Another case which engaged Holmes’ attention in the busy year of ’95 occurred in June, several months after the arrest of Wilson and his accomplices which brought the ‘Canary Club’ conspiracy to a successful conclusion.

I was apprised of this new investigation by the arrival at my consulting-rooms of a telegram from my old friend which read: ‘COME TWO-THIRTY THIS AFTERNOON BAKER STREET STOP INTERESTING CASE PENDING.’

I was quite used by this time to these peremptory summonses and, having arranged for a colleague to take over my professional duties that afternoon, I caught a cab to my former lodgings where I found Holmes in a state of some excitement.

‘My dear Watson,’ he said as I entered, ‘I am delighted you were able to come. A most fascinating investigation has been placed my way this very morning. You remember Lestrade referred to a series of burglaries which had taken place at country houses and in which valuable art treasures had been stolen?* Well, read this!’

He thrust a letter into my hand. It bore the previous day’s date, the address: ‘Whitestone Manor, Little Walden, Suffolk’, and read:

Hardly had I finished reading it than, with the curt command, ‘Now look at this!’, Holmes snatched the letter away and substituted for it one of his cuttings books in which it was his habit to paste those newspaper articles which had caught his interest.

There were five such items, dating back over the past two years and all were concerned with burglaries at country mansions. But I had very little opportunity to peruse them in detail for Holmes insisted on leaning eagerly over my shoulder to comment out loud on their contents.

‘You see, Watson, all of them follow a pattern or modus operandi. The burglaries always take place in the summer months at country houses situated not too far from London. I have looked up the places on a large-scale map and without exception they are located three miles or less from a mainline station; within walking distance, in other words. In every case, the burglary has been carried out with great skill and cunning for no one in any of the households was aware at the time of the felonies, while in two instances a dog, which was supposed to guard the property, had been put to sleep by means of a piece of drugged meat.

‘Another curious feature of all these burglaries is the discrimination of the villain or villains involved. Only certain choice items of rare historical or artistic interest have been taken while other objects of considerable value such as plate and jewellery have been left untouched. In short, Watson, I am convinced that we are dealing here with a very clever professional thief, based in London, who travels down by train to commit the burglaries, having first chosen his site with extreme care.’

‘And the police say they have no clues,’ I remarked, pointing to Sir Edgar’s letter.

‘Pshaw!’ Holmes exclaimed scornfully. ‘They are simply not looking in the right places. I have been following these cases for months, hoping that one of the victims might ask for my services. And now my chance has come! For believe me, my dear fellow, there is a very cunning and subtle mind at work here. It will afford me the greatest pleasure to pit my wits against his!’

He was positively rubbing his hands together with delight at the prospect and could hardly contain his impatience, pacing up and down the room until the bell rang to announce the arrival of his new client.

Sir Edgar Maxwell-Browne was a bluff, middle-aged, red-faced man who came straight to the point.

No sooner had he entered the room and introduced himself than he announced, ‘I do not propose wasting your time or mine, Mr Holmes. The facts of the case are these. The burglary took place either late on Friday night or in the early hours of Saturday morning. No one in the household heard anything, including myself, although that may not be altogether surprising as the servants sleep in the east wing, quite separate from the part of the house where the crime was committed, while my own room is also some distance away. It occurred in the drawing-room in the old west wing, where a circular piece of glass was cut out of one of the window-panes, the catch was released and the casement was then opened. It was from this room that the objects were stolen.’

‘I take it that all the items were extremely rare and of great artistic or historic value?’ Holmes inquired.

Sir Edgar sat up, astonished at my old friend’s deductive skills.

‘I don’t know how you came to that conclusion, Mr Holmes, but you are perfectly correct. All the objects were irreplaceable family heirlooms, including a miniature by Nicholas Hilliard of an ancestor of mine, a prayer-book with a pearl-embroidered cover which had belonged to Mary Queen of Scots and a gold chalice said to have been used in Catherine of Aragon’s private chapel. They were not only priceless; they were unique! The most baffling part about it is that there was no attempt to make off with the silver in the dining-room or other valuable pieces in the drawing-room or elsewhere in the house.’

‘I assume from your description that all the stolen objects were small and easily portable?’

‘You are correct again, Mr Holmes! They would have fitted into a carpet-bag or a small portmanteau. I ought to add that none of the heirlooms taken were displayed openly. They were all secured inside two cabinets which were fitted with strong locks. As the glass had not been smashed, I can only assume that the locks were picked.’

‘Ah!’ Holmes exclaimed, his eyes very bright under their dark, heavy brows.

‘Now to get down to business,’ Sir Edgar continued briskly. ‘If you are willing to take on the case, I am prepared to pay whatever fees you charge. I should, of course, prefer that my property were returned but, failing that, I shall be satisfied if whoever is responsible is apprehended and placed behind bars. I am a great believer in the old adage that an Englishman’s home is his castle. No householder can sleep easy in his bed while these villains are at large.’

‘These villains, Sir Edgar? You sound quite positive. Have you any evidence that more than one man is involved?’

‘Indeed I have. There are two to be precise. Did I not mention the port? No? Well, before they left, they had the infernal cheek to help themselves to a glass each of my ’67; cool as you please. The empty glasses were found in the dining-room.’

‘Have they been touched?’ Holmes asked quickly.

‘No; as soon as the burglary was discovered, I gave orders that the drawing-room and the dining-room were to be locked and that nothing should be removed or handled until the police arrived. Inspector Biffen, who is in charge of the so-called investigation, showed no interest in examining the glasses and therefore the dining-room has remained closed off. He and his men seemed more concerned with trampling over the gardens, looking for evidence. They have done irreparable damage to a bed of very fine gloxinias. It was one of the reasons I decided to write to you, Mr Holmes, and ask you to take up the case before Biffen and his subordinates ruin any more of my borders. To add insult to injury, the Inspector has admitted that he has found no clues, not even a footprint, and has no idea who is behind this outrage. Indeed, yesterday he spoke of calling in Scotland Yard which will mean more men in boots tramping about!’

Sir Edgar’s bright blue eyes positively blazed at the idea.

Holmes said soothingly, ‘I shall be delighted to take the case, Sir Edgar. I assume you have no objections to my colleague, Dr Watson, accompanying me? Then let me assure you that, as far as the doctor and myself are concerned, your flower gardens will be sacrosanct.’

