by Val Andrews
Sherlock Holmes and the Egyptian Hall Adventure
Val Andrews
© Val Andrews 1993
Val Andrews has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in 1993 by Irregular Press.
This edition published in 2015 by Endeavour Press Ltd.
Dedicated to the memory of that brilliant playwright and screenwriter
Barre Lyndon
(1896-1972).
My thanks go to his son,
Roger Linden, my good friend who suggested the subject for this story.
Roger, a professional magician, now resides near St Louis, Missouri.
As a boy in England he was the final pupil of the great
DAVID DEVANT.
Val Andrews — September 1993
Table of Contents
Introduction
Chapter One – The Conjurer’s Problem
Chapter Two – The Egyptian Hall
Chapter Three – The Dressing Room of Death
Chapter Four – A Visit Returned
Chapter Five – ‘The Grand Old Man’
Chapter Six – Windrush Towers
Chapter Seven – Pathology and Horology
Chapter Eight – ‘Grand Finale’
Introduction
J.N. Maskelyne, the conjurer and inventor operated the famous Egyptian Hall in London’s West End. It was a theatre of magic and mystery and was run, first in partnership with Alfred Cook and later with David Devant, and in my student days it afforded me many happy hours.
In 1898 my friend Mr Sherlock Holmes became involved in a mystery to rival any created by the conjurers who trod the historic boards there. When Maskelyne moved his enterprise to St George’s Hall in 1905 it was never quite the same. But of course by that time Holmes had left Baker Street, and to my mind the metropolis itself had lost much of its entertainment value.
Therefore it gives me particular pleasure to recreate for my readers an episode recalling the days when the conjurer was still in his exotic setting and Sherlock Holmes was still inhabiting 221b Baker Street.
John H. Watson, M.D.
August 1928
Chapter One – The Conjurer’s Problem
The year 1898 was a particularly busy and fruitful one for my friend, Mr Sherlock Holmes. I can well remember not only the exhilaration of being allowed to participate in some of his most notable cases, but also my relief that his breakdown of the previous year seemed happily resolved. Once restored to good health, Holmes quickly returned to his old regime of little sleep and intense activity.
It was during that year that Holmes showed his genius had been unimpaired by nervous illness. ‘The Adventure of the Dancing Men’ and that of ‘The Retired Colourman’ I have of course recorded and published. But there were other notable cases during that year, some of which I have been unable to present to my readers for reasons of good taste or consideration for the persons involved. Yet I still have unpublished details of one case which presents no such difficulties, and which I feel would interest all of you who have been good enough to express a liking for these narrations of mine. My old files and folders refer to it as ‘The Randolph Case’, but we, that is Holmes and I, have been more inclined to refer to it as ‘The Egyptian Hall Adventure’.
On a recent visit to my dear old friend at his Sussex retreat, I asked his permission to relate the episode. Typically he said, ‘Watson, I can think of no reason why you should not but please, I implore you not to ladle on the sauce of sensationalism with which you have often dressed your accounts of my adventures!’ If then, this narrative would seem at times to underplay the dramatic, you will have only my friend to blame.
*
One morning in the late spring of ‘98 I appeared at breakfast at what was for me an early hour, only to find Sherlock Holmes fully dressed, relishing his second cup of coffee. His alert appearance suggested that for once he had slept for a few hours. He surveyed me with mock-severity.
‘Upon my word, Watson, my dear fellow, I believe you rise a fraction of a minute later with each morning.’ I grunted some sort of reply and, as I prepared to deal with my devilled kidneys he busied himself, scribbling upon a scrap of paper and chuckling at that which he inscribed. He said, ‘According to my calculations, by the fifteenth of July in the year 1901, you will arise at noon, exactly!’ Not wishing to encourage levity at such an early hour, I concentrated upon my breakfast, aware however, that my friend was studying me carefully. At length he broke the silence by saying, ‘I see that you have no professional calls to make this morning.’ It was not a question but rather an assured statement of fact. It was true I was wearing a town suit, hardly of the formal variety required of a doctor. This was, in fact, probably the most obvious deduction I had ever heard my friend make. I said as much and he agreed, adding, ‘However, I imagine that you are turned out well enough for a visit to the bookseller?’
I started, ‘How could you, even given your methods, know I was planning to visit my bookseller rather than, shall we say, my tailor?’
Holmes’ keen eyes fairly twinkled as he explained, ‘Last evening, when you were sitting reading your book, I noticed that you finished it. I further noted that you searched the advertisements at the back of the book, presumably looking for other titles by the same author. As you ran your finger down the list I saw the change in your expression, doubtless upon finding that which you sought: a title by the same author, one which you had not read.’
I pushed my plate from me, no longer puzzled. After all, I was somewhat used to these seeming mysteries being explained away by deductive logic. I replied, ‘As ever you are right Holmes, and it is really very simple when you explain it. But is it not a little early in the day for such brilliant deductions?’
Holmes rejoined, ‘On the contrary Watson, for a client is to call shortly and I would like you, if you will, to postpone your literary expedition that I might have your valuable support.’
