THE BAKER STREET (HIGHLY) IRREGULARS

Hello again..

...and welcome to the latest edition of The Autolycan.  Sorry it's a bit later than usual - what with so much going on in Hull as the UK City of Culture it's getting harder to find the time to write!

This latest one stems from an old headline, but one which can still be trotted out in order to embarrass whoever wrote it.  Athens, by the way, in this context, is not the Greek one but a town in Limestone County, Alabama.

Hope you like the story, and if so, as ever, do please pass on the link, Like it on Facebook or whatever.  Many thanks.

 THE BAKER STREET (HIGHLY) IRREGULARS

Dead Body Found in Cemetery

                                                                                                         Athens News Courier

'Mrs Hudson,' began he 'pray be so good as to bring tea for Dr Watson, it is clear that he has had none for fully six hours.'

Mrs Hudson left the room and I shook my head in my usual bemused and bewildered fashion.

''Pon my word, dear friend!' I expostulated. 'How can you possibly know that I have had no tea for six hours?'

He fixed me with that unsettling gimlet stare of his.

'It is the difference' quoth he ' between merely seeing what is placed in front of you and actively observing the scene. I have observed you long enough to know that you are a man of regular habits. You rise habitually at seven, you perform your ablutions, you have breakfast. Today, the condition of your beard betrays you. You plainly shaved a good two hours earlier than usual.'

'Remarkable, Holmes!' I chuckled 'and I suppose you can tell me what brand of tea I drank?'

'Twinings' replied he, without missing a beat.

'Extraordinary! Your powers of perception never cease to amaze! But how......'

'Simplicity itself! It is on special offer at Sainsbury's.'

'Capital, Holmes! Capital!'

Mrs Hudson bustled back in with the tea and served us both.

'I'm afraid your abilities are way beyond an old dunderhead like me' I remarked, once Mrs Hudson had poured the tea.

'Dunderhead I would contest' returned he. 'It is quite true that you want something of my fluent logical and deductive capabilities, but I find your more ponderous - even dull witted - thought processes have other benefits.'

I stiffened. Ponderous! Dull witted! Indeed! I suppose my demeanour must have conveyed my hurt and displeasure. Holmes continued undisturbed.

'You must see that you serve as my somewhat lacklustre foil. Rather like a slightly clunky plot device in detective stories whose workaday function it is to enable his principal to demonstrate his genius.'

Lacklustre! A mere plot device! Whilst my admiration for Holmes knew no bounds, I could not accept such calumnies. I determined there and then that I would get even with him. From behind Holmes' chair, Mrs Hudson shot me a very welcome sympathetic glance.

A few days later I was once again with Holmes in his study. It is true that I may have been somewhat on edge, but Holmes was his normal self. He clearly considered his earlier slander of me to be of no account.

Mrs Hudson again entered and served tea.

'Will that be all, sir?'

Holmes studied her closely.

'No. Sit down, Mrs Hudson. Now, you need not be nervous, but we have a couple of questions. Watson?'

He was testing me and I knew it. For several moments I made no answer, while he held me with his eyes, making clear that he believed that I could not for the life of me see what he was driving at or what I was expected to ask. Then my solicitous enquiry after her painful neuralgia evinced only a display of disdain from the great detective.

'That will not do at all' he remarked. Then, addressing Mrs Hudson directly - 'was it dead body or ghost? I incline towards dead body but am prepared to be corrected.'

I'm not sure if she gaped and I gawped or if it was the other way round. There was a stunned silence.

'Come, come,' encouraged he, 'it is perfectly straightforward. The hem of your skirt tells me that you have recently walked through wet grass approximately three quarters of an inch long. The only grass of that description in this vicinity is at the cemetery. There are faint scratch marks on both your cheeks and your voice is slightly more strained than usual. You have plainly screamed loudly and clasped both hands tightly to your face where you have inadvertently inflicted these minor injuries with your fingernails. I daresay further investigation would reveal traces of face powder under the nails. Now, I say again, was it dead body or ghost?'

There was an awkward silence, which I perhaps unwisely filled by remarking that the sighting of a ghost would certainly excite such a reaction, while dead bodies are what one would expect to find in a cemetery. I gave it as my view that it must therefore have been a ghost - a view which met with open contempt.

'Perhaps' I ventured, 'I might escort Mrs Hudson back to the cemetery and investigate the situation. It seems to me that it could be important to have a physician on the scene as soon as possible to preserve a good chance of ascertaining cause of death.'