‘That is settled then,’ Sir Edgar remarked, slapping his knees. ‘Now, I have looked up the timetable and the 10.15 from Liverpool Street station to Ipswich stops at Great Walden. If that train is convenient to you, I shall send my carriage to meet it. It is only a two mile drive from the station to my house at Little Walden. You will stay for luncheon, of course? Excellent! Then I shall inform Biffen that you will arrive tomorrow morning.’

Sir Edgar had risen to his feet as if about to depart when Holmes held up a hand to detain him.

‘Two final points before you leave, Sir Edgar. Firstly, will you make sure that no one, not even Inspector Biffen, enters the dining-room and handles the two port glasses?’ On receiving Sir Edgar’s assurance, Holmes continued, ‘My last inquiry is this – have any strangers visited the house recently?’

Sir Edgar seemed less positive about this last query.

‘Not to my knowledge,’ he said after a moment’s pause. ‘But I shall certainly make inquiries of the servants.’

After he had shaken hands and left, Holmes turned to me with a triumphant expression.

‘You see what I mean about modus operandi, Watson? This case follows a similar pattern to the others. The house is approximately two miles from a mainline station; no one heard anything; the burglary was carried out extremely skilfully and only a few choice items were taken. We can now add to our knowledge the fact that two men are involved, both of whom are exceptionally skilled. I am looking forward to this investigation with the greatest of pleasure.’

‘Why did you ask Sir Edgar about strangers visiting the house?’

‘Is that not obvious, Watson? The thieves entered by the drawing-room window, the very room where the family heirlooms were kept, and made off with only the most valuable of them. Does that not suggest to you that they knew exactly where to find them and what their value was before committing the burglary? And now, my dear fellow, before you leave, if you would be good enough to hand me down that volume marked “Country Houses”, I shall begin work on the case. I may expect you tomorrow morning, may I not, say at nine o’clock, in good time to catch the 10.15 from Liverpool Street station?’

Having been so imperatively summoned, I was a little piqued at being dismissed in a similar fashion but Holmes, quite unaware of my annoyance, had already seated himself at his desk, a large-scale map of South East England spread out in front of him, together with the volume on country houses, and was engaged in making notes.

I let myself quietly out of the room.

He was in the same ebullient mood when I returned the following morning.

A cab had been ordered and, as the hansom rattled off for Liverpool Street station, he explained to me the results of his previous day’s researches.

‘I have written over two dozen letters, Watson; five to the owners of those houses where the earlier thefts occurred and a score or more to others whose properties seemed likely targets for future burglaries. It is surprising how many country houses fulfil the necessary criteria I remarked on yesterday.’

‘You are quite sure there will be other attempts?’ I asked.

‘Oh, quite positive! These burglaries are part of a series which take place, as I pointed out to you, during the summer months. It is now June. I think we can safely count on at least one more before the season is out. I shall be better informed where exactly it will take place when I receive answers to my letters.’

We caught the train at Liverpool Street station and, after a journey of about an hour, alighted at Great Walden, a prosperous market town, where we found Sir Edgar’s coachman waiting with the carriage.

Before we set off, Holmes inquired of the man, ‘Which is the best inn in the town?’

‘The George, sir,’ the coachman replied without any hesitation.

Holmes sat back with evident satisfaction but said nothing to explain the reason for this inquiry, merely looking about him with great attention as the carriage drove away.

Whitestone Manor was a large, rambling house of several architectural styles, one wing being Tudor, another Carolean, while a fine Palladian façade had been built in front of the main Georgian structure. It was here, on the steps of the pillared portico, that Sir Edgar met us and conducted us inside the house.

‘Now, Mr Holmes,’ he said, with his usual forthrightness, ‘where do you wish to begin your investigation?’

To my surprise, Holmes replied, ‘In the dining-room, Sir Edgar. I should like to examine the two port glasses.’

The dining-room was situated in the Tudor wing and was a low, panelled room, furnished with the heavy oak pieces of the period on which was displayed a quantity of silver plate which the thieves had left behind.

The glasses in question stood on the end of a long refectory table, the dregs of dried port still evident at the botton of them. Without touching them, Holmes bent forward and scrutinised each glass carefully through the powerful magnifying glass which he took from the small leather grip he had brought with him, before turning to Sir Edgar. ‘If I might have a cardboard box and some cotton wadding, I should like, with your permission, to take these back with me to London for further examination.’

‘Of course,’ Sir Edgar replied, pulling on a bell rope to summon a servant, ‘although I fail to see what possible use they could be to the inquiry. However, I am in your hands, Mr Holmes.’

A servant having arrived and been duly sent off again to return with those articles which my old friend had requested, Holmes lifted each glass carefully by the stem and laid them side by side in the box on top of some of the wadding. More wadding was placed over them, the lid was replaced and tied on with string and finally the box was placed inside the grip.

Both Sir Edgar and I watched this operation with considerable interest, Sir Edgar baffled by it; I, who knew something of Holmes’ methods, not entirely surprised at his interest in these objects.

‘And now,’ Holmes announced, having fastened up the grip, ‘I should like to examine the room where the burglary took place.’

It was while we were walking along the passageway towards the drawing-room that Sir Edgar suddenly remarked, ‘The port glasses have reminded me, Mr Holmes. Yesterday you asked if any strangers had been to the house. At the time, I could think of nobody. But seeing the glasses again, I have just remembered that there was a visitor although it was so long ago, I doubt if he has anything to do with the burglary. I offered him a glass of port after luncheon and he remarked on the excellence of its quality.’

Holmes lifted his head, his expression alert and keen-eyed, like a gun dog scenting game.

‘How long ago was this visit, Sir Edgar?’

‘Let me see. It must have been last November. He was an American professor who wrote asking to look over the place. He said he was an expert on Tudor architecture.’

It was Holmes’ habit to become very tense and still when he had reached a significant stage in an investigation, as if all his attention were concentrated on this one point although, under the apparently calm exterior, one could feel the energy vibrating like a finely-tuned engine.

I was aware of that hidden power when in a quiet voice he inquired, ‘Do you happen to have the letter?’

‘It may still be among my papers. If you wish, I can look for it while you examine the drawing-room,’ Sir Edgar replied, throwing open a door.

While Sir Edgar departed to search for the correspondence, Holmes and I stepped inside the room. It was a large chamber, beamed and panelled like the dining-room, and with three long windows overlooking the garden. Even from the doorway, it was possible to see the circular hole which had been cut in one of the panes immediately above a window-catch, large enough to admit a man’s hand.

Holmes strode across the room to examine both the hole and the window-ledge.

