“Now, I had had my heart set on skinning my bear, but he was a pretty good fellow and I didn’t have the heart. Nevertheless, my travels had taken me deep into the Wyoming back country, and it was still powerful cold. Whilst I was fighting with Bob I hadn’t noticed it much, but now it was starting to bite.
“Bob said that there was an enormous hot-water geyser about a hundred miles away. He said that would warm me up. I didn’t look forward to a hundred-mile walk and I told him so. He said that since I hadn’t skinned him, he would allow himself to become a beast of burden for a time. So it was set that I would ride Bob to this geyser.
“I had no saddle, but that was no bother and I leapt up on Bob’s back, grabbed some fur, and we took off. We passed a few cabins and even went through a small town on the way. Apparently the local folk hadn’t seen a man ride a bear before. I can tell you that I don’t recommend it. Bob’s back was kind of bony and my backside was mighty sore when we finally arrived at our destination. Bob and I parted friends, and I decided to have my hot bath.
“I stepped next to the geyser and let me tell you it was like taking the most marvelous hot shower you ever had. Then the geyser decided to get wise and he turned up the heat and almost scalded me. Well, that made me furious. I punched the geyser harder than I punched Bob. The geyser punched back and we went at it for seven days. I finally felt him weakening and I hit him with my special haymaker punch. It knocked him right back down his hole. I called him a yellow dog for running away and I told him I would wait until he came back up to give him another wallop. I hid behind a tree aways off, and I stood there waiting for an hour and a half until he peeked out. Well, when he did, I rushed back over to renew the fray. He would quickly go back into his hole, and we repeated this action for the rest of the day. I finally wearied of fighting such a coward and left. I heard that since that day the geyser is too scared to blow all the time and only comes out every ninety minutes or so.
“Since I was already out West, I decided to catch a steamer for a trip around the world. I found a ship in port in San Francisco that was bound for England. That suited me to a T, and I made passage on her. The trip was fine, though we passed through a storm that rocked the ship mightily. I don’t swim, you know, so I took a great interest in the ability of the ship to remain above water. We pulled through, and towards the end of the voyage I had dinner with an Irish fellow. He was a nice enough gent, but he had the audacity to tell me that the Irish folk are the world’s best talkers. Now, I fancy myself quite the talker, so I stood for myself and for my country. The Irishman waved away my arguments and said that it was the Blarney Stone that had given all Irish peoples the gift of gab.
“Well, as soon as we docked in England, I made my way to Ireland to find this Blarney Stone. It was talking away when I found it, and I challenged the stone to a contest. We chatted straightaway for three months before I noticed the stone was getting a bit hoarse. I kept right on talking, and finally the Blarney Stone gave up and crowned me the winner of the gift of gab. I so humiliated the stone that he stopped talking altogether.”
“But, Bill,” said Jim, “the Blarney Stone don’t talk.”
“Not anymore he don’t,” returned Bill. “By this time I figured that I had traveled enough, and I wanted to come home to dear old Gotham. I booked passage on a fine steamer and I was off again, but this time I was heading home. I had kind of a sore throat. It was from outtalking the Blarney Stone no doubt. I saw the ship’s doctor, and he told me that the only cure for my illness was to kiss every woman on the ship. As it was doctor’s orders, I set about to do just that. It was the finest remedy I had ever had, and I hope to get sick again real soon. We were in sort of choppy seas one day, and I wanted to look out at the storm from my room. I opened my porthole, and a rush of water came into the cabin and swept me out into the hall. The whole ship began to flood, and the captain soon gave the order to abandon ship.
“The crew did real well, and the passengers made it to the lifeboats with no trouble. Now, as I have said, I can’t swim, but I didn’t want to take a place on the lifeboats because they were filling up fast. I feared someone would lose their place if I took a seat, and I was a feeling a bit guilty on account of causing her to sink in the first place. Then an idea struck. I grabbed the ship’s anchor as she was going down and threw myself overboard. That was six months ago.”
“Six months ago,” said a bewildered Jim. “You said you just got in town yesterday. Where have you been for six months, and how did you not drown?”
“That is simple, old friend. You see, the anchor took me straight to the bottom of the Atlantic. Once I got there, I started walking for New York. It was about a fifteen-hundred-mile walk so it took a while.”
“But why didn’t you drown?” asked Jim.
“That was the great idea I had,” replied Bill. “I just held my breath the whole time!”
Chapter Three
There was a moment of silence as Wainwright finished his tale and then the room exploded in laughter. Blake, Irishman that he is, was pounding on the table with one hand. Others were applauding with great vigor. The chairman finally called for order and then spoke when the table quieted down.
“I do not wish to prejudge the vote, but I will say I believe that was a first-rate tall tale, worthy of The League of Mendacious Men.”
“Blake, that is a breaking of the rule of the silent vote,” admonished the Judge. “No man, save the sponsor, may make his vote known to anyone before the vote.”
There was a general murmuring of agreement around the table.
“The Judge has you there, Blake,” said Captain Marbury. “The club is like a ship. If every man is allowed to follow his own way the vessel will surely founder.”
