by David Marcum
We made a hasty departure, and within half-an-hour we were back at the station. I was burning with curiosity about this Dr. Wayward, of whom I had never heard before. Indeed, I was filled with outrage that a man of my profession could stoop to such a practice. Holmes, however, sent me into the station waiting room while he purchased the tickets. A few minutes later, he returned with a tray of coffee cups and sandwiches.
“We will hardly have time for this,” I objected.
“Oh, I suspect we can devour this luncheon before the two o’clock train arrives.”
“But you said-” Holmes was looking at me with twinkling eyes. I knew that expression of mischief. “What have you done?”
“Extended an invitation. Go on, Watson, have some coffee. It may take our guests some time to arrive.”
“Guests?”
“Yes, two of the most intriguing individuals I have yet to meet. I may have deduced their actions, but it will be very interesting to hear their life story! Ah - I see they hurried behind us and have just walked in. Sir, Madame, won’t you join us?”
Much to my surprise, it was the leader of the Indians and Laura Liberty, the Sharpshooter of San Francisco, who were timidly poking their heads into the room. Holmes waved them to the long benches where we sat.
“You truly won’t tell what we’ve done?” the man, who quickly introduced himself as John Fitzroy, asked. The young lady settled onto the seat next to him. He had managed to wipe away most of his makeup, revealing himself to be a very handsome fellow, though a few red streaks on his brow and jaw gave him a fierce appearance. The lady, however, remained heavily painted and still clad in her distinctive frontier costume.
“Your secret is safe with me and with my companion. Tell me, Miss Liberty - how does it feel to be free of the persona of Vittoria, the Circus Belle?”
“It feels wonderful,” she said. Her words were oddly accented. As she spoke, I caught the flash of sharp, almost wolf-like teeth. “Do you think I am wicked?”
“I think you are magnificent,” Holmes said.
I wondered if the lady blushed beneath all her makeup. “Thank you, sir. I will tell you everything. Mr. Marvela bought me from my cruel parents when I was just a child. It is true that he provided me with books and tutors, so that I was as well-educated as a girl might be. And with him I have seen much of the world, and performed for many important people. But, Mr. Holmes, it came at a terrible cost! For every person who applauded, another snickered. Once, when I tried to take a walk in a park, my veil came loose and a group of young boys stoned me nearly to death. As I grew older, I began to long for love, as any woman would - but what hope could a freak like me have of ever finding a mate?”
“Marvela claims that men have proposed,” Holmes said.
“Sick men,” Fitzroy growled. “Men with strange desires. Some of them even offered to buy Vittoria - I mean, Laura - for an evening. To his credit, Marvela never forced them on her, but he promoted their disgusting proposals, had articles written about them, put it all on handbills. He used her pain and embarrassment to make money.”
“You do not know how many times I thought of running away,” the lady said. “But always my conscience stopped me. I felt I owed Mr. Marvela my life. I know I would have died in that barn in Georgia if he hadn’t found me. And the world would not accept me as I was. So what could I do? I resigned myself to always being a lonely spinster... until John came along.”
He reached out and gripped her gloved hand. “Laura may have had the face of a monster, but she has the heart and soul of an angel. I saw that from the moment I met her!”
Holmes nodded. “In my research, I read about her many good deeds, the charities for which she has given benefits. It must have been difficult to help others when you could not help yourself.”
“Oh no,” the lady answered. Her wondrous eyes glowed as she spoke. “Those were the only happy times, when Mr. Marvela allowed me to give concerts and donate the proceeds. I knew the little orphans and their schools would be aided. But always, for any good thing I did, he seemed to take the credit. It was all promotion for his freak, his... belle.”
She fairly spat out the last word. Holmes leaned closer, his chin on his entwined fingers.
“Allow me to see if my deductions are correct. Mr. Fitzroy, you fell in love this lady and wanted to help her to live a normal life. But she insisted that her duty was still to the circus. Therefore, together, you came up with a plan that would allow her to achieve her freedom while remaining an important and profitable performer. Knowing that Marvela was about to incorporate a western themed attraction, you convinced him to hire a new featured player.”
Fitzroy nodded. “I told him that the Sharpshooter of San Francisco was a star in America. Not to be unkind, but with the way Marvela drinks these days, I knew he would never check to see if I were lying.”
“Meanwhile, you practiced your new act at night.”
The lady who now claimed the name of Laura Liberty smiled brightly. “I have always loved horses. I used to ride as a child.”
“She is fearless,” Fitzroy added, with obvious pride.
“I have no doubt,” Holmes said. “Then you took the boldest step imaginable. You enlisted a cadre of confederates.” He turned with a wink. “Watson, surely you were not taken in by the vagueness of their stories. They were pat and flat, and hardly the intense - if perhaps exaggerated - memories that the sudden abduction of a beloved fellow performer would generate. All except for Mrs. Overton.”
Fitzroy groaned. “I knew she would give us away!”
“Do not fault the lady. If anything, she behaved courageously by making herself seem villainous, jealous, and hateful, with a motive to have the Circus Belle removed from the scene. If Inspector Lestrade had been on the case, she no doubt would have been clapped in handcuffs - providing a pair to could be found to fit her! No, Mrs. Overton is as generous and brave as she is... stately.”
