by Bill Peschel
“Now you claim all the glory, you bean-pole!” grinned Butch, happily. “Well, we forgive you, Ichabod! You showed Hicks how to pester the campus, prowling around with his magnifying glass and his Sheerluck Holmes, of the Central Office! salutation, but he won the game today, so we won’t protest! Nature gave you a splinter form, Hicks, but she endowed you with a hundred-horsepower brain!”
Fate, Fortune, or Destiny had struck a balance on Hicks’ account. The happy-go-lucky youth had sacrificed, because of finer feelings, his chance to annex glory in the Deacon Radford affair; he had nobly abandoned his intense desire to swagger before Butch Brewster and his comrades of the eleven, proclaiming nonchalantly, “Oh, I told you just to leave it to Hicks!” He had even endured the charge of failure, but now he was rewarded. There was no need for him to sacrifice this opportunity.
Donning his gorgeous bathrobe, and his plaid cap à la Sherlock Holmes, the blithesome Hicks assumed a sepulchrally solemn expression and posed on the tiger-skin rug in midfloor. Finding it impossible to be serious, with his comrades regarding him in awed silence, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., satiated his sunny soul’s long postponed desire.
“Oh, I told you just to leave it to Hicks, Butch!” quoth he, cheerfully. “Remember, old man, I prophesied that the time would come when you, and all Bannister, would rejoice at my detective deductions!”
“That’s so, Hicks!” gasped the flabbergasted Butch Brewster, gazing at the mosquito-like youth as though he fully expected to behold his festive comrade vanish in a cloud of pink smoke. “You are a wonder, Hicks, and—well, we gladly forgive your detective tortures of us, for all Bannister rejoices all right, though you didn’t know you’d ever get to make your rash prophesy come true, and you know it!”
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., grinned again. Then he swaggered to the other end of the room, squinted carefully through his detective glass, as he called it, at an infinitesimal speck of dust on Butch’s coat, and spoke, in a Sheerluck Holmes voice:
“It was a mere trifle, my deah Watson! Just the result of my trained power of deduction! You never learn to observe things closely, my deah friend, and to deduce! Say, Butch, if ever you or Bannister wants a baffling mystery solved, just leave it to Sheerluck Holmes! Quick, Watson, the crocheting needle!”
1917
The war remained very much on Conan Doyle’s mind, as it did for everyone who had sons, husbands, and fathers in the fight. He worked on his history of the war and promoted his ideas for fighting it with anyone in power who would listen. Over breakfast with the newly installed prime minister, Lloyd George, he advocated outfitting soldiers with body armor, reasoning that if Bibles and papers can stop a bullet, why not plate? He was pleased that the new leader was “very keen” on the idea, and thought that the nation had “a vigorous virile hand” at the helm.
Now that he had declared himself a Spiritualist, he was free to campaign on its behalf. He addressed the London Spiritualist Alliance and defended physicist Oliver Lodge’s beliefs in The Strand. His support alarmed his sister, Ida, and the two exchanged letters in which he described an afterlife where “we carry on our wisdom, our knowledge, our art, literature, music, architecture, but all with a far wider sweep … What is there so dreadfully depressing in all this?”
By summer, Conan Doyle was exhausted enough to alarm his doctor, who advised that he quit the volunteers. Instead, he cancelled his war lectures, but kept up his Spiritualist speeches.
In September, The Strand declared that “Sherlock Holmes outwits a German spy.” Inside its pages was “His Last Bow: The War Service of Sherlock Holmes.” Through Holmes, Conan Doyle reassured Britain that although a bitter wind is blowing through England, “it’s God’s own wind none the less, and a cleaner, better, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared.” It was so important to get the message out that “His Last Bow” would come out the next month in a collection with only seven other stories.
On Oct. 25, he gave what he thought was the most important lecture of his life. “The New Revelation” was intended to align Spiritualism with the church. “It is the first attempt to show what the real meaning is of the modern spiritual movement,” he wrote his mother, “and it puts into the hands of the clergy such a weapon against Materialism, which is their real enemy, as they never had.” He was pleased with the response and predicted that “I seem to see a second Reformation coming in this country. The folk await a message, and the message is there.”