There were laughs around the table at the Captain’s remarks, and Blake held up a hand in surrender.
“Very well, even an Irishman knows when he has said too much. That aside, I move the question. Is it the consensus of the club that we proceed to a vote? All in favour say aye.”
As far as I could ascertain, every club member voted aye.
“Opposed?” asked Blake.
This question was met with silence.
“Very well, then. The motion has been carried.”
Wallace Hunter slapped Wainwright in the back and the American gave a broad smile in return. Everyone else seemed in remarkably good humour. The Judge took the opportunity to stroll over to the sideboard and pour himself another drink. I took that occasion to brace my other table companion with a question.
“I do not understand,” I said in an undertone to Colonel Pelham. “I know I am just a guest to the festivities, but I understood there was some sort of secret ballot. Has Wainwright been conferred club membership?”
“No, Doctor,” he replied. “It is simply the third hurdle to membership has been crossed.”
“The third?”
“But of course. The first is that a prospective member must be sponsored by a member in good standing. Hunter was good enough to sponsor our American friend. The second hurdle is the ability to come up with a tall tale that is amusing. Wainwright most assuredly accomplished that. Thirdly, the motion to proceed to a vote must be passed. The last obstacle is the secret ballot at which a single black ball will sink the nomination.”
“I had no idea that membership was so difficult, but there is something I do not understand. Isn’t the secret ballot a mere formality? After all, every member of the club voted in the affirmative to move the membership forward. Why would anyone vote for the secret ballot and then vote down the prospective member?”
“You must allow us our eccentricities, Doctor. The League of Mendacious Men is reckoned as perhaps the most exclusive gentlemen’s club in London, and that means in the world. I have seen knights and cabinet members denied even the courtesy of the secret ballot. Only those who amuse us are given that amenity. Wainwright has amused the club, and he proceeds to the secret ballot.”
“And he could still be deni
ed?”
“That he could, Doctor. In the history of the club it has happened twice, but I think our journalist friend has nothing to fear. I believe he will make a fine member of the club. We have never had a newspaperman as one of our society.”
The idea of approving a secret vote and yet still denying membership seemed distinctly ungentlemanly, but I stayed my tongue. At any rate, any comment I might have made was forestalled by Arthur Blake and Wallace Hunter joining us.
“Well, Watson, didn’t I tell you that this would be a memorable experience?” asked Blake.
I agreed that it was an episode outside my previous familiarity.
“You have been given a signal honour, Doctor,” said Hunter, “second only to membership itself.”
“Indeed,” said I.
“Oh, yes. Members are welcome to invite guests, but never before have we allowed one during the ceremony of vetting a potential member.”
I allowed that I was honoured.
“It was a jolly good tale,” I said. “I wonder how Wainwright came up with such diverting absurdities.”
“Well, that would be telling, Doctor,” said Harold Wainwright as he joined our group.
I noticed that the Judge and Captain Marbury were deep in conversation at the sideboard.
“Of course, I will admit that I was influenced by our Mr. Twain,” continued Wainwright, “but the tale is my own. It is an amalgamation of fancy and my own experiences exaggerated.”
Just as he finished, I heard the Judge clear his throat and found that he was behind me, just over my left shoulder.
“We have a ceremony yet to finish, do we not, Blake?” he asked.
I saw the Captain, who was standing next to the Judge, nod his head sagely in agreement.
“Of course you are right, gentlemen,” said Blake. “Mr. Wainwright, this way please.”
Blake passed his arm through the American’s and they proceeded to the far end of the room. A curtain was drawn back that revealed a door. The two men passed through the door together and disappeared from view.
In response to my quizzical expression, Hunter explained.
“In that room, Doctor, lie a single table and a single chair. The chair stands facing the far wall away from the door with its back to the table. Upon the table are two bowls and a bag in between them. The bowl to the left is filled with six white marbles, and the bowl to the right is filled with six black marbles. Blake is now blindfolding Wainwright. Each man will enter in turn, based upon seniority, and chose between the white and black marbles. He then places his marble in the bag. After all have voted, the most senior member of the club enters and brings forth the bag and the prospective member.”
I nodded that I had followed the nature of the ceremony completely. Blake came out from the room, closed the door, and returned to the table. Without being asked, the other members resumed their seats and I followed their lead.
“I call Judge Edward Bainbridge to cast his sacred voted,” Blake intoned.
The stately Judge arose and made his way to the door. For no reason at all, I felt a chill and rubbed my hands together. The Judge returned presently. The roll continued to be called as Captain Marbury, Wallace Hunter, Jonathan Sawyer, and Colonel Pelham each took his place in turn. At last only Arthur Blake was left to vote. He took his turn. I watched as he walked into the room for the second time. He was gone for under a minute, and came back to the table and sat.
“The membership have voted on this weighty matter,” he intoned as he sat. “Does any man wish to reconsider his vote?”
This question brought forth nothing but silence.
