The Yard

Taking leave of his friend, Doctor Watson proceeded

To locate Lestrade to get what Sherlock needed

If only Sherlock, to his word, would stay true-

Watson well knew his friend when pursuing a clue.

But Sherlock would hold fast to his word, in this case,

For he knew that Lestrade had been hard on the chase

And that Watson must temper his objections, blunt,

Or they both would be trampled by those in the hunt.

Scotland Yard would resent interest uninvited

Especially from someone who’d get as excited

As Sherlock when acting to stop being bored-

As often as not, he would just be ignored.

But if he pressed the point when he hadn’t been asked

To assist, he’d discover that anyone tasked

With the job of detection could resent intrusion

And be led to express an unfriendly allusion.

For many’s the time an official detective

Felt pressed to say “No!” with expressive invective

When pestered by Sherlock on one vital fact-

Of all Sherlock’s qualities, one wasn’t tact.

Lestrade knew that the Doctor was not prone to fits

When denied what he wanted - those omitted bits

Of a puzzle which ought not to be given unless

This was sanctioned by orders exact and express.

He also knew Watson had patience and tact

And would not run off waving an unconfirmed fact

At his friend, Sherlock Holmes - he’d cooperate fully

Whereas Sherlock, at oft times, could come on the bully.

Scotland Yard had its systems, procedures one must

Follow fully with patience to generate trust

With those persons, official, one had to approach

On those sensitive matters one needed to broach.

It was crucial for any official detective

To follow procedures if he’d be effective

In bringing to trial a felon he’d caught-

With firm rules of evidence, Courts were all fraught.

This dilemma, of course, Sherlock would overlook

And, as often as not, when it suited he shook

Off the need for restraint that policemen must show-

Break the Law, just a little, for things he must know.

He did not need to worry with evidence rules.

He did not have to linger in Court vestibules

To be called to be badgered on all things he did

Bringing felons to Justice, the streets to be rid.

He could just be himself, do the things that he must,

Though the Law might declare that his acts were unjust

Should those acts come to light, then a Judge’s decree

Could be that all the felons he caught would go free.

Sherlock Holmes, the loose cannon, could fire at will

While official policemen, the plodding Old Bill,

Had to stand by their guns until ordered to act-

At Court, all their evidence must stay intact.

With these factors in mind, Watson felt that he could

Ask Inspector Lestrade if there were things he would

Be prepared to divulge from the files, official-

The facts he and Holmes had were too superficial.

Appointments were useless - Lestrade could, for a day,

Perhaps more, from his office be off and away

Chasing clues to detect, chasing people to grill,

And, of such interruptions, he would have his fill.

But if he just appeared, he must be well prepared

To wait, ever so patiently, as if ensnared

By his desperate need for those facts under guard

By the forces of Law deep within Scotland Yard.

He might wait for an hour or even a day,

Perhaps two if Lestrade had been called far away

To chase up any lead, any clue to the name

Of the one who was bringing Police into shame.

To be seen to do nothing was fuel for the fire

Of Public Opinion although he would tire

Of having to check on each mischievous note-

Each one must be checked though with success remote.

Watson knew he would not be the first one in line

To be seen by Lestrade who might simply decline

To see any more people who claimed to know where

Jack the Ripper was hiding and who hid him there.

So he’d just have to wait till Lestrade had the time

And the inclination to discuss what was prime

In minds of the nation and share what he could-

Watson had to stay patient and vowed that he would.

Many hours he sat there with thoughts running wild-

Thoughts of further atrocities shaking his mild

Ordered world to the depths of its utmost foundation.

He could not conceive of the fiend’s motivation.

But Lestrade was delayed, as detectives might be

On a case quite as complex as any that he,

In his varied career, could have ever expected-

His failure, so far, left him rather dejected.

Dejected, he was, but determined he stayed

For he was of the type who would be quite dismayed

If a man of The Yard would give up on a case-

That would be, for that man and The Yard, a disgrace.

