THE
MIDWINTER MYSTERIES
OF
SHERLOCK HOLMES
Three Adventures &
‘The Grand Gift of Sherlock’
by Craig Janacek
Copyright © 2014 by Craig Janacek
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Grateful acknowledgment to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (1859-1930)
for the use of the Sherlock Holmes characters.
Cover illustration by Sidney Paget (1860-1908)
from 1893 (in public domain)
Books by Craig Janacek
THE OXFORD DECEPTION
THE ANGER OF ACHILLES PETERSON
THE MIDWINTER MYSTERIES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
THE ADVENTURE OF THE MANUFACTURED MIRACLE
THE ADVENTURE OF THE FIRST STAR
THE ADVENTURE OF THE SPANISH SOVEREIGN
(THE GRAND GIFT OF SHERLOCK)
THE DR. WATSON TRILOGY
THE ISLE OF DEVILS
THE GATE OF GOLD*
THE RUINS OF SUMMER*
*Coming soon on Kindle
About the Type
This book is set in Baskerville Old Face, a transitional serif typeface designed in 1757 by John Baskerville (1706–1775) in Birmingham, England. Baskerville is classified as a transitional typeface, positioned between the old style typefaces of William Caslon, and the modern styles of Giambattista Bodoni and Firmin Didot. The typeface was designed to reflect Baskerville's ideals of perfection, for which he chose simplicity and quiet refinement. His background as a writing master is evident in the distinctive swash tail on the uppercase Q and in the cursive serifs in the Baskerville Italic. The refined feeling of the typeface makes it an excellent choice to convey dignity and tradition.
It is unclear whether this John Baskerville is in fact one of the two sons of Hugo, who in 1742 set down the chronicle of the Curse of the Baskervilles.
§
About the Author
CRAIG JANACEK is a frequent visitor to the streets of London and a devoted Sherlockian, who hopes to someday be invested as a Baker Street Irregular. He hails from Southern California, studied at Pembroke College (Cambridge, England), is a graduate of the University of California, San Diego and Vanderbilt University School of Medicine, and did specialty training at Stanford University. His novels include The Isle of Devils, a tale of Watson’s first adventure without Holmes, The Anger of Achilles Peterson, and The Oxford Deception. In addition to fiction, he publishes frequently on medical topics. He is a professor at the University of California, San Francisco, and lives nearby with his wife, Margaret, and two children, Owen and Danica. Craig Janacek is a pseudonym.
For augmented content, connect with him online at: http://craigjanacek.wordpress.com.
§
To Danica & Owen
“We cannot kindle when we will
The fire which in the heart resides;
The spirit bloweth and is still,
In mystery our soul abides.”
Matthew Arnold
‘Morality’ (1852)
TABLE OF CONTENTS
THE ADVENTURE OF THE SPANISH SOVEREIGN
THE ADVENTURE OF THE MANUFACTURED MIRACLE
THE ADVENTURE OF THE FIRST STAR
THE GRAND GIFT OF SHERLOCK
Concerning Dates & Other Matters
Close the door snugly behind you, if you will. Shut off with it the cares of the darkening outside world. Draw one of the plush armchairs closer to the crackling fire and cover your legs with a woolen rug. Do not hesitate to rest your weary feet upon the stuffed ottoman; you have earned the rest. The frost is thick on the windowpanes, and it is certainly not fit to go outside. Instead, pour yourself a dash of brandy from the spirit case (though you may want to refrain from some of the other chemical substances lurking about the room, as we know far more in this century about the dangers of self-poisoning). Choose a leather-backed volume from the bookcase and draw the candle a bit closer to ensure that you can see it well enough. Once the first page is turned, you will find yourself journeying through a magic portal to a largely vanished world. Immerse yourself in the era of Victoria, when hansom cabs plied the gas-lit streets, and the modern celebrations of Christmas and Boxing Day first began.
Although never implicitly stated in the Canon, it is widely agreed upon that Dr. John H. Watson, aimless recuperating ex-Army surgeon, originally met Sherlock Holmes, the world’s first consulting detective, at St. Bart’s Hospital on 1 January, 1881. From such information, we may safely deduce that the two men, both quite solitary in their ways, spent the preceding Christmas, that most companionable of holidays, completely alone in the midst of the largest city on the globe. But fear not, for from that setting of cheerless want, sprung a friendship that would last for decades and change the world for the better.
Should you care to spend your holiday time with the Great Detective and his humble biographer, there is no better place to begin than with the Canonical ‘The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle,’ which took place in 1889, eight years after the beginning of their partnership. To the discerning reader, that tale remains the finest holiday story in existence, bar none.
If you wish to continue your voyage with Holmes and Watson, you may also be interested in the recently discovered tale ‘The Adventure of the Spanish Sovereign,’ which occurred the following year. This would be the last Christmas that Holmes and Watson spent together before his presumed death in May 1891 at Reichenbach Falls. This would set off a bleak span for Dr. Watson, who would also lose his beloved wife during that time. It is little wonder that no cheerful tales survive from that period.
