The case of the disappearing noble
The case of the disappearing noble
A Sherlock Holmes mystery
Greetings!
One of the things I’ve been trying out is reworking a piece of text into a completely different style. A full exposition and explanation are given here:
The aim of these experiments is to explore how different styles and approaches can affect the tone of a story. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
For today’s experiment I wrote the story as a “Sherlock Holmes” mystery.
As a rule, I publish these stories on alternate Sundays, with an explanatory article for paid subscribers on the other Sundays. However, I felt compelled to publish this today because I can never wait to see my work in print. There are also some notes of the kind that are usually to be found in the premium posts. I have included them here so that people can see what they’re missing!
But enough of this persiflage! Here is the original text on which these experiments or transformations are based:
The original (template) text
In the middle of the night, I woke up (if you can call being semi-conscious being awake), walked purposefully towards the door to go to the bathroom — and almost knocked myself out.
The reason was that in the twin states of entire darkness and semi-somnambulance I was facing in a different direction from the one I thought I was facing. As a result, instead of walking through the door, I tried to walk through the wall.
The next few days brought nausea and headaches. After much prevarication I went to Accident and Emergency, where I waited petrified among people for whom “social distancing” means not quite touching you, and who wore their masks as a chin-warmer.
An hour and a half later I emerged into the twilight, secure in the knowledge that I had nothing more serious than mild concussion. I failed to do much writing, but I was pleased to have read a further 17% of my book.
The case of the disappearing noble
A Sherlock Holmes mystery
Please note: this is not an actual Sherlock Holmes story but a parody of the Sherlock Holmes canon, written in accordance with the UK’s rules on parody or pastiche, and Fair Dealing, and the US’s Fair Use.
Holmes and I were in our lodgings in Baker Street. He was drawing out a melancholy tune on his violin, whilst I was reading the latest edition of The Lancet. The silence was unexpectedly broken by the ringing of the bell.
“Who the deuce can that be at this hour?”, I exclaimed.
“I believe we will discover that it is none other than Lady Freedman”, answered Holmes.
“Good heavens, Holmes. You surely do not expect me to believe that telepathy has been added to your abilities, despite your interest in Theosophy and Eastern mysticism?”
“On the contrary, Watson. It is merely a matter of deduction. The London evening papers are full of the news of Lord Freedman’s disappearance. Lestrade and the rest of the constabulary are hidebound by two disadvantages. They adhere to bureaucratic rules, and think in conventional ways. Thus the Metropolitan Police will not investigate a disappearance until at least twenty four hours have elapsed, by which time the trail has become cold. Fortunately, that is why those involved often seek the advice of a consultant detective. Since I am the only such professional in London, I am able thereby to earn my bread and butter. The rumours are rife, Watson. There is even a suggestion abroad that Lord Freedman has eloped to Gretna Green with his favourite cat.”
“Preposterous, Holmes!”
At that moment there was a knock on the door, and Mrs Hudson appeared. “There is a Lady Freedman to see you, Mr Holmes.”
Holmes looked at me with a slight smile and a small bow. “Please show her in, Mrs Hudson.”
A bent old crone shuffled in, her long unkempt hair struggling to escape from beneath a pointed hat. A shabby coat and scuffed shoes completed the picture. Upon her removing her hat, wig and coat she straightened her back and showed herself to be a not unattractive woman.
“Forgive my appearance, Mr Holmes, but –”
“A splendid disguise, my Lady. It is to be regretted that travelling on the bus number 74 necessitates such a precaution.”
“How on earth did you know my means of travel, Sir?”
“Elementary, my dear lady. Freedman Towers is located a stone’s throw from Putney Bridge. The 9:43 pm bus from Putney Bridge arrives at Baker Street Station at precisely 10:28. As it is now nearly a quarter to eleven, it is clear that you have devoted the last ten minutes to perambulating from the station to my lodgings.”
“Your reputation certainly does you justice, Mr Holmes. A real life Dupin!”
