by Jack Grochot
This is perhaps the most-familiar version for today’s Sherlockians, and it’s memorable for three things. Holmes’s time alone recuperating is linked to his drug use, and the cocaine addict buries a syringe in the sand to signify his having kicked the dangerous habit—this is done well in advance of the experiment, and is not, as would have been contrived, a reaction to it. The experiment sequences features a nightmarish vision for Holmes, complete with images of Eric Porter’s Moriarty, and a bleeding Holmes. But it’s Holmes’s recovery from the toxic smoke that caused the most comment—coming to his senses, Brett’s Holmes yells out, “John!” This was apparently an ad lib by Brett, who noted:
“Well, Holmes is semiconscious at the time, right? It really was the one time that he could call him John. I think in extremis he might have said ‘John.’ It gives another slant to it. I slipped in ‘John’ just to show that, underneath it all, there was just something more than what they say, that Holmes is all mind and no heart.”
Damien Thomas’s Mortimer is a bit too shifty-eyed from the outset, but Freda Downie’s Mrs. Porter—the Tregennis’s housekeeper, whose recollections of the fateful night—and the horror of her discovery the next morning—are presented, and especially Denis Quilley’s Sterndale are outstanding. (Gary Hopkins’s recollections of his experience writing the script can be viewed online in a video entitled The Case of the Youngest Pen.)
As always, the BBC radio Holmes, with the ever-brilliant Clive Merrison and Michael Williams, enables me to end on a high note. Bert Coules opens with a depiction of the stress Holmes was under before his forced break in Cornwall—wrapping up a three-month case against an unnamed gang, and collapsing as a result of combining malnutrition with illness and a resort to the needle. Mortimer, the vicar and Sterndale are all introduced well before the first poisoning. The horror is conveyed with the sound of laughter, increasing in volume before degenerating into wild, despairing shrieks. Holmes’s nightmare features the baying of the Hound of the Baskervilles, and manic laughter. The guest cast is solid, with Patrick Allen (Granada’s Colonel Moran) as Sterndale, and Coules adds a joke Holmes makes at Sterndale’s expense (when Watson wonders at his presence in England, Holmes speculates that, “perhaps he’s finally succeeded in killing all the lions on the continent.”). All in all, it is a perfect translation of the story to the form, and likely to remain as the gold standard for the foreseeable future.
Now, back to Sterndale himself as a viable suspect; a cynical reader of the story would note that he alone of the Tregennis clan (“upon my Cornish mother’s side I could call them cousins,” he tells Holmes) survives the action intact, and no other heir to the estate is identified in the text. Brenda is not around to confirm his account of their relationship, and Sterndale was much better placed than Mortimer to know of the effects of the Devil’s Foot root, and to use it. Perhaps some future adapter will choose to add this theory to the plot, even if just for Holmes to consider and discount it, as he reasonably would have.
Lenny Picker, who is always seen when he follows anyone (not that that is a regular occurrence), writes regularly for Publishers Weekly, and can be reached at [email protected].
ASK MRS WARREN, by Mrs Amalie Warren
I do confess to a touch of nerves as I atempt to fill in for my dear friend Martha Hudson, who is off in Yorkshire with her convalescent aunt. Housekeeping here in the B apartment of 221 Baker Street is never onerous, except for the daily test of the digestions of Mr Holmes and Dr Watson. I have endeavoured to vary their fare, and so far I have heard no complaints, but that may well be an example of their gentlemanliness.
The doctor showed me a stack of correspondence addressed to Mrs Hudson, and has encouraged me to reply to some of these letters. I have selected three.
* * * *
My Dear Mrs Hudson,
When, oh when, are you coming home again? I have been keeping busy helping Mr Holmes in a variety of problems which me and my “Irregular” cronies have helped with, but it just ain’t the same to knock at the door and not see your beaming smile—not that I don’t suspect you might wish I’d washed up better (at all!) before my arrival. Yet that has never stopped you from offering me a plate of biscuits and milk!
Billy
P S: The good doctor, with my hearty approval, has “cleaned up” my writing.
* * * *
Dear Billy,
I regret that Mrs Hudson is still unavailable, but if you’ll come tomorrow after the hour of noon, I promise you a plate of biscuits and a glass of milk (with a tot of gin in the latter).
Sincerely,
Mrs Amalie Warren
(filling in for Mrs H)
* * * *
My Dear Mrs Hudson,
I regret to report that every time I see a dramatic reenactment of one of Mr Holmes’s detectival doings, the only Scotland Yard inspector who is ever represented is Lestrade, who, though a fine professional, simply was not always “on hand.” Quite a few of these recountings really involved me, not Lestrade.
I do hope that you will set the record straight in an upcoming edition of your periodical publication.
Sincerely,
Inspector (retired) Tobias Gregson
* * * *
Dear Inspector Gregson,
Oh, dear! You have every right to feel disenfranchised! Dr Watson sends both his personal regards and regrets! Mrs Hudson is not available this month, but I shall see to it that your letter is indeed published in what Mr Kaye calls SHMM # 11!
With my sympathies!
