One day, March 3rd to be exact, my friend and partner Sherlock Holmes and I were walking home from a dinner-party. We were moving along slowly and discussing a recent event that had happened just that morning on Baker Street. At the time, Holmes and I were in our flat. He was sitting by the window and reading the morning paper, I was at the table having a late breakfast.
"Watson," Holmes said. "Read this." He got up and handed me the paper then returned to his seat. The article read:
Last night at eleven thirty, a man by the name of Allan Conner was found dead in his bed. The death was reported by John Simon, a friend of Conner's, at eleven forty-five the same night, and police rushed to the scene of the crime. The cause of the death is currently unknown. Police are currently investigating, and questioning Simon. The doors all appeared to be locked, other than the front door which Simon unlocked with a key given to him by Conner. Simon claims Conner was a heavy drinker, and often visited to check on him and be sure he was okay. All windows were barred. Conner has no marks or cuts indicating murder, and his facial expression is that of a sound sleeper. We are currently awaiting more information.
I had just put down the paper when Holmes called to me. "Watson look!" I ran to the window. A body was lying on the street, and someone in a cart next to the body was pushing out another. "Let's get down there," Holmes said. I grabbed my revolver, a Webley Mk. IV, and we ran to the street. Upon our arrival, the men in the cart took off as fast as their horse could go. We moved to the bodies. One we recognized instantly as James Lion, a friend and one-time client of Holmes' and a particularly wealthy man. The other we didn't know.
"Watson, call for the police," Holmes said. I went up to our rooms and sent for them, and upon returning found Holmes over the bodies inspecting their pockets. Lion's were empty, but the other man had several one-hundred pound notes in them and an 1883 Colt Lightning revolver. The gun was recently used and had three shots missing.
"The bodies were both shot," Holmes stated. "Both by a small caliber bullet, most likely not from the gun this man is holding."
"Any idea who he is?" I asked.
"His identity? No. His personality, little. He was a gun enthusiast, and a rich man. He was part of the Olde Magyk club. He also served in the Royal Army. He was married, but no longer. Anything else I know not."
"And how did you figure that out?" It was a constable.
Holmes turned to him and said, "He carries around a custom Colt Lightning, a weapon costing several hundred pounds. He was obviously wealthy, just look at all the money in his pockets. He wears a pin on his cap with the letters O and M with a serpent surrounding them, and only Olde Magyk club members wear them. His coat is from the twenty-year reunion for retired soldiers, they gave them to officers who attended the reunion, so he obviously served in the army. There is a light line surrounding the base of his ring-finger on his right hand, so I assume he was married."
"Bravo sir!" the constable exclaimed. "But I can take it from here."
"Yes sir," Holmes said. And we went back to our flat. We were there not five minutes before Holmes left to send a telegram regarding the incident.
That night, we attended a dinner party at one of Holmes' client's mansion. That was when James Simon approached us.
"Mr. Holmes, I've heard much of your work, and I'm in need of your help," said he.
"What might it be?" my friend asked.
"It's regarding the death, or rather murder, of my dear friend Allan."
"What makes you believe it to be murder, when he doesn't appear to have been killed?" Holmes asked.
"When I was checking up on him last night, I found this." He handed Holmes a medallion. It was pure gold. Imprinted on it was a bull's head, with a ring in the nostrils and words carved into the horns. The words were: magicae artes and sterben. "It lay on his body. What do you make of it?" asked Simon.
"It's extremely old, I know that," Holmes said. "From hundreds of years ago. And if I'm not mistaken, magicae artes is latin. It translates to magic."
"I know what that is," I said.
"Well now Watson, why didn't you say so?" Holmes asked.
"You didn't ask for the information," I replied.
"Well there's no use in keeping it from me any longer, so tell me what it is."
"That is the same mark as the one found branded on Matthew Baker's arm. Don't you remember Baker?"
"Ah yes," Holmes said. "The American chap we sent to prison last month. Do you recall the article in the evening paper a week ago? Baker is dead. He hung himself in his cell using rope."
"How would he have obtained the rope?" I asked.
"No one knows," Holmes replied.
"Regarding the problem," Simon cut in. "Will you help me find the murderer? Your reward will be paid by the members of my club."
"And what club might that be?" Holmes asked. "The Olde Magyk club?"
"Yes," Simon said. "Conner and I were both members."
"Why not speak of happier things for a time?" Holmes asked. "We will help you sir, but is this not a party?"
And so after the party we discussed the events of that morning, wondering if they were in any way related to the death of Conner. I then changed the subject.