“Dupin? Pah! Poe’s so-called detective is a mere amateur, far too concerned with theatricals to be of any use in real life. But, pray, Lady Freedman, do sit down.”
“Thank you, Mr Holmes.”
“Permit me to offer you a cigarette, Lady Freedman. They are handmade with a tobacco mixture of my own specification. I have them imported from Turkey.”
“Thank you kindly, Sir, but I do not indulge.”
“Then you must have some tea! It is Assam, made from only the finest leaves picked at the height of the season.”
Holmes pulled the bell cord. “Mrs Hudson, please do us the honour of furnishing us with tea, and perhaps a selection of your finest homemade comestibles?”
After the tea had been brought in, and Mrs Hudson thanked profusely by the whole company, Homes assumed a serious visage.
“Please tell us in your own words the whole sorry tale, at least as far as it is known to yourself.”
“As you know, Sir, my husband is a writer, and was hard at work in his study when I retired for the night. I was awoken this morning by the servant who took him his morning tea to inform me that there was no sign of him. His writing pad and pen are still on his desk, but there has been no communication from him, not even a note. I fear the worst.”
“It is a capital mistake to theorise before one has all the evidence. May I beg to ask you a rather delicate question, Lady Freedman? Is it possible that your husband has ---”
“What? Eloped with the cat called Minty, whom he affectionately refers to as Pinky on account of her preference for pink collars? I can assure you, Mr Holmes, that such a liaison is inconceivable, as she regards herself as a princess. As such, she would never condescend to consort with a mere lord.”
“Ah. Now, does your husband have any enemies?”
“A great multitude, I fear, as many have expressed dismay at not being able to write as fast as he does. But the only one we take seriously is a devilish fiend called Moriarty who has vowed, in his own words, to put an end to ‘this interminable output’”.
“Then there is no need to concern ourselves with that avenue of enquiry. Moriarty has dedicated himself to bringing about my demise. As I have not the smallest intention of satisfying him in this regard, your husband is safe for the foreseeable future. You are being awfully quiet, Watson. Do you have any lines of enquiry we might feel are prudent to pursue?”
“None at all, Holmes. I am quite at a complete loss.”
“Very well, I shall continue. I take it, Lady Freedman, that your husband is not in debt and, therefore, attempting to give his creditors the slip?”
I was taken aback by my friend’s scurrilous suggestion. “Holmes! He is a lord of the realm and a gentleman, Sir!”
“I ask merely to establish the facts as far as we can, Watson and Lady Freedman. How often have I said to you, Watson, that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?”
Turning to her ladyship, he said, “Forgive me, Madam, but I have my methods. As there is no more to be ascertained at this hour, I bid you goodnight. With your permission, Watson and I will arrive at Freedman Towers at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Watson, be a good fellow and hail a Hansom for her ladyship, won’t you?”
Once Lady Freedman had departed, Holmes said to me, “Intriguing, Watson, eh? The game is afoot. I believe this to be a three pipe problem. Please be kind enough to leave me in solitude why I ruminate on this curious case.”
The next morning we arrived at Freedman Towers at precisely ten o’clock. A servant showed us into the drawing room, where Lady Freedman was waiting.
“Lady Freedman”, said Holmes. “There is no time to lose. Please conduct us immediately to your husband’s study, and then the main bedroom.”
During the course of looking in the study and the bedroom, Holmes walked around muttering such phrases as “Aha!” and “Hmm”. At last he addressed his small but rapt audience.
“It is clear that Lord Freedman has suffered a minor but inconvenient contretemps that has required an impromptu visit to the local infirmary. The physicians there will doubtless declare that he is suffering from a minor concussion, and should therefore not exert himself for a short while.”
“How the devil could you know all this, Holmes? Surely it is mere conjecture.”