Miss Liberty giggled. “She has been like a sister to me. She allowed me to hide in her van over the past two days. I do love her and would hate to leave her.”
A train whistle blew in the distance. “And so, on the appointed evening,” Holmes continued, “you caused the damage to the van and altered your appearance, being extremely careful to remove all the evidence of the shaved and shorn hair. Indeed, you were so precise that only a single clipped lock was visible to my glass. Of course, such an act of grooming presented you with a problem so - the lion?”
Fitzroy nodded. “It broke my heart a bit to give Leo his fatal draught, but in fairness he was old, blind, and clearly in pain. I think he is in a better place, if animals go to one, and his hair was exactly the color of Laura’s. Nobody thought twice about it, when they found him in his cage.”
“I see. And what are your plans now?”
“To seek a dentist,” the lady said. “I think my new wig and my heavy make-up can continue to fool Mr. Marvela during the show. But until my teeth can be fixed, I will stay in my assigned van most of the time, pretending to be homesick!”
“And as soon as possible, we shall be married,” Fitzroy said, lifting his lady’s gloved hand to his lips and bestowing a passionate kiss on it.
“Then we wish you both the greatest happiness,” Holmes said. “Dr. Wayward is, of course, an absurd invention - worthy of Watson’s purple pen, no doubt! - but should your employer make any future inquiries, I will be certain to remain in desperate pursuit of him, in order to avenge the Circus Belle’s abduction and possible murder. Come, Watson, I believe we can make the eleven o’clock train after all.”
I can give a brief epilogue to this affair. For a few weeks, Marvela’s ticket sales were enhanced by a new tableau called “The Cabinet of the Curious”, in which all of his outré specimens were asked to hold static poses, as if they were exhibits in a museum. His western act, however, soon o
vershadowed this rather bizarre routine. Miss Liberty, The Sharpshooter of San Francisco, was a sensation, and even performed a special engagement of her trick riding routine before our beloved Queen, who rewarded her with a specially struck medal and a beryl broach. A short time after this command performance, Marvela succumbed to cirrhosis of the liver, and the members of his circus scattered to the winds.
Holmes, of course, insisted that I could never reveal the true identity or fate of Vittoria, the Circus Belle. Therefore, I have written this account purely for our mutual amusement, and not for publication.
To it I will attach one final note: Some years after the case, I came upon Holmes adding a new photograph to his index. It showed a striking family: The man was tall, broad-shouldered and resolute, the woman was slender and elegant, and their boy was as cherubic as could be imagined, except for the wild mane of hair that gave him the appearance of a baby werewolf.
I leaned back and took down the great index volume to which he referred. Holmes balanced it on his knee, and his eyes moved slowly and lovingly over the record of old cases, mixed with the accumulated information of a lifetime... “Vittoria, the circus belle”...
“The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire”
The Adventure of the Silver Skull
by Hugh Ashton
I had spent a holiday of a few days in France, and had consequently not seen my friend Sherlock Holmes in that time. However, as I sat down to breakfast on the day before I was due to return to England, the manager of the Biarritz hotel at which I was staying handed me a telegram.
“Thank goodness I have found you at last STOP Return to England and proceed direction to Baker Street, where I await you STOP Holmes STOP.”
“Will there be a reply, monsieur?” the manager asked me solicitously. “It is pre-paid.”
I scribbled the words, “Coming at once,” on a leaf torn from my memorandum book and handed it to the manager, together with the few francs which he and the rest of the hotel staff seemed to expect for every service. “I will be leaving this morning,” I told him and ordered a cab to the station.
After enduring a seemingly interminable journey on the French railways and a squall which disrupted the Channel crossing, it was a positive relief to set foot on English soil once more.
On my arrival at Baker Street, I was not a little discommoded when Mrs. Hudson, answering the door, informed me that Sherlock Holmes was not in the house.
“He went out this morning,” she told me, “and said he’d be back for dinner. I’ll just let you into the rooms, Doctor, where there’s a nice warm fire, and you can wait for him to return.”
I passed the time waiting for Holmes attempting to deduce for myself what sort of case had prompted this imperious demand for my return, and at the same time had called Holmes away. A pile of newspaper clippings stood on a small table beside the chair where Holmes typically sat. I was surprised by their source, which was evidently the popular press, and their subject, which was the circumstances surrounding the scandal involving the card-room at the Tankerville Club, rumours of which had reached me even in France.
As I had heard the story already whispered in the smoking-room of the Hôtel de la Plage, the Earl of Hereford, Lord Gravesby, had won heavily at cards a few evenings previously. His opponent at that time was one of the Royal Dukes, Prince _____, and in the usual way of things, this would not have been of any great import.
However, the rumour was that His Royal Highness had, not to put too fine a point on the matter, accused Gravesby of having been less than honest in his play, and that he had been backed up in this accusation by his equerry, a certain Major Lionel Prendergast. Lord Gravesby, faced with this accusation, had hotly denied any such wrongdoing, and had consequently challenged Prendergast to a duel, etiquette prohibiting the participation in an affaire d’honneur by a member of the Royal family. Prendergast had declined to fight, instead demanding that the matter be brought before the Membership Committee of the Tankerville Club.
