by David Marcum
As usual, he required a period of rest after such exertion. He carefully and methodically lighted his cigar and took a healthy drink from the glass. His broad, clean-shaven face was, as usual, very serious in mien. Then, in his studied officious manner he said, “There is an emergency. There is an epidemic of tetanus that has come to the attention of the highest medical authorities in the Kingdom. So far, three healthy men have succumbed to this illness, and another is just experiencing the beginning of lockjaw.”
In my surprise I queried, “How could there be an epidemic of tetanus? It is not a contagious disease. Cases are usually traced back to an animal bite or a wound with a dirty object. How do you know that it is not some other contagion?”
Mr. Holmes countered, “No evidence exists for the disease to be associated with any normal source of infection. The three dead bodies and the ill person are in the care of your friend, Dr. Maurice Verner. He is now awaiting us in his bacteriology laboratory, and has performed bacteriological analysis. He is certain of the etiology of the infection. Although he is quite capable of diagnosing this disorder, he feels that someone with your experience, having worked so closely with my brother, might help him define the source of this infection. The circumstances might point to a case of multiple murders, but they are far from random.
“All of the victims are clearly Chinese. The bodies were nude and devoid of identification. If the public learned of these events, they would be frightened and respond as they did during the ‘Jack the Ripper’ activities. In addition, the Chinese residents of London would be very upset. They would, no doubt, worry about a nationalistic motive. I would ask Sherlock to assist us, but he is currently employed in that secret case in Serbia involving poisoned herring. You and my cousin have been very instrumental in solving some medical issues. I trust that you will succeed again.”
Finishing our beverages more quickly than we would have liked, I stood up and put on a light overcoat. We trod down the stairs and emerged to a beautiful sunny day in Baker Street. It was pleasant late spring, past the rainy season, and before the summer heat overtakes London.
We rode in Mycroft’s very comfortable and ornate four-wheeler. Arriving at Maurice’s practice, purchased from me the previous year, Mycroft said, “I will leave you to your medical affairs as I return to affairs of state.” He drove away, leaving me in front of Maurice’s quarters.
I climbed the steps to the second-story bacteriology laboratory and clinic. Unlike the decorated ground floor, there was no ornamentation on the walls. The facility had been stripped of wall paper and any other decoration, making it a clearly scientific venue. As I entered, I saw that Maurice was perusing the partially-clothed body of a very well-built young man, athletic, but somewhat shorter than us.
Maurice’s hawk-like visage was set in the particularly deep concentration that he assumed while in the middle of his experimentation. As he loomed his great height over the steel table bearing the subject of his investigation, his penetrating gray eyes were focused on the dying man upon whom he was working. His sharply defined face, bearing a strong resemblance to his cousin, Sherlock Holmes, was set and virtually unmoving. He briefly acknowledged my presence with a small nod and returned his attention to his task.
I noted that the face of the victim had the features and pigmentation of an East Asian man. His visage was frozen into a rhisus sardonicus, as if he had been poisoned with strychnine. His light yellowish tan-skinned body had the hall marks of a well-conditioned athlete. I pitied the poor man as I watched him undergo violent convulsions. He clenched his jaw in a most unnatural fashion and then became immobilized in death. Peering over the victim, I noted that it was mottled with oozing sores along his sternum. This indicated multiple possible points of infectious introduction. My experience on the battlefield indicated that tetanus was in fact the likely cause of his demise. However, there is usually only one wound, such as from a bullet or contamination of an open wound with soil. Bacteriological evidence was required to confirm my tentative diagnosis.
Maurice sampled each of the lesions with heat-sterilized wire needles, and prepared a microscopic slide from each. Turning to me, he said, “After these slides dry, you can help me gram-stain them. I’m certain that I know what we’ll find. Please hand me the mice from the cage next to your elbow. I suspect that these are bacteria that don’t tolerate oxygen, and don’t grow in typical culture medium. If they appear otherwise, I can always propagate them in culture for further definition.”