“I rely solely on facts and the evidence, Watson, as I believe you know. First of all, he has clearly left his study in a hurry because all he has written in his writing pad is ‘But enough of this persi---'. I took the opportunity yesternight to peruse all of his considerable works. In each of them he includes the declaration, ‘But enough of this persiflage!’ Therefore it is evident that he had to abandon this particular project in a sudden and unanticipated manner. Moreover, you will note that there is a gap in his bookshelf here, which can be explained by the assumption that he took a book with him because he knew he would not have the opportunity to write. Now if we look in the bedroom, you will perceive a slight indentation in the wall directly opposite the bathroom. Therefore it is obvious that he intended to visit the bathroom in the middle of the night.”
I interjected. “Holmes, how can you know what time he attempted to visit the bathroom, or indeed that that was his purpose?”
“One must presume that Lord Freedman is aware of the layout of his own home. That being the case, he must have begun his perambulations in the dark, and momentarily lost his sense of direction on account of his being barely awake. And why else would his lordship have left the comfort of his bed if not to avail himself of the facilities?”
Just then a servant appeared. “His lordship is at home, your ladyship.” Lord Freedman stumbled in.
“Forgive me for worrying you, my dear. I banged my head last night, and thought it prudent to visit the infirmary. They have diagnosed mild concussion, but apart from being beside myself with worry over the fact that nobody there wore a mask or observed social distancing, it is not too bad. It is true that I have written nothing all day, but at least I have read almost a fifth of this book.”
He brandished a book which was the exact size of the gap Holmes had pointed out.
On the journey back to Baker Street, Holmes chuckled. “I fear that not all of our cases will be solved so easily, Watson. Indeed, I may assert with some certitude that our next appointment will be with the Duke of Tuscany, who has been the victim of the theft of a rare and precious jewel.”
With that he lit his pipe and we completed the rest of the journey in silence.
Notes
On a previous occasion I wrote about Sherlock Holmes, and concocted a short story in that style. See Why are Sherlock Holmes stories so enjoyable? I thought it might be fun to write my ‘bang on the head’ story in the same style. I do hope you enjoyed reading it, and that if you are a Sherlock Holmes afficionado I have captured the '“tone” of the stories.
As is often the case, the story came to me almost fully formed, unfortunately while I was trying to sleep! However, to refamiliarise myself with the Holmes stories style, I read a few stories again. You may have noticed some actual “Holmes-isms” in the text, and a mythical one! The latter is: “Elementary, my dear Lady Freedman”. As far as I am aware, Holmes never says the exact words often quoted, “Elementary, my dear Watson”.
Other actual Holmes-isms are:
“It is a capital mistake to theorise before one has all the evidence.”
“…when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?”
When, in my story, Holmes says, “I have my methods”, that is a variation of the expression he uses several times:
“You know my methods, Watson.”
Although there are variations in the Holmes-isms included here, I decided to use the versions included in these two websites:
The ten most famous Sherlock Holmes quotes.
You may be wondering about the bus route 74. The details of the route and timings described in the story are factual, and are derived from this website: London Bus Routes.
As for telepathy and Eastern mysticism, there is one story in which Holmes appears to answer Watson’s thoughts rather than his words. Also, Holmes has spent time in Tibet and shown an interest in Eastern mysticism. Arthur Conan Doyle was interested in spiritualism and the work of Helena Blavatsky, who founded Theosophy. You can read more about that here:
The Philosophy of Sherlock Holmes.
I hope you have enjoyed this version of the story. Comments are welcomed, as always. If you’d like to dig deeper, I often write an ‘Experiments in style extra’ post to explain how a version came about, or how I did it. That’s for paid subscribers. Indeed, next week I’ll be publishing some notes about today’s version.
If you’re new to the series, you can see the index of my experiments here: Index.
Thank you for reading!
Wowzer, Terry! So impressive. So so impressive. I take my hat off to you. This one goes above and beyond. You really captured the essence of Holmes here. Bravo, sir.
Beautifully done. (And a lot of fun comments too.) Thanks so much.