The New World and the Old

“He was immensely tickled by his own adventures, and laughed heartily as he recounted them. ‘I get so little active exercise that it is always a treat,’ said he. ‘You are aware that I have some proficiency in the good old British sport of boxing. Occasionally it is of service. Today, for example, I should have come to very ignominious grief without it.”

—Dr. John H. Watson, “The Adventure of The Solitary Cyclist.”

We arrived in time to partake of Mrs. Hudson’s delicious shepherd’s pie. There was a package waiting for Holmes, he gave it a thorough search, savoured its familiar perfume, and gingerly unwrapped it. He laughed as he found Irene had opened an account for him at Griffin’s Laboratory Suppliers and included a box of Havana’s. At the fire that evening, he offered me one, lit his, and replaced them in the coal scuttle.

The next morning at breakfast, we found Holmes’ note:—

“Rotherhithe Street Gym, 11 a.m., across from St. Mary’s. Bring pistols.”

Miss Rachel and I entered the gym. By the grunts and shouted wagers, a boxing match was in progress. The ring was surrounded by the denizens of the place. As the true gentlemen these rough-looking men were, they parted for Miss Rachel. Here was Holmes smiling, barefoot, bare-knuckled, wearing only his trousers, covered in sweat, and securing Queensland Sam in a lock-hold under his arm. The referee broke it up and before the giant recovered Holmes faced his opponent. Quick on his feet he raised his impregnable guard and hit Sam with a flurry of strong right jabs to the jaw. His powerful left uppercut was the floorer and Holmes was the winner. He jumped out of the ring, pocketed his winnings, grabbed for a towel, his shirt, felt his jaw, stretched his arms and legs, downed the shot poured for him, and accepted a celebratory cigar from the boxers. The big man offered his hand in congratulations. Holmes gladly shook it. Sam laughed and slapped his back. Holmes had a time staying vertical.

“I’m glad you aren’t pro, Holmes!”

“Sam, you are a most worthy opponent.”

He smiled and gestured to us to move the chairs into a circle. Holmes leaped onto a chair, slapped the front legs down on the floor to draw their attention.

“Now, that our entertainment has concluded, gentlemen, I’d like a word with you, if I may?” He invited them in. “You might already know of the horror that’s being perpetrated against ladies in our city?” As they joined us, Holmes sat in the circle, “Killing off young women, threatening our sisters, daughters, mothers, wives, and friends. The murderers are looking to blame it on sports enthusiasts, like you.”

He used his boot to emphasize the point. “Footballers, skiff racers, and boxers, the women were beaten to death.” He tied his boots. “Scotland Yard, in its usual imbecilic way, has been wrongfully locking up sportsmen. With your help I would flush out the true criminals.”

Miss Rachel handed his cards out to them all.

“If you hear or are approached by anyone about this, get back to me immediately. You may be assured of the Doctor’s, and my confidentiality and discretion, as we are free agents, not connected with the police. What we want is to stop the killing and see justice done.” By this time, he was fully dressed in his tweeds. “Thank you for a most enjoyable and profitable morning, I should like to re-join you at another time.” They all shook his hand or clapped him on the back. Holmes’ bohemian nature lent him the ability to associate with any group of men and usually found at its centre. He and Sam parted laughing.

We hailed a cab to Baker Street. “Rachel, you missed the best part, he had me pinned against the ropes, I foolishly allowed one terrific blow to the body and somewhat deflected his right hook.” Holmes put his hand on his chin. “He’s a powerful presence. But I didn’t give him a chance. Moved too fast for him, and kept out of reach. He was surprised when I leaned in and loosened his jaw with a few rapier-like baritsu jabs and moved away before the next second.” He laughed. “He roared his frustration, my footwork wore him down while he punched the air, then you saw the rest.”

“Papa, he’s a professional and definitely in a different league than you. He’s a heavyweight! You didn’t think he’d hurt you?”

“Never underestimate the value of research, Rachel. I knew he had a weak chin, if I could get at him in the right way. Those men are in my pocket now. They will keep an ear to the ground and anything they hear will come back to me. All ‘round a most propitious physical workout.”

It so happened that night at our fire, we were host to two rather incongruous visits. The first carriage stopped at our door. Out our window a woman shrouded in a dark hooded wrap rang our doorbell. Mrs. Hudson shepherded her in, and her light step approached the landing.

Holmes jumped to his feet and closed the curtains, turned to face her in welcome, “Madam Davis, thank you for coming. You may remember my friend and colleague, Doctor Watson? Watson, Madam Davis. I’ll take your cloak.”

“I am pleased to meet you, again. Have a seat,” I said. She smiled as I showed her to the settee. “Madam Davis, I am afraid our difficult carriage ride proves you are now a target of the fiends we are endeavouring to bring to justice!”

She turned toward me. “Thank you, for your courage, Doctor, I believe you saved my life that night,” she smiled. “Call me Alfie, please.

Holmes had hung her cloak in our hallway, bounded into his room, dropped his dressing gown, shrugged on his frock coat and entered through the sitting room door, straightening his cuffs. “Your statement in the St. James’s Hall has me wondering if you have anything more to share with me for my murder investigation, madam.”

“As far as the police are concerned, they are acting in unison and have increased their level of violence against us, even though on the majority we are peaceful,” she said. “You spoke of murder, Mr. Holmes?”

“Sherlock, please.”