Opinion within the Club, it appeared from my perusal of the newspaper clippings lying beside Holmes’s chair, was divided on the matter. On the one hand, there was talk that Gravesby had won more at cards than might be reasonably be expected from a player of his ability, and that the act of challenging the man who had made the accusation, regardless of any Royal privileges, was unworthy of a true gentleman. On the other hand, there were those who believed that Lord Gravesby had done no wrong, that His Royal Highness was stepping outside the bounds of decency by making his accusations, and that Prendergast was a coward and a poltroon for refusing the challenge.
My reading was interrupted by the arrival of Sherlock Holmes, who glanced at the clippings that I had been perusing.
“Well, Watson, what do you make of it all?” he remarked, in a conversational tone.
“I knew Prendergast well in my time with the Army,” I replied. “I cannot believe some of the things that are written about him here.”
“I am well aware of your acquaintance with him,” replied Holmes. “That, after all, is the reason for my summoning you from your sojourn in foreign climes. I take it Biarritz was not too much to your liking, by the way. I would feel a little guilt should it become apparent that I had dragged you away from some budding romance or a similar situation.”
I felt myself blushing. “Nothing of that sort, I assure you,” I told him. “But I fail to see how my acquaintance with Prendergast may be of use to you.”
“Major Prendergast has retained my services to determine the truth of the matter and to make it public. He will be visiting me here in a few minutes. In the meantime, I would value your comments as to his character.”
“I knew him to be a solid character and a good soldier, albeit at times what one might term a rough diamond,” I told Holmes. “I firmly believe that, if he gives you his word, it is to be trusted. When may we expect his visit?”
“In approximately half-an-hour,” Holmes told me. “While we are waiting, perhaps you might care to tell me of whatever you know of Baron Maupertuis, who was staying in Biarritz while you were there.”
“I hardly know the man,” I protested. “I was introduced to him by a mutual acquaintance, and I fear that my impressions of him were hardly favourable. To be frank, he struck me as a common swindler.”
Holmes chuckled. “As always, my dear Watson, your instincts, at least as regards personalities, are infallible. The Baron is indeed a swindler, though hardly a common one. He is, in my estimation, and that of half the police forces of Europe, one of the most accomplished members of his accursed breed. It would provide me with great satisfaction were I to be the one responsible for bringing him before a court of justice. His schemes are on a large - one might even say colossal - scale, and have been the ruin of many men and women whom I would otherwise have regarded as being intelligent.”
“He has not been arrested, then?”
Holmes shook his head. “Sadly, no. He is a sly one, and usually works his nefarious deeds through confederates or cat’s paws. Nothing can be traced to him - nothing, that is, that would serve as evidence in a court of law. In addition, he always contrives to be resident in a country other than the one in which his current scheme is operating. This presents several interesting conundrums from the legal standpoint.” He broke off. “From the sounds downstairs, I believe our visitor is arriving a little early.”
Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door, announcing that Holmes had a visitor.
“Show him in, Mrs. Hudson,” Holmes replied, throwing himself into his armchair.
The man who was admitted to the room bore little resemblance to the strapping young officer I had known in India. While, as I had explained to Holmes, Prendergast had something of the bluff soldier about him, our visitor was epicene, almost effeminate in the delicacy of his features and the exquisite nature of his dress. A frogged frock-coat and a somewhat
gaudy waistcoat and neckcloth formed the foundation of his appearance, which was completed by a top hat with an exaggerated curl to the brim, and a lacquered walking stick with a curiously worked silver handle in the shape of a human skull.
“Major Prendergast, I presume?” Holmes greeted him.
“Indeed not,” was the reply, uttered in a fluting tone of voice. “I take it you are expecting him to pay you a visit?”
Holmes inclined his head by way of answer.
“I must request you not to entertain any belief in anything he may say to you.”
“Indeed? And may I ask your interest in making this request?”
“I make this request as the result of the earnest wish - one might even term it a command - of the gentleman whom I have the honour of serving.”
“This gentleman would be one who has an interest in this case, I take it?”
“Indeed so. You would be wise to take due heed of his wishes in this matter, given the rank that he holds and the influence that he exerts.”
“I will treat your words and the wishes of your master with the consideration they deserve,” Holmes told him. “May I have the pleasure of knowing with whom I am speaking, by the way?”
“I am merely a messenger. My name is of no relevance here. I bid you good day, sir.” He sketched a faint half-bow as he left the room.
“Well, Watson,” said Holmes, after he had watched our visitor’s carriage pull away from outside our house. “What do you make of that?”
“It would seem that Prendergast knows something to the discredit of the Prince, does it not? But what will you do?”
“It is evident that our recent visitor and his master, whom we may well assume to be His Royal Highness, are unaware of the influence wielded by certain persons known to me within the government. Their power, though used discreetly, is nonetheless of sufficient potency to put a mere prince of the blood in his place. It will be interesting, at all events, to discover what Prendergast has to say for himself when he arrives here.”
