The Enchanted Typewriter

by John Kendrick Bangs

  IX. SHERLOCK HOLMES AGAIN

  I had intended asking Boswell what had become of my copy of theBaedeker's Hades when he next returned, but the output of the machinethat evening so interested me that the hand-book was entirely forgotten.If there ever was a hero in this world who could compare with D'Artagnanin my estimation for sheer ability in a given line that hero wasSherlock Holmes. With D'Artagnan and Holmes for my companions I thinkI could pass the balance of my days in absolute contentment, no matterwhat woful things might befall me. So it was that, when I next heardthe tapping keys and dulcet bell of my Enchanted Type-writer, and, afterlistening intently for a moment, realized that my friend Boswell wasmaking a copy of a Sherlock Holmes Memoir thereon for his next Sunday'spaper, all thought of the interesting little red book of the lastmeeting flew out of my head. I rose quickly from my couch at the firstsounding of the gong.

  "Got a Holmes story, eh?" I said, walking to his side, and gazingeagerly over the spot where his shoulder should have been.

  "I have that, and it's a winner," he replied, enthusiastically. "If youdon't believe it, read it. I'll have it copied in about two minutes."

  "I'll do both," I said. "I believe all the Sherlock Holmes stories Iread. It is so much pleasanter to believe them true. If they weren'ttrue they wouldn't be so wonderful."

  With this I picked up the first page of the manuscript and shortly afterBoswell presented me with the balance, whereon I read the followingextraordinary tale:

  A MYSTERY SOLVED

  A WONDERFUL ACHIEVEMENT IN FERRETING

  From Advance Sheets of

  MEMOIRS I REMEMBER

  BY

  SHERLOCK HOLMES, ESQ.

  Ferreter Extraordinary by Special Appointment to his Majesty Apollyon

  ---------------

  WHO THE LADY WAS!

  It was not many days after my solution of the Missing Diamond of theNizam of Jigamaree Mystery that I was called upon to take up a casewhich has baffled at least one person for some ten or eleven centuries.The reader will remember the mystery of the missing diamond--the largestknown in all history, which the Nizam of Jigamaree brought from India topresent to the Queen of England, on the occasion of her diamond jubilee.I had been dead three years at the time, but, by a special dispensationof his Imperial Highness Apollyon, was permitted to return incog toLondon for the jubilee season, where it so happened that I put up at thesame lodging-house as that occupied by the Nizam and his suite. Wesat opposite each other at table d'hote, and for at least three weeksprevious to the losing of his treasure the Indian prince was verymorose, and it was very difficult to get him to speak. I was notsupposed to know, nor, indeed, was any one else, for that matter, at thelodging-house, that the Nizam was so exalted a personage. He like myselfwas travelling incog and was known to the world as Mr. Wilkins, ofCalcutta--a very wise precaution, inasmuch as he had in his possession agem valued at a million and a half of dollars. I recognized him at once,however, by his unlikeness to a wood-cut that had been appearing in theAmerican Sunday newspapers, labelled with his name, as well as by theextraordinary lantern which he had on his bicycle, a lantern which tothe uneducated eye was no more than an ordinary lamp, but which to aneye like mine, familiar with gems, had for its crystal lens nothing morenor less than the famous stone which he had brought for her Majestythe Queen, his imperial sovereign. There are few people who can telldiamonds from plate-glass under any circumstances, and Mr. Wilkins,otherwise the Nizam, realizing this fact, had taken this bold method ofsecreting his treasure. Of course, the moment I perceived the quality ofthe man's lamp I knew at once who Mr. Wilkins was, and I determined tohave a little innocent diversion at his expense.

  "It has been a fine day, Mr. Wilkins," said I one evening over the pate.

  "Yes," he replied, wearily. "Very--but somehow or other I'm depressedto-night."

  "Too bad," I said, lightly, "but there are others. There's that poorNizam of Jigamaree, for instance--poor devil, he must be the bluestbrown man that ever lived."

  Wilkins started nervously as I mentioned the prince by name.

  "Wh-why do you think that?" he asked, nervously fingering hisbutter-knife.

  "It's tough luck to have to give away a diamond that's worth three orfour times as much as the Koh-i-noor," I said. "Suppose you owned astone like that. Would you care to give it away?"