Mrs Amalie Warren
* * * *
Dear Mrs Hudson,
I am a diligent devoteé of Dr Watson’s stories, but in none of them is there any mention of the man whose surname you bear. I presume that he is deceased, in which case I do tender my condolences. I do hope it is no intrusion to inquire about him: his name, occupation, and whatever personal details may be fit to be revealed?
Curious in Cheshire
* * * *
Dear Curious in Cheshire,
Though Mrs Hudson is, at present, out of town and therefore cannot reply to your understandable interest in this little mystery, I am an old friend of hers (now filling in for her at Baker Street) and can afford some of the particulars for which you ask.
Archibald G. Hudson—better known as “just plain Archie”—was himself a private sleuth of no little reputation, though he could not compare with Mr Holmes, but then, of course, who could? His one ungentlemanly act was to leave his bride Martha here in London while he followed an investigation to New York City. There all record of him vanishes, though I have heard rumours that he took up residency somewhere on West 35th Street in Manhattan.
Mrs Amalie Warren
* * * *
I have done a bit of browsing in my friend Martha’s preceding columns in this magazine, and note that on several occasions, she has set down the ingredients and procedural steps toward making food-stuffs that both Mr Holmes and Dr Watson praised her for. In this wise, I shall do the same and present two of my own dietary concoctions.
* * * *
LAMB CURRY
Do note, first, that this is not a dish from India, but rather, because of the presence of so much ginger, derives instead from Mongolia; second, this is indeed a spicy dish that demands an ample supply of beer or ale to wash it down—though if beef is substituted for the lamb, it will be a wee bit less fiery.
INGREDIENTS
1 lb lean lamb
1 tblsp set butter
1 onion
2 cloves garlic
3 tomatoes
1 large green, red or yellow bell pepper
2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon turmeric
1 teaspoon curry powder
¼ oz ginger
½ teaspoon chili powder
1 1/2 cups hot water—though beer or ale is a better choice
PROCEDURE
1. Slice, wash, defat meat
2. Fry minced onion, bell pepper, garlic, ginger, pepper in butter
3. Add turmeric, curry powder, salt and chili
4. Sizzle up to 3 minutes
5. Add meat and mix for a few minutes
6. Cover with lid and cook 35 minutes
7. Add sliced tomatoes
8. Fry for 2 or 3 minutes
9. Add liquid and bring to boil
10. Low flame for approximately 35 minutes, or till tender
11. Serve over flavoured rice (use wine, not water to make the rice)
* * * *
Deviled Lima Beans
(One may also use butter beans)
INGREDIENTS
A small quantity of lima beans
1 teaspoon of very spicy mustard
6 ozs beer or ale
Seasoned pepper mixture (combine black, red, and white ground pepper)
PROCEDURE
1. Place ingredients in a saucepan
2. Add mustard and beer
3. Stir till mustard is well blended (but do not break beans)
4. Simmer slowly till liquid is reduced by approximately ½
5. Season with pepper mixture to taste
6. Serve in soup bowls with spoons
Very Truly Yours,
Mrs Amalie Warren
THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOOSIER, by Dan Andriacco
How Rex Stout Had Fun
with Sherlock Holmes
The announcement last year that the actress Lucy Liu would be playing the part of Dr. Watson in the new CBS program “Elementary” attracted a great deal of interest—and also shock, skepticism, cynicism, derision, and scorn. In other words, the gimmick worked.
But a well known Sherlockian of the last century would not even have lifted one eyebrow at the news that “Watson was a woman.” For Rex Stout knew that decades ago. On the evening of January 31, 1941, at the Murray Hill Hotel in New York, Stout declined to toast “the Second Mrs. Watson.” In the talk that followed, he set forth for the assembled Baker Street Irregulars a scandalous theory that “the Watson person” who wrote the Canon was actually Mrs. Sherlock Holmes. Frederic Dannay, writing as Ellery Queen in the book In the Queen’s Parlor, called Stout’s speech an H-Bomb—H for Holmes, of course.
Stout cited many passages from the Sacred Writings that sounded to him as if they were written by a woman, and especially a wife, such as “I believe that I am one of the most long-suffering of mortals” and “I must have fainted” and “the relations between us in those days were peculiar.” The coup de grace, however, was an acrostic spelling out IRENE WATSON from the first letters of canonical tales. Stout insisted at the end of his speech that the wedding related in “A Scandal in Bohemia” was actually Holmes’s own, and speculated that the fruit of the union might have been Lord Peter Wimsey.
“As Rex reached his last sentence,” John McAleer reported in Rex Stout: A Biography, “pandemonium ensued.” He added: “In certain quarters 1941 would be remembered as the year that began with the Stout hypothesis and ended with Pearl Harbor—two nightmarish happenings.”
Although Stout spoke from notes, a written version quickly found its way into print. So did an official BSI rebuttal from Dr. Julian Wolff called “That Was No Lady.”
Upon entering into a literary controversy with Mr. Stout [Wolff wrote], one is immediately conscious of being at a great disadvantage. It would require the knowledge and the pen of an Edgar Smith, the experience and the skill of a Vincent Starrett, as well as the genius and the beard of a Christopher Morley, to equalize the contest.