Watson, too, was the type who would stand at his post

And await what might come with a patience that most

Would not ever believe could be managed by one

Who could write about what he and Sherlock had done.

Quick to act, he could be, but right now he was bound

To keep watch at The Yard till Lestrade had been found

And persuaded to show him all collated facts

Of the Whitechapel murders, those most dreadful acts.

Gregson sauntered on in - it was mid-afternoon.

John Watson thought that it would be none-too-soon

To approach him and ask when Lestrade would be back.

Gregson said, “Well, that really depends on Old Jack.”

“Old Jack! Jack the Ripper! How flippant we seem.”

Watson sharply retorted, “We’re giving esteem

To a fellow who rates nothing less than the rope.

I declare, with these names, I’m unable to cope.”

“Well, Doctor, we must call him something, you know.

Everyone in Whitechapel would like us to show

Him the steps to the gallows.” Gregson answered back,

“It is they who are calling the monster Old Jack.”

“And the Press, don’t forget, started all of this off.

In the papers, the fellow, they say is a toff

Or an aristocrat or a Royal gone mad -

Whatever the truth, we’re all made to look bad.”

“We’ve been warned against talking to Sherlock, as he,

Quite as likely as not, would take action that we

In The Yard wouldn’t countenance, so we desist.

Sherlock Holmes, Dr Watson, is crossed from our list.”

“But Gregson,” said Watson, “his powers are such

That his eye, in an instant, sees ever so much

More than you or I could - he’s a bloodhound for facts

And, in London, he has the most useful contacts.”

Gregson answered in earnest, “Good Doctor, believe

Me when I say that I wish that someone would relieve

Me of all the restraints set to keep me in check -

I’d have Old Jack locked up tight in no time, By Heck.”

“Sherlock Holmes, as a bloodhound, can follow a clue

That so many can’t see - I will pay him his due -

But a bloodhound is used as a part of a team

While your Mr Holmes can make Scotland Yard scream.”

“If he’d stay on a leash till his master says ‘Go’

He might well be an asset, but we must say ‘No’

To his habit of chasing the choicest of game

When we’re after a fox - Jack, to give it a name.”

“I admit,” said the Doctor, “that Holmes can, at times,

Be completely obsessive when looking at crimes

And will often forget that the forces of Law

Are restrained by its Statutes - it’s his major flaw.”

“But a hound which is held on a leash has to run

Free of all such restraints, now and then, having fun

Chasing game of all manner to hone up its skills.

And what good is a hound if can’t lead to kills?”

Just then, as he said it, Lestrade came on in

And he said, “Dr Watson, your argument’s thin

For we’re not chasing game for amusement or sport.

We would only use Holmes as a final resort.”

“We have used him before and, great use, he has been

But when it’s been reported The Yard has been seen

As inept as your stories have always depicted

Us all, with stupidity, grossly afflicted.”

“I can take that, myself, though it does at time cut

Rather deep for I hold him a friend of sorts, but

My superiors scream when they see in The Strand

How the Force is depicted as useless and bland.”

“I do know why you’re here and I wish I could say

‘Help us out’ but there has been, on this very day,

Yet another foul murder, the fifth one, to date.

One more innocent woman has met a cruel fate.”

“I have come from the scene and I tell you I’ve not,

In my days on the Force, seen such horrors to blot

Out that faith in most people I’ve found hard to quell -

Such a monster, however, tells me we’re in Hell.”

“Our man with his camera couldn’t proceed

With his job taking photographs - he felt the need

To be violently ill just outside in the lane.

He could not go back in; it would drive him insane.”

“He’s seen all kinds of murders, and bodies galore,

But the gross mutilations, the stench and the gore

In the room sent him off to regather his mind

And he’s, normally, not of the least squeamish kind.”

“We had to get somebody else for the task.

And so Brown from the morgue we proceeded to ask

For his help in the matter - to this he agreed.

His work makes him tougher than most of our breed.”

“You’ve seen bloody battles, Watson, I suspect

But, an innocent woman, we’re there to protect.

