The New Annotated Sherlock Holmes

by Arthur Conan Doyle

  Schenck writes that it is not possible “to establish just what constituted for Holmes the unmistakable manual stigma of the weaver. A wide variety of calluses peculiar to the textile trades is described by [Francesco Ronchese], but these differ with the particular assignment of the worker at the machine—the doffer, the quiller, the hooker, the mule spinner, etc.—and none of them could have been created by hand-looming.” He calls “highly likely” the possibility that the “marks to which Holmes referred were calluses on the right hand from handling the shuttle, and perhaps on the left from the heddles.”

  Clues to the hand of the diamond-polisher, according to Schenck, include the fact that “jewellery polishers have nails worn smooth and stained red by the rouge … , lens polishers show certain nails worn down from picking the glass from its pitch bed … , and those who polish metal jewellery wear calluses from holding the metal parts against the wheel.” Diamonds, he points out, “are polished in a pitch bed at the end of a ‘dop stick’ … any or all of the three marks described might appear in a lapidary doing much hand work.”

  29 Bernard Davies doubts that a conversation covering this much ground could have been compressed into the number of minutes to which it appears to have been reduced here, and he also questions the convenience of Mary Morstan’s appearing at the end of it. Indeed, in a chapter deliberately bearing the same title as one in A Study in Scarlet, it seems likely that Watson took literary licence here to boast to readers of Holmes’s abilities.

  30 Watson could just as easily have been in the Post Office for other reasons. According to Vernon Rendall (“The Limitations of Sherlock Holmes”), perhaps he was buying a money or postal order, getting package rates, or buying stamps.

  But there is a much more serious problem here. In the original version of The Sign of Four, as it appeared in Lippincott’s Magazine, the reference is to the Seymour Street Post Office. Putting aside the issues of other reasons for Watson’s trip, Bernard Davies notes that Nos. 59–61 Seymour Street “was not a Post and Telegraph Office. You could purchase what you liked, but, though you begged on your knees, you could not send a telegram from there.” Why, Davies wonders, did Watson not amend his error by inserting the name of a nearby telegraph office, such as the Baker Street Post Office or one on the way to the West End, at No. 43 Duke Street, one block from Portman Square? Instead Watson invented the Wigmore Street Post Office, which did not exist in 1890. “How this charade came to be inserted in the manuscript in the first place is a mystery… . The most charitable explanation is that [Watson] tried a bit too hard to be clever, by combining two quite separate incidents.”

  31 T. S. Blakeney identifies this as Holmes’s “most famous maxim” (Sherlock Holmes: Fact or Fiction?). It appears twice in The Sign of Four and is repeated almost identically in “The Beryl Coronet,” “The Bruce-Partington Plans,” and “The Blanched Soldier.”

  32 This remark suggests that Holmes knew Watson’s father’s Christian name, which we do not.

  33 The reader will recall that Watson’s daily pension was 11s. 6d. The watch represents almost a full two years’ pension.

  34 Watches that could be wound without a key were a relatively recent invention (the patents for a crown winder were filed between 1845 and 1860), and Watson’s father’s watch may well have predated the introduction of practical keyless watches. An earlier invention was the so-called Breguet key, also referred to as the tipsy key, which could only be turned in one direction.

  35 Holmes may be right that this feature always shows up on the watch of a drunkard, but it is faulty reasoning to say that the scratches prove that the owner is a drunkard. For example, the owner could suffer palsy or simply be careless, with little regard for possessions.

  36 Daniel L. Moriarty (no apparent relation) makes a compelling case, in “The Woman Who Beat Sherlock Holmes,” that Mary Morstan came to Baker Street expressly to marry Holmes. It became quickly apparent to her that Holmes had deduced her game, and, although she was unprepared to find a second bachelor in residence, she quickly changed her target to Watson. Moriarty argues that she had no evil intent but merely sought to make her way in the world.