  "Not by a damn sight!" cried Wilkins, forcibly, and I noticed greattears gathering in his eyes.

  "Still, he can't help himself, I suppose," I said, gazing abruptly athis scarf-pin. "That is, he doesn't KNOW that he can. The Queen expectsit. It's been announced, and now the poor devil can't get out ofit--though I'll tell you, Mr. Wilkins, if I were the Nizam of Jigamaree,I'd get out of it in ten seconds."

  I winked at him significantly. He looked at me blankly.

  "Yes, sir," I added, merely to arouse him, "in just ten seconds! Tenshort, beautiful seconds."

  "Mr. Postlethwaite," said the Nizam--Postlethwaite was the name Iwas travelling under--"Mr. Postlethwaite," said the Nizam--otherwiseWilkins--"your remarks interest me greatly." His face wreathed with asmile that I had never before seen there. "I have thought as you do inregard to this poor Indian prince, but I must confess I don't see howhe can get out of giving the Queen that diamond. Have a cigar, Mr.Postlethwaite, and, waiter, bring us a triple magnum of champagne. Doyou really think, Mr. Postlethwaite, that there is a way out of it? Ifyou would like a ticket to Westminster for the ceremony, there are ahalf-dozen."

  He tossed six tickets for seats among the crowned heads across the tableto me. His eagerness was almost too painful to witness.

  "Thank you," said I, calmly pocketing the tickets, for they were of rarevalue at that time. "The way out of it is very simple."

  "Indeed, Mr. Postlethwaite," said he, trying to keep cool. "Ah--are youinterested in rubies, sir? There are a few which I should be pleased tohave you accept"--and with that over came a handful of precious stoneseach worth a fortune. These also I pocketed as I replied:

  "Why, certainly; if I were the Nizam," said I, "I'd lose that diamond."

  A shade of disappointment came over Mr. Wilkins's face.

  "Lose it? How? Where?" he asked, with a frown.

  "Yes. Lose it. Any way I could. As for the place where it should belost, any old place will do as long as it is where he can find it againwhen he gets back home. He might leave it in his other clothes, or--"

  "Make that two triple magnums, waiter," cried Mr. Wilkins, excitedly,interrupting me. "Postlethwaite, you're a genius, and if you ever want ahouse and lot in Calcutta, just let me know and they're yours."

  You never saw such a change come over a man in all your life. Where hehad been all gloom before, he was now all smiles and jollity, andfrom that time on to his return to India Mr. Wilkins was as happy as aschool-boy at the beginning of vacation. The next day the diamond waslost, and whoever may have it at this moment, the British Crown is notin possession of the Jigamaree gem.

  But, as my friend Terence Mulvaney says, that is another story. It is ofthe mystery immediately following this concerning which I have set outto write.

  I was sitting one day in my office on Apollyon Square opposite theAlexandrian library, smoking an absinthe cigarette, which I had rolledmyself from my special mixture consisting of two parts tobacco, one parthasheesh, one part of opium dampened with a liqueur glass of absinthe,when an excited knock sounded upon my door.

  "Come in," I cried, adopting the usual formula.

  The door opened and a beautiful woman stood before me clad in most regalgarments, robust of figure, yet extremely pale. It seemed to me that Ihad seen her somewhere before, yet for a time I could not place her.

  "Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" said she, in deliciously musical tones, which,singular to relate, she emitted in a fashion suggestive of a recitativepassage in an opera.

  "
The same," said I, bowing with my accustomed courtesy.

  "The ferret?" she sang, in staccato tones which were ravishing to mymusical soul.

  I laughed. "That term has been applied to me, madame," said I, chantingmy answer as best I could. "For myself, however, I prefer to assume themore modest title of detective. I can work with or without clues, andhave never yet been baffled. I know who wrote the Junius letters, andupon occasions have been known to see through a stone wall with my nakedeye. What can I do for you?"

  "Tell me who I am!" she cried, tragically, taking the centre of the roomand gesticulating wildly.

  "Well--really, madame," I replied. "You didn't send up any card--"

  "Ah!" she sneered. "This is what your vaunted prowess amounts to, eh?Ha! Do you suppose if I had a card with my name on it I'd have cometo you to inquire who I am? I can read a card as well as you can, Mr.Sherlock Holmes."