‘Neatly made, Watson, with a diamond-tipped glass-cutter; the sign of an expert. Observe also the marks on the sill where our villains climbed in and out. No footprints in the flower-bed below the window,’ he continued, opening the casement and leaning his head out, ‘apart from some heavy trampling in the surrounding area which I assume is the work of Inspector Biffen and his subordinates. But aha! What have we here? Kindly pass me the tweezers, there’s a good fellow.’

I did as he requested, eagerly stepping forward to observe the object which he had retrieved.

‘It is just a small piece of fluff,’ I remarked.

‘Fluff? Nonsense, Watson! If you examine it with the aid of the lens, you will see that it consists of fibres torn from a piece of brown felt. They were caught on a splinter of wood on the lower frame of the window. You can also observe, can you not, the earth which has been trodden into them? No wonder our villains were so silent and left no shoe-prints. They were careful to encase their feet in felt slippers. It is all so highly professional that it is a privilege to observe their methods. And now,’ he concluded, depositing the fibres in an envelope which he placed inside his pocketbook, ‘let us examine the cabinets from which the art treasures were taken.’

The cabinets stood in the chimney alcoves on either side of a large stone fireplace. Both were glass-fronted and the doors, which had been fitted with strong, brass locks, had been left ajar. Inside, gaps between the objects displayed on the shelves showed where the missing items had once stood.

It was while Holmes was kneeling on the floor, examining the key escutcheons, that Sir Edgar entered the room, a sheet of paper in his hand.

‘I have found the letter,’ he announced, handing it to Holmes who, having read it, passed it to me. It was written on paper which bore the printed heading, ‘The University of Chicago, Department of History’, and the date October 6th of the previous year.

It read:

It was signed ‘Jonas T. Vanderbilt, Professor of History’.

‘You wrote to him and arranged a visit?’ Holmes inquired of Sir Edgar.

‘Indeed I did. I sent a letter to his London hotel, suggesting he should come on November 10th by the same 10.15 train that you caught. But you are surely not implying that he was behind the burglary? He seemed most respectable. Why, I even sent the carriage to meet him at the station!’

‘What was his appearance?’

‘He was a tall, elderly, white-haired gentleman; a little stooped in the shoulders; spoke, of course, with an American accent and was highly knowledgeable about Tudor architecture.’

‘He was shown over the house?’

‘Not all of it but, yes, I conducted him round the main rooms, including this one, the dining-room where we had luncheon, and some of the bedrooms. He was most grateful for the opportunity and wrote me a charming letter of thanks.’

Sir Edgar broke off at this point as the butler entered to announce that Inspector Biffen had arrived and was waiting in the hall. Having conducted us there, Sir Edgar introduced us to the man before excusing himself on the grounds of some matter of urgent estate business which had to be completed before luncheon.

Biffen, who was accompanied by a police constable, was a lean, narrow-eyed and thin-lipped man who clearly resented Holmes’ presence and mine for he shook hands stiffly, remarking in a sneering manner, ‘Sir Edgar has every right to call in whom he pleases, Mr Holmes. But for all your reputation, you will not have any success with this case. The clues are too few. In fact, I have this very morning sent a telegram to Scotland Yard, requesting assistance. I am expecting a reply at any moment. Not that we have been exactly idle. Only half an hour ago, my men, continuing the search of the gardens under my express orders, have discovered the place where the villains entered the grounds. I doubt if you would have found it.’

‘Probably not, Inspector,’ Holmes agreed suavely. ‘I should like, however, to be shown where it is.’

With bad grace, Biffen conceded and we followed him across a large sweep of lawn, surrounded by carefully tended herbaceous borders, to a shrubbery at the far side of which he halted in front of a high brick wall.

‘That’s where they got in, Mr Holmes,’ Biffen announced with an unpleasantly triumphant air. ‘You can see where the ivy has been disturbed on the top of the coping.’

‘But how’, Holmes inquired, ‘did they manage to scale the wall? It is all of fifteen feet high.’

Biffen’s smug smile immediately faded, to be replaced by a much more chastened expression. It was quite clear that the question had not occurred to him. The mystery, however, was soon solved, at least to Holmes’ satisfaction.

The constable was despatched to fetch a ladder and, when he returned with it, Holmes leaned it against the brickwork and, mounting the rungs, carefully parted the strands of ivy before examining the stone coping with the aid of his powerful pocket lens.

‘Most satisfactory!’ he remarked, descending and dusting off his hands. ‘As I had expected, Watson, it is yet another example of the high degree of efficiency with which this pair of thieves operates. But come! We must return to the house and complete our examination of the scene of the crime.’

Deliberately ignoring Biffen, he set off through the shrubbery although, once we were out of earshot of the Inspector, he remarked to me in a low voice, ‘Judging by the two parallel marks in the coping, our villains used a rope ladder fitted with hooks. By such means, it would be a matter of a few minutes for them to enter and leave the grounds. I wonder if Biffen will come to the same conclusion? I admit I could not resist the temptation to goad him a little by withholding the information. He is such an insufferable fellow.’

He turned to look back and, following his glance, I saw Biffen hastily scrambling up the ladder, shouting to the constable who remained below to hold it steady. At the sight, Holmes gave a chuckle of sardonic amusement.

On our return to Whitestone Manor, Holmes resumed his minute scrutiny of the cabinet locks, finally laying down his lens with the remark, ‘Whoever picked these was an expert, Watson. Apart from a few tiny scratches, the brass escutcheons are barely marked.’

At this juncture, luncheon was announced and we joined Sir Edgar in the dining-room where our host informed us that only minutes earlier Inspector Biffen had received an answer to his telegram, brought from Great Walden by a constable on a bicycle, its message being that a Scotland Yard detective would be arriving on the two minutes past three train from London.

‘Did Biffen happen to mention the name of this Inspector?’ Holmes inquired with an offhand air.

‘A Letrade or Lestrade,’ Sir Edgar replied.

Holmes exchanged a glance with me.

‘In that case, Sir Edgar,’ he said in his blandest manner, ‘I think it better that Dr Watson and I should leave before he arrives. We should not wish to cramp the style of the official police. Besides, we have completed our investigation here for the time being. No doubt you will be sending the carriage to meet this Scotland Yard detective at the station? Then, to save a double journey, Dr Watson and I shall take the opportunity of travelling in it to Great Walden.’

‘But the next train to London does not leave until twelve minutes past four!’ Sir Edgar protested. ‘You will have a wait of nearly an hour.’

‘The time will not be wasted,’ Holmes assured him. ‘There are several inquiries I wish to make in Great Walden before returning to town.’