“Call me John, Alfie. We have today returned from investigating a murder at St. Hilda’s College. The young woman was a suffragist. Brutally beaten to death, her skull knocked in by someone wearing football boots. Her name was Ethel Berry.”

“Oh, no, she was so young!”

I moved next to her on the settee and patted her hand, “Yes, I am sorry, what a shame.”

“Alfie, have you lost others from your organization?” said Holmes.

“Not my immediate associates. But there are 50,000 women in the NUWSS, Sherlock.” She was dabbing her eyes with my handkerchief.

“I’m also investigating the murder of two young women, both with child. One we have confirmed was a suffragist. Their disappearance would have occurred a few weeks ago, at the time of the Priory Church incident,” Holmes said.

“St Bart’s the Greater?”

“Yes, do you have any knowledge of this?”

“No, but I’ll look into it, Sherlock. Do you think there are three suffragist murders?”

“I don’t have all the data yet; it’s a capital mistake to theorize without data. But the fact that the women’s wrists were tied similarly and bruised accordingly is suggestive. Doctor Watson has added to this a case of his own; the woman was treated in a like manner and wore suffragist colours. So, that now we are inexorably confronted with the possibility of the savage deaths of four suffragists in five weeks.”

“This is horrible! I will alert my organization immediately. Are these the same men who attempted to kill Doctor Watson and myself?”

“It is the balance of probability. I understand Watson safely escorted you home and there has been no sign of them since?”

“Yes, he did so courageously and skilfully.”

“Might you find for us the names of these women, where they formerly lived?”

“I will try.”

“Would you like some tea, Alfie?” I said.

“Thank you, John, no. This is a brief visit. It’s a joy to meet such a famous author. I’d like to discuss it with you another time.” She gave me her hand. I gave her my card. Holmes returned her cloak. I happily wrapped her in it and saw her to her cab, then watched as it drove this exceptional woman away down Baker Street.

“Watson, not since our Agra Treasure case, have I seen your Romeo aspect, you old dog. You are tenacious when pursuing a beautiful woman. It was as if I weren’t even in the room. Alfie is a firebrand, be careful you are not burnt, my friend.”

“She’s a woman of distinction, an accomplished leader, cultured, beautiful, an educator, with good taste in literature.” I poured myself a brandy and downed half.

There was a knock and Lestrade called up. “Are you at home, Mr. Holmes?”

“Ha! The good inspector is late, again, eh, Watson?” He picked up his pipe, smiled at me and called, “Come up Lestrade!”

“Have a whisky and soda, Lestrade? Welcome back to Baker Street,” I said as he sat in the recently vacated settee and threw his coat on the back.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Holmes stood at the fireplace and looked at him intently. “So, Lestrade, does this visit have anything to do with our case in common? Have you discovered something further about the Priory Church murders?”

“It’s so queer you’d think some clue would show up, someone would be looking for them. The culprits disappeared. And you?”

Holmes knocked out and refilled his long-stemmed pipe, sat in his chair and lit it. “Lestrade, your visit saves us a trip to the Yard. Watson and I have discovered two similar victims: the unsolved Upper East Smithfield Street murder and another identified at Oxford yesterday. One we know was a suffragist and the other wore suffragist clothing. Our investigation shows they were all killed similarly. I believe we are confronted with wholesale murder, Inspector.”

“Mr. Holmes, I will need a full report of these murders! How can you tie the Smithfield victim to the Priory murders? Those women were butchered!”

I had been vigorously cleaning and packing my pipe and now lit a taper at the fire and puffed on my old briar to get it going. I could see that Holmes was about to blast the fool, so I said, “Inspector Lestrade, many aspects of these murders are the same, the bruises, evidence they were kicked by someone wearing football boots, their hands tied, trachea crushed, no robbery, three were with child, no motive except for the suffragist clothing.”

“What do we make of that, Doctor?”

“Only that there is a good chance they are connected, and if so, that there is a suffragist killer lose in London who has murdered four women already.” I refilled his glass and lit my pipe again. Holmes was quietly smoking, and enjoying my handling of Lestrade.

“Mr. Holmes, Doctor, bring your evidence to the Yard tomorrow and I’ll lead the investigation of this case. Ladies need our protection and the Yard will do it. But it may take a back seat to the anarchists.”

“Inspector, did you receive a directive to militarize your tactics?”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes, and I expect to receive new orders any day. The assassination of French President Carnot yesterday has changed everything.” He shook his head.

“No!” Holmes said in a choked off shout as he stood and closed his bedroom door. In a matter of minutes we heard his violin playing a slow, mournful piece, the Gymnopédies by Erik Satie, I think.

Lestrade looked towards Holmes door and continued, “The Yard is filled with people and ringing telephones. It’s why I’m here smoking with you in your quiet flat, Doctor.” He downed his drink. “My orders come from the Chief Commissioner, and I suspect much higher than that. At that level, I just salute—” His narrative petered out and the Inspector looked at me, with questions in his eyes.

I lowered my voice, in deference to Holmes natural humility. “Lestrade, Holmes has recently returned from anarchist riddled Paris, he captured Huret, one they called the Boulevard Assassin. Yet, when he was invited by friends to join the Sûreté in its efforts against this menace, he declined. The assassination of President Marie François Sadi Carnot shows the anarchist’s ambition has reached an unimaginable degree of devastation.”