Setting the slides aside, he used hypodermic needles to extract pus from each of the sores and injected a white mouse intravenously with a specimen from each. Each of the animals quickly experienced tetanic convulsions and died. Setting aside these samples and the experimental animals, Maurice bathed his hands with isopropanol and washed them thoroughly with lye soap and water, ordering me to do the same. After drying his hands, my medical colleague smiled and shook hands with me, and beckoned me to descend the stairs to more comfortable chambers. Later, refreshed with whisky, we were prepared to discuss his findings, although there had been nothing conclusive.
After our brief rest, we again ascended to the laboratory. Donning gloves, we gently dried the slides over a Bunsen flame and subjected them to traditional gram-stain procedure. Observing the images in the high power microscopic lens, assisted with oil of immersion, we confirmed the presence of bluish Gram-positive rod-shaped bacteria. None had taken up the red counter stain of safranine. Some cells displayed circular club-shaped attachments on their ends. The microbes were clearly tetanus bacilli. The only bacteriological mystery was the source of the infection.
We again retreated down to Maurice’s comfortable sitting room to again enjoy the mandatory whisky and cigars, and to discuss our further findings. As we sat in conversation, we were joined by Maurice’s lovely blonde-haired wife, Jeanine. The tall French woman was carrying several large sheets of paper. Before sitting between us on one of the four side chairs, she assembled the drawings side-by-side on the table in the center of our furniture arrangement. They were sketches of the abdomens of the four victims. Most noteworthy was the fact that the images were virtually identical. The lesions were all arrayed in a symmetrical order down the center of the men’s abdomens in double rows.
These were clearly the result of planned, ritual murder. But who was devious enough to organize this event, and why was it done? If ever we needed the presence of Sherlock Holmes, this was it. And, as fate would have it, Sherlock Holmes strode into our view with our boy in buttons, Billy, trailing in his wake. Seeing the images laid out on the table, Holmes stated, “There are some very interesting clues. I would be very happy to assist you, if you so desire. I have several hours available before I venture to the Serbian legation.”
Maurice exclaimed, “Of course. We need your help.”
Holmes said, “Let us then examine the most recent deceased firsthand. The sketches, done by the hands of your very talented artist wife, are of great use. However, I must examine the bodies for myself. Then I’ll need to look at the site from where these men were discovered.”
Following Holmes’s rapid pace, we climbed up the two levels to the bacteriological research station. Maurice escorted us into his large four-hundred-square-foot, very modern refrigerated room. The atmosphere was nauseating. It contained a mixture of crepitating bodies and a slight odor of the ammonia refrigerant. There, in addition to the body that we had recently sampled, were three other Oriental men of similar appearance. We watched as Holmes bent his wiry gaunt frame over each of the victims in turn. With his huge hand lens, he examined every inch of their bodies on both superior and posterior surfaces, looking deeply into their eyes and mouths, and sniffing at their oral cavity for tell-tale signs of intoxication.
Then he led us out of the refrigerated unit into the warmth of the outer laboratory. Putting on gloves, he carefully examined the dead mice and viewed the microscopic slides. His fi
rst pronouncement to Maurice was, “Telephone Mycroft, and have him arrange for Her Majesty’s government to take control of the bodies under government jurisdiction. Don’t inform the local authorities or tell anyone else of this situation.” Turning to directly face his cousin, he added, “After that, I have a job for you, Maurice. Please go to the Chinese quarter and bring back Dr. Huang Lee. We will need his expertise in the ancient Chinese art of acupuncture. He will be able to tell you which of the various practitioners of this medical procedure use this style. Then, ask Dr. Huang if there are any special athletic events involving gentlemen of his heritage. Please retain him so that I may question him upon my return later tonight. He enjoys Cuban cigars and gin.”
Maurice queried, “How do you infer that the infection was induced by acupuncture and that these men are athletes?”