“Very well,” he continued. “I now entrust Judge Bainbridge, as most senior club member, with the task of returning the member to the meeting room and to bring forth the votes of the members on tonight’s question.”
The Judge arose once again and made his way into the room in which the blindfolded Wainwright was concealed. Several members took the opportunity to refresh their drinks. I remained seated and awaited the outcome of the vote, though there seemed to be little doubt that the American had gained entrance.
My thoughts were interrupted by what I was certain was a cry or a groan from the voting room. Others also obviously heard, as conversation came to a halt. Before anyone could act, Judge Bainbridge staggered back into the meeting room. His face was ashen and he was clearly under some great emotional distress. Arthur Blake was first to his side.
“Judge, my goodness. What is the matter?” he asked.
Only guttural sounds escaped the Judge’s throat, but he pointed towards the voting room. Blake and I exchanged worried glances, and we both came to the same decision at once. We left the Judge in the care of the others and dashed into the voting room.
The room was quite dark. The only illumination was that of a single veiled lamp. The room was spartanly furnished, with only a high-backed chair, which faced away from the door and the voting table. The two crystal bowls sat at either end of the table with a gold-trimmed velvet bag between them. I realized immediately that the room we were in was actually a mere small partition of the larger meeting room. There was only one entrance and no windows. I could see no reason for the Judge’s fevered reaction. I felt a hand upon my shoulder. It surprised me and I whirled about and thrust the hand away. I was greeted with a surprised expression from Wallace Hunter.
“My goodness, Doctor,” he said. “I did not mean to give you such a start.”
“The apology is mine, sir,” I replied. “I do not know why I reacted as I did. It must be an account of the Judge. Has he brought himself under control as of yet?”
“No. Have you discovered why he was so distraught?”
Before I could answer, I noticed that Blake had walked around to face Wainwright. It suddenly occurred to me that the American was still blindfolded and could not possibly know what the frenzy was about. It was possible he might think that this was all part of the initiation. My thoughts were broken by a gasp from the Irishman. I looked over at him and saw that he was as ashen as the Judge had been.
“It cannot be,” he croaked.
His expression was so horrid I hurried to his side. As I rounded the table, Harold Wainwright came into view. He was seated and looked much the same as he had before entering the room with two exceptions. One difference was that he was blindfolded per the club rules. The second difference was the large knife protruding from his chest. Harold Wainwright had been murdered.
Chapter Four
I felt for the man’s pulse as a matter of procedure, but he was most certainly dead. I suddenly realized that Wallace Hunter was at my side. He clearly took in the situation, but he remained much more self-controlled than the Judge, or even Arthur Blake as he stood mute next to me. Hunter put a hand to Wainwright’s cheek.
“He’s still warm. He must have just been killed.”
“Well of course he was just killed!” exclaimed Blake as he came out of his brown study. “I led him into this room less than ten minutes ago.”
“Of course, of course,” muttered Hunter. “Still, it is hard to believe that he has been murdered. What will people say? I don’t suppose he could have killed himself, could he have, Doctor?”
Hunter looked to me with a hopeful expression on his face.
“Positively not,” I said without a trace of equivocation. “This man has been murdered. There can be no doubt of that. The authorities must be notified.”
At this pronouncement Blake called for the doorman and asked him to send for the police. The other members wanted to crowd into the room, but at my behest they stopped.
“Gentlemen, we must preserve the scene as much as possible for the arrival of the authorities,” I said. “I have some experience in these matters, and you must believe me.”
We all returned to the meeting room. Some members sat, while others milled about in a stunned silence.
Suddenly I heard Judge Bainbridge explode at Wallace Hunter.
“Damn you, man!
You need not treat me as a child.”
“My apologies, Judge,” said Hunter. “I merely thought that you were a bit stunned by events. You did look something awful when you came out of the voting room.”
“I was taken a bit aback, I admit,” conceded Bainbridge. “But remember that as a judge, I sentenced men to death. I still see their faces in my sleep. Sean Carpenter, Lewis Fisher, and young Lieutenant Barkley still haunt me, but I fear no death myself.”
Wallace Hunter continued to quietly placate the elderly jurist. After a time nearly everyone refilled their glass. Even I, accustomed to death from my army days as well as with Sherlock Holmes, took a whiskey and soda to steady my nerves.
Within minutes a constable arrived and took charge of the scene. He quickly examined the voting room and saw the murdered man. The constable realized that a case such as this would require a Scotland Yard Inspector and merely secured the scene without investigating further. He was in the process of taking the names of all present, when Inspector Hopkins arrived with a police sergeant.
The youthful Hopkins was a favorite of Holmes, and I was glad to see him. I was on the point of crossing the room to converse with him when, to my surprise, Sherlock Holmes also walked through the door. I covered the distance between us in a rush.
“Why, Holmes, this is remarkable. How is it that you happen upon the scene of a recent murder? I had thought to have a note sent for you when circumstances permitted, but I am relieved to see you.”
Holmes merely smiled and said nothing.
The League of Mendacious Men (A Sherlock Holmes Uncovered Tale Book 10) Page 2