The war had been going on for more than three years and there was a desperate need for trained surgeons. As a fourth-year medical student, his son Kingsley qualified to be sent home to finish his studies. Reluctant to leave his comrades at the front line, he nevertheless obeyed orders. As the year ended, Conan Doyle, Kingsley, and Innes, along with the rest of the family gathered to celebrate Christmas. It would be the last one Conan Doyle would spend with his son.
Publications: Holmes in The Strand: “His Last Bow” (Sept.). Holmes: His Last Bow (Oct.). Other: The British Campaign in France and Flanders, Vol. 2 (July).
Intercepted Communications
John Kendrick Bangs
John Kendrick Bangs (1862-1922) has made multiple appearances in the 223B Casebook Series, each time putting a different spin on Sherlock with his characteristic light touch. He had Holmes find a missing diamond stud, sent him to Hades twice, and wrote a cycle of stories about the son he had with Raffles’ daughter.
In this final outing, written for the April issue of The Rambler, his self-published magazine, he riffs on the discovery of the notorious Zimmerman telegram. In January, German Foreign Secretary Arthur Zimmerman (1864-1940) sent a coded telegram to the German ambassador to Mexico with a startling proposal. Zimmerman told the ambassador that if the United States entered the war, Germany would offer an alliance with Mexico if it joined the Central Powers. In return, Germany would help Mexico recover Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona.
It was the realpolitik game that European countries were used to playing. While Mexico had no intention of declaring war on the U.S., news of the telegram accompanied by a renewal of German attacks on U.S.-flagged ships around Great Britain shocked America into declaring war on April 6. That same month, Bangs published his take.
Shortly after the publication of Herr Zimmermann’s little valentine to Mr. Carranza offering that distinguished Statesman the States of Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona, in return for his assistance in the event of war with the United States, and nobly relinquishing to the eminent Mexican the detailed adjustments necessary to bring about a delivery of the goods, The Rambler retained at great expense Mr. Raffles Holmes, the famous pick-pocket-detective, to see if he could ferret out other letters of similar purport to other parties, about which it would be valuable for the American public to know.
Mr. Raffles Holmes, we should explain, is the son of Sherlock Holmes by his marriage with Miss Igotcha Raffles, the daughter of the noted Social Highwayman, whose exploits attracted so much attention in the field of Best Sellers some years ago. The young man has inherited from both sides of his family certain traits that made his illustrious forebears famous, and whether his efforts be directed in predatory or deductive lines, he is invariably successful. That he is a costly aid goes without saying, but we trust that the readers of The Rambler on hearing that our first payment on account for his services was a $2,000,000 batch of shares in a Radium Mine in Siberia, worth not less than $7.50 as waste-paper, will appreciate our enterprise on their behalf. At the end of his first two weeks Mr. Holmes had unearthed the following startling documents:
I.
(Herr Zimmermann to the President of China.)
Berlin, March 3, 1917.
My dear Mr. President:—
In the event of a declaration of war against the Central Powers by the United States I would suggest that you join forces with their Majesties of Germany and Austria, and thus aid in saving mankind from the autocratic arrogance of Democracy, that the world may enjoy the perfect liberty w
hich can alone be accorded it by the Hohenzollern dispensation. The Imperial Government at Berlin in consideration of this timely service will not, upon the conclusion of a victorious Peace, impede, but on the contrary will do all that it can to further, a movement whereby all the laundry work of the Entente Powers and the United States as well shall be turned over to China, the profits on which I need scarcely assure your Excellency in view of the enormous amount of dirty linen that will have to be washed after the war is over will run into fabulous amounts. All the details of framing, and making the contract effective, the Imperial Government of course leaves entirely to your Excellency and your advisors, not wishing to interfere in any way with the entire independence of action on the part of its valued allies.