I asked, ‘At what time is he calling?’
Holmes remonstrated, ‘With regard to the gender of my client, have I given any indication in what I have said?’
I played Holmes at his own game by saying, ‘No, but the room is already full of shag-fumes. Even you would have confined your smoking to cigarettes if expecting a lady!’
Holmes clapped his hands in a slow, sardonic applause. ‘Excellent Watson! Your hibernation has not dulled your wits. Knowing my methods as you do, apart from the fact that we are expecting a Mr Cyril Randolph, I would appreciate your comments upon this calling card.’ He handed me a visiting card which I studied carefully.
The card, which measured about three inches by four, announced simply, ‘Mr Cyril Randolph’ who had an address in Hampstead. After studying it for about a minute I said, ‘It is somewhat larger than the cards used in polite society.’ Holmes nodded and passing me his lens, bade me turn the card over. On its reverse side was a neatly written message in ink, ‘Will call upon you tomorrow morning at a quarter to ten upon a matter of some urgency.’ I noticed a small pink mark or stain at one corner of the card and remarked upon it. ‘I suspect that this man is an artist!’
Holmes asked, ‘Why so?’
I replied, ‘Such a calling would explain both the eccentricity of size and the small trace of oil paint at the corner.’
There was no applause this time, sardonic or otherwise, as Holmes said, ‘Your train of thought is interesting if inaccurate. I believe Mr Randolph to be an actor or music-hall performer.’
I asked, sharply, ‘Would the card not state as much, were that the case?�
�
He smiled kindly and said, ‘Not if the person concerned has two sets of cards: that intended for professional use, and that for purely social purposes. I grant that the eccentricity of size could indicate an artist, but it could equally point to a Thespian.’
I could not help but ask, somewhat warmly, ‘How can you be so sure that he is one rather than the other?’
He said, ‘Because the stain is caused not by oil paint but by theatrical grease paint.’
I demanded to know, ‘Have you analysed it?’
He chuckled, ‘No need, for it is a substance well known to me from its odour and texture. Despite being theatrically involved, Mr Randolph is a man of good education and is at least moderately successful, for the card stock is of good quality and his penned message erudite.’
I dared to enquire, ‘Anything else?’
Holmes said, with no attempt at effect, ‘Not much Doctor, except that he has a number of other appointments to keep and has, possibly, recently resided in the United States. Had he written me a letter I would doubtless know more about him.’ I did not bother to enquire how he could deduce these facts from a single written line, because I knew that he would enlighten me.
‘The first point, that he has a number of other engagements for this very morning. Were he not pressed for time a man would make an appointment on the hour rather than a quarter to it. My second point, the sojourn, possibly recent, in America: you will notice Watson, the smooth flow of ink in that single written line. This suggests to me that the writer used a recent American invention, the “Reservoir Pen”. Need I say more?’
I considered that he did need to enlarge, asking, ‘Could he not be an American?’
Holmes said, ‘Possibly, though from his phrasing I very much doubt it. An American would have stipulated “a quarter of ten”, he would have used words like “important” or even “desperate” rather than “some urgency”. That my dear Watson, is typically British.’
The sound of the doorbell followed by footsteps on the stairs prompted my friend to consult his watch and say, ‘Exactly on time Watson, a man of about six feet high and some twelve stone. To the observer, every footstep tells a story.’ Having anticipated my question he rose to greet his client.
As Mr Randolph entered I could see that he was indeed only slightly short of six feet in height, well built and neatly dressed in a grey town suit. He was grey haired, with dundreary whiskers, neatly groomed. He had a lively face on which there was an expression of some anxiety.
‘Mr Holmes, it’s good of you to see me at such short notice. You are Sherlock Holmes I presume?’
Shaking his hand my friend assured him, ‘Yes indeed, and this is my friend and colleague, Dr Watson, before whom you may speak freely. Pray be seated, this chair is tolerably comfortable.’
Once seated, Randolph was obviously anxious to get to the purpose of his visit. ‘I’m sure you won’t know anything about me Mr Holmes, but…’
Holmes interrupted him, ‘On the contrary Mr Randolph, I deduced from your card that you were a busy and punctual man of the theatre, who has spent some time in the United States. Now that we have actually met I can tell that you are in fact a conjurer, and that your American sojourn was in New England.’
Our visitor started, ‘Well! Although I used my private card you have obviously seen me perform. I’m flattered that the great detective should spare the time to see a mere conjurer.’
Holmes smiled and corrected this false impression. ‘I regret to say that I have never seen your performance sir, nor, I regret to say, has your fame preceded you as far as I am concerned.’
Randolph looked more like a puzzled spectator than a conjurer as he gasped, ‘Then how…’
Holmes related first the deductions made from the card and then said, ‘When I shook your hand I noticed a circular depression on your right palm which I consider could only have been caused by many years of regularly holding circular serrated objects, or milled-edged discs in that position. The size is about that of a half crown. Who but a conjurer would regularly “palm” coins?’
Randolph was amazed. ‘But how could you tell that I had lived in New England?’
Holmes explained, ‘From your use of the broad “A”, among other dialectic tricks.’