  "Then, as I understand it, madame," I put in, "you have suddenlyforgotten your identity and wish me to--"

  "Nothing of the sort. I have forgotten nothing. I never knew forcertain who I am. I have an impression, but it is based only on hearsayevidence," she interrupted.

  For a moment I was fairly puzzled. Still I did not wish to let her knowthis, and so going behind my screen and taking a capsule full of cocaineto steady my nerves, I gained a moment to think. Returning, I said:

  "This really is child's play for me, madame. It won't take more than aweek to find out who you are, and possibly, if you have any clews at allto your identity, I may be able to solve this mystery in a day."

  "I have only three," she answered, and taking a piece of swan's-down,a lock of golden hair, and a pair of silver-tinsel tights from herportmanteau she handed them over to me.

  My first impulse was to ask the lady if she remembered the name of theasylum from which she had escaped, but I fortunately refrained fromdoing so, and she shortly left me, promising to return at the end of theweek.

  For three days I puzzled over the clews. Swan's-down, yellow hair, and apair of silver-tinsel tights, while very interesting no doubt at times,do not form a very solid basis for a theory establishing the identity ofso regal a person as my visitor. My first impression was that she was avaudeville artist, and that the exhibits she had left me were a part ofher make-up. This I was forced to abandon shortly, because no woman withthe voice of my visitor would sing in vaudeville. The more ambitiousstage was her legitimate field, if not grand opera itself.

  At this point she returned to my office, and I of course reportedprogress. That is one of the most valuable things I learned while onearth--when you have done nothing, report progress.

  "I haven't quite succeeded as yet," said I, "but I am getting at itslowly. I do not, however, think it wise to acquaint you with my presentnotions until they are verified beyond peradventure. It might help mesomewhat if you were to tell me who it is you think you are. I couldwork either forward or backward on that hypothesis, as seemed best, andso arrive at a hypothetical truth anyhow."

  "That's just what I don't want to do," said she. "That information mightbias your final judgment. If, however, acting on the clews which youhave, you confirm my impression that I am such and such a person, aswell as the views which other people have, then will my status be welldefined and I can institute my suit against my husband for a judicialseparation, with back alimony, with some assurance of a successfulissue."

  I was more puzzled than ever.

  "Well," said I, slowly, "I of course can see how a bit of swan's-downand a lock of yellow hair backed up by a pair of silver-tinsel tightsmight constitute reasonable evidence in a suit for separation, butwouldn't it--ah--be more to your purpose if I should use these data asestablishing the identity of--er--somebody else?"

  "How very dense you are," she replied, impatiently. "That's preciselywhat I want you to do."

  "But you told me it was your identity you wished proven," I put in,irritably.

  "Precisely," said she.

  "Then these bits of evidence are--yours?" I asked, hesitatingly. Onedoes not like to accuse a lady of an undue liking for tinsel.

  "They are all I have left of my husband," she answered with a sob.

  "Hum!" said I, my perplexity increasing. "Was the--ah--the gentlemanblown up by dynamite?"

  "Excuse me, Mr. Holmes," she retorted, rising and running the scales."I think, after all, I have come to the wrong shop. Have you Hawkshaw'saddress handy? You are too obtuse for a detective."

  My reputation was at stake, so I said, significantly:

  "Good! Good! I was merely trying one of my disguises on you, madame, andyou were completely taken in. Of course no one would ever know me forSherlock Holmes if I manifested such dullness."

  "Ah!" she said, her face lighting up. "You were merely deceiving me byappearing to be obtuse?"

  "Of course," said I. "I see the whole thing in a nutshell. You marriedan adventurer; he told you who he was, but you've never been able toprove it; and suddenly you are deserted by him, and on going over hiswardrobe you find he has left nothing but these articles: and now youwish to sue him for a separation on the ground of desertion, and securealimony if possible."

  It was a magnificent guess.

  "That is it precisely," said the lady. "Except as to the extent of his'leavings.' In addition to the things you have he gave my small brothera brass bugle and a tin sword."

  "We may need to see them later," said I. "At present I will do all I canfor you on the evidence in hand. I have got my eye on a gentleman whowears silver-tinsel tights now, but I am afraid he is not the man weare after, because his hair is black, and, as far as I have been able tolearn from his valet, he is utterly unacquainted with swan's-down."