I was pleased that Holmes readily concurred, adding only that I should report back as soon as possible. Some time later, I sent Mrs Hudson back to him with a written communication detailing the sensational news I had discovered and what action I had taken. I vouchsafed to Holmes the amazing intelligence that the body in question belonged to none other than Sebastian Moran - assistant to our old adversary, Professor Moriarty - that he was not in fact dead, but had merely collapsed and was not injured. I explained that I had brought him round and made sure that he was well before summoning a taxicab and taking him to hospital for further investigations. I trusted that he would approve my actions and would return to Baker Street as soon as I could.

Holmes was in a furious temper when I returned later that afternoon.

'Fool!' he cried. 'It is imperative that I question him before the police do so. Go back to him! Insist that he requires further specialist medical treatment! Get him out and send him back here! Go!'

I trust it is not too conceited on my part to record that I had expected this, and had already planned how to deal with his urgent command. But then another – most exigent – thought struck him.

'No! You clearly have some influence with him! Bring him back here yourself! In person!'

This threw my plan into some disarray and as I made my way downstairs I tried to think over in my slow witted way how I should best proceed. I had formulated a plan to get my revenge and this involved disguising myself as Moran. I had of course profited from Holmes' mastery of this most potent of crafts over many years. But even I realised that I could not simultaneously represent both Watson and Moran. Then it hit me. It was dishonest, very dishonest, but the cause demanded it and I believed it might work.

I did not make my way to any hospital. It would have been pointless to do so, since there never had been a body, either dead or alive. I went instead to a flat in Bayswater where I had arranged to meet Moran and requested an interview. I informed him that I could arrange access to Holmes' apartment in Baker St for him and that I would be present at the meeting. The most difficult part of the audience came when I explained to him that I would be disguised as him, and that he would therefore have to be disguised as me. He, posing as Watson, would bring Watson, posing as Moran to Holmes' innermost sanctum. Fortunately his criminal mind grasped all this rather more quickly than mine did, and shortly we were able to exchange clothes – it was fortuitous that we were of similar build – complete our disguises and set out for our destination.

At first all went well, but it didn't take long before the flaw in my plan became apparent. Holmes had questioned Moran (me) intensively, and I believe I gave a pretty good account of myself. Himself. Certainly Holmes seemed to be taken in. But then he saw an opportunity which I confess had evaded me. When he put forward his idea I was dumbfounded. Thunderstruck would not be too strong a word.

'I have long sought access to Professor Moriarty himself' he averred. 'The monkey is one thing; the organ grinder quite another. Moran,' he said, addressing me 'you and I must exchange clothes so that I can pass as you and you can pass as me. In that way I will readily be able to infiltrate Moriarty's presence.'

The switch of clothing itself was the work of a few moments only, but I for one was having difficulty keeping up with who was who, and just as importantly, why all this was going on. Then I remembered my masterplan, execution of which was still possible, though complicated by the fact that Holmes was now passing himself off as Moran, Moran as me, and me – as I frequently had to remind myself – as Holmes.

I waited. I had of course tipped the constabulary off that they could find Moran in Holmes' rooms in Baker St, and although it seemed like an eternity it couldn't have been above half an hour before Mrs Hudson knocked at the door and ushered them into the room. They instantly spied a man they not unreasonably thought was Moran, and unwittingly shackled Holmes himself in handcuffs and frogmarched him off, looking very pleased with themselves. It occurred to me that Holmes would make them pay for this indignity at a later date, but just at that moment I had bigger fish to fry.

My next move was to manifest myself as the real Dr John Watson, a revelation that involved shedding Holmes' attire. Having convinced the constables of my identity, I instructed them to arrest Moran, who was of course still disguised as me. They carted him off with even less ceremony than had been afforded Holmes.

This left only Mrs Hudson and me in the room, with me now dressed only in my underwear and seriously concerned that the next entrant to the room might be Holmes' housemaid desirous of making this the next exchange of clothing.

.

We fell into each others' arms and kissed lovingly.

'Martha! At last! We are free!!'

'John! My own one!'

'Oh Martha! You played your part to perfection – the business with the wet grass and the fingernail marks was masterly! And to see the way Holmes swallowed the bait! But now, my love, there is no time to lose – we must flee! Is everything ready?'

'Of course. But how did you manage to plan and carry out such an audacious plan? It speaks of being neither ponderous nor dull witted'

'I allowed myself a satisfied smile.

'Elementary, my dear (future) Mrs Watson,' I replied.

ANAGRAM CORNER

FRAU ANGELA MERKEL

I couldn't make a decent anagram from just 'Angela Merkel', but with the addition of 'Frau'

you can....

EKE FULLER ANAGRAM

(a real German fluke!)