I must pause here to acquaint the reader with the society to which Holmes had just mentioned. The Fabian Society is a British socialist intellectual movement, whose purpose is to advance the socialist cause by reformist, rather than revolutionary, means.
“An excellent suggestion” Holmes continued “what time does this lecture begin?” I turned the tickets over to see when the performance was scheduled to begin “8:00 o’clock it says” “ Then Watson I shall make the necessary arrangements with the hansom cab driver who will be taking me to my destination this evening to arrange that we have transportation waiting for us at 7:00 o’clock tomorrow evening giving us enough time to arrive at the theater.”
With that Holmes was dressed and out the door and onto his evening errand. Once the over powering smell of smoked cigarettes and cigars had finally left the room I pulled down each of the large parlor windows to keep the damp and cold outside, I stoked the coal fire in the hearth,
lit the coal oil lamp on the small table beside me and my pipe then comfortably settled in the large green leather chair next to the table to continue with my journal.
Chapter 6
I heard Holmes downstairs letting himself in the front door just as the mantle clock was chiming 10 p.m. As he was coming through the front door of his rooms I looked up from my writing and asked him with some interest if he had any luck with the forgery.
“Due to the obvious quality of the painting Watson, the Metropolitan Police and myself agree we lack the necessary artistic skills to discern if it is a forgery or not. To this end it is to being taken to the Belgravia Gallery tomorrow morning where their experts in forgery will ascertain if it is or is not. “
After removing and hanging up his over coat and top hat he sat down in his favorite chair for a minute to scan the evening newspapers looking over the top of the news paper he had in his hands Holmes asked in passing “speaking of tomorrow night’s lecture do you know the title of this new novel written by Mr. H.G. Wells?”
“The Time Machine, I believe” I answered some what quietly while waiting for some sort of predictable and skeptical reaction from Holmes. Holmes thought for a moment, and then he said something very unpredictable “
“A machine that travels through time in the hands of a master criminal, Watson what an interesting if somewhat a disturbing thought. The nature and types of crime that could be committed are astounding. “ “Is there anything of interest in the news paper?” I asked him after a short time to get him away from thinking more about time machines in the hands of criminals.
He was aware that by anything of interest, I had meant anything of criminal interest. There was the news of a revolution, of a possible war, and of an impending change of government; but these did not come within the horizon of my companion. I could see nothing recorded in the shape of crime which was not commonplace and futile. Holmes groaned and resumed his restless meanderings.
The London criminal is certainly a dull fellow,” Holmes said in the querulous voice of the sportsman whose game has failed him. “Look out of these windows this evening Watson.” Holmes indicated to his windows facing onto Baker Street
“See how the figures loom up, are dimly seen, and then blend once more into the cloudbank. The thief or the murderer could roam London on such a day as the tiger does the jungle, unseen until he pounces, and then evident only to his victim.”
“There have,” he said, “been numerous petty thefts.” Holmes snorted his contempt as he folded up the paper and dropped it by his side. “This great and somber stage is set for something more worthy than that,” said he. “It is fortunate for this community that I am not a criminal.” “It is, indeed!” said I heartily.
Chapter 7
As it had been arranged by Holmes the previous evening, precisely at 7:00 o’clock our transport was waiting in the street for us. As I climbed in, Holmes gave the driver our destination then climbed in beside me. With quick jerk of the horse’s reins we were off traveling the nighttime gas lit still wet cobble stone streets of London.
After traveling across the city for some time we found ourselves on King Street and only a few of blocks away from our final destination. As our hansom slowly cab pulled up to the well gas lit front entrance of the theater both Holmes and I could tell by the number of people mingling about outside St. James’s and waiting to enter that many others in London were as curious to find out about this new author as we were.
After Holmes paid the fare we left the cab and proceeded inside, we then made our way from the busy and bustling front entrance of the theater, checked our coats and hats, had our tickets verified by an usher then Holmes and I made our way through small and large groups of people engaged in conversation.
We crossed the ornately decorated and carpeted chandelier lit foyer and found our way into semi darkened theater where we looked for the row letter and seat numbers that had been stamped on our tickets. “Here we are Watson, row E seats 20 and 21 and it appears that our seats are located about mid way along the row.”
Finally making our way to our seats with out any one impeding our progress Holmes and I settled in to our respective seats and waited for the performance to begin. As we were sitting there together I soaked up the atmosphere and conversations that was going on all around me. Holmes was scanning the audience I assumed looking to locate some of the missing criminal element he had commented on earlier.
Before either of us had any time to really take in the people sitting beside us and in front of us the gas lights on the walls of the theater were being dimmed. At the same time two stage hands were crossing the large stage from right to left lighting in turn each of the lime lights that would illuminate the performer.
As the last of the theaters gas lights were being extinguished the level of conversation also seemed to be extinguished too. When the theater was quiet a tall distinguished looking gentleman in formal evening dress appeared from the right wing of the stage (obviously the master of ceremonies), when he reached the middle of the stage he stopped, turned and faced the audience.