Holmes smiled slightly, happy that his cousin was interested in the deductive process. He responded, “On my journey to Asia, during my absence from Europe, I was able to study many Chinese medical practices, and I’m certain that the microbe was introduced by that procedure. As to the men’s identity as athletes, a quick look at their knees and palms would indicate rough use. I would guess that these men are rugby players. They are built similarly and are well muscled. Unlike football players, there is no evidence that they use their heads to impact the ball. Perhaps if we go to the area that the victims were discovered, we’ll get some idea of their identity. They were found with no source of identification. I understand that the Chinese quarter of London would be good starting point. Fortunately, I’ve acquired some ability to speak both Mandarin and Cantonese. Watson, will you accompany me?”
I quickly responded in the affirmative, and we set out down the stairs to a waiting hansom cab. Wishing to be involved in the action, Billy had preceded us into the vehicle.
Holmes said, “Billy, I may have special need of your knowledge of the darker side of life. Please let me know if you have any ideas. I think I may have a glimmer of a motive for these murders.”
Following Holmes’s instructions, our carriage took us to a part of London where I had never ventured. He indicated an alley where the bodies had been retrieved. There were no street lights, and it was rather dark, except for the garishly lighted restaurants and the few store windows displaying pharmaceutical paraphernalia with labels in the Chinese fashion.
Following in Holmes wake, I marveled at his command of the Chinese dialects as he questioned various individuals up and down both sides of the street. However, it was obvious that no useful information was forthcoming.
As we turned the corner and went around the block, we entered a very different neighborhood. It was seedy and littered with garbage. There was a plethora of bars in which poorly dressed men drank mugs of beer, talked, and played darts. Pointing to the largest door front of a darkened facility, Billy said, “I know this location. I’ve only seen it during the day. It is a well-known betting parlor.” We noted a large display sign therein advertising a picture of a rugby match between Chinese and British athletes. Billy added, “Ain’t these like the blokes that I helped carry into Dr. Verner’s laboratory?”
Holmes added, “According to my interpretation of the Chinese script, this is a very important match. The betting odds are in favor of the visiting Chinese from Hong Kong. I smell a rat. We may need to visit this locale and take the proprietors into custody. I’ll communicate this with Mycroft. In the meantime, it’s time for me to leave you. I’ll be back at Maurice’s quarters this evening to interview Dr. Lee.
Our work done for the evening, Billy and I took the hansom back to the Verners’ residence. When we arrived, we noted that Dr. Huang was already there.
After convivial introductions and congenial greetings between me and my Chinese medical colleague, we shared alcoholic beverages and cigars. Billy left to resume his regular duties. Jeanine joined us to display her drawings of the deceased men and their lesions.
The Chinese doctor took one look at the sketches and stated, following a disdainful snort, “This not the work of a trained Chinese medical practitioner, although we place great emphasis on the art of acupuncture. Recently, several British-born interlopers have attempted to emulate our procedure. However, they do not completely understand our science, and place the needles in an improper fashion. There is no medical basis for such placement of the needles in these men. I know just whose slovenly work this is. His name is Richard Butler. He identifies himself as a practitioner of Oriental medicine and claims the title of doctor. However, he is a fraud, and would be stopped if we had an appropriate certifying body that was recognized by the British medical authorities. We do have a guild that has stringent requirements for membership, but Mr. Butler would never pass the examination.”
As we discussed steps that we could pursue to counter further activities, we were pleased to see Sherlock Holmes join our group. After getting a briefing from Dr. Huang, Holmes said, “We will need to find and follow Richard Butler to see if he intends to harm any additional victims. We’ll also need to survey the betting parlor tomorrow to determine what their influence might be.”
The following evening, Holmes and I waited in the cold outside the medical facility of Dr. Richard Butler. It was truly a chilly time. Finally, a well-dressed bearded man appeared in the dim light. He was attired in a well-tailored wool coat with a rich fur collar and sleeves. In his hand was displayed a walking stick weighted with a round metal ball. He was obviously successful and prepared for the dangerous men with whom he sometimes dealt.
