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The Incredible Schlock Homes

Page 19

by Robert L. Fish


  But Homes was paying small heed to my query. In two strides he had reached the table and turned on the gas-lamp high above it. His hands found the journal, and he began turning the pages rapidly. Having at last found the section he wanted, he spread it open and began to run his hand rapidly down one of the columns. And then his rigid finger froze against a printed line and he turned to me triumphantly.

  “Of course! I was a fool—and a forgetful fool at that. Particularly in view of the date!”

  “The date?” I asked, now completely confused. “What has the date got to do with it?”

  “As much as the reason why there were no students in the tobacco-shop to-day!” he replied cryptically. “Come, Watney! Explanations can wait! At the moment the most important thing is to relieve the poor woman’s mind without delay.”

  With no further word he sprang for the door and was down the stairway in moments, rushing out to the kerb to wave wildly at a passing hansom cab. By the time I had managed to recover my wits sufficiently to follow, he had a jehu drawn up to the kerb and was bounding into his vehicle. His hand reached backwards, dragging me along, pulling me into the swaying carriage. As I recovered my balance, he fell back against the leather seat, his eyes gleaming excitedly.

  “I only pray that we are not too late, Watney!” he exclaimed. “She must close that smoking-room at once, and hereafter keep it closed.”

  “But why, Homes?” I cried.

  “Because all the trouble up to now was only leading to the culmination to-night! And why? Because we have been concerning ourselves with the wrong coincidence!”

  I grasped his arm angrily. “Enough of these enigmatic statements, Homes,” I said. “Pray explain yourself at once.”

  He disengaged himself from my grip and smiled at me faintly.

  “Since the source of my enlightenment was a statement you made yourself, Watney, I should think explanations are unnecessary,” he said, and then laughed aloud at the fierce expression on my face. “All right, then, you shall know all.” His face became serious once again.

  “To begin with, as a result of investigating the wrong coincidence, we were attempting to correlate the arrival of the new assistant at the shop with the troubles encountered there, whereas we should have attempted to correlate the troubles with the date.”

  “The date?” I asked, still mystified.

  “Precisely. When you mentioned the word ‘cricket,’ and then were so kind as to repeat it, I suddenly realized that in all probability there was a serious rivalry between the students of the two schools, and a check of the journal indicated that to-morrow St. Pothers and Twitchly play for the Limehouse championship. And if the championship game is to-morrow, Watney, what has preceded it?”

  “Examination week!” I exclaimed.

  “Exactly. Well do I remember my own undergraduate days and the tensions that build up prior to final examination day. Combine this with the rivalry of the two top teams in the league, then put students from each of the two schools together in a small room at this particular time, and serious altercation is bound to ensue.”

  “But if examination day has passed,” I objected, “why is it essential that the room be closed to-night?”

  “Because of the game to-morrow! With the students freed of scholastic worries and intent upon building up spirit for the contest, the danger is even greater than before. No, Watney, the room must be closed at once. I only hope that we arrive at the shop before the students finish their supper and converge upon it.”

  “True,” I admitted, and then frowned. “But why, then, should she keep the room closed after to-night? Surely the danger will pass once this evening is over, and besides, the students will be leaving for their holidays immediately following the game.”

  “They will, but within a few brief months they will return, and the ending of each half-term would only see a repetition of these unpleasant incidents. No, I shall tell her that her husband’s spirit will only be placated by the permanent closing of the smoking-room. I shall tell her that her husband’s untoward interference was not owing to her having acquired a new assistant, but because in his new state he has become convinced that academy students are too young to indulge in tobacco. In this fashion I shall resolve her immediate problem, and at the same time satisfy her superstitions.”

  I stared at my friend with admiration. “An excellent solution, Homes!” I exclaimed, and then paused. “But will not the loss of custom cause her to suffer financially?”

  He shook his head. “If what the lady said is true, their new cigarette should develop sufficient trade with the sailors to compensate her for the loss of the students.”

  “I am proud of you, Homes,” I said sincerely. “Never have I seen a case resolved with results so beneficial to so many.”

  “Thanks to you, Watney, and your inspired use of the word ‘cricket.’ I only hope we arrive in time, and that I have not overlooked anything.”

  The following morning, having finished my breakfast, I drew the morning journal to me and lit up one of the new cigarettes which our Chinese friend had been kind enough to present to us in gratitude for Homes’s solution to the case. However, I found the taste far too acrid for my palate, and I was in the process of crushing it out when Homes entered the room. He noted my uneconomical gesture with raised eyebrows and seated himself across from me with a faint smile.

  “The new cigarette is not to your liking, Watney?” he inquired.

  “I’m afraid not,” I replied, and proffered him the packet. “Possibly you might care for them.”

  He shook his head as he idly took the packet from my hand. “No, I’m too accustomed to my Mesopotamians,” he replied, studying the outer wrapping. Then suddenly his eyes narrowed and he stared at me with a fierce frown.

  “Watney! Is there any report in the journal of trouble in Limehouse last night?”

  I hurriedly turned the pages of the journal and then stopped as my eye caught the heading of an article. “Why, yes, Homes,” I said, marvelling as always at his uncanny ability to anticipate these things. “A riot at the docks, actually.”

  He slammed one hand down against the table-top. “I am a fool! She began to tell us the name of these new cigarettes and then stopped. I should have insisted upon knowing!”

  I reached over and picked up the packet, staring at it. “But I do not understand, Homes,” I said, puzzled.

  He leaned over the table, his eyes burning with excitement.

  “No? Do you not realize, Watney, that this name is an insult to every nautical man operating under steam, since it indicates that he is only fit to handle sail?”

  Comprehension dawned on me. “Of course! And it is also a word commonly used to denote a midshipman, the bane of every honest sailor’s existence.”

  “Precisely. We must telegraph her at once.”

  With a nod of agreement I reached for my pad of telegram forms, and under Homes’s dictation I hastily scribbled the vital message. It read:

  “Madame: You must immediately cease to call your new cigarettes Reefers.”

  All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All these stories first appeared in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine.

  Copyright © 1959, 1960, 1961, 1962, 1963, 1966 by Robert L. Fish

  Cover design by Jason Gabbert

  ISBN: 9781784089894

  This 2015 edition published by MysteriousPress.com/Head of Zeus

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978178408
9894

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  Also Available from MysteriousPress.com and Head of Zeus

  The Memoirs of Schlock Homes,

  the Sequel to The Incredible Schlock Homes

  More Ebooks by Robert L. Fish

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