“Good evening ladies and gentlemen,” he said in a deep booming male voice that I’m sure could be heard all the way to the exits at the back of the theater “on behalf of the St. James Theater and our guest speaker I would like to thank you for coming to hear him this evening”.
There was a pause “Mr. H.G. Wells is known to many in London as a novelist, journalist, sociologist, and historian. Tonight he comes to us as a writer of a new form of prose, which he calls science fiction.”
The novel he will be reading excerpts from tonight is his first one to be written and published in this new style. Mr. Wells will read a few short passages from his novel then if there is time after he will take questions from the audience.
The master of ceremonies paused again for a moment the continued “Following this evening’s performance Mr. Wells will be available in the St. James’s Theater foyer for a short time after to sign copies of his new book if any one has already purchased one and wishes to have it autographed by the author
“And now ladies and gentlemen with out further delay I give you this evening’s performer Mr. H.G. Wells.”
With that the applause from the audience started slowly then continued to build. As the applause continued the master of ceremonies returned to the right wing of the stage as he did he was passed by who everybody in the audience assumed to be H.G. Wells. Wells appearance was quite different; he was short, young looking (I would have placed his age at around 29), he had a full head of auburn hair, with a slightly drooping mustache of the same color and he had what some would call melancholy looking eyes.
Where the master of ceremonies had been formally attired Wells wore what might be considered an everyday tan colored woolen business suit with white shirt, collar and dark colored tie, to finish he was wearing what some might call “walking shoes”. In his left hand he was ca
rrying a blue leather bound book, the book we assumed he was going to be reading from.
Wells now stood in the same place where the master of ceremonies had a few moments ago “Good evening ladies and gentlemen,” Wells started then realized with his voice he could not compete with the applause waited for it to die down and finish then continued “my name is Herbert George Wells and I will be reading some short passages from my new novel The Time Machine also known as The Chronic Argonauts.”
He opened up his book to the page that had been book marked looked down and began reading. At this point I will not bore the reader with the word for word context of all the passages that were read on the stage that evening, but there were three passages of particular interest that caught both Holmes and my attention.
This little affair,’ said the Time Traveler, resting his elbows upon the table and pressing his hands together above the apparatus, ‘is only a model. It is my plan for a machine to travel through time.
You mean to say that machine (the model) has traveled into the future?’ said Filby.
‘Into the future or the past - I don’t, for certain, know which.’ After an interval the Psychologist had an inspiration. ‘It must have gone into the past if it has gone anywhere,’ he said. ‘Why?’ said the Time Traveler.
‘Because I presume that it has not moved in space, and if it traveled into the future it would still be here all this time, since it must have traveled through this time.’ ‘But,’ I said, ‘If it traveled into the past it would have been visible when we came first into this room; and last Thursday when we were here; and the Thursday before that; and so forth!’ (H.G. Wells the Time machine)
Chapter 8
As it turns out there was another person in the audience of the St. James that evening that had more than a passing literary interest in the science fiction writings of Wells than either Holmes or I did. “Watson” Holmes said in a low voice as he leaned in my direction “You know it’s not usually in my nature to give in to premonitions but I think we should have a word with author after, perhaps while he is occupied with autographing copies of his book.”
“What makes you think like this?” I questioned “I thought I saw the back of a familiar form two rows ahead of us” was Holmes answer “and if it is who I think it is I cannot help but think he is not here solely for the sake of literature”.
He then instructed me “When Mr. Wells is finished Watson, proceed from your seat to the foyer and secure a place in book signing queue for both of us before too many more people from the audience are ahead of us.” “While you are doing this I am going to see if the form I saw belongs to the man I think he might be.”
As H.G. Wells was taking his second curtain call to an almost standing ovation, I made my way quickly from the theater to the foyer to see that there were only a few people were lined up in the book signing queue for the author to arrive. As instructed I got into the queue, as I was waiting a gentleman two people ahead of me caught my attention.
Even from where I was standing I noticed right away he was half a head taller than myself; I thought him a bit on the thin side, he had dark sparse hair and was well dressed, which indicated to me that he might be gainfully employed. The one thing that kept my attention on him was an air of nervous energy that seemed to be about him. As if he had a burning question that required an immediate answer from the author.
The sound of approaching applause, which momentarily broke my concentration, indicated that Wells had entered the theater foyer After the author had seated himself at the desk and chair that the theater had been provided for him the book signing queue slowly began to move forward, I looked around and did not notice Holmes any where, so instead of introducing Holmes to the author as I had planned to I could only introduce myself and relate to Wells, I only hoped correctly was that Holmes had enjoyed the reading.
Before I knew it the man with the air of nervous energy about him was standing in front of H.G. Wells I was close enough to catch most to the conversation that passed between them. “Mr. Wells” the man started “I regret not having a copy of your book for you to autograph, but be assured I will be purchasing a copy first thing tomorrow. I do have one question for you though, is the time machine in your story a possibility?”