And she might not be such as might sup with the Queen

But she valued her life and, to keep it, was keen.”

“To be murdered and butchered by this monster Jack

Is atrocious - I’d take him and then give him back

To the woman’s relations, her closest of friends,

And let them do whatever they’d think made amends.”

“Well, I’d be sorely tempted to do so, I fear,

But my duty with prisoners, all, is made clear

By the rules which I follow, though some may be bent

By a few, though it’s only a minor percent.”

“But your friend, Mr Holmes, he bends so many laws

While pursuing a problem, officialdom’s claws

Had been close to his throat, but I managed to save

Him by saying I’ll get Sherlock Holmes to behave.”

“And, then, what do I get? Only more of the same;

And you write it all up as if it’s just a game

To be played for the readers who covet your tales

And the income derived from the Strands extra sales.”

“Come into my office, we’ll wait until Brown

Can develop his pictures - he’ll bring them on down

And I’ll show you the horror of Whitechapel’s nights.

It’s a horror on par with the worst battle sights.”

“I’ve been blasted from every direction there is.

The Commissioner even said to me that his

Little curly haired Spaniel could search out a clue

So much better than I could - I told him ‘That’s true’.”

“He just roared and said ‘Go out and capture this beast

Or the hounds of the Press will have you for a feast

When I throw you out bodily - get the man caught

Or your future within Scotland Yard will be naught’.”

“All the folks in Whitechapel jeer at me and shout,

‘Get Old Jack to the gallows or go and get out

And let somebody in who might know what to do.’

You’re hiding somebody - we’d like to know who.”

“And the Press has been at me, they’re certainly hounds.

What they write isn’t true, it is way out of bounds

For they want more sensation and someone to blame,

But it’s they who deserve the lion’s share of the shame.”

“I would not be surprised to discover Old Jack

Isn’t paid by the Press to remove all the slack

In the newspaper sales which had been quite low -

There isn’t a standard they’d not stoop below.”

“That’s just what Holmes said.” replied Watson who saw

That down onto Lestrade would soon drop the last straw

Which would, as goes the fable, at last break the back

Of this stress-laden camel - because of Old Jack.

“He did?” Lestrade queried, surprise on his face.

“I thought he would say that it was a disgrace

That I hadn’t yet caught this man, evil and sly,

And if he was in charge, he would like to know why.”

“Well,” answered Watson, “he’s likely to say

That about everybody he meets every day,

Most especially me when he can’t find a clue

And a crime’s resolution is way overdue.”

“If he can be of help in this horrid affair,

He has so much to offer, you know, with his flair

For observing those things to which we are quite blind.

As a hunter of clues, he is one of a kind.”

Inspector Lestrade well knew this to be true

For, in spite of five murders, no definite clue

To the reason behind them or who had committed

Such acts had been found - this had to be admitted.

“I declare, Dr Watson, I would like his help.

My superiors, though, would kick me like some whelp

If they ever found out I had let the man see

Evidence against their most explicit decree.”

“Perhaps, if he assures me, and you guarantee

That the man will behave, I might just let him see

All our files on the crimes, but don’t give him his head -

If he goes to Whitechapel, it’s he who’ll be dead.”

Just as Watson had gotten Lestrade to relent

Just a little, a figure exhausted and spent

Rang the bell of Two-Twenty-One-B Baker Street-

Mrs Hudson emerged, a new client to greet.

From above he detected the sweet haunting sound

Of a strange melody, unknown to him, profound

And yet rather beautiful, poignant and deep-

Violins were not heard in a friary’s keep.

“It’s someone for you, Mr Holmes.” she would yell

And then say to the visitor, “Go up and tell

Mr Holmes of your business - the head of the stairs.

Bang hard on the door, he’s been playing his airs.”

Holmes opened the door and to his great surprise,

Standing, right there before him, a man in the guise

Of an old hooded friar spoke these words, sublime:

“Mister Holmes, I’d be grateful for some of your time.”