‘I spent five years in Boston. You are correct all along the line. I’ve come to the right man, and if anyone can help me you can!’
Holmes smiled and said, ‘That remains to be seen. Now Mr Randolph, what pray is your predicament?’
We both sat, attentively, as Cyril Randolph told us what was causing his anxiety. ‘I am at present engaged to perform twice daily at Maskelyne’s Theatre, “The Egyptian Hall,” the reputation of which may be known to you even where mine is not?’
Holmes nodded, and I could not help asking, ‘Does dear old Mr Maskelyne still perform there himself?’
Randolph said, ‘Why yes, he still spins the odd dinner plate, but leaves most things to young Mr Devant these days.’
Holmes, irritated at my interruption waved a restraining hand at me and said to Randolph, ‘Pray continue sir.’
‘I have a particular trick in my repertoire, a very well known one, in which I borrow a ring from a lady in the audience. This is preferably a ring of some value. This I deliberately smash with a hammer on the pretext of making it fit the barrel of a pistol. I then fire the pistol at a large box. The box is opened to reveal another and this in turn is opened to reveal the last and smallest box. This is opened to expose a nosegay to which a ring is attached by ribbon. Of course, it is the valuable ring, thought to have been smashed.’
He paused, and despite catching Holmes’ eye I could not help but interject, ‘By Jove, that’s a very old trick, why even I know its secret from reading Professor Hoffmann’s “Modern Magic” when I was a student!’
Randolph, far from being offended said, ‘I agree that it is hackneyed, but the audiences still love it and, despite my other and more original mysteries, they will not allow me to leave it out of my act.’
Holmes, growing impatient with me, said, ‘Really Watson, you will do us the service of allowing Mr Randolph to continue uninterrupted by gems from your schoolboy conjuring knowledge! Mr Randolph, pray continue, bearing in mind that I am not about to give you a round of applause.’ Both Randolph and I took the hint, resulting in my silence and his effort to reach the point of his trouble.
He said to Holmes, ‘I am not here to waste your time… indeed mine is of value too… I want to enlist your help. Two nights ago, at the evening performance I managed to coax the loan of a very valuable diamond ring from a certain Lady Windrush. I performed the trick with it, just as I have described to you, and exactly as I have done a thousand times before… only I failed to reproduce her ring. Naturally she is terribly angry and is threatening me with legal proceedings!’
There was a short silence at this point, during which Holmes lit a Turkish cigarette with a vespa. It was he who broke the silence, ‘I am not surprised to hear that the lady threatens you with the law. I am unfamiliar with the methods employed by conjurers, and whilst I have no wish to pry into your professional secrets, I fail to see how I can be of help unless you break the code of your craft and explain to me every detail of this trick with the ring.’
Randolph shrugged and said, ‘Yes I quite see that Mr Holmes, and as it is a very old trick I see no harm in telling you its method. After all, you have explained something of your methods to me. It happens this way: I step into the audience to borrow the ring. On my way back to the stage I substitute an almost worthless imitation, and palm the genuine ring. I secretly drop the real ring into my assistant’s hand as she gives me the pistol. She makes her exit with the real ring as I hammer the worthless one so that I may get it into the barrel of the pistol. Once offstage she attaches the real ring to the nosegay, which she places inside the smallest box. She nests the boxes and brings them onstage. The rest is obvious. However, on the night of question I had the indignity of taking
the nosegay from the box to find it quite without any sort of ring attached to it.’
Randolph appeared to have said all that he felt able to and sat in silence, with a beseeching expression on his face. Holmes worked hard on his cigarette and I knew he was intrigued with the story he had been told. ‘From what you have told me, if completely accurate, no one could have handled Lady Windrush’s valuable ring save yourself and your assistant. I assume that the lady who assists you can be trusted, otherwise you would have pursued that avenue of explication yourself!’
‘Quite so sir, the lady has worked for me for a number of years and has herself a professional reputation to maintain. We are billed as “Cyrano, assisted by Madame Patricia”. Her real name is Mabel Cosgrove and I have her assurance that she followed her usual procedure, and you know Mr Holmes, I believe her!’
I risked Holmes’ wrath by saying, ‘So if the ring really was attached to the nosegay and did not at any stage drop into a crevice in the box…’
Randolph assured me, ‘The boxes are so accurately made that there is no crevice in which anything could lodge. The nest of boxes were carried straight onto the stage after loading. There is no point of possible interception.’
Holmes said, ‘There would seem to be no answer short of some sort of necromancy, the existence of which I cannot as a man of science admit to. No further purpose can be gained from prolonging our conversation Mr Randolph.’
The Conjurer started, ‘You, you mean you will not help me?’
Holmes replied, ‘On the contrary, I will attend your performance this very evening, to observe for myself that there are no circumstances which could make our bewilderment seem foolish. Be sure to perform the ring trick!’
Randolph was delighted, ‘Please Mr Holmes, call at the box office. I will leave a ticket there with your name written upon it.’ I coughed insinuatingly. He added, ‘In case your colleague should wish to attend, I will leave two tickets.’