“Mr.” Wells paused while he waited to hear his questioner’s last name “Druitt sir Montague John Druitt” was the questioners answer. “Mr. Druitt let me assure you that the machine in my book is a work of pure fiction and imagination only.”
“During the last part of the 19th century we have witnessed the invention of great marvels of technology but we do not at this time possess the knowledge or even the ability to create such a machine that could propel a man as far forward in time as I have suggested.”
When Druitt, no doubt a little disappointed at the answer he received and the person behind him departed it was my turn to speak to the author. I first introduced myself and then apologized for Holmes absence.
“I can assure you Mr. Wells if my friend were here he would compliment you on your story and in the manner it was written,” “When you see him next thank him for me” was Wells response then he continued “I must ask if you are the same Doctor Watson who writes for the Strand chronicling the cases of Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”
Surprised and a little bit flattered at the question I replied “Yes I am, although if my friend were present he would tell you that I relate them as exciting stories rather than as objective and detailed reports focusing on what Holmes regards as the pure “science”.
Then remembering my conversation with Holmes about the time machine earlier in the theater, I asked if Welles was free some after noon to meet with Holmes and myself to discuss his book in greater detail.
“The pleasure would be mine Doctor Watson” was Wells response to my request. Giving him a card with Holmes address on it I said my farewells and set off looking to see if I could locate Holmes in the now fairly crowded and bustling theater foyer After searching for a short time and having no luck in locating him I finally retrieved my coat and hat and made my way towards the well lit entrance of the theater and King Street in hopes of attracting a hansom cabbies attention for transport back to 221 B Baker Street.
Then as if by some magicians trick I suddenly heard my name in the night air “Watson!” and there was Holmes already seated in one waiting for me. “Holmes you never cease to surprise me.” I said as I climbed in. “Did you locate the person you were looking for?” I asked. “No” Holmes replied to my question “He must have melted into the large body of people who had gathered in the theater foyer after Mr. Well’s performance.
“I trust although you were able to talk with the author for a few minutes?” “ Holmes queried. I told him I had and that I had invited Wells to Holmes room’s tomorrow afternoon to talk more about his book.
As the hansom cab pulled away into the night I related “I must tell you that while I was waiting in the queue I saw a man who caught my attention and while he was talking to H.G. Wells I happen to overhear his name, it sounded some what familiar and I wondered if you might remember it” I said “The name of this man?” Holmes questioned “John Druitt” I replied
Holmes then asked me to give a physical description of Druitt, and it turned out to be the very man Holmes had been seeking earlier in the theater “ah yes Montague John Druitt,” Holmes closed his eyes to remember “originally from Dorset I believe, he was a graduate of Winchester College and an avid sportsman.
I believe Druitt was considered by many to be the number one suspect in the Jack the Ripper case. Interestingly enough, there was very little evidence with which to implicate his him. I also remember that he had been incarcerated for the theft of small to medium sized oil paintings and was also in the business of creating reasonably good forgeries of the stolen paintings to sell to less than discriminate buyers.”
Chapter 9
The next day proved to be far brighter for myself and Holmes in that the weather had much improved and in the much anticipated visit of a famous author. “Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson a Mr. Wells is here to see you” came the familiar voice of Mrs. Hudson from the downstairs inside front entrance of the house.
“Send him up please Mrs. Hudson” Holmes raised his voice loud enough so that he did not have to immediately get up from the chair where he was seated. Shortly after the person who we had both seen on stage the night before came through the front door of Holmes rooms. Both Homes and I got up walked towards our visitor and welcomed him. “The pleasure is all mine gentlemen” Wells replied in return “it is an honor to be in the company of two famous persons as yourselves.”
While removing his coat and hat Wells complimented Holmes by saying “I feel as if I already know you Mr. Holmes from Doctor Watson’s chronicles in the Strand” “Mr. Wells” Holmes countered “I must tell you that Watson does have a tendency to magnify the few skills and abilities I put to use when solving a case. Since I rarely if ever get to read his notes before he has them published I can only imagine that the account of both the crime and criminal are far more interesting on paper then they ever were while I was dealing with either.”
As all three of us sat down, Mrs. Hudson came in bearing a silver tray on it was a pot of freshly brewed tea, cups, saucers, spoons, cream and sugar. After tea was served all around Mrs. Hudson left the room and Holmes started “I must compliment on your performance at the St. James Theater the other night Mr. Wells, I would have done so in person but there was a gentlemen in the audience that I had wished to talk with.”
Holmes then asked Wells to give an outline of his story. Wells went on to tell Holmes about the inventor and his machine, where the inventor went in time and the consequences of his travels. “It would seem to be an awesome responsibility to own such a machine then” Holmes commented after. “A lot of good could be done with it as well as a lot of harm.”
Sherlock Holmes and the Discarded Cigarette Page 2