"Why call themselves the Olde Magyk club if they don't practice magic?" I asked Holmes.
"Because they study it," Holmes said. "They enjoy researching the esteemed witches and wizards of medieval times. They're more of a study group than a group of magicians."
We were now on Baker Street, and in a minute were in our flat. Upon entering, Mrs. Hudson approached us.
"This telegram arrived for you," said she. Holmes took it and read it.
"Watson, my suspicion has been confirmed," he said.
"And what might this suspicion be?" I asked.
"That the killer is hunting Simon's club's members. This morning I sent a telegram to James Lion's family stating that I would help them, but I needed to know if he was in a club known as the Olde Magyk club. This telegram is a reply from his wife saying he was. The other body found this morning was also a club member at one time. And tonight Simon stated that Conner was a member."
"Interesting, but I'm tired. I'm off to bed," said I.
"Capitol idea," Holmes said. "Let us continue this case in the morning."
We retired to our rooms. The night was not uneventful. I was awaken by a a noise coming from the living-quarters. The moon was still up, a bright full-moon. I closed my eyes, thinking the sound to be imaginary. Then I heard it again. I got up and went out. It was Holmes. He was sitting at the dining-room table, bent over a piece of paper. The noise I heard was that of the item he was holding. An American revolver. He was cocking it then pulling the trigger repeatedly, though the gun wasn't loaded.
"Watson," He said, noticing me. "Look at this." He tossed me the pistol. It was somewhat larger than the Webley Mk. IV I was used to, longer barrel larger cylinder. The standard bullet was obviously bigger as well.
"It is an American .44 Magnum."
"I found it just a few minutes ago. It was at our doorstep. I heard someone knocking so I woke and went to see who it was, and lying there was this gun and this." He handed me the paper he was looking at. It was a letter.
It is my unfortunate duty to inform you of the death of a Mr. John Simon. The Scotland Yard has already been informed. I
wanted you to have this gun. Perhaps it will help.
In place of a signature was the mark that was on the medallion Simon had given us. The letter was typed rather than written.
"Simon's dead," I said to myself.
"It's time we do some investigating. Bring your revolver." Holmes took his hunting-crop and we left. He called a cab and we set off. "Take us to 362 Kensington Palace Gardens," Holmes said.
"A visit to Lion's family?" I asked. "What for?"
"To inspect his room. I'm sure the family will cooperate," Holmes said. The ride was short, and we were soon at the Lion family manor.They lived in a rather large house in a wealthier part of London. Holmes knocked on their door and Mrs. Lion answered.
"Mr. Holmes," she said. "What brings you to our home so late at night?"
"A case," Holmes replied. "In fact, the very case that I said I'd help you with. If you don't mind madam, may we have a look around your husband's study."
"You may. After all you've done for us, retrieving our stolen money and rescuing our children, how could I refuse?"
"You couldn't," Holmes said.
"Come in," said Mrs. Lion. "I'll show you to the study."
The house was nicely furnished, with antique vases and furnitures, expensive paintings, and brilliant sculptures. "This way," Mrs. Lion said. The study was on the second floor of the house. It was small compared to the other rooms of the household, but still the size of the living-quarters at 221b Baker Street. The walls were covered with row after row of books. Otherwise, the only furniture in the room were a desk and chair.
"I'll be downstairs if you need me," Mrs. Lion said.
"Thank you," Holmes said. "We shan't be long."
Holmes walked to the shelves. "Not one of these books are on magic, Watson."
It was completely by chance that I noticed it, but the books on a shelf I was looking at were as follows: Manchester: A History, A Tale of Chivalry, Going Away, Inside The Pyramids, and Cats and Dogs: The Ancient Battle. Taking the first letter of each title would be M-A-G-I-C.
"Watson, look!" exclaimed my friend. He was at the desk. He was looking at a paper with letters printed in a single line. They were: A-C-I-M-G. Under the letters was a picture. It showed the very room we were in, but the bookshelf on the left wall was sinking.
"Holmes," I said. "Look here." I showed him my discovery with the books. They were on the shelf on the left-hand side. Holmes stayed silent for several minutes. He then moved to the bookshelf. He reached for the book entitled A Tale of Chivalry and attempted to pull it out. The book slid halfway, then made a clicking noise, but seemed to be stuck from there. It wouldn't come out.
