holmes sees the hesitation. He thinks: May he not escape? And may he not obtain the philosopher’s stone after all? The royal hut is empty. The guards who usually stand about it have come to see the marriage. Yes, now, now, is the time to enter and to dig.

"‘Farewell,’ he shouts and leaps among the trees. ‘Stop him!’ shouts Captain Kettle. ‘Stop him!’ repeats the priest. But the villagers do not heed. They are concerned for their queen and crowd around her as she lies in Rudolf Rassendyll’s arms. Unmolested, Sherlock Holmes speeds on towards the royal hut.

"Moments pass. Then, again, cries of astonishment come from the north part of the grove. And, again, torches are blown into flame and held on high. And, again, someone staggers