Wearing soundless canvas tennis shoes, Holmes and I followed him at a distance of at least twenty feet, staying in the darkness, and avoiding the lights on the street corners and in the several buildings. Eventually, Butler’s path led to a well-known boxing gymnasium, in the neighborhood of the betting parlor. The odor was reminiscent of a prize-fighting establishment - a mixture of blood and sweat. As Holmes and I followed the bogus doctor inside, I overheard two seedily dressed men of the street addressing him. They handed him several gold coins, and pointed out two Chinese men lying nude and recumbent on the floor. The last thing I remembered that evening was when Holmes turned the corner of the room to pursue further investigation. Before I could follow him, the back of my head was met with a hard object and the sweetly sickening odor of chloroform penetrated my nostrils.
When I finally resumed consciousness, I was lying on my back on a soft bed in a darkened room. I found a beautiful blonde-haired woman stroking my forehead with a damp cloth and saying, “Dr. Watson, please wake up.”
As I returned to my senses, I realized that I was being ministered to by Maurice’s beautiful wife, and that I had not yet arisen to heaven. Jeanine lifted her head and called for Maurice, who entered the bedroom where I was lying and smiled, saying, “Watson, we were quite worried about you. When Sherlock found you in the alley, you had been rendered unconscious, disabled by an obvious blow the back of your cranium and also knocked out with chloroform. Your abdomen had been penetrated with very thin needles in a now familiar pattern. We have extracted them for examination and thoroughly cleansed the spots with saponified creosol. Thank God, you do not seem to be suffering from tetanus. I have a theory that your work in the laboratory immunized you against that microbe.”
I groggily responded, “Did you apprehend the villains? What were they up to?”
From the doorway, Holmes responded, “Yes, we caught them. The gamblers revealed, under intense interrogation, that they had placed very large bets on the British team in the upcoming Rugby tournament. When they read about the excellent proficiency of the all-star group from Hong Kong, they realized that they needed to change the odds. Thus, they thought that their clever method of murder would obfuscate their means of assassination. Fortunately, the team of Watson and Verner were on the job. I’m sorry that I didn’t keep an eye on you when I turned the corner. The so-called doctor and his associates must have recognized us fr
om the drawings by in your published stories, and realized that we were on their trail.”
I asked, “What has been the fate of the men who accosted me?”
Maurice replied, “Mycroft’s two very burly comrades took the doctor and his colleagues away. They are no doubt tenants of a secret government location, never to be seen again.”
Then Holmes added, “The manager of the Chinese rugby team was very grateful. He will be receiving substitute players for the game. As a reward, we have been granted first class tickets to the match. Perhaps you will enlighten me about the finer points of the game, as you are an experienced veteran. As you know, I’ve never been an aficionado of team sports.”
Then, as we sat around the table, Maurice made an announcement. “Watson, I was highly pleased that you did not succumb to tetanus. I’m certain that our quick retrieval of the contaminated needles was useful, as was the decontaminant wash. Also, as I said, I think that your work in the laboratory with these microbes may have provided an immunological resistance. A pharmaceutical company in Detroit, Michigan, in America has begun studies to provide a vaccine to prevent tetanus and an active antiserum to salvage the life of injured people. My Uncle Horace has already set up a facility in several warehouses on the straight between that city and Ontario, and I plan on joining him to continue my bacteriological research, with the financial assistance of the drug company. We will, of course, pursue other business ventures in that booming metropolis as well.”
This announcement saddened me. I was losing one of my close friends. Perhaps someday I might have the opportunity to visit his American facilities.
The Bubble Reputation
by Geri Schear
Over breakfast one late May morning, I peered through the pages of The Pall Mall Magazine and released a loud snort. “Well,” I said, “this is one of the most preposterous stories I’ve read in a long time.” I handed the journal to Sherlock Holmes.