  CHAPTER

  II

  THE STATEMENT OF THE CASE

  MISS MORSTAN ENTERED the room with a firm step and an outward composure of manner. She was a blonde young lady, small, dainty, well gloved,37 and dressed in the most perfect taste. There was, however, a plainness and simplicity about her costume which bore with it a suggestion of limited means. The dress was a sombre grayish beige, untrimmed and unbraided, and she wore a small turban of the same dull hue, relieved only by a suspicion of white feather in the side. Her face had neither regularity of feature nor beauty of complexion, but her expression was sweet and amiable, and her large blue eyes were singularly spiritual and sympathetic. In an experience of women which extends over many nations and three separate continents,38 I have never looked upon a face which gave a clearer promise of a refined and sensitive nature. I could not but observe that as she took the seat which Sherlock Holmes placed for her, her lip trembled, her hand quivered, and she showed every sign of intense inward agitation.

  “I have come to you, Mr. Holmes,” she said, “because you once enabled my employer, Mrs. Cecil Forrester,39 to unravel a little domestic complication.40 She was much impressed by your kindness and skill.”

  Dustjacket, The Sign of Four.

  (London: John Murray, 1924)

  “Mrs. Cecil Forrester,” he repeated thoughtfully.41 “I believe that I was of some slight service to her. The case, however, as I remember it, was a very simple one.”

  “She did not think so. But at least you cannot say the same of mine. I can hardly imagine anything more strange, more utterly inexplicable, than the situation in which I find myself.”

  Holmes rubbed his hands, and his eyes glistened. He leaned forward in his chair with an expression of extraordinary concentration upon his clear-cut, hawk-like features.

  “State your case,” said he, in brisk business tones.

  I felt that my position was an embarrassing one.

  “You will, I am sure, excuse me,” I said, rising from my chair.42

  “Miss Morstan entered the room with a firm step.”

  Artist unknown, Sherlock Holmes Series, Vol. I (New York & London: Harper & Bros., 1904)

  To my surprise, the young lady held up her gloved hand to detain me.

  “If your friend,” she said, “would be good enough to stop, he might be of inestimable service to me.”

  I relapsed into my chair.

  “Briefly,” she continued, “the facts are these. My father was an officer in an Indian regiment, who sent me home when I was quite a child. My mother was dead, and I had no relative in England. I was placed, however, in a comfortable boarding establishment at Edinburgh, and there I remained until I was seventeen years of age. In the year 187843 my father, who was senior captain of his regiment, obtained twelve months’ leave and came home. He telegraphed to me from London that he had arrived all safe and directed me to come down at once, giving the Langham Hotel as his address. His message, as I remember, was full of kindness and love. On reaching London I drove to the Langham and was informed that Captain Morstan was staying there, but that he had gone out the night before and had not returned. I waited all day without news of him. That night, on the advice of the manager of the hotel, I communicated with the police, and next morning we advertised in all the papers. Our inquiries led to no result; and from that day to this no word has ever been heard of my unfortunate father. He came home with his heart full of hope to find some peace, some comfort, and instead—”

  “ ‘State your case,’ said he in brisk business tones.”

  Richard Gutschmidt, Das Zeichen der Vier (Stuttgart: Robert Lutz Verlag, 1902)

  “ ‘If your friend,’ she said, ‘would be good enough to stay, he might be of inestimable service to me.’ ”

  H. B. Eddy, Sunday American, April 21, 1912

&nb
sp; She put her hand to her throat, and a choking sob cut short the sentence.44

  “The date?” asked Holmes, opening his note-book.

  “He disappeared upon the 3rd of December, 1878—nearly ten years ago.”

  “His luggage?”

  “Remained at the hotel. There was nothing in it to suggest a clue—some clothes, some books, and a considerable number of curiosities from the Andaman Islands.45 He had been one of the officers in charge of the convict-guard there.”

  “Had he any friends in town?”

  “Only one that we know of—Major Sholto, of his own regiment, the 34th Bombay Infantry.46 The major had retired some little time before and lived at Upper Norwood.47 We communicated with him, of course, but he did not even know that his brother officer was in England.”

  “A singular case,” remarked Holmes.

  “I have not yet described to you the most singular part. About six years ago—to be exact, upon the 4th of May, 1882—an advertisement appeared in the Times asking for the address of Miss Mary Morstan, and stating that it would be to her advantage to come forward. There was no name or address appended. I had at that time just entered the family of Mrs. Cecil Forrester in the capacity of governess.48 By her advice I published my address in the advertisement column. The same day there arrived through the post a small cardboard box addressed to me, which I found to contain a very large lustrous pearl. No word of writing was enclosed. Since then every year upon the same date there has always appeared a similar box, containing a similar pearl, without any clue as to the sender. They have been pronounced by an expert to be of a rare variety and of considerable value. You can see for yourself that they are very handsome.”

  She opened a flat box as she spoke and showed me six of the finest pearls that I had ever seen.49

  “Your statement is most interesting,” said Sherlock Holmes. “Has anything else occurred to you?”

  “Yes, and no later than to-day. That is why I have come to you. This morning I received this letter, which you will perhaps read for yourself.”

  “Thank you,” said Holmes. “The envelope, too, please. Post-mark, London, S. W. Date, July 7.50 Hum! Man’s thumb-mark on corner—probably postman. Best quality paper. Envelopes at sixpence a packet. Particular man in his stationery. No address. ‘Be at the third pillar from the left outside the Lyceum Theatre to-night at seven o’clock. If you are distrustful bring two friends. You are a wronged woman and shall have justice. Do not bring police. If you do, all will be in vain. Your unknown friend.’ Well, really, this is a very pretty little mystery! What do you intend to do, Miss Morstan?”

  “That is exactly what I want to ask you.”

  “Then we shall most certainly go—you and I and—yes, why Dr. Watson is the very man. Your correspondent says two friends. He and I have worked together before.”

  “But would he come?” she asked with something appealing in her voice and expression.

  “I shall be proud and happy,” said I, fervently, “if I can be of any service.”

  “You are both very kind,” she answered. “I have led a retired life and have no friends whom I could appeal to. If I am here at six it will do, I suppose?”

  “You must not be later,” said Holmes. “There is one other point, however. Is this handwriting the same as that upon the pearl-box addresses?”

  “I have them here,” she answered, producing half a dozen pieces of paper.

  “You are certainly a model client. You have the correct intuition. Let us see, now.” He spread out the papers upon the table and gave little darting glances from one to the other. “They are disguised hands, except the letter,” he said presently; “but there can be no question as to the authorship. See how the irrepressible Greek e will break out, and see the twirl of the final s. They are undoubtedly by the same person. I should not like to suggest false hopes, Miss Morstan, but is there any resemblance between this hand and that of your father?”

  “Nothing could be more unlike.”

  “I expected to hear you say so. We shall look out for you, then, at six. Pray allow me to keep the papers. I may look into the matter before then. It is only half-past three. Au revoir, then.”

  “Au revoir,” said our visitor; and with a bright, kindly glance from one to the other of us, she replaced her pearl-box in her bosom and hurried away.

  Standing at the window, I watched her walking briskly down the street until the grey turban and white feather were but a speck in the sombre crowd.

  “What a very attractive woman!” I exclaimed, turning to my companion.

  He had lit his pipe again and was leaning back with drooping eyelids. “Is she?” he said languidly; “I did not observe.”51

  “You really are an automaton—a calculating machine,” I cried. “There is something positively inhuman in you at times.”

  He smiled gently.

  “It is of the first importance,” he said, “not to allow your judgment to be biased by personal qualities. A client is to me a mere unit, a factor in a problem. The emotional qualities are antagonistic to clear reasoning. I assure you that the most winning woman I ever knew was hanged for poisoning three little children for their insurance-money,52 and the most repellent man of my acquaintance is a philanthropist who has spent nearly a quarter of a million upon the London poor.”

  “In this case, however—”

  “I never make exceptions. An exception disproves the rule. Have you ever had occasion to study character in handwriting? What do you make of this fellow’s scribble?”53

  “It is legible and regular,” I answered. “A man of business habits and some force of character.”

  Holmes shook his head.