‘What inquiries, Holmes?’ I asked when, the carriage having arrived, we had taken leave of Sir Edgar and seated ourselves inside it.

‘At the George inn, my good Watson.’

‘Oh, yes! I remember now you asked the coachman when we first arrived which was the best hostelry in the town and he recommended the George. At the time, I wondered why you should be interested.’

‘Is it not obvious, Watson? We have already deduced that it is more than likely that our villains travelled down by train from London. As it is also highly probable that they would not have arrived on a late train which would have few passengers, thus making their presence conspicuous, we may further deduce that they would have chosen one which arrived in the late afternoon or early evening. Now even burglars have to eat, so I have assumed that they would have dined somewhere in Great Walden. Hence the inquiries I propose to make at the George.’

‘Wait a moment, Holmes,’ I put in, perceiving a flaw in his chain of reasoning. ‘Why are you so convinced they dined at the George and not at some other hostelry in the town?’

‘Because, my dear fellow, it is the best, as the coachman indicated, and Vanderbilt, as we have learned from Sir Edgar’s evidence, has a taste for the good things of life. No man who can appreciate a glass of ’67 port is likely to dine anywhere except at the finest inn a town can boast of.’

The George, where on Holmes’ instructions the carriage deposited us before continuing its journey to the railway station to meet Inspector Lestrade’s train, was a large, well-appointed inn, probably dating back to the days of the stage-coach, if not earlier.

Inside the hostelry, Holmes sought out the head-waiter, inquiring of him, after a half-crown had exchanged hands, about any gentlemen who had dined there on the Friday evening, the night before the burglary at Whitestone Manor.

‘There were two of them,’ Holmes concluded, ‘one of whom was carrying quite a large bag, such as a portmanteau.’

Yes, the head-waiter did indeed remember two gentlemen dining together that evening, one a tall, well-built man with a brown beard and eyeglasses. His companion who was much shorter, with a pale face and a dark moustache, had been in charge of a carpet-bag.

They had arrived at about quarter to eight and had left shortly after ten o’clock, the taller of the two, who had paid the bill and had done all the talking, announcing that they intended to catch the 10.20 train to Ipswich.

‘Although I doubt if that was their destination,’ Holmes remarked as we set off on foot for the railway station.

Here, further inquiries of the porter established the fact that the down train from Liverpool Street station arrived at Great Walden at seven thirty-five on a weekday evening, although the porter had not remarked on any individual passengers, there being too many arrivals.

‘And what is the first train to London on a Saturday morning?’ Holmes asked.

‘The twelve minutes past five,’ the porter replied.

After further questioning on Holmes’ part, we learned that only a few individuals had travelled on that train the previous Saturday, among whom had been two men, one a tall, clean-shaven, grey-haired gentleman, the other much shorter, dressed like a working-man in a cap and corduroy trousers and carrying a carpet-bag which the porter had assumed contained the tools of his trade. But, the porter added, they were not together and had stood at opposite ends of the platform as they waited for the London train.

At this point, our own train arrived and Holmes and I climbed into a first class carriage where my old friend threw himself down on the seat with a chuckle of satisfaction.

‘A most satisfactory day’s work, Watson! We have uncovered a great deal of useful and pertinent information and shall still be back in time for dinner.’

‘Yes, I suppose it has been successful,’ I replied.

‘“Suppose”, my dear fellow? There is no “suppose” about it! We are now in possession of a large number of facts, particularly those concerning Professor Jonas T. Vanderbilt, which no doubt is an alias but which will serve as his name until such time as we discover his real one. Not only is he a master of disguise but he is a man who plans these burglaries in meticulous detail. He has even gone to the trouble to have some writing-paper printed with the University of Chicago’s letter-heading. You noticed, I assume, how he changed his appearance from the elderly, white-haired professor who visited Sir Edgar last November to the gentleman with the brown beard who dined at the George, and again to the grey-haired, clean-shaven passenger who caught the early train to London? Three separate disguises designed, of course, to throw the police off the scent! He and his accomplice were also careful not to make the return journey together but appeared to be travelling separately. But height is less easily concealed and Vanderbilt is invariably described as being a tall man. He is almost certainly the brains behind these burglaries. His companion, who is much shorter, is probably what is referred to among the criminal fraternity as a yeggman.’*

‘A yeggman?’

‘Have you not heard the name before? It is a slang term of uncertain etymology which means an itinerant burglar or safe-breaker who travels from “drum” to “drum” committing the actual felony. A “drum”, by the way, Watson, in case that word is also unfamiliar to you, is a house or building, in this case the premises selected for the robbery.’

‘Yes, I am aware of that, Holmes,’ I put in.

‘We also know’, Holmes continued, ignoring my interpolation, ‘what equipment the yeggman brought with him. Apart from the usual cracksman’s tools of a glass-cutter and a set of “bettys” – picklocks to you, Watson – it included a rope ladder. It was for this reason I inquired at the George about a man carrying a large bag. Even rolled up, a rope ladder is quite bulky. The bag must also have contained the various wigs and moustaches, as well as the changes of clothing, with which they altered their appearances.

‘As for their movements on the night of the burglary, we can establish these in such detail that it is almost as if we are treading on their heels! They travelled down from London on the 7.35 train, dined at the George and then probably made their way to Whitestone Manor across the fields by a footpath. I noticed a sign for such a path on the drive from the station. Having gained entry to the grounds of the manor, they waited until all the lights of the house were extinguished before, donning their felt slippers, they effected their entrance through the drawing-room window and quietly helped themselves to those art treasures which Vanderbilt had already selected on his previous visit to the house last November.

‘On the same occasion, Vanderbilt was shown over the upper floor so he would have know exactly which bedrooms were occupied by Sir Edgar and the servants. He would also have had the opportunity to ascertain whether or not a guard dog was kept on the premises. Once the burglary was successfully completed, they then changed their appearances and walked back across the fields to Great Walden station in time to catch the 5.12 train to London. There is no doubt about any of that. The question is – was a third man involved?’

‘A third man, Holmes? But there can’t have been. There were only two glasses.’

‘I do not mean at the actual burglary, Watson. I am speaking of an agent of Vanderbilt and his yeggman who was responsible for the disposal of the art treasures once they were stolen. Alternatively, there may have been no middleman and Vanderbilt sold the objects directly to a collector with whom he had already struck up a deal.’

‘You are surely not implying that the items were stolen to order?’