Wolff proved equal to the task, however. His response included an acrostic of his own that spelled out NUTS TO REX STOUT.
Long an admirer of Stout’s Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin mysteries, I wrote Stout a letter when I was but 14 years old, asking him which story he considered his best and positing the bold theory that Archie was the true author of “Watson Was a Woman.”
Stout fired back an ingenious response dated December 8, 1966. The postage on the note was five cents, but to me the contents have always been priceless. “Dear Master Dan,” Stout wrote, “If your surmise, that Archie Goodwin wrote that gem, ‘Watson Was a Woman,’ is correct, I would be silly to admit it, and I try not to be silly. So the answer to your question, what do I consider my best story, is ‘Watson Was a Woman.’ Sincerely, Rex Stout.”
Clearly, Stout liked to have fun with Sherlock Holmes. But he did so as a true believer who was one of the original Baker Street Irregulars and the Guest of Honor at that infamous 1941 meeting.
Born in 1886 in Noblesville, Indiana, Stout began reading Holmes as a boy and devoured the later stories as they were published. In 1903, having moved to Kansas at a young age, he saw William Gillette portray Sherlock Holmes in Kansas City. He returned again the next night.
More than a generation later, in 1931, Stout found himself among a select group of men drinking bootleg bourbon with Winston Churchill at a hotel in New York until the wee hours of the morning. One of the subjects of their conversation was Sherlock Holmes. Stout was forty-five years old, and Arthur Conan Doyle had died only the year before—just three years after the publication of his final Sherlock Holmes story.
When Christopher Morley founded the Baker Street Irregulars in 1934, he asked Stout to be one of the first members. That same year also saw the publication of Fer-de-Lance, the first of Stout’s more than 60 Nero Wolfe stories. More about that rotund gentleman later!
Stout’s relationship with the BSI was a long and happy one. In 1949, despite the “Watson Was a Woman” blasphemy, he was presented with his Irregular Shilling and the investiture name of “The Boscombe Valley Mystery.” For the first five years of the BSI’s Silver Blaze Stakes at Belmont Race Track, Stout and his wife Pola attended, and presented the trophy in two of those years. In 1961, he was awarded the BSI’s first Two-Shilling Award “for extraordinary devotion to the cause beyond the call of duty.” Five years later, the annual BSI dinner again honored Stout and also toasted Pola as “The Woman.”
Although best known as a mystery writer, the tart-tongued Stout was also a perceptive critic who was never shy about sharing his thoughts on his craft—or any other subject, for that matter. In January 1942, appearing with Jacques Barzun and Elmer Davis on Mark Van Doran’s CBS radio show “Invitation to Learning,” he made this observation: “The modern detective story puts off its best tricks till the last, but Doyle always put his best tricks first and that’s why they’re still the best ones.” Later in the same program, he said, “It is impossible for any Sherlock Holmes story not to have at least one marvelous scene.” (Obviously, he wasn’t including pastiches.)
A few years later, in 1949, Stout wrote an article called “Grim Fairy Tales” for Saturday Review, in which he tried to explain why “Sherlock Holmes is the most widely known fictional character in all the literature of the world.” And this was his conclusion:
“Sherlock Holmes is the embodiment of man’s greatest pride and his greatest weakness: his reason…He is human aspiration. He is what our ancestors had in mind when in wistful bragging they tacked the sapiens onto the homo.”
Stout added to this a more general statement which McAleer suggested could apply to Nero Wolfe and to Rex Stout himself. He wrote:
We enjoy reading about people who love and hate and covet—about gluttons and martyrs, misers and sadists, whores and saints, brave men and cowards. But also, demonstrably, we enjoy reading about a man who gloriously acts and decides, with no exception and no compunction, not as his emotions brutally command, but as his reason instructs.
In an introduction to The Later
Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, published in 1952, Stout argued that the success of the Canon depended on what he called “the grand and glorious portrait” of Holmes, which transcended the author’s plot errors. “We are not supposed to reach real intimacy with him,” he wrote. “We are not supposed to touch him.” I have not yet had the pleasure of reading this introduction, but I gather from McAleer’s description that it discusses Conan Doyle’s literary offenses in some detail. And yet Stout concluded that all of these transgressions seemed to enhance the portrait of the Great Detective. How did that work? “No one will ever penetrate it to the essence and disclose it naked to the eye,” Stout concluded. “For the essence is magic, and magic is arcane.”
Stout wrote eloquently about Holmes again in 1963 for the cover of a record album of Basil Rathbone reading Holmes stories.
“Holmes,” Stout wrote, “is a man, not a puppet. As a man he has many vulnerable spots, like us; he is vain, prejudiced, intolerant; he is a drug addict; he even plays the violin for diversion—one of the most deplorable outrages of self-indulgence.”
But, Stout went on, there is much more to him than that: “He loves truth and justice more than he loves money or comfort or safety or pleasure, or any man or woman. Such a man has never lived, so Sherlock Holmes will never die.”