"Watson, these books are levers!" Holmes exclaimed. Then he pulled out some other books on the shelf, but they came out fully. "Your discovery will be very helpful." He then pulled out Cats and Dogs: The Ancient Battle, but that didn't come out fully either. He then pulled out Inside the Pyramids, Manchester: A History, and lastly Going Away, in that order. Then, the most remarkable thing happened. The shelf began to sink. In a few seconds the shelf was gone entirely. We were now facing the wall. And in the middle of the wall was a door. Holmes opened it. Behind the door was a room. In the room were several tables on each was a different set of tools and vials, some containing liquids, some gases, and one a colony of rather large ants.
"What do you make of it, Watson?" Holmes asked.
"I think that Mr. Lion has been doing quite a bit of secret work," I replied. "Not to mention dangerous. Look here, he's experimenting with flammable and explosive liquids."
"Yes," Holmes said. "Some of these gases and liquids must have been created in this very room, I've never seen or heard of anything like them." It was true. There were many odd items in the room. One container held a substance that would change it's color every few minutes, another contained a toxin that would give off a small explosion every now and again. One vial seemed to contain nothing, but upon closer examination it contained an extremely clear liquid.
"Watson, this man must have been a genius!" Holmes said. "Look, he managed a way of containing Nitroglycerin in these small containers, he must have used the formula for dynamite, but he also somehow mixed it with something, most likely of his own invention, that allows it to be mixed again with black powder."
"A completely unstable and highly-explosive concoction," I said.
"Yes, completely unstable. Look at this table. He received a seven-thousand pound check. He was obviously doing all this for someone. I'll take this. And look, a receipt. It seems someone purchased exactly five-thousand pounds worth of what Lion named the Undetectable Poison. I think we found out how Mr. Connor was killed. He also purchased two-thousand pounds of Lion's Nitro-Powder. We know what that's called now. Come Watson, it's time we left." Holmes took the check and we stepped out of the room. Once the door was closed behind us, the bookshelf slid back to it's original position. We went downstairs.
"Are you finished with your investigation Mr. Holmes?" Mrs. Lion asked.
"Yes Ma'am, thank you for allowing us to have a look up there. I believe we are one step closer to finding your husband's killer."
"Thank you sir," she said. "Would like to eat? I've prepared breakfast for my family, we would be happy to have you join."
"Sorry, but really must be going," said Holmes. "We have some important business to attend to." We left the building. The sun was already up, it was around seven-thirty or eight.
"Well, the check is to Lion from a Mr. Alistair Colt. Does that name mean anything to you Watson?"
"Yes," I said. "You really don't know that name?"
"I haven't the foggiest," Holmes said.
"Colt is the world-famous creator of the revolver."
"Well It was Richard Colt who created it, but this man must be related to him."
"Well," Holmes said. "We're about to find out." We got a cab and rode to the bank. We walked in and Holmes went to the counter. Behind it was a balding, middle-aged man, looking very happy indeed.
"Hello, how may I help you?" the man asked in a cheery voice.
"My name is James Lion," Holmes began. "I received this check last night at a boxing match. I would very much like to know where this man lives, as he gave me the check but I'd like to return it, it's far more than I bet."
"Why of course I'll help. Let me pull up his file. Here you are, he lives at 232 Baker Street."
"Ah, Watson," Holmes said. "We're going back to Baker Street." It wasn't far, so we decided to walk.
"Holmes," I said. "The American revolver, I think I know how it fits in."
"Who ever left the message wanted to lead us to Colt."
"He left us a Colt .44 revolver."
"Are you saying," Holmes said. "That whoever left us the message isn't the killer?"
"You're probably right," Holmes said. We were now on Baker Street. The address given to us was right around the corner. It was a nice little house. I guessed whoever stayed there lived alone. Holmes knocked. A minute passed without an answer. He knocked again. The same result. He looked at me. I drew my revolver and kicked open the door. A hallway. Almost instantly, a bullet whizzed pass. I shot in the direction the bullet came from then Holmes and I ducked into a side room. We were in a bedroom. I glanced out the door and fired off two more shots. We ran down the hall into the room the shot had come from. It was a small one. No furniture, only a staircase. We climbed it. We were in another bedroom. Sitting on the bed, was a man. Upon seeing us he raised his gun to his head and shot himself.
"A waste," I said, stuffing my revolver in my pocket.
"Well, we found Mr. Colt," said Holmes, who was already examining the body.
"How do you know?" I asked.
"Because his gun has property of Alistair Colt engraved into the handle," he replied.
"Why shoot himself," I asked.
"I think he knew someone was looking for him, and he'd rather die than be caught."
"Whatever he knew must have been important then."
