Sherlock Holmes and the Shakespeare Globe Murders

by Barry Day

  “Over there, for instance, is Hamilton Fiske …” He indicated a large florid man who was circling one of the stage pillars, muttering to himself. He was bent over in an uncomfortable position that reminded me irresistibly of the Hunchback of Notre Dame. “He played with Irving, you know,” Adler explained. “And if you don’t know, he’ll soon tell you. Actually, I believe he understudied the Fool to Irving’s Lear five or six years ago and he’s been playing the fool ever since. I’m afraid he and Bacchus are excessively close friends but he is a beloved figure of West End audiences and so …”

  “I assume we are watching an embryonic Richard III taking shape?” said Holmes. “Indeed. Hamilton says he’s determined to find new meaning in ‘My kingdom for a horse,’ and he’s been going around with that pillow in the back of his shirt for days, so that he can ‘feel’ the hump. He says he’s developing his own ‘method’ and I can tell you it’s one hell of a job trying to direct someone who keeps asking you for deeper ‘meaning’. Heaven help us if all young actors start to worry about this ‘method’ nonsense.”

  Adler led us up to a group who were talking quietly together. Easily the most striking figure was an elderly lady, ramrod straight with elegantly coifed silver hair. Before Adler could introduce her, Holmes gave a small bow and addressed her: “It has long been my ambition to meet the Grand Dame of the English theatre. Watson, come and be introduced to Dame Ivy Fosdyke …”

  I found myself looking into the most piercing blue eyes I can ever recall and it was clear from the expression in them that the lady was not impervious to his flattery. I can still remember her younger self on picture postcards and she had been a famous beauty in her day, courted by various members of the nobility, although for some reason she had never married any of them. “Enchanté, Dr Watson. I am an avid reader of your narratives.” And she held out the tips of her fingers for me to touch.

  “I do implore you to take Watson’s ‘narratives’ with the proverbial pinch of salt,” Holmes smiled. “tell him that if he is not careful, he will soon rival the excesses of Mrs. Radcliffe! I believe Shakespeare is a new departure for you, Dame Ivy? I always associate you with more domestic pieces.”

  “To be sure, Mr Holmes, no one has ever poured a more elegant cup of tea than Dame Ivy on the Broadway or West End stage.” The interjection came from Carlotta Adler, who had now joined the group, carrying some material draped over one arm. “Too kind, my dear,” said the Dame with a slightly forced smile. “Coming from you, I must take that as a compliment. No, Mr Holmes, my days of pouring tea are over. My Muse has beckoned me to higher things. I hope to be able to show Her Majesty the softer side of Juliet’s Nurse, for instance.” Then, turning to Carlotta, “I see you have the fabrics I asked for. Perhaps we should go and try them. I know you must have so many little chores to attend to.” Taking Carlotta firmly by the arm, she graced us all with an angelic smile and retreated upstage. It may have been my imagination but the temperature seemed to rise immediately.

  “I suppose we should be grateful for small mercies.” It was Adler speaking so that only Holmes and I could hear. “It’s taken me years to get her to act her age. The woman insisted on playing Juliet until she was well into her fifties!” I thought I saw a fleeting expression cross my friend’s face and, had we had a moment for a private word, things might have turned out very differently. As it was, we were distracted by another voice.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me, Flo? I know it’s age before beauty, so now it’s my turn.” The speaker was a strikingly pretty young woman in her late 20s and her portrait was all over the popular papers at the time. Pauline French had been a famous Gaiety Girl until she’d turned actress a year or so ago. In fact, now I came to think of it, several writers had compared her to Ivy Fosdyke in her heyday—a comparison which can hardly have pleased the older woman.

  “Forgive me, my dear.” It seemed to me that Adler was showing her undue deference and I couldn’t help thinking back to Carlotta’s earlier remark. A man in Adler’s position must always be surrounded by attractive young women. “Gentlemen, our Juliet, our Ophelia … our Cleopatra, Miss Pauline French.”