  We separated again and I went to the club to think. Never in my lifebefore had I had so baffling a case. As I sat in the cafe sipping acocaine cobbler, who should walk in but Hamlet, strangely enough pickingparticles of swan's-down from his black doublet, which was literallycovered with it.

  "Hello, Sherlock!" he said, drawing up a chair and sitting down besideme. "What you up to?"

  "Trying to make out where you have been," I replied. "I judge from theswan's-down on your doublet that you have been escorting Ophelia to theopera in the regulation cloak."

  "You're mistaken for once," he laughed. "I've been driving withLohengrin. He's got a pair of swans that can do a mile in 2.10--but itmakes them moult like the devil."

  "Pair of what?" I cried.

  "Swans," said Hamlet. "He's an eccentric sort of a duffer, thatLohengrin. Afraid of horses, I fancy."

  "And so drives swans instead?" said I, incredulously.

  "The same," replied Hamlet. "Do I look as if he drove squab?"

  "He must be queer," said I. "I'd like to meet him. He'd make quite anaddition to my collection of freaks."

  "Very well," observed Hamlet. "He'll be here to-morrow to takeluncheon with me, and if you'll come, too, you'll be most welcome. He'scollecting freaks, too, and I haven't a doubt would be pleased to knowyou."

  We parted and I sauntered homeward, cogitating over my strange client,and now and then laughing over the idiosyncrasies of Hamlet's friend theswan-driver. It never occurred to me at the moment however to connectthe two, in spite of the link of swan's-down. I regarded it merely asa coincidence. The next day, however, on going to the club and meetingHamlet's strange guest, I was struck by the further coincidence that hishair was of precisely the same shade of yellow as that in my possession.It was of a hue that I had never seen before except at performances ofgrand opera, or on the heads of fool detectives in musical burlesques.Here, however, was the real thing growing luxuriantly from the man'shead.

  "Ho-ho!" thought I to myself. "Here is a fortunate encounter; there maybe something in it," and then I tried to lead him on.

  "I understand, Mr. Lohengrin," I said, "that you have a fine span ofswans."

  "Yes," he said, and I was astonished to note that he, like my client,spoke in musical numbers. "Very. They're much finer than horses,
in myopinion. More peaceful, quite as rapid, and amphibious. If I go out fora drive and come to a lake they trot quite as well across its surface ason the highways."

  "How interesting!" said I. "And so gentle, the swan. Your wife, Ipresume--"

  Hamlet kicked my shins under the table.

  "I think it will rain to-morrow," he said, giving me a glance which ifit said anything said shut up.

  "I think so, too," said Lohengrin, a lowering look on his face. "Ifit doesn't, it will either snow, or hail, or be clear." And he gazedabstractedly out of the window.

  The kick and the man's confusion were sufficient proof. I was on theright track at last. Yet the evidence was unsatisfactory because merelycircumstantial. My piece of down might have come from an opera cloak andnot from a well-broken swan, the hair might equally clearly have comefrom some other head than Lohengrin's, and other men have had troublewith their wives. The circumstantial evidence lying in the coincidenceswas strong but not conclusive, so I resolved to pursue the matter andinvite the strange individual to a luncheon with me, at which Iproposed to wear the tinsel tights. Seeing them, he might be forced intobetraying himself.

  This I did, and while my impressions were confirmed by his demeanor, nopositive evidence grew out of it.

  "I'm hungry as a bear!" he said, as I entered the club, clad in a long,heavy ulster, reaching from my shoulders to the ground, so that thetights were not visible.

  "Good," said I. "I like a hearty eater," and I ordered a luncheon of tencourses before removing my overcoat; but not one morsel could the maneat, for on the removal of my coat his eye fell upon my silver garments,and with a gasp he wellnigh fainted. It was clear. He recognized themand was afraid, and in consequence lost his appetite. But he was game,and tried to laugh it off.

  "Silver man, I see," he said, nervously, smiling.

  "No," said I, taking the lock of golden hair from my pocket and danglingit before him. "Bimetallist."

  His jaw dropped in dismay, but recovering himself instantly he put up afairly good fight.

  "It is strange, Mr. Lohengrin," said I, "that in the three years I havebeen here I've never seen you before."