Then, to the joy of Watson and men everywhere (save only those with criminal inclinations, who surely gnashed their teeth in dismay), Holmes triumphantly returned from the Great Hiatus to London in the spring of 1894. At the height of his powers, Holmes’s first Christmas back at Baker Street with Watson was spent solving the puzzling ‘The Adventure of the Manufactured Miracle.’ This was followed the next year by the dazzling deductions of ‘The Adventure of the First Star.’
Sadly, as far as holidays are concerned, Watson’s pen fell silent after 1895. This is despite the fact that Holmes did not officially retire to the South Downs until 1903, and we can thus infer that at least fourteen other December adventures must have taken place, for the London criminal rarely paused his nefarious activities from a surfeit of holiday cheer. Perhaps there is another ‘travel-worn and battered tin dispatch-box’ lurking in a bank vault somewhere which contains the lost records of those years? Until its rediscovery, however, we must be content with the happy unearthing of Holmes’ final letter to Watson dating from shortly after the end of the Great War in 1918. In this moving testament to the power of friendship, published here with the fanciful title of ‘The Grand Gift of Sherlock,’ we find the only record of Holmes’ proclivity to celebrating one of the enduring traditions of Christmas.
§
THE
ADVENTURE OF
THE SPANISH SOVEREIGN
To Danica
“Good King Wenceslas looked out, on the Feast of Stephen,
When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even;
Brightly shone the moon that night,
tho' the frost was cruel,
When a poor man came in sight, gath'ring winter fuel.
"Hither, page, and stand by me, if thou know'st it, telling,
Yonder peasant, who is he? Where and what his dwelling?’
‘Sire, he lives a good league hence, underneath the mountain;
Right against the forest fence, by Saint Agnes' fountain.’
‘Bring me flesh, and bring me wine, bring me pine logs hither:
Thou and I shall see him dine, when we bear them thither.’
Page and monarch, forth they went, forth they went together;
Through the rude wind's wild lament and the bitter weather.
‘Sire, the night is darker now, and the wind blows stronger;
Fails my heart, I know not how; I can go no longer.’
‘Mark my footsteps, good my page. Tread thou in them boldly
Thou shalt find the winter's rage freeze thy blood less coldly.’”
by John Mason Neale (1853)
LITERARY AGENT’S FORWARD
The literary world is replete with “newly discovered” manuscripts purportedly written by Dr. John H. Watson, biographer of the world’s first consulting detective, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Therefore, the provenance of all such manuscripts must be carefully scrutinized for any possibility of a modern forgery. It was with such a consideration in mind that I approached the remarkable story which I found tucked within a stack of my grandfather’s war records.
It was Christmastime, 2013. We were visiting my mother, who had suddenly decided that a family reunion could serve as the appropriate occasion in which to perform a long-overdue assault upon the more neglected corners of the house. Knowing my especial interest in history, she brought forth from the attic a dusty box filled with a stack of disorganized papers topped by some shoulder rank patches and dog tags, all of which had belonged to her father Hal, who had most unfortunately passed on long before I was even born.
Very interested in this man whom I never knew, but whose blood flowed in my veins, I pounced on the box with great curiosity. Most of the box’s contents consisted of an admixture of official documents, such as Naval Training Course certificates, Naval Department Tobacco Rationing Cards, and Basic and Supplemental Mileage Rations & Gasoline Purchase Permits. These were interspersed with personal mementos, such as black and white photographs of him and his friends, ‘FLY FOR NAVY’ campaign stickers, Western Union telegrams, newspaper clippings, and notes about social gatherings. I spent many hours studying this fascinating slice of my family history. However, at the very bottom was something completely anomalous, in a handwriting that I recognized with a palpable tremble of excitement.
In no place do my grandfather’s records indicate exactly how he came to be in possession of the remarkable manuscript which follows. However, collectively, certain anomalies in his record make one wonder if perhaps Hal “Red” Smith was not something more than he superficially appeared?
§
Officially, Harold A. “Red” Smith (1912–1964) was honorably discharged from the United States Navy on September 14, 1945 with the rank of Chief Specialist. He had served in the Office of Naval Officer Procurement in Chicago, and no written record of any overseas service has ever been located.
However, a closer inspection of his war records demonstrates the following unusual facts:
1. His promotion packet contains a letter of recommendation signed by Lt. R.W. Bartlett, Lt. E.T. Meredith, and Lt. G.B. McIntosh, in which they collectively state among other things that: “He has demonstrated foresight, ingenuity, and decided ability to cope with any unusual or difficult problem presented to him. He is neat, quick-witted and alert and has demonstrated leadership, initiative, and intelligence in a high degree.”
2. He had a “Speaking Knowledge of German.”
3. One of his promotion references was Captain Charles W. Allen, “Counter-Intelligence School,” whose letter has been lost (or redacted).
Furthermore, his notes, written in a crabbed handwriting in a small blue hardback book entitled ‘My Stretch in the Service,’ were generally quite thorough and filled with such pithy items as “July 25, 1943 – Mussolini is out!” and “April 12, 1945 – The President is Dead!” However, the notes were unusually silent during a period starting on October 15, 1943, which he recorded as simply “Transferred.” This period lasted until June 15, 1945, five weeks after V-E Day. A careful analysis of his records suggests that this transfer was likely to the Office of War Information.