  “Hey, come on, Mr Adler. Ladies first is fine with me but we can’t let them upstage us entirely.” A fresh-faced young man stepped forward and thrust out a hand for Holmes to shake. “Harrison Trent, Mr Holmes. And may I say I’m one of your greatest fans? Have been ever since The Sign of Four. And, of course, yours, too, Dr Watson,” he added hastily.

  Adler stepped forward and put an arm around the young man’s shoulders. “It doesn’t take a Sherlock Holmes to detect yet another American accent. I’ve always wanted ours to be an international company, so I’m starting as I mean to go on. Harrison is a fine young actor, just beginning to make a name for himself over the other side. I know I’m being totally objective when I say that, even though his father was one of my oldest friends and associates. Harry will be giving us his Brutus, Horatio and, not least, his Antony.”

  Looking at Trent, I could more easily picture that stocky frame riding the range or chopping down trees than wearing a toga but then, Holmes is always accusing me of being a conservative in these matters. To my mind the true Shakespearean actor should have the aquiline features and the chiseled nose of a Henry Irving. He should look more like—well, more like Holmes, I suppose. And, to be fair, the next young man Adler brought forward did.

  “Gentlemen, may I introduce Ted Allan.” I put Allan—like Trent—as being somewhere in his early thirties but he was a good six inches taller and, whereas the former had a ruddy outdoor complexion, his appearance provided a dramatic contrast with a shock of black hair offset by a pale, unlined face. This young man had every chance of becoming what I believe is known as a ‘matinée idol’. When he spoke the voice was resonant and I couldn’t help feeling that he had practised hard to make it so. He was totally aware of the impression he created.

  “Mr Holmes, I might as well confess right away. I, too, share the same passport as Mr Adler and my colleague here. My only defence is my conviction that your compatriot, whose work we are here to celebrate, wrote not merely for the people of this scept’red isle but for mankind. I rest my case …” And he gave a small mock bow. It was done as elegantly and mellifluously as if it had been rehearsed and I wasn’t quite sure why it hadn’t moved me more. Perhaps because it was too perfect.

  “In this case I plead not guilty, Mr Holmes,” Adler threw up his hands in mock horror. “I didn’t smuggle Ted into the country. He turned up at my hotel, auditioned for me without letting me get a word in edgewise and, knowing talent when I see it, I hired him on the spot. He’ll be our Cassius and our Hamlet.”

  “Well, Mr Adler, if he learns his Hamlet as well as he knows his Richard II, I’m sure he’ll do very well,” said Holmes.

  “Richard II? We’re not doing Richard II …” Adler sounded puzzled and didn’t I notice Allan’s smile momentarily freeze?

  “I was referring to John of Gaunt’s speech in the play from which Mr Allan was quoting just now—

  This royal throne of kings, this scept’red isle,

  This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,

  This other Eden, demiparadise,

  This fortress built by Nature for herself

  Against infection and the hand of war,

  This happy breed of men, this little world,

  This precious stone set in the silver sea,

  Which serves it in the office of a wall

  Or as a moat defensive to a house

  Against the envy of less happier lands;

  This blessed plot, this earth, this realm …

  He paused briefly before concluding—“this England.” I swear you could have heard the proverbial pin drop. Then Adler spoke, looking at my friend, as it seemed to me with even greater respect. “Mr Holmes, if you ever want a job …”

  “Thank you, Mr Adler, but I acquired one earlier this morning and I’m afraid Watson and I must be about that business. But
it would be rude of us to take our leave without meeting this gentlemen …” And here he turned to the last member of the group, who had just hurried on to the stage rather out of breath.

  A foppish young man—perhaps a year or two younger than Trent or Allan—he stepped forward with an exaggerated bow. Instead of the casual rehearsal clothes of the others, he was immaculately attired in houndstooth check trousers, a black velvet jacket, silk cravat and in his buttonhole—a green carnation, rather obviously dyed, since to the best of my knowledge Mother Nature does not include the colour in her palette for carnations.

