Sherlock Holmes: The Niggling Case
By Max Elsworth / Spinebreakers Crew
As he placed a slender, spindly hand upon the cluttered desk, I watched that famous brow rise and drop as the brain behind it deduced the unfathomable. His hand free from the burden of notes was scratching tentatively at the forehead arched over months’ worth of evidence. Watching this enigma calculate was always a superb yet unnerving sight; what monstrosity would he unveil; what sinister ruse would he uncover from its smoky shroud.
‘Watson’, said the cold, weary voice. ‘Can I help?’ I feebly replied.
‘Slipper’, said he.
I rose from my seat, trod lightly across the room and fetched a handful of rather exotic-looking tobacco from his Persian slipper. Crossing the room once more ever so lightly so as not to disturb the endeavouring man, I sat back in my armchair and awaited the faintest sign of discovery.
‘Cunning’, he said, in a low mischievous tone.
‘What’s cunning?’ I asked suspiciously, as if I understood in the slightest what images his mind had conjured.
He lit his trusty pipe and began to puff, sending clouds of smoke across the room that would eventually lead to a soporific state in us both.
‘The footprints we detected bear an uncanny resemblance to another assailant we had imprisoned a year ago. That resemblance being the distance in which these feet not only pressed into the earth, but the rather odd stride that they made. The stride is not only graceful and confident, but the prowess of this criminal’s movement is unlike any other. Baffling…’ ‘Do you think this man may have scaled the walls?’ I sat back hoping that this contribution would not be scoffed by the genius that is Holmes.
‘Scaled? Watson, there were two sets of footprints that both moved in an identical fashion – all that separates them is the size. We must solve this problem first…’
We sat in momentary silence until a tumultuous knocking at the door brought us back to life. I scurried across the room, upsetting a glass of wine on the way, and opened the door.
‘Lestrade’, I said in surprise.
‘I’m sorry for the disturbance’, said the inspector. ‘I thought I would stop by and inform Holmes of our recent arrests. The case is closed. If you would allow me to explain, I will, in detail, paint the picture for you.’ ‘Pray continue’, said Holmes, who was standing quite unsteadily by the dining room table; I suspect the hours of sitting had rendered his knees weak. ‘Please, inspector, come in.’ we all followed Holmes through and sat back at the oaken desk which was blanketed in papers.
‘Holmes’, said Inspector Lestrade, ‘we apprehended the culprit behind the theft of various paintings and the attacks on several guards –
‘So you said’, interrupted Holmes, in an unusually curt manner. I leaned back in the chair feeling a tad drowsy and listened to the conversation.
‘I fear you may have arrested an innocent’, said Holmes in a deep, serious tone. ‘After studying various strands of white and black hair found at the scene, the two sets of footprints, the stride, the adroit wall-scaling abilities and the gashes found on the faces of the guards, I think it is safe to assume that the culprit is not a man at all. The villain is none other than the swift cat-burglar. I beg you listen further: this cat-burglar is quite literally, as the name suggests, – a cat burglar!’ Lestrade and I looked at each other then cast our eyes at a frantic Holmes.
‘I know that this cannot be conclusive’, Holmes continued, ‘when given the sizes of the footprints left by the villain; however, I think that it is quite clear that the cat was wearing shoes of different sizes. Yes. The cat was wearing two pairs of shoes, a size eight and ten, to be exact.’
‘But Holmes-’, Lestrade tried to jump in.
‘Either that, or we are dealing with a rather burly figure who had carried a midget on his back. That, I think, is a tenable theory. Yes. A man of great stature, with size ten feet, who carried a midget on his back to not only deceive the wittiest of officers, but to allow for a scout who could, perhaps, crawl through the narrowest of spaces…
I stand by the cat-with-shoes theory, but should that fail, the man and the midget is the second-most eminently plausible theory.’
At this point Holmes had a crazed look in his eye. I turned my attention to Holmes’ Persian slipper, then back to Lestrade. Lestrade also gave the slipper a rather keen stare before looking back at me, then to Holmes. Holmes stood up and looked intently at Lestrade.
‘Your theory is not only destitute of any validity, but it bears the trademark of a dull-witted inspector. I suspect your work-shy comrades did little to assist you.’
Lestrade’s face looked cadaverous and shocked. ‘Now, Holmes, if you will allow me to explain our deductions –
‘Pray continue…’ Holmes sat back in a resigned manner and smiled.
‘Holmes, our evidence, although unequivocal, is absolutely irrefutable…it goes without saying that your deductions are slightly askew.’
We all sat in momentary silence, pondering the deliberations. The smoke emitting from Holmes’ pipe had become quite cumbersome; soon, I feared, we would barely be able to distinguish each others’ outlines.
‘Inspector, I urge you to sample some of my fine tobacco.’
‘Well, I shouldn’t, Holmes’, said Lestrade. ‘– there is much to be done and smoking will only hinder my performance.’
‘Quite right,’ I added.
‘I’m sure such a modest indulgence would bear no consequences…’ Holmes replied.
The next few hours were, perhaps…the most hazed of my entire life. What absurdities occurred, what vulgar allusions were made, I do not know. I vaguely remember the silhouettes of both Holmes and Lestrade cavorting about the room – wrecking the months’ of work, the coffee table, the violin, all whilst I sat, stagnant and vacuous…A slightly more notable tale for my writing.