"Exactly." Holmes walked around the room for a minute, examining the closet and bed as they were the only furniture in the room.
"Watson, the case isn't dead," he said. He had emerged from the closet with a box. He opened it. In it were two vials of the clear liquid found in Lion's lab, seven small transparent boxes of Nitro-Powder, and a paper saying "To be delivered to 3 Cannon Row."
"Well, looks like we're headed to Cannon Row," I said. We got another cab and rode on to No.3 Cannon row, a giant house even by mansion standards. Upon arrival, Holmes lit his pipe.
"Alright Watson," he said. "Our story: I'm Colt and you're my assistant. We're here to visit the master of the house." He rang the doorbell and a maid answered.
"Hullo," said Holmes. "My name is Alistair Colt, I'm here to see your master."
"One moment," she said. She closed the door. In a few minutes, she returned. "This way." She led us up and up four flights of stairs, past numerous halls and dozens of room. Finally, we were at a study. Sitting behind a desk was an aristocratic character. He looked up and we noticed his glasses were, surprisingly, metal. The nameplate on the desk read "Mr. Sloman."
"Which of you is Colt?" he asked.
Holmes answered, "That would be me."
"I'm grateful that you helped me eliminate those annoying club members, but did I not ask you to stay away from here until your job was complete?"
"Well I would," Holmes said. "But I thought it would interest you to know that the Scotland Yard, and a Mr. Sherlock Holmes is on our tail."
"I told you what to do about Scotland Yard. Did Lion not give you the proper explosives for the job?"
"Well yes, the proper kind, but two-thousand pounds worth is still little."
"Little?!? When I get a hold of Lion-"
"Now," Holmes cut in. "I can still do the job, but I need to know, why the Olde Magyk club?"
"Well, I guess there's no harm in telling you. Remember the day you killed those two members with your hidden gun?" Sloman asked.
"Ah, yes. That one chap shot at me with a Colt Lightning. Is that the day?"
"Yes. Well earlier that day the Olde Magyk club members were transporting something. It was a staff they believe to have belonged to Merlin himself. Well the day before that I had sold that very staff. Made it myself. It's full of Nitro-Powder. I sold it to another aristocrat by the name of Samuel Fletcher. It is supposed to be in the hands of Lord Samuel Fletcher now. That staff was meant for him. But the man whom I sent to deliver it was so untrustworthy. He sold it to someone from that club. Now I must search until I find the staff. Even if it means killing them. Then I can get my reward."
"Well sir," Holmes said. "I know why Olde Magyk, now I need to know why you want Fletcher dead."
"I can't tell you that," Sloman replied. "Well, is there anything else you need?"
"No," said Holmes. "Watson, if you will." I drew my revolver. "Dear sir, assassination is illegal. My name is Sherlock Holmes. If you'll please follow us." Sloman stood.
"I've been set up!" he yelled.
"No," I said. "You've been caught." Holmes went to inspect the study while I kept my gun aimed at Sloman in the hall. After a few minutes. Holmes came out of the study.
"I called the police using your telephone," Holmes said. "I found the Undetectable Poison you put in Conner's drink. I also found out how you know Fletcher. You were out recently weren't you? There's fresh dirt all over your boots. I found a shovel as well. Also with fresh dirt. Been doing some digging Sloman? Most likely near Kensington Palace Gardens according to the map on your desk. There's blood on your clothes. And a bullet hole in the glove near your shovel. As well as a coin. A coin with a bull's head. Let me see your arm. Here it is. A tattoo. The same mark that was on Baker. It seems you, Fletcher, and Baker were in a club. You receive so many letters from the two, each signed with a signature and a bull's head. A treasure hunting club most likely. Or do you read so much about the subject merely for fun? You found some treasure. You and Fletcher found something, and you want all of it so you intend to kill Fletcher. The blood and bullet hole indicate you already attempted to, but he got away."
Sloman's face fell. "You figured all this out by looking in my study?" We heard someone coming. It was the police.
"You can take it from here," Holmes said to them. Then, to Sloman, "Don't worry, I'll tell them all I found out."
Holmes and I visited Fletcher in Cambridge, and it seems the letter we received had come from him. He thanked us and, due to the death of every single member of the Olde Magyk club, payed us with one fourth of the gold he dug up in Kensington Palace Gardens.
Today I continued my Conan Doyle biography. I also read some of the book, Arthur Conan Doyle: Beyond Baker Street. It's a pretty good read. It starts at Conan Doyle's early childhood, and ends with late in his life when he became a spiritualist.