  “Simon Phipps at your service, gentlemen. It is just possible, I suppose, that you may have seen me in Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest. I understudied Algernon and was privileged to appear three times. Such friends of mine who missed those three occasions consider themselves the fortunate ones! Alas, poor Oscar, to find himself in durance vile for practices the common Roman or Greek considered commonplace …”

  The soliloquy might well have continued indefinitely, had Adler not interrupted, as I suspect he had to do quite often. “What Simon would never tell you, if he were to take all night—which he is perfectly capable of doing—is that he was the youngest actor ever to graduate from the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art and would undoubtedly have bestrode the British boards like a colossus, had he not listened to the siren song and gone off, like Columbus, to discover America. Luckily for us, the song ended and he returned.”

  “Ah,” said Phipps, removing a pristine handkerchief from his sleeve and striking a self-mocking pose, “I’m inclined to believe that America never has been discovered. I myself would say that it had merely been detected. The Master—from The Picture of Dorian Gray.” And he bowed to the assembled company.

  “And there, Mr Holmes, Dr Watson,” Adler concluded with a tight little smile, “you have the principals of our little company. Of course, we also have a number of spear carriers.”

  “Of whom I consider myself one, although this time I come bearing gifts not spears.” We turned to find Carlotta Adler bearing down on the group, her arms almost filled with an enormous bouquet of red roses. “I do hope this is not going to become a habit. I hate flowers when they’re not for me.” She smiled but there was little genuine humour in it. In my mind’s eye I could see her once again smiling and bowing on that long ago concert platform as the flowers came and came …

  “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” It was Fiske joining the group and wiping away the signs of his recent exertions with a large towel. “For women are as roses …”

  But it was Allan who took up the line—“‘… whose fair flower being once display’d doth fall that very hour.’ Twelfth Night. Not a particularly appropriate thought under the circumstances, Ham, if I may say so. But they really are beautiful. Who are they for, Carlotta?”

  “They were left at the stage door with a note with Pauline’s name on it. I thought I’d bring them over. Here you are, my dear.”

  As she handed the bouquet to the obviously pleased Miss French, a small piece of white paper fluttered to the stage. Awkwardly clutching the outsize bunch of roses, the young actress tried to bend to pick it up. At which moment Holmes did a most extraordinary thing. He stepped close to her and struck the flowers out of her grasp. “Everyone stand back!” he said in a voice that brooked no argument. “Ah, as I thought.”

  From among the scattered flowers slithered a small green snake.

  Allan was the first to react. Stepping forward, he brought his boot down with great force, breaking its back. A moment later Holmes was on his knees by the corpse. “Careful, Holmes,” I cried, “it might not be dead.”

  “Oh, it’s dead, right enough,” Holmes said, quietly examining the remains. “Coluber, the common or garden grass snake. Be kind enough to read the note that accompanied it, will you? Watson. If it doesn’t say …

  YOU SPOTTED SNAKES WITH DOUBLE TONGUE

  I miss my guess. A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” he added in elucidation. I snatched up the paper and glanced at it quickly. “You’re absolutely right. But how did you …?”

  Holmes rose to his feet. “I’m afraid our correspondent is beginning to cut corners. A pity—I had expected more of a challenge. As you see, no spots and the tongue, such as it is, has been removed. This poor little chap could not possibly have done anyone any harm, unless he happened to frighten you to death, Miss French.”

  “But why me?” Pauline French was still shaking in the protective arm of Carlotta Adler. “Who else but Cleopatra would be the recipient of an asp? And since asps are fortunately in short supply, this is some sort of approximation, courtesy of any competent pet shop.” Then he turned to the group, all of whom were just beginning to recover their composure. “Ladies and gentlemen, I can well imagine that this little episode must be somewhat confusing for you. Unfortunately, I must leave Mr Adler to give you the general details of the situation we now face, as he thinks fit. Mr Adler, with your permission Dr Watson and I will return tomorrow, when I believe you will be rehearsing. Until then, goodbye to you all—and particularly to our American cousins.

  “As Watson will tell you, I have long believed that the myopia of a long dead monarch and the subsequent shortsightedness of certain Ministers of State have merely postponed the cultural merging of two great nations that share so much—even if their language often seems to be a questionable part of it. No, Mr Phipps, not Mr Wilde—Mr Holmes …”

  With that he raised his hat to the ladies, took me by the arm and steered me towards the exit. I barely had time to raise my own hat and we were in the tunnel and out of their sight.

  Chapter Four

  As we sat in the cab on our way back to Baker Street, I asked, “Well, Holmes, what do you make of it?” Gazing out of the window Holmes paused for a moment:

  “I have always believed it to be a mistake to come to a conclusion before one has all the evidence, and we are far from having all the evidence in this case. Nonetheless, certain facts do present themselves which suggest avenues of exploration. But come, Watson, you know my methods—apply them. What have you observed?”

  “My money’s on that Phipps fellow,” I said firmly. “You noticed how he came in later than the others? He could be our paperboy. Rushes back, leaves the flowers at the stage door, joins the group, so as to be there when they’re delivered. Probably in with that Carlotta woman. She’s obviously jealous of the younger woman with her husband. On the other hand, where was Fiske when we were talking to the others? He made a big play to catch our attention when we first arrived. Could have slunk off when we weren’t looking. Or Dame Ivy, come to think of it, when she went off with Carlotta. But no, I think you’ll find Phipps is mixed up in it. Chap that dresses like that. And I’ll swear he was wearing perfume …”

  “Eau de toilette, to be fair, old fellow. What the well dressed man about town is wearing, if he wishes to be noticed and Master Simon certainly wishes to create a certain impression. Yes, he may very well have some part to play in this little drama as well as the ones penned by Mr Shakespeare. So, indeed, may several of them. The American connection is too strong to be coincidental. Hence my remark about the ‘American Cousins’. Let them worry that we are on the scent. As for your other observations, Watson, I fear you were distracted, as you were meant to be, from the significant facts.”

  “Which were?”

  “Before we come to them, let me dispose of the others. There is nothing effeminate about young Phipps. For reasons best known to himself, he merely wishes to appear so. The reason he was late making his entrance was because, having seen us arrive, he was putting the last touches to his costume. He was dyeing his carnation. It was still wet when he arrived. Indeed, he had traces of green on his fingers, which he took care to wipe before he shook hands. Nor do I believe there was collusion between him and Carlotta. Women have a notorious aversion to snakes and I know of none who would be able to carry a bouquet of flowers as casually as Mrs. Adler did, knowing
that they contained. And, by the way, Phipps shares her feelings. When he saw the snake, his complexion was a good match for his boutonnière!”

  “But what was the purpose of the snake?”

  “Purely to gain attention. Our friend is telling us to take him seriously. He wants to achieve his ends without having to go too far but he is reminding us that he could just as easily have introduced something more deadly. He may even be deliberately playing with metaphors. A snake—in the grass or out of it—can hardly be considered a compliment and ‘double tongue’ underlines the hypocrisy he clearly feels Adler and his followers are guilty of. He is beginning to show an interesting turn of mind, whoever he is. We are sailing into deeper waters and we need to know more about our fellow passengers. By the way, Watson, did it not strike you as strange that none of them asked us why we were there? Some of them, at least, were expecting us.”

  “Was there anything else of consequence that I failed to observe?” I asked as the cab turned into Baker Street. “Nothing beyond the fact that Dame Ivy was our early morning visitor. Her handshake is as distinctive a signature as her perfume. Why do women take so much trouble with the surface trappings and forget the little things which are infinitely the most important. Whoever is masterminding this affair has gone to some considerable pains to involve me. They have done their homework. And yet they have overlooked my ability to distinguish between seventy-five different perfumes, despite the fact that I have published a paper on the subject. So we know who impersonated Flora Adler—and to take off thirty years, even with the benefit of gloves and veil, betokens a considerable actress, I think you’ll agree. But then, a fifty year old Juliet is a considerable actress by definition. You see now, Watson, why she could not take off her gloves? Her hands would have given her away immediately. The hands and the neck are the first places to show a woman’s age.”