'I never read the literary section of the Times,' Holmes said. 'As Watson will attest.' He pointed the stem of his pipe at Sir Arthur's pants cuffs. 'You are a fastidious man, Sir Arthur. You dress well, and carefully. Your shave this morning was leisurely and complete. Your moustache is freshly trimmed. Had you planned your excursion, you would surely have worn suitable clothing. Therefore, your presence was required on short notice. You have wiped the mud of the fields from your boots, but you have left a smear on the polish. You have confronted a puzzle that has distracted you from your customary appearance, which I can easily see-- anyone could easily see!-- is impeccable. As to the nature of the puzzle, unripe seed-heads of Triticum aestivum have attached themselves to your trouser cuffs. I am in no doubt that you investigated the vandalism plaguing fields in Surrey.'
'Amazing,' Conan Doyle whispered, his ruddy face paling. 'Absolutely amazing.'
I could see that Holmes was both pleased by Conan Doyle's reaction, and surprised that Sir Arthur did not laugh again and announce that his methods were simplicity itself.
Holmes finished his recitation. 'That you have failed to solve the mystery is self-evident-- else why come to me?'
Sir Arthur staggered. Leaping forward to support him, I helped him to a chair. I was astonished to perceive any weakness in a man of his constitution. He was quite in shock. Fortunately, Mrs. Hudson chose that moment to arrive with the tea. A good hot cup, fortified with brandy from the sideboard, revived Sir Arthur considerably.
'I do apologize,' he said. 'I've spent the morning in the presence of strangeness beyond any I've ever before witnessed. As you divined, Mr. Holmes, the experience has distracted me. To perceive your supernatural talents so soon thereafter-- !'
He took a deep draught of his tea. I refilled his cup, including rather more brandy. Sir Arthur sipped his tea, and let warm, pungent steam rise around his face. His color improved.
''Supernatural?'' Holmes mused. 'Well-honed, certainly. Extraordinary, even. But not in the least supernatural.'
Sir Arthur replied. 'If John did not tell you who I am, and you did not recognize my face, then you could only have discovered my name by-- reading my mind!'
'I read your name,' Holmes said dryly, 'from the head of your walking stick, where it is quite clearly engraved.'
* * *
Since the end of spring, the newspapers had been full of articles about mysterious damage to growing crops. Wheat stalks were crushed in great circles intersected by lines and angles, as if a cyclone had touched down to give mere humans a lesson in celestial geometry. Though the phenomena were often accompanied by strange lights in the sky, the weather was invariably fair. If the lights were lightning, it was lightning unaccompanied by thunder! No wind or rain occurred to cause any damage, much less damage in perfect geometrical form.
Many suggestions had been put forth as to the cause of the unexplained diagrams, from hailstorms to electromagnetic disturbances, but blame had not yet been fixed. The patterns were the mystery of the year; the press, in a misinterpretation of modern physics in general and the theory of Maxwell in particular, had taken to calling the devices 'field theorems.'
Holmes had clipped and filed the articles, and painstakingly redrawn the figures. He suspected that if
the patterns were the consequence of a natural force, some common element could be derived from a comparison of the designs.
One morning, I had come into the sitting room to find him surrounded by crumpled paper. The acrid bite of smoke thickened the air, and the Persian slipper in which Holmes kept his shag lay overturned on the mantel among the last few scattered shreds of tobacco.
'I have it, Watson!' Holmes had waved a drawing, annotated in his hand. 'I believe this to be the basic pattern, from which all other field theorems are derived!'
His brother, Mycroft, speedily dismantled his proof, and took him to task for failing to complete several lemmas associated with the problem. Holmes, chagrined to have made such an elementary (to Holmes), and uncharacteristic, mistake, appeared to lose interest in the field theorems. But it was clear from his comments to Sir Arthur that they had never completely vanished from his attention.
* * *
After packing quickly, Holmes and I accompanied Sir Arthur to the station, where we boarded the train to Undershaw, his estate in Hindhead, Surrey.
'Tell me, Sir Arthur,' Holmes said, as our train moved swiftly across the green and gold late-summer countryside, 'how came you to be involved in this investigation?'
I wondered if Holmes were put out. The mystery had begun in early summer. Here it was nearly harvest time before anyone called for the world's only consulting detective.
'It is my tenants who have been most troubled by the phenomenon,' said Sir Arthur, recovered from his earlier shock. 'Fascinating as the field theorems may be, they do damage the crops. And I feel responsible for what has happened. I cannot have my tenants lose their livelihoods because of my actions.'
'So you feel the vandalism is directed at you,' said I. Sir Arthur had involved himself in several criminal cases, generally on the side of a suspect he felt to be innocent. His efforts differed from those of Holmes in that Holmes never ended his cases with ill-advised legal wrangles. No doubt one of Sir Arthur's less grateful supplicants was venting his rage against some imagined slight.
'Vandalism?' Sir Arthur said. 'No, this is far more important, more complex, than vandalism. It's obvious that someone is trying to contact me from the other side.'
'The other side?' I asked. 'Of Surrey? Surely it would be easier to use the post.'
Sir Arthur leaned toward me, serious and intense. 'Not the other side of the country. The other side of... life and death.'
Holmes barked with laughter. I sighed quietly. Intelligent and accomplished as my friend is, he occasionally overlooks proprieties. Holmes will always choose truth over politeness.
'You believe,' Holmes said to Sir Arthur, 'that a seance brought about these field theorems? The crushed crops are the country equivalent of ectoplasm and levitating silver trumpets?'
The scorn in Holmes's voice was plain, but Sir Arthur replied calmly. He has, of course, faced disbelief innumerable times since his conversion to spiritualism.
'Exactly so,' he said, his eyes shining with hope. 'Our loved ones on the other side desire to communicate with us. What better way to attract our attention than to offer us knowledge beyond our reach? Knowledge that cannot be confined within an ordinary seance cabinet? We might commune with the genius of Newton!'
'I did not realize,' Holmes said, 'that your family has a connection to that of Sir Isaac Newton.'
'I did not intend to claim such a connection,' Sir Arthur said, drawing himself stiffly upright. Holmes could make light of his spiritual beliefs, of his perceptions, but an insult to the familial dignity fell beyond the pale.
'Of course not!' I said hurriedly. 'No one could imagine that you did.'
I hoped that, for once, Holmes would not comment on the contradiction inherent in my statement.
Holmes gazed with hooded eyes at Sir Arthur, and held his silence.
'It's well known that entities from diverse places and times-- not only relatives-- communicate from the
other side,' I said. 'How extraordinary it would be, were Isaac Newton to return, after nearly two centuries of pure thought!'
''Extraordinary,'' Holmes muttered, 'would hardly be the word for it.' He fastened his gaze upon Sir Arthur. 'Dr. Conan Doyle,' he said, 'if you believe spirits are the cause of this odd phenomenon-- why did you engage me to investigate?'
'Because, Mr. Holmes, if you cannot lay the cause to any worldly agent, then the only possible explanation is a spiritual one. 'When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth!' You will help me prove my case.'
'I see,' Holmes said. 'You have engaged me to eliminate causes more impossible than the visitations of spirits. You have engaged me... to fail.'
'I would not have put it so,' Sir Arthur said.
The trip continued in rather strained silence. Sir Arthur fell into a restless doze. Holmes stared at the passing landscape, his long limbs taut with unspent energy. After an eternity, we reached the Hindhead station. I roused Sir Arthur, who awoke with a great gasp of breath.
'Ma'am!' he cried, then came to himself and apologized most sincerely. 'I was dreaming,' he said.