Awaiting your reply, by post prepaid, I beg to remain, Sir, always yours for Us, undt Gott,
A. Zimmerman.
II.
(Herr Zimmerman to W—ll—am J—enn—ngs Br—an.)
Potsdam, March 4, 1917
W-ll-am J-nnings Br-an,
Ex-Officio German Ambassador to Miami.
Dear Friend and Ally:—
His Imperial Majesty directs me to express to you his cordial appreciation of your splendid service to His cause and loyalty to his interests in helping to suppress the recent insurrection of the American people against His divinely appointed rule. He orders me to state to you that in recognition of His indebtedness to you he has ordered a ton of Iron Crosses and a crayon portrait of Himself in Quaker uniform shipped to you by special submarine at your Florida address, and furthermore to inform you that as a mark of his exceptional regard for your splendid fealty He hereby appoints you President of the United States. The details of your Inauguration and assumption of the reins of power His Majesty most graciously leaves entirely to you, serenely confident that you will in no way abuse His trust by any overt act likely to embarrass Him at this time when His Imperial hands are already sufficiently full with other matters of pressing importance.
In conclusion may I add my own personal regard, and send my love to the Squab?
I am, Sir, at all times,
Yours for Peace and Brotherly Love,
A. Zimmerman.
P. S. The Kaiser has just rung me up on the telephone to ask you if you think that in the event of the worst, which we sometimes think of, there would be any opening for him on the Chautauqua Circuit?
A. Z.
III.
(Herr Zimmerman to Senator Gumshoe Bill.)
Wilhelmstrasse, March 5, 1917.
My dear Senator:—
His Imperial Majesty commands me to tell you that He undt Gott are delighted with the superb way in which you have upheld the Hohenzollern cause in America, and to say that He thinks the comfort you have given them both in these difficult times is deserving of a signal reward. He therefore orders me to state that if it will be of any value to you in the management of your personal fortunes to annex the States of Kansas, Illinois, Oklahoma, and Iowa, to the Commonwealth of Missouri, He authorizes you to do it forthwith. Not having had time to study conditions in and about Missouri for some months past His Majesty is perforce required to leave the ways and means of doing this thing completely and satisfactorily to your good and loyal self, and that you may proceed with greater confidence to the fulfillment of this Imperial enterprise He hereby sends you a blanket endorsement of such acts as you may find it necessary to perform.
Cordially,
Zimmerman.
IV.
(Herr Zimmerman to Senator O’Gorman)
Twenty-thousand Leagues Under The Sea,
March 6, 1917.
My dear O’G.:—
The Kaiser is quite overcome by your loyalty. He is very busy today, but He has nevertheless found time to dictate the enclosed special appointment for you, that of King of Ireland, as evidence of His gratitude. The ceremonial of the coronation, the time and place, and all such matters, he leaves to you to arrange, and he wishes you as Hully Gee the First a long and prosperous reign.
Ever yours,
A Zimmerman.
The Rambler cannot finish this series of interesting documents without giving publicity to one more exhibit furnished by Mr. Raffles Holmes which he considers on the whole to be as valuable as any. It is dated Mexico City, March 10, 1917, and reads as follows:
Dear Zimm :—
I have received your interesting letter of February 19th, and would gladly take up matters with you on the basis therein suggested if it weren’t for that bruite Villa, who stands between me and the Texans, just as the Texans stand between him and the rest of the United States. With Villa on my hands there are certain details about the seizure of Arizona, New Mexico and Texas, which are for the moment at least insuperabolo. Your note, however has suggested a counter idea to me that may prove of interest to you and your Imperial Billikens at Potsd-n. To put it in brevito and with not too mucho gabbo I suggest that in case of the declaration of war between Mexico and the United States the Kaiser join forces with me, and help cinch things. It is only fair to add that in return for his valued help at the conclusion of the war I shall be glad to transfer to his supreme control England, Ireland, Scotland, France, Russia, Italy, Spain, India, China, Japan, Africa, Milwaukee and Hoboken. My Secretary being off on vacation today I haven’t time to outline the details of the transfer to Him, and shall in fact be very glad indeed to have him attend to those matters himself.