  "I've been very quiet," he said. "Fact is, I have had my reasons, Mr.Holmes, for preferring the life of a hermit. A youthful indiscretion,sir, has made me fear to face the world. There was nothing wrong aboutit, save that it was a folly, and I have been anxious in these days ofnewspapers to avoid any possible revival of what might in some eyes seemscandalous."

  I felt sorry for him, but my duty was clear. Here was my man--but howto gain direct proof was still beyond me. No further admissions could begot out of him, and we soon parted.

  Two days later the lady called and again I reported progress.

  "It needs but one thing, madame, to convince me that I have foundyour husband," said I. "I have found a man who might be connected withswan's-down, from whose luxuriant curls might have come this tow-coloredlock, and who might have worn the silver-tinsel tights--yet it is allMIGHT and no certainty."

  "I will bring my small brother's bugle and the tin sword," said she."The sword has certain properties which may induce him to confess. Mybrother tells me that if he simply shakes it at a cat the cat fallsdead."

  "Do so," said I, "and I will try it on him. If he recognizes the swordand remembers its properties when I attempt to brandish it at him, he'llbe forced to confess, though it would be awkward if he is the wrong manand the sword should work on him as it does on the cat."

  The next day I was in possession of the famous toy. It was not verylong, and rather more suggestive of a pancake-turner than a sword, butit was a terror. I tested its qualities on a swarm of gnats in my room,and the moment I shook it at them they fluttered to the ground as deadas door-nails.

  "I'll have to be careful of this weapon," I thought. "It would beterrible if I should brandish it at a motor-man trying to get one of theGehenna Traction Company's cable-cars to stop and he should drop dead athis post."

  All was now ready for the demonstration. Fortunately the followingSaturday night was club night at the House-Boat, and we were allexpected to come in costume. For dramatic effect I wore a yellow wig, ahelmet, the silver-tinsel tights, and a doublet to match, with thebrass bugle and the tin sword properly slung about my person. I lookedstunning, even if I do say it, and much to my surprise several peoplemistook me for the man I was after. Another link in the chain! EVEN THEPUBLIC UNCONSCIOUSLY RECOGNIZED THE VALUE OF MY DEDUCTIONS. THEY CALLEDME LOHENGRIN!

  And of course it all happened as I expected. It always does. Lohengrincame into the assembly-room five minutes after I did and was visiblyannoyed at my make-up.

  "This is a great liberty," said he, grasping the hilt of his sword; butI answered by blowing the bugle at him, at which he turned livid andfell back. He had recognized its soft cadence. I then hauled the swordfrom my belt, shook it at a fly on the wall, which immediately died, andmade as if to do the same at Lohengrin, whereupon he cried for mercy andfell upon his knees.

  "Turn that infernal thing the other way!" he shrieked.

  "Ah!" said I, lowering my arm. "Then you know its properties?"

  "I do--I do!" he cried. "It used to be mine--I confess it!"

  "Then," said I, calmly putting the horrid bit of zinc back into mybelt, "that's all I wanted to know. If you'll come up to my office somemorning next week I'll introduce you to your wife," and I turned fromhim.

  My mission accomplished, I left the festivities and returned to myquarters where my fair client was awaiting me.

  "Well?" she said.

  "It's all right, Mrs. Lohengrin," I said, and the lady cried aloud withjoy at the name, for it was the very one she had hoped it would be. "Myman turns out to be your man, and I turn him over therefore to you, onlydeal gently with him. He's a pretty decent chap and sings like a bird."

  Whereon I presented her with my bill for 5000 oboli, which she paidwithout a murmur, as was entirely proper that she should, for uponthe evidence which I had secured the fair plaintiff, in the suitfor separation of Elsa vs. Lohengrin on the ground of desertion andnon-support, obtained her decree, with back alimony of twenty-five percent. of Lohengrin's income for a trifle over fifteen hundred years.

  How much that amounted to I really do not know, but that it was a largesum I am sure, for Lohengrin must have been very wealthy. He couldn'thave afforded to dress in solid silver-tinsel tights if he had beenotherwise. I had the tights assayed before returning them to theirowner, and even in a country where free coinage of tights is looked uponaskance they could not be duplicated for less than $850 at a ratio of 32to 1.