Holmes said, “whatever you say to me can just as safely be said to my friend and confidant, Dr. Watson.”
Miss Hotchkiss was reassured by this statement, but still appeared quite concerned about something. She was obviously nervous and hesitant about speaking; her earlier image of poise and self-confidence had disappeared, to be replaced by the present picture of a troubled, distraught woman. While nervously twisting a little fine lace handkerchief in her hands, she told us the following most odd and curious story.
A Mr. Albert Fletcher, a Society member in good standing, was recently subjected to an amazing and deeply troubling experience. Afterwards he told about it, and confirmed the experience in a signed and sworn statement to the police.
He was taking his usual eleven o’clock evening stroll before retiring, the church spire clock had just struck eleven times, and he was walking down a forested foot path near his home in Woking, when suddenly he encountered several curious little men, grey with big egg shaped heads, no hair, noses or ears, and with very large oval eyes, all black. One beckoned him to follow them, and he did. For some curious reason he felt quite calm, not afraid, but was compelled to do as directed.
They led him to a nearby hollow, in which sat a large silvery object, big as a small house, and shaped like a pie plate or metal saucer. On their approach an opening appeared, and they entered. It was brightly lit inside, but he could not see any gas flames or candles, and it was quite cool. He was required to undress and stretch out on a very cold metal table. After that…he remembered nothing.
Later he was found in Cheltenham, where he wandered about as if dazed, quite unable to give an account of how he had arrived there. Passersby thought him intoxicated, and a constable was summoned. Being quite unable to give a rational account of what had happened, Mr. Fletcher was taken to the local jail and put in a cell. The police report gave the time of his incarceration as 12:10 P.M.
Presently the daze began to lift, he requested writing materials, and his signed sworn statement describing these events now rests with the authorities. After writing and signing the statement he appeared to become terrified and angry at the same time. It was thought best to keep him under lock and key, due to his strange story and agitated emotional state.
Here Miss Louisa stopped speaking, while the little fine lace handkerchief was nervously twisted faster than ever. She was white as a sheet, and quite unable to go on. Holmes looked at her with that peculiar fascination he had for what was coming. From experience we both knew that by far the most interesting, and probably the key part of the story, was about to be revealed. Certainly it was the most difficult for her to tell. Nothing she had told us so far was responsible for her extreme distress now.
I knew it was Holmes’s strict policy never to interrupt at this crucial and delicate point. So he sat there with unlit pipe in hand, and giving Miss Louisa his most reassuring look, waited for her to continue. She was obviously very reluctant to proceed, and said nothing.
Only I knew how urgent Holmes’s need was for her to go on. He sat there looking the perfect picture of patience, nothing was said, and the suspense was unbearable. Imagine my surprise when Miss Louisa turned away from Holmes, and towards me. She blushed a deep red, and then spoke directly to me.
“Doctor Watson, being a medical man you must have seen and heard many things beyond the general experience. If this were to become public- it would be simply awful, a terrible scandal, it would bring great disrepute upon the Society, and myself. Mr. Albert Fletcher has always been a man of sober habits, a man who attends Church every Sunday, and is in good standing with the Society. There was never any idea that…” and here she stopped, her hands fluttering upward helplessly like white caged birds, quite unable to continue. Then Holