The Incredible Schlock Homes

by Robert L. Fish

  “One final question and I believe I shall have all I can hope to garner here,” he said, fixing Mr. Legion with a thoughtful glance. “Can you tell me what course of study Mr. Charles was following at Cheyne College?”

  “He was a Typing major, Mr. Holmes,” replied the young coach, obviously puzzled by this seemingly irrelevant question. “But I fail to see what possible connexion this could have with his disappearance.”

  “It may be of the greatest importance,” Homes replied seriously, “or, of course, it may not. There being little more to be learned here, with your permission we shall return to our quarters and study our findings in greater detail. Yes, yes, Mr. Legion! I am fully aware of the urgency of the matter, and I suggest you drop by at eight this evening, when I hope to have some news for you!”

  On the drive back Homes sat forward, chuckling and rubbing his hands, a sure sign that he had seen some light in this most confusing case. “A brilliant boy, this Charles Charles!” said he, “for despite the obvious confusion of his last minutes in that room, he still managed to leave sufficient clues to point a clear trail to his captors. It is our duty to properly interpret the signs he has left, and we must not fail him in this!”

  We descended at Bagel Street and Homes fixed himself a long drink immediately upon our entrance, and then sank into his favorite chair, spreading the crumpled paper and the folded Valentine before him.

  “An hour of solitude, if you please, Watney,” he remarked, his warm smile robbing the words of any rejection. “I am sure that the complete answer to this puzzle is before me, if only I can grasp it!”

  I retired to the window seat once again, although I was bursting with questions regarding the two papers on the table. But knowing Homes and his love of mystery, I bided my silence and watched the long shadows of evening settle over the huge city. I must have dozed a bit, for suddenly the firm grip of my friend’s hand on my shoulder brought me from my reverie with a start.

  “Watney!” he cried in great excitement, “I have it! You must send a telegram to Legion at once! When he comes tonight I wish him to bring the room assignment plan for all of the teams with him, as well as the names of the occupants. This is most important”

  “But, Homes!” I said in vexation, “I fail to understand how you were able to deduce anything at all from the little you found in that room!”

  “Later, Watney,” said he, smiling at my puzzlement. “All shall be clear before the night is finished. We have a busy evening in store for us, I fear, so if you do not mind I shall relax a bit before our visitor arrives, with a few moments of Venuti. My violin, if you please, Watney!”

  At eight o’clock sharp Mr. Legion appeared, and while he was as consumed with curiosity as myself, he said nothing but placed the assignment list on the table and drew up a chair alongside Homes and myself. Homes immediately fell to studying the list with great care, whistling a minor Shostakovich harmonium concerto to himself as he did so. He seemed to be searching for a particular item, and after at least a minute of full concentration the whistle abruptly ceased and a bright smile lit his countenance. I knew at once that he had found the information he had been seeking.

  “The case is solved!” he announced complacently, leaning back and enjoying the effect this pronouncement made upon us. “With any luck Charles Charles will be back in his own room before midnight! Allow me to begin at the beginning and show you the steps in the solution.

  “It was evident as soon as we saw Charles’s room that he had been removed against his will. My only hope was that he had been able to leave behind a clue as to his assailants before being kidnapped. He is an extremely clever boy, that Charles, and should go far in life; for despite the pressure of those last few moments he managed to leave not one, but two, distinct signs pointing to his captors, probably feeling that if we missed one, we would scarcely miss two. The first clue was in this paper which he crumpled and flung into the wastebasket, where it avoided all eyes but mine.” And Homes handed us the sheet which he had retrieved from the basket and had guarded so carefully.

  It was a standard sheet of typing paper and had repeated upon it one sentence, typed at least thirty times. It read: Now Is The Time For All Good Men To Come To The Aid Of The Party. When we had a chance to study it sufficiently, Homes returned it to the table and continued.

  “Had Charles been a student of political science, I might well have passed this by as being a part of his study, but since we know he was majoring in another subject—namely, Typing—its significance increases sharply. I realize that there is a ball tonight for the visiting teams, but he could not have been referring to this party, since it was obvious that his paper was written much earlier. It can therefore only be a message.”

  “But, Homes,” I interrupted, “what can it intend to convey?”

  “Think, Watney! In this International Competition tomorrow, there must be many teams from behind the Iron Curtain. Charles, by referring to the Party is telling us who his captors are! I admit I am surprised that they adopted a method so lacking in subtlety but time, I imagine, was running out. These Governments, which we will not mention by name, will do anything to win a sporting event!”

  “Of course!” cried Mr. Legion, striking his fist upon his knee. “Now I understand it! It was not the first attempt, Mr. Homes. Just yesterday one of the members of an Iron Curtain team falsely accused Charles of having stolen his watch. The facts are quite innocent: Charlie has taken up amateur magic as a hobby and as yet is not too adept at it. He can make things disappear, but he still has trouble at times in bringing them back. His first efforts being unsuccessful led these people to call for the police, but when, after a further try he was able to produce the watch, they were forced to drop their ridiculous charge. Now I can see that it was only a means of preventing him from competing in the race!”

  Homes nodded. “Had they known, as I do,” said he, “that Charles is the possessor of some fifty watches they would have realized the idiocy of such a charge, for Charles—of all people—has no need for another timepiece. However, to return to our exposition, we now are familiar with the group who arranged the kidnapping. It now remains to show you the exact person involved, and the place where he is being held prisoner!”

  Taking the folded Valentine from the table, he opened it to the scrawled message within and passed it to us to read. Written in a bold hand it said:

  Roses are red,

  Violets are blue;

  Sugar is sweet,

  And so are you.

  “The fact of finding a Valentine in June, when everyone knows that the Saint’s day is always commemorated in February, made it plain to me that it was planted there, necessarily as a purpose of leaving a message. Note the words well, for they are Charles’s means of directing us to the place of incarceration selected for him. In studying the room assignments of the various teams I paid small attention to the Iron Curtain countries, for they are too intelligent to hide him in their own quarters. No, for this I was certain that they would employ the services of sympathizers, and I therefore searched among teams coming from countries who have long exhibited jealousy of all things British. And then I found, as I had truly expected to find, that the Vassar team from the American colonies had the following people——.”

  His thin, strong finger pointed to the list before us, and we read:

  VASSAR TEAM:

  John (Muscles) O’Grady.………Room 196

  Marybelle (Honey) Ross………Room 211

  Thomas (Bull) Jones.……………Room 243

  Ming Toy (Sugar) Epstein..……Room 216

  Both Legion and myself stared at Homes in complete puzzlement, for we could see no connexion between this list and the Valentine message. Homes saw our expression and could not repress a laugh.

  “Re-read the Valentine message phonetically,” said he with a deep smile, “taking alternate lines and see what you have. Ross is a red; violets are blue; Sugar’s suite; and so forth. Yes, my friends, that is the ans
wer! Mr. Charles is being held against his will in Room 216, in the dormitory assigned to Vassar. The feminine members of the team were the sympathizers who fell in with the foul plan; I should have suspected a woman immediately, for Charles was too smart to fall victim to a man. However, the native chivalry of the British sportsman would have demanded that he allow a female entrance to his quarters without involved checking! We must rescue him tonight if he is to race tomorrow. Heaven knows what these fiends might have done to him in his incarceration!”

  “But, Homes!” I cried. “Is this not a matter for the police?”

  Homes shook his head. “We have a duty to England in this, her hour of need, not to involve her in international incidents, Watney,” he replied, his voice reproachful at my lack of understanding. “No, during the dance tonight they may well feel safe enough to leave him unguarded, for they have no idea that Schlock Homes is on their trail! We must spirit him away before they know he is gone, and guard him until the race!”

  “But, Mr. Homes,” interrupted Legion, his strong young face alit at the prospect of action, “how will we gain entrance? The door is sure to be locked, and we cannot break in without exciting suspicion.”

  “I happen to be familiar with all types of latching devices,” replied Homes confidently. “My reputation in this field has reached a point, I believe, where one seldom thinks of Bagel Street without thinking of locks! It will be small trouble to adapt a standard picklock to our purpose. Watney, my welding equipment!”

  “You wish the blanched solder?”

  “No, no! The silver braze! There, that should do the trick! Now, gentlemen, the plan shall be as follows: You, Mr. Legion, shall stay below in the entry to see that we are not followed. Watney, you and I shall make our way to Room 216 and see if we can manage to spirit Charles away without raising an alarm. Should we have need of your physical prowess, Mr. Legion, be sure we will call out! And now, gentlemen, if you are ready I suggest we waste no further time!”

  Within an hour we were once again on the Putney campus and Legion melted into the shadows as Homes and I slipped silently into the darkened building. Across the quadrangle music and laughter came from the hall where the crew members were enjoying their party, but all was still and desolate in our sector. Legion had furnished us with the layout of the building and we were able to make our way to Room 216 without the necessity of showing a light. As I waited breathlessly, Homes crept to the door, picklock in hand, and pressed his ear to the panel. When no sound came to him, he silently tried the handle, and to his amazement the door swung open.

  “The fools did not even lock it!” he whispered. “Come, Watney, with care!”

  A crumpled figure lurched half erect from a chair in one corner, and then collapsed once more, muttering incoherently. “You were certainly gone long enough, baby doll,” babbled this apparition. “Did you bring the other bottle?”

  “Delirious, poor devil!” exclaimed Homes in a low voice. “Quickly, Watney, your medical skill is urgently required!”

  I instantly took charge of the boy, checking for pulse and respiration, but as I bent over him the true cause of his suffering immediately became apparent. “We must get him back to his room!” I cried. “Have Mr. Legion arrange for black coffee at once! These devils have plied him with alcohol, and he is in sad shape!”

  It was some thirty minutes later before I had the boy sitting up amid the dishevelment of his own room. He was pale and silent, but the worst effects of his drugging had passed.

  “Do not attempt to speak, Mr. Charles,” said Homes in a warm voice. “You have been the victim of an attempt at kidnapping, but thanks to your cleverness in leaving those messages, and Mr. Legion’s promptness in calling me into the case, we were able to locate you and rescue you in time. I wish to congratulate you on keeping your head as you have done, and to tell you that England is proud of you! Go out tomorrow and win that race, for that will be the biggest blow against your captors and their alien philosophy!”

  “Thank you very much, Mr. Homes,” replied the lad, attempting to speak calmly, although memory of his past ordeal forced bitterness into his voice. “And now, if you will forgive me, I must get my rest.”

  He embraced us both with a warmth that was surprising from one in his weakened condition, and immediately turned to his bed. Homes and I walked quickly into the night, while Legion prepared to mount guard over his star until the actual moment of the race.

  The following day, exhausted by the events of the previous evening, both Homes and myself slept late, and it was therefore well into the afternoon when I came into the dining room. Homes appeared a moment later, yawning deeply, but by that time I had already folded the journal to the sporting section and was reading the racing results. Homes merely lifted an eyebrow in interrogation, and I smiled back at him.

  “Yes, Cheyne, of Lincs, representing England, did indeed win the mixed foursome sculling championship, and the teams have already dispersed to their respective homelands,” I said, folding the paper with a smile and handing it to him. “And in my estimation the thanks for this brave deed should go as much to you as to Charles!”

  Homes shrugged modestly. “Where our great country is involved,” said he, “there is no question, nor can there ever be, of thanks. I am happy that we were able to settle the problem so peacefully; and in my humble opinion the greatest share of the credit should go to that brilliant lad, who is a credit to England!

  “But that case is finished now, Watney, and although we have need for new horizons, I feel we have honestly earned ourselves a day’s rest. So no crime news at the moment, if you please. Rather, I suggest we pass the time at an afternoon concert at Robert Hall. There is a gas-pipe organ solo today which I should sorely hate to miss. We may, however be late; what time do you have, Watney?”

  I searched my pockets without success for several moments. “I am afraid I must have dropped my timepiece during last night’s events,” I answered a bit shamefacedly. “Do you not have the correct hour?”