‘It is not entirely impossible. You will recall the theft some time ago of the Fragonard from the Walpole collection which was purloined on the specific directions of Monsieur Henri de la Bertauche, the escargot millionaire, to add to his own collection of that artist’s work. We may be dealing with a similar situation here. Of course, if that is the case, the heirlooms can never be placed on public display but will have to remain for the private delectation only of whoever arranged their thefts. We may discover the truth when we apprehend Vanderbilt and his accomplice.’

‘You sound very sure they will be arrested.’

‘I have every confidence, Watson.’

To tease him a little, I remarked, ‘Now that Inspector Lestrade has been called in on the case, you may find our old friend from Scotland Yard will beat you to the finishing post, Holmes. After all, if the evidence is there for you to uncover, there is nothing to prevent Lestrade from coming to the same conclusions.’

‘But he will fail to make the right connections, Watson. Take my word on that. I have studied Lestrade’s methods and I know exactly how his mind works. He may indeed uncover some of the facts of the Whitestone Manor burglary but he will not look further afield to the other similar thefts which have occurred over the past two years. It is one of the greatest weaknesses of our police force as it is at present organised. It is too fragmented. Each county constabulary is isolated within its own boundaries. They are like gamekeepers, concerned only with what happens inside their own little estates while the criminals, such as Vanderbilt and his yeggman, who recognise no such bounds, move freely between them. One would think the railways had not been invented! What is needed is some central intelligence agency to which each police force would send details of all major crimes that occur in their area. I know if I were ever appointed head of Scotland Yard – which Heaven forbid! – I should make the establishment of such a bureau my first priority.

‘It is because I have collected up all the relevant data that I am confident of bringing Vanderbilt and his accomplice to justice. Indeed, Watson, if you care to call in at Baker Street on Friday afternoon, I shall lay those facts before you. You can arrange to be free at half past two, can you not, my dear fellow? I shall be most disappointed if you deny me that pleasure.’

It was difficult to refuse Holmes at any time, more particularly when he was in such a sprightly and good-humoured mood and, as he had requested, I returned to Baker Street at the appointed time to be met in the hall by a harassed-looking Mrs Hudson who, on my inquiring if anything were the matter, burst out with uncharacteristic agitation for one usually so calm, ‘It’s Mr Holmes, Dr Watson! He’s been up and down to the kitchen for the past two days asking for baking-powder and rabbits’ feet and goodness knows what else besides. And saucers! I have hardly a clean one left in the house. And that isn’t all. He’s asked the maid, the page-boy, even the postman, to pick up those little glass slides he puts into his microscope. He says it is part of a scientific experiment but it makes it very difficult for me to carry out my work.’

I thought I could guess what lay behind the experiment although I admit some of the ingredients puzzled me and, on entering the sitting-room, I inquired, ‘What’s all this I hear about baking-powder and rabbits’ feet, Holmes?’

Holmes, who was stooping his long, thin frame over his scientific bench, looked round at my query.

‘Rabbit’s foot, my dear Watson,’ he corrected me. ‘Singular, not plural. I fear Mrs Hudson has been confiding in you. An excellent woman in many ways but, like all her sex, she prefers the routine of daily life to an exploration of the esoteric. And not just baking-powder either. Come over here and see what I have been doing.’

The bench was strewn with a motley collection of objects. In addition to the microscope slides laid end to end, there was a small regiment of saucers containing different substances amongst which I recognised soot, cigar ash, powdered charcoal and flour. The rabbit’s foot was also in evidence together with a selection of brushes which included Holmes’ own badger-hair shaving-brush. In pride of place in the centre of the bench stood the two port glasses from Whitestone Manor.

‘First of all, examine the glasses through the lens,’ Holmes continued, handing me that object. ‘You will observe that three fingermarks are clearly discernible on their surfaces, on one the imprint of a thumb and a little finger, on the other a second thumb impression. Do not trouble with the other marks. They are too blurred to be of any use.’

‘Yes, I can indeed see them!’ I exclaimed, surprised to discover how clearly the prints, which had been dusted over with a white powder, stood out against the glass. It was possible to discern the patterns of each individual mark.

When I commented on this, Holmes replied, ‘Precisely, Watson! That is the whole point of the experiment. Now, if you care to look at this sheet of paper, you will see that I have made exact drawings of those prints, marking in the patterns of loops, whorls and ridges. You will observe that the two thumb marks are quite different, one possessing a double loop while on the other, which has only one, the lines are much farther apart. Now if you compare those with these other thumb impressions on the microscope slides, belonging respectively to Mrs Hudson, the postman and the boy in buttons, you will also observe that they also have their own distinctive patterns. In other words, Watson, the chances of one person’s finger patterns matching another’s is so small that the figures are hardly worth taking into account.

‘Now I do not know if you are aware that in October of last year, a committee under the chairmanship of Mr Troup of the Home Office issued a report following their inquiries into the best method of identifying habitual criminals – whether the Bertillon anthropometric system was to be preferred over the alternative suggestion of recording the felons’ finger marks.’

‘I thought you were a keen supporter of the Bertillon method, Holmes.’

‘Indeed I was, my dear Watson. At the time, it was the only means by which the habitual criminal could be identified. But first one had to catch one’s felon before one could photograph him and take all the necessary detailed measurements of his physiognomy. However, I am now an enthusiast of the alternative system – that of finger impressions. I have been closely following the pioneer work done in this field, undertaken in Britain by Sir Francis Galton, the eminent anthropologist and eugenist, and by the Argentinian, Juan Vecutich, both of whom have done sterling service in devising methods by which the individual finger patterns can be identified and recorded. In fact, I understand the Central Police Department of La Plata, Argentina, introduced a finger pattern system four years ago and have therefore stolen a march on our own Scotland Yard. But it will come, Watson! It will come!*

‘However, we can comfort ourselves with the thought that it was two fellow countrymen of ours, Dr Henry Faulds and Sir William Herschel, who first suggested the value of finger marks for purposes of identification and who published articles on the subject in the magazine Nature as long ago as 1880. Indeed, Sir William can rightly be called the father of the finger pattern method for it was he who initially introduced the system into the prisons when he was administrator of the Hooghly district of Bengal.

‘But, useful though the method is for identifying felons once they are in custody,’ Holmes continued, his voice growing vibrant with excitement, ‘as far as I am concerned, the beauty of it is its application at the scene of a crime before the villain is apprehended. Think of it, Watson! A burglary, say, or a murder is committed. The perpetrator leaves the marks of his fingers on some object. These impressions are then matched to records held at Scotland Yard of known felons, by which means his identity is immediately established. Or, should he not have a criminal record, they can be kept on file until such time as he is arrested. Either way, the villain is linked as indisputably to his crime as if he had had his photograph taken at the moment of committing it! It adds a new interpretation to the old saying “to be caught red-handed”.’