How about it, Zimmzy, old pallo?
Yours truly,
Carranza.
P. S. I’ll throw in the North Pole and Flatbush, L.I., also if it will make the offer more tempting.
Cherchez la Femme
Carolyn Wells
Illustrated by Rea Irvin
Wells’ second appearance in this volume, a follow-up to “The Adventure of the Clothes-Line” in the 1915 chapter, features again her Society of Infallible Detectives. This appeared in the February issue of The Green Book magazine, with art by Rea Irvin (1881-1972), a graphic artist best known for establishing the art direction of The New Yorker, including drawing its mascot, Eustace Tilley.
The Society of Infallible Detectives was waiting for something to fall for. They hadn’t had a case they could really celebrate for a long time, and their intellects were rusting with disuse.
“Do look out of the window, Holmes,” Watson said petulantly, to the saturnine resident of the Society. “When you look out, you ’most always see somebody approaching who turns out to be a case.”
Throwing aside his hypodermic needle, with a slight shrug Holmes strode to the window and gazed moodily and tensely down into the street.
“There is some one turning in,” he said slowly, “who may turn out to be a case. If I mistake not, I hear his footprint on the stair.”
Even as he spoke, there was a tap at the door, and a florid-faced young man of twenty-six summers and a half the following fall plumped himself into the room and fell dejectedly into the very chair that Holmes waved him toward.
“As you got on the Ninth Avenue Elevated at Ninety-third Street and got off at Twenty-eighth and Sixth Avenue, you couldn’t very well leave it to be fixed, could you?” observed Holmes sympathetically.
“No,” returned the young man dejectedly. “And the confounded thing—”
“Yes, I know, those cylinder-watches don’t. But what’s the trouble that brings you here?”
The young man stared with the dawning air of amazement that always sooner or later came to Holmes’ clients. “I say,” he began, “how did you know where I got on and off? How did you know my watch had gone back on me? How—”
“I know more than that, Mr. Elmer Ensign. But why do you look for her in people’s kitchens?”
The visitor’s jaw dropped. It was a square, young, well-shaven jaw, but it dropped, while intense surprise was registered by its owner.
“Elementary, my dear sir, elementary. But time is flying. Hadn’t you better state your case? Here we have gathered the whole of our little band of
Infallible Detectives, and we can solve your mystery if anybody can.”
“Well, then, gentlemen, it’s a case of kidnaping.”
Quite a number of ah’s escaped from the sphinx-like countenances of the detectives. Dupin and Lupin rubbed their hands in true French fashion, and Lecoq and Vidocq shrugged their shoulders also after the manner of their home town.
The Thinking Machine blinked his old, pale-blue eyes, and Mr. Gryce concentrated his gaze on a conch-shell on the whatnot.
“Yes,” went on Mr. Ensign, “my aunt—”
“Gracie Golightly,” observed Holmes in his swift, suave way.
“Yes,” said Ensign shortly. “If you know this story so well, why don’t you tell it yourself?”
“Go on,” said the Thinking Machine irritably. “Two and two make four, not now, but all the time. Go on, do!”
“Well, you see, gentlemen, it’s this way: Though she’s my aunt, I haven’t seen her for years until last evening. She came to the house at nine o’clock, and said she’d determined to change her will. She had willed her fortune, you know, to—”
“Is she Golightly the dancer?” asked Lupin with fresh interest.
“She was. She’s left the stage; she’s—ah, you see, she’s—”
“Younger than she once was,” said Holmes saturninely.
“Exactly, yes. That’s a good way to put it.” And Mr. Ensign laughed nervously. “Well, she has a pet philanthropy, and she had willed all her money to that, and then she changes her mind and comes to tell us about it. We sit talking things over. Bedtime—all retire. This morning, Aunt out for early walk—roses of youth back to cheeks—brisk trot in the sunshine—all that sort of thing. But no returns. Hustle search—hunt all day till noon. Get mysterious message—typewritten—see!”