  “My watch is also missing,” replied Homes. “In the excitement of rescuing that poor chap last night, I fear I must have lost it without noting. However, surely one of the visiting Vassar team must have encountered our watches this morning; yet you tell me they have disbanded and left without attempting to contact us! We shall have to notify the authorities at once!”

  “But, Homes,” I protested, remembering his words, “is there not the possibility of an international incident occurring over this?”

  “Kidnapping is one thing,” he replied coldly, his voice tinged with anger, “but the failure to report and return lost property is quite another! A telegram to my brother Criscroft at the Home Office, if you please, Watney!”

  The Adventure of the ARTIST’S MOTTLE

  “Crime, Watney,” remarked my friend Mr. Schlock Homes, laying aside the financial section of the journal and reaching for his Yellowbole and shag, “is the contrived and exhibited manifestation of the subconscious negation of theosophistic impregnation and authoritative influence. It has the added disadvantage, of course, of being illegal, which so often forces its perpetrators into opposition to the law.”

  We were seated comfortably before a roaring fire in our quarters at 221-B Bagel Street on a blustery afternoon in late March of ’sixty. The whipping wind blasted our windows with that late, cold rain of a dying winter, and the calm peace of our living room, in such sharp contrast to the bitter weather without, may have been responsible for the sudden philosophical attitude of the great detective.

  “True,” I agreed, marveling as always at the concise manner in which Homes could bring his intellect to bear on a point of view. “A further disadvantage, of course, is that crime does not pay.”

  Homes puffed strongly, sending clouds of smoke about the room. “I have heard that statement many times,” he observed, frowning fiercely at the leaping flames, “but never from criminals, although one might reasonably assume they would be in the best position to comment. I
t may be true that crime does not pay; but then what does, these days?”

  There was a note of bitterness in his voice that I had never heard before, and I sat up in alarm. Homes and I never discussed his financial position, and I had always assumed he had sufficient income to indulge his passion for deduction.

  “If you are short, Homes …” I began, reaching for my wallet.

  He shook his head. “A temporary thing, Watney, but I appreciate your kind offer. No, I took a flyer in De Diamonds Consolidated Beer, but it seems that recently some villain slipped into their headquarters and watered the stock. It was, of course, quite undrinkable after that, and it appears that my losses may be substantial.” He shrugged his shoulders ruefully. “Coming at a time when lucrative cases are few, I fear I shall be reduced to accepting even minor commissions such as this,” and he handed me a telegraph form which he drew from his dressing gown pocket.

  “HOMES OLD BEAN OLD SOCK,” it read, “HATE TO BOTHER YOU AND ALL THAT BUT I’M OFF ON ANOTHER OF THESE BLASTED SAFARIS AND I HATE TO LEAVE THE OLD MANOR WITHOUT HAVING SOMEONE KEEP AN EYE ON THE OLD BELONGINGS YOU KNOW, SO I’D APPRECIATE IT A BASINFUL IF YOU COULD MANAGE TO DROP IN AND SEE THAT THE PORT IS STILL IN THE CELLAR AND THAT NOBODY STEALS THE FAMILY SILVER AND ALL THAT, BECAUSE OF COURSE THE ESTATE IS ENTAILED AND I HATE ARGUMENTS WITH TRUSTEES WHICH YOU CAN UNDERSTAND OF COURSE, SINCE THEY ALWAYS GET SO FUSSY, BUT IT SEEMS THE PATER LOADED THE OLD MANSE WITH VALUABLES AND OBJETS D’ART AND TO TELL YOU THE TRUTH I DON’T EVEN KNOW IF THE JUNK IS INSURED, SO YOUR BEAGLE EYE WOULD BE GREATLY APPRECIATED AND PAID FOR OF COURSE AT YOUR USUAL RATES WHATEVER THEY ARE; THE KEY, OF COURSE YOU’LL WANT TO KNOW WHERE THE KEY IS, NOW JUST WHERE THE DEVIL IS IT—OH YES, IT’S WITH THE LAWYER CHAPPIES OF COURSE, JUST TELL THEM I SAID YOU COULD HAVE IT, SO PIP-PIP AND WIPE YOUR FEET BEFORE YOU GO IN AND BEST OF EVERYTHING.”