‘Yes, I see that, Holmes. But what are all these saucers and brushes for?’

‘Oh, those!’ Holmes said carelessly. ‘I have been experimenting with various substances to dust over latent finger marks in order to make them more visible to the naked eye. Powdered chalk is the best, I find, applied with a fine camel-hair brush, using only the tip of it with quick, curving strokes. I am considering writing a monograph on the subject. And speaking of writing, Watson, I have received a number of replies to those letters I wrote the other day. To save you the trouble of reading through the whole collection, I shall summarise the information for your benefit.

‘Firstly, the houses that were burgled over the past two years. All five owners have replied and without exception, each one of them received a visit from a man five to six months before the actual felonies were committed. Let me go briefly over them in turn. In one case, it was our old friend Professor Vanderbilt but on this occasion he was in his forties, dark-haired and came from the University of Los Angeles. Then there were two German Professors, one from Munich who had a small goatee beard; the other from Dresden, with grey whiskers and gold-rimmed eyeglasses. Finally, there was a Frenchman, head of Medieval Studies at the Municipal Museum of Bordeaux, who sported a fine black, waxed moustache and walked with a limp. All claimed to be experts in some particular architectural style featured in the houses which were later burgled, from fifteenth-century stone mullions to Regency fireplaces.

‘As for the objects which were stolen from the various premises, allow me to read a few items from the list I have compiled. “A jewelled fan which had belonged to Lord Maplewood’s great-grandmother. A collection of eighteenth-century family silhouettes carved from ivory. A pair of silver salts given by Charles II to a female ancestor of the Duke of Medwater.” I could go on, Watson, but I believe you may have grasped their significance.

‘For my part, I am convinced that they were stolen on the specific orders of a private collector. Indeed, I am beginning to build up a picture of the man, stroke by stroke. He is undoubtedly very rich and almost certainly eccentric, for what normal man would go to such extremes to acquire these objects? In addition, I see him as a self-made millionaire with some doubt surrounding his own antecedents which causes him great personal shame and distress. He could be either a bastard or a foundling.’

‘Oh, I say, Holmes!’ I protested. ‘You are reading too much into the situation.’

‘I think not,’ he replied with a quiet confidence which cut short any further objection. ‘Consider the items which have been stolen by Vanderbilt on this man’s behalf. They are all personal belongings once owned by some illustrious individual of historic interest or importance. I believe that our collector, whom for reasons of easy reference I shall call the Magpie, has ordered their theft in order to provide himself with the illusion that he can lay claim to the same eminent and wealthy forebears as compensation for his own doubtful pedigree.

‘As you know, Watson, I am not normally a fanciful man. I prefer facts to speculation. And yet, I must confess that the Magpie has caught my imagination. I can picture him alone in a locked room, gloating over these family treasures as if they were his own.’

We were both silent for a few moments while we contemplated this image before Holmes continued more briskly, ‘But let us return to the present reality and the facts of the case under investigation. What else do we know about Vanderbilt which we can add to our knowledge of him?’

‘Well, he must be widely travelled,’ I ventured, ‘if he has sent letters from places as far apart as Los Angeles and Dresden requesting permission to look over the houses.’

I was pleased with this piece of deduction, only to be dashed when Holmes replied, ‘Not necessarily. He could have acquaintances in all these different cities. Vanderbilt merely wrote to them, enclosing the letters, which were already addressed, and asked his colleagues to post them on his behalf. His associates may not even be aware that there was any criminal intention behind the request.’

‘You did ask, Holmes,’ I pointed out, a little piqued at his reply.

‘The question was merely rhetorical, my dear fellow, and did not require an answer. Pray allow me to continue with my main theme. I have marked the dates of each burglary on an almanac and another interesting fact has come to light. All of them took place on a night when there was no moon. Bear that in mind, Watson, when we turn to the answers that I received from those owners of country houses which seemed likely targets for Vanderbilt’s next foray.

‘Not all replied but among those who took the trouble to write was Colonel Heath-Bennington of Huntswood Hall, Upper Tilney, in the county of Kent. If you would pass me once again my volume on country houses, I shall read out to you the relevant parts of the entry. Thank you. “Huntswood Hall, a Georgian mansion, possessing very fine eighteenth-century panelling in the main rooms. Among its superb collection of antiques and heirlooms” – and mark this, Watson! – “are the family christening basin, a rare example of the seventeenth-century silversmith’s art, an exquisitely illuminated Book of Hours which belonged to one of the Heath-Benningtons’ remoter ancestors, and a gold and emerald locket containing a piece of the Duke of Wellington’s hair, the present head of the family having descended from the Duke on the maternal side.”’

Putting down the book, Holmes picked up a letter.

‘Colonel Heath-Bennington writes that last October he received a letter from a certain Professor Angelo Galiano of Turin University requesting permission to examine the panelling in the house. Professor Galiano was, it seems, an expert on the use of carved wood in eighteenth-century domestic interiors and was planning a series of lectures on the subject. Like Professor Vanderbilt, Professor Galiano had arranged to stay at a London hotel to which Colonel Heath-Bennington wrote granting permission, and the Professor duly arrived at Huntswood Hall in November of last year. He was, Colonel Heath-Bennington writes, a most charming and knowledgeable man; in his fifties, with a full brown beard and spectacles.’

‘Good Lord, Holmes! That surely means –?’

‘Indeed it does, Watson. The question is, exactly when will Vanderbilt and his attendant yeggman return to Huntswood Hall?’

‘Next month when there is no moon?’ I suggested.

‘That is precisely my opinion, my old friend. If we consult the almanac, a most useful volume of reference and indispensable on this occasion, we find that the likely date is July 14th.’

There was a ring at the front door at this point and Holmes broke off to announce, ‘Ah, the telegraph boy has arrived!’

‘How do you know that?’ I inquired.

‘Two reasons, Watson. Firstly, the peremptory nature of the summons. Only telegraph boys and bailiffs press a doorbell quite so imperiously. Secondly, I am expecting a reply to the telegram I sent off yesterday afternoon to Colonel Heath-Bennington after receiving his letter by the midday post.’

A few moments later, Mrs Hudson brought in the message and, having cast a reproachful glance at the row of saucers on the scientific bench, left the room.