  “Look at his long letters,” he said. “They hardly rise above the common herd. That d might be an a, and that l an e. Men of character always differentiate their long letters, however illegibly they may write. There is vacillation in his k’s and self-esteem in his capitals. I am going out now. I have some few references to make. Let me recommend this book—one of the most remarkable ever penned. It is Winwood Reade’s Martyrdom of Man.54 I shall be back in an hour.”

  I sat in the window with the volume in my hand, but my thoughts were far from the daring speculations of the writer. My mind ran upon our late visitor—her smiles, the deep rich tones of her voice, the strange mystery which overhung her life. If she were seventeen at the time of her father’s disappearance she must be seven-and-twenty now—a sweet age, when youth has lost its self-consciousness and become a little sobered by experience. So I sat and mused until such dangerous thoughts came into my head that I hurried away to my desk and plunged furiously into the latest treatise upon pathology. What was I, an army surgeon with a weak leg and a weaker banking account, that I should dare to think of such things? She was a unit, a factor—nothing more. If my future were black, it was better surely to face it like a man than to attempt to brighten it by mere will-o’-the-wisps of the imagination.

  37 In an age when at least one popular British magazine, the Wasp, dealt almost exclusively with the art and science of the proper corset fit for young women (one did not purchase a corset alone but with the help of a professional corsetiere), correctly fitting gloves were essential. According to “The Corsetee’s Creed,” to be recited by the wearer, “I … shall … at all proper times endeavor to be correctly gloved, shod, and above all, corseted, whether at home or abroad.” Collier’s Cyclopedia of Commercial and Social Information advised, under “Etiquette for Ladies,” “Never be seen in the street without gloves. Your gloves should fit to the last degree of perfection.”

  38 Which continents, and when was this experience obtained? “It is usually assumed that the three continents are Europe, Asia and Australia,” remarks D. Martin Dakin, in A Sherlock Holmes Commentary. Australia is apparently one, for Watson himself remarks about Ballarat later in The Sign of Four. However, this visit to Ballarat must have occurred in Watson’s boyhood, for there are no gaps of sufficient length in his recorded a
dult life history for such a long trip, and therefore he may not have been old enough to have “experience of women.” “His opportunities must have been equally limited in India,” comments Dakin, “unless we think of the hospital nurses, and he was too ill for much dalliance with them.”

  Baring-Gould posits a stay in America, prior to Watson’s relationship with Holmes, and Arthur Conan Doyle’s play Angels of Darkness, first published in 2002, seems to bear this out. However, the fidelity of this record is dubious. See Chronological Table, note 2. Ian McQueen, in Sherlock Holmes Detected: The Problems of the Long Stories, expresses the view that Watson is to be taken at his word and suggests that the three “separate continents” do not include Australia: “His experience in Asia and Africa must necessarily have been exceedingly limited, but he probably had some spare time available for amorous excursions in such places as Bombay and Peshawar, as well as in Egypt, while on the way to join his regiment.” McQueen points to Watson’s remark upon first meeting Holmes (in A Study in Scarlet) that when he was well, “he had ‘another set of vices,’ and sexual encounters were probably not excluded.”

  But many commentators are quick to discard this statement as boasting by Watson. Dorothy Sayers, in Unpopular Opinions, asserts that Watson was simply not that sort of man. As Dakin puts it, “His demeanour throughout his relations with Mary Morstan, whether in romantic dreams of her, in confused conversation in the cab, or in childlike hand-holding in the dark, is not that of an accomplished cavalier but of a man … falling headlong in love for the first time.” Similarly, Christopher Redmond, in his fascinating In Bed with Sherlock Holmes, observes that if Watson is telling the truth, his encounters were most likely casual rather than serious, “possibly a visit to a judiciously chosen prostitute rather than any dealings, let alone a romance, between equals… . [Watson’s conduct] is not the behaviour of a roué. It is the behaviour of a young man … whose life as a medical student, a soldier, and a convalescent has kept him so busy that he has less, not more, experience of women than the average, and who has just fallen in love for the first time.”