On June 13, 1942, this particular office had been split off on orders of President Roosevelt from the Office of Strategic Services (OSS). William Donovan, the head of the OSS was known for recruiting untraditional agents, and he is widely believed to have utilized the Office of War Information as a cover agency for those men assigned to the OSS. Donovan created the X-2 Counter Espionage Branch in 1943 to liaison with the British Special Operations Executive (SOE), and assist in its mission (assigned by Winston Churchill) to “set Europe ablaze.” Exploiting the intelligence gleaned from the Ultra program, by the end of World War II the X-2 had discovered approximately 3,000 undercover Axis agents. The headquarters of the SOE during the War was at 64 Baker Street, where the lads not surprisingly became known as the ‘Baker Street Irregulars.’
The only possible explanation for the presence of this particular manuscript within my grandfather’s papers was that he had somehow been gifted it during a period of time when he was stationed in England, presumably while attached to the X-2. Almost no direct proof of such a detail exists, due to either an overabundance of natural caution on his part or perhaps the efforts of an overzealous censor. Only a personal letter from his cousin John Stanford of Friday Street, Horsham, Sussex, provided the slightest clue that the two of them had met in person on the Isle of Albion (to mourn the loss of their aunt Elizabeth in a V-2 bombing) during this critical period of world history.
What “Red” Smith must have accomplished during those grim days in order to be entrusted with such a manuscript has unfortunately been lost to history, as he always refused to speak of that time with either my grandmother or uncles. However, an earlier document suggests a possible clue as to his future wartime acumen. It can be found on page 11 of the 1929 Lane Tech Prep (Chicago, Illinois) yearbook. Under the picture of “HAROLD A. SMITH” was this simple caption: “Red was a second Sherlock in snooping up news for the Daily.”
§
THE ADVENTURE OF
THE SPANISH SOVEREIGN
It was on 25 December, 1890, when I first had intimations[1] that Sherlock Holmes was not invincible.[2] I already knew, of course, that he was not infallible, and have provided several examples in the cases which I have so far managed to set to paper,[3] most notably the tragic cases of the orange pips[4] and of the poisoned tiffin.[5] But his iron constitution[6] and great physical strength,[7] as evidenced by both his prodigious boxing skills[8] and his ability to bend steel in his slender fingers,[9] were such that it was inconceivable to me that Holmes could ever be laid low. However, I was soon to find just how wrong I could be. Unfortunately, the adventure that followed this discovery dealt with concerns of such importance to the first family of the kingdom that for many years it will be impossible to make it public. I can only hope that he who appropriated both this manuscript and my supporting notes will someday see fit to return them to me.
On the morning that I left my house on Crawford Place,[10] Christmas day was only remarkable for falling during a bitterly cold winter. Even the brightly shining sun could not shake the chill from the air. My wife[11] ensured that I was carefully bundled before I set foot from our doorstep upon my mission. I had heard nothing from Holmes for many weeks, and secretly hoped that he was engaged on a case upon which I might attach my company. The previous year’s encounter with a rare goose[12] had been such a brilliant display of both Holmes’ perspicacity and magnanimity that I could hardly hope for anything quite so thrilling, but one never knew with Holmes. The extraordinary was
always just around the corner.
When I rang the bell at 221B Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson opened the door herself. She looked more flustered than I could ever recall seeing her, excepting only when she mistakenly thought Holmes was dying from a Sumatran fever.[13] Before I could even wish her the compliments of the season, she poured out her concerns to me.
“Oh, Dr. Watson!” she exclaimed. “I am so glad that you are here. Mr. Holmes is in such a state, I fear for his sanity.”
“Whatever is the matter, Mrs. Hudson?” I inquired in my most soothing tone.
“Mr. Holmes has been dreadfully injured, Doctor. He is confined to his bed, and won’t allow any to enter his room. He won’t even permit me to bring in food and drink.”
“Hmmm, I see. I think I’ve heard this one before, Mrs. Hudson,” said I. “Let me see what I can do.”
“Thank you, Dr. Watson. I feel certain that he will listen to you.”
As I climbed the stairs, the appetizing scent of roasting goose wafted over me from the back kitchen. It seemed that my former landlady was determined to attempt a cheering of Holmes by appealing to his epicurean senses, which from time to time were able to be aroused.[14]
I entered our old sitting-room and looked around. I found nothing festive there to indicate the joy of the season that was upon us. It was as if the holidays had passed Sherlock Holmes by completely. I even saw several Christmas cards, my own among them, lying unopened upon the mantel, transfixed by the old jack-knife.[15] The cards looked sad and neglected amongst the other debris scattered around them, including a litter of pipes, tobacco-pouches, revolver cartridges, and an overturned photograph belonging to the woman.[16] Not for the last time did I feel sympathy for the long-suffering Mrs. Hudson, who daily had to deal with the very worst tenant in London.
The Midwinter Mysteries of Sherlock Holmes: Three Adventures & The Grand Gift of Sherlock Page 1