Holmes eagerly tore open the envelope and, scanning its contents, exclaimed with evident pleasure, ‘Excellent! The Colonel has agreed to my suggestions. He will send his carriage to meet the 11.25 at Chatham station. He also adds, “As CC no problem with local inspector. Gow good man.”’

‘What on earth does he mean by that, Holmes?’ I asked, puzzled by the cryptic nature of the last part of the message.

‘It means, Watson, that at the meeting tomorrow with Colonel Heath-Bennington there will also be present, as I requested, an Inspector from the local constabulary – which, in his capacity as Chief Constable, the Colonel has been able to arrange with no difficulty. I take it that this Inspector, Gow by name, is in the Colonel’s estimation a competent police officer. But we shall judge that for ourselves when we meet him tomorrow.’

‘“We”, Holmes? You intend that I shall accompany you?’

‘Of course, my dear fellow. I assumed you would wish to be included in the invitation. Surely you can arrange for a colleague to take over your practice for the day?’

‘Unfortunately not, Holmes. I have a most important appointment which I cannot possibly postpone and which I myself must attend.’

‘That is a great pity. I was looking forward to having your company. But no matter. I shall attend the meeting alone and report back to you tomorrow evening if you care to call round at eight o’clock. But please make sure you are free on July 14th, Watson. You must not be absent on that occasion for it is on that date, I believe, that we shall lay Vanderbilt and his yeggman by the heels.’

As Holmes had requested, I called back on the following evening and listened eagerly to his report. All had gone well, Holmes informed me. Colonel Heath-Bennington had been most co-operative, Inspector Gow both intelligent and efficient, and between the three of them the arrangements for July 14th had been completed to everyone’s satisfaction.

‘By the way, Watson,’ Holmes concluded, ‘when we return to Huntswood Hall on July 14th, please bring with you an overnight bag and a stout walking-stick. Vanderbilt and his accomplice may be armed.’

‘Shall I pack my revolver?’ I inquired.

‘I think not on this occasion,’ Holmes replied, a note of regret in his voice. ‘We shall be acting in liaison with the official police and they may object to firearms. A stick will have to suffice. I shall bring my own favourite weapon, my lead-weighted riding crop.* As we shall catch the 5.24 from Charing Cross, please make sure you call here in good time.’

I saw nothing of Holmes in the intervening weeks, returning to Baker Street only on the afternoon of July 14th when, as Holmes had specified, we caught the 5.24 train to Chatham. There we were met by Colonel Heath-Bennington’s brougham and were driven to Huntswood Hall, a charming Georgian mansion set in extensive grounds.

Holmes introduced me to the Colonel, a tall, vigorous gentleman, with a smart, clipped moustache, a former officer in the Rutland Light Cavalry, now retired and managing the family estates at Huntswood.

From his conversation over dinner, I gathered that the arrangements for that night had been made with military precision. Inspector Gow would arrive in time to join us for coffee, accompanied by six police constables and a sergeant who would be conveyed to the house in a closed bread van, requisitioned for the occasion from a local baker, the ruse having been devised by the Colonel in order not to arouse the suspicions of Vanderbilt and his yeggman in case they should be watching the premises. The sergeant and the constables would be entertained in the servants’ hall until the time when the household would normally retire for the night.

The servants having gone to bed and the lights in the house having been extinguished, the police officers would then take up their positions. Three, including the sergeant, would be posted in the grounds in case Vanderbilt and his accomplice attempted to escape, and two in the hall; while two more, together with Inspector Gow, would be stationed along with Holmes, the Colonel and myself in the drawing-room where it was assumed the attempted burglary would take place.

When dinner was over, we retired to the drawing-room, where coffee was served and where Inspector Gow shortly joined us.

I was a little disappointed on first being introduced to the Inspector. He was a large, slow-moving man with a shock of very fair hair and almost white eyelashes, but this appearance of a country yokel was belied by the intelligent expression in his pale blue eyes and the air of quiet efficiency with which he assigned to us the positions we were to take up in the room.

One constable, together with Holmes, was to be posted near the windows to cut off the burglars’ retreat. The Colonel’s place was by the door leading into the hall; I myself would be concealed behind a large sofa; while Inspector Gow would take up a position close to a flat-topped display cabinet in which were displayed those family heirlooms, such as the christening basin, the locket and the illuminated Book of Hours which, it was assumed, had already been selected by Vanderbilt as items to steal.

Inspector Gow went on to explain that no one was to move until he gave the order. When he did so, the two constables in the hall, equipped with lanterns, would then rush into the room.

In the meantime, we were to wait in total silence and darkness.

At midnight, signalled by the bell in the stable clock-tower striking twelve, Colonel Heath-Bennington, accompanied by the Inspector, made a final tour of the house, the Inspector to make sure that his men were in position, the Colonel to check that the servants were safely upstairs and the house was in darkness.

On their return to the drawing-room, the Colonel extinguished the lamps and we took up our own positions, I crouching behind the sofa, my heavy walking stick in my hand.

There is a tension about waiting to which I have never become adapted although Holmes has mastered the art to perfection. I have seen him stand for hours in a doorway or a darkened room, all his senses alert and yet with no apparent strain or weariness. Perhaps his remarkable ability of seeing in the dark, which he has carefully cultivated and which I have commented on elsewhere,* helped to sustain him during such stressful periods.

For my part, I was incapable of relaxation and was soon aware of a numbed sensation in my limbs, particularly in the hand which gripped the cudgel, while the heavy beating of my heart seemed to my ears to echo like a drum through the muffled darkness.

Apart from this, the only other sound to break the silence and the monotony was the stable clock striking the hours.

One o’clock passed and then two.

I was beginning to doubt if Holmes had chosen the right date and to think that the burglary would take place on August 11th, the next night when there would be no moon, when I heard a sound outside in the garden, so faint that it was almost inaudible.

A footstep perhaps? Or was it merely the night breeze stirring in the shrubbery?

It was followed by a silence so complete that I persuaded myself I had heard nothing.

Several minutes passed and then there came another noise, still soft but this time clearly recognizable. It was the unmistakable squeak of metal on glass.

The long curtains over the central window stirred gently in a sudden draught which I could feel against the side of my face. The next moment, there was a tiny click as the window catch was released, then the sound of the bottom sash being pushed softly upwards and two figures, one tall, one short, were silhouetted momentarily against the night sky as the curtains were parted and they climbed in over the sill.

As the draperies fell back into place, total darkness again descended and I would not have been aware of the burglars’ presence nor of their silent advance into the room had they not opened the shutters on their dark lanterns and, by the forward motion of the glimmering spots of light, I was able to plot their progress.

The little cones of brightness proceeded step by step, past my own hiding-place, illuminating briefly the gilded legs of chairs and the pattern on the carpet until they reached the far side of the room where they paused to hover like two luminous moths above the cabinet.

As they did so, Inspector Gow rose from his place of concealment.

‘Now, my lads! At them!’

There was a startled oath from one of the two figures, soon lost in the general outcry as we rushed forward, I among the mêlée, clutching my stick but hesitating to use it on the writhing mass of bodies on the floor in case I struck at friend instead of foe.

To my great relief, at this moment the two constables burst in from the hall with their lanterns, the lamps were lit and it was possible at last to discern what was happening.

Holmes, his face blazing with a look of triumphant exultation, was kneeling over the recumbent body of a man spreadeagled on the floor, his loaded riding crop raised, while the Colonel and the Inspector held another struggling figure by the arms.

As the Inspector snapped on the handcuffs, I stood back to observe the captives.

The shorter of the two, who I deduced was the yeggman, was a small, rat-faced individual with black hair and so white-complexioned and undersized that it seemed he might have been raised in some dark cellar, well away from sunlight and air.

On the other hand, his companion, Vanderbilt, whom Holmes had been guarding on the floor, was a tall, well set-up man, broad in the shoulders and good-looking, with clever, mobile features which would have easily adapted themselves to the many identities he had assumed during his infamous career.

Unlike his yeggman, who cowered back, snarling like a cornered dog, Vanderbilt stood erect, a smile playing about his lips, as the Inspector placed the handcuffs on his wrists. He then bowed to the Inspector before turning to Holmes to make an even deeper obeisance.

‘Mr Sherlock Holmes, I assume?’ he inquired in a courteous, educated voice which bore a trace of a foreign accent. ‘I have long wondered when I would find you on my trail. Mes félicitations, mon cher monsieur. Or, as Professor Galiano might have expressed the same sentiments, Congratulazioni! You have proved to be a worthy opponent.’

‘And so, too, have you,’ Holmes replied, returning the bow. ‘It has afforded me the greatest pleasure to take part in the chase. But the hunt is, I think, not quite over. Before Inspector Gow takes you and your accomplice into custody, pray do me the kindness to answer me one question.’

‘If I can, I shall be happy to oblige.’

‘Then what is the identity of the man who is behind your series of burglaries and whom I call the Magpie for want of his real name?’

Vanderbilt laughed, throwing back his head.

‘The Magpie! That is an excellent pseudonym which suits him perfectly! But, my apologies, Mr Holmes. I very much regret that I cannot reveal his identity; not for reasons of thieves’ honour, you understand, but for a far more pressing consideration – money. I have discussed with the Magpie, as you call him, the possibility that I might one day be apprehended and have received his assurance that, should that contingency arise, a very large sum of money will be deposited in a bank account which, on my release from prison, I shall be able to draw on, provided I keep his identity secret. I am sure you can understand, Mr Holmes, that under those circumstances, my lips must remain sealed. And now, Inspector,’ Vanderbilt added, turning to Gow, ‘if you are ready, shall we complete the formalities?’

As Inspector Gow stepped forward to escort Vanderbilt and his accomplice from the room, assisted by the police constables, Vanderbilt bowed again in Holmes’ direction but this time my old friend did not return the courtesy. Instead, he stood quite silent and immobile as the villains made their departure and the door closed behind them.

Nor would he agree to join the Colonel and myself at a celebratory supper of ham sandwiches and glasses of whisky which the butler had laid out in readiness in the study. Instead, Holmes excused himself and went upstairs to his bedroom, exhausted, I assumed, by his exertions and the nervous tension of the past few weeks.

He was in a similar subdued mood over breakfast the following morning and, when the time came for our departure, accepted the Colonel’s congratulations and thanks in a reticent fashion.

It was not until we were in the train on our way back to London that I received any response from him.

As I settled myself in a corner seat, I remarked, echoing Holmes’ own words after our visit to Whitestone Manor, ‘A most satisfactory night’s work!’

I was considerably taken aback when Holmes turned on me a most morose expression.

‘Is it, Watson? I find nothing in it to be sanguine about. For my part, I confess I am bitterly disappointed.’

‘But I do not see why, Holmes!’ I cried in disbelief. ‘After all, you have successfully arranged for the arrest of two professional criminals who will no doubt serve long prison sentences.’

‘Yes, two, Watson. Two! But the third, the Magpie, who organised this series of thefts, has slipped our net and while he remains at large I shall count this case as one of my failures. No!’ he added sternly, holding up a hand to cut short any further argument. ‘Not another word on the subject, there’s a good fellow. And you will oblige me by refraining from writing an account of the case unless it is for your own personal amusement.’

It was my turn to be bitterly disappointed.

‘But, Holmes –!’ I began.

‘I am resolved. Do you wish to publish the story of my failure while at the same time – and worse still! – advertising to the Magpie my interest in his whereabouts together with my deductions concerning his identity? No, Watson. The public shall remain in ignorance of the case until such time as the Magpie is behind bars and I have restored to their rightful owners those family heirlooms which no doubt he is exulting over at this very moment.’

And with that, he shook out his copy of The Times and retired behind it, leaving me to come to terms with his refusal and to turn over in my mind how I might slip at least a brief reference to the case of Vanderbilt and his yeggman into the published canon in order to prevent that remarkable investigation from passing entirely into oblivion.*

* Inspector Lestrade refers to the burglaries in ‘The Case of the Notorious Canary-trainer’. (Dr John F. Watson)

* According to the Oxford English Dictionary, ‘Yegg’ is said to be the name of a certain American burglar or safe-breaker. (Dr John F. Watson)

* Mr Sherlock Holmes was correct in his prophecy. In July 1901, a Fingerprint Bureau was established at New Scotland Yard by Sir Edward Henry. (Dr John F. Watson)

* Dr John H. Watson refers to a ‘loaded riding-crop’ as being Mr Sherlock Holmes’ favourite weapon in ‘The Adventure of the Six Napoleons’. (Dr John F. Watson)

* Dr John H. Watson refers to this ability of Mr Sherlock Holmes in ‘The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton’. (Dr John F. Watson)

* This Dr John H. Watson succeeds in accomplishing in ‘The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire’ where the case is listed among others under the letter ‘V’ in Mr Sherlock Holmes’ encyclopedia of reference. (Dr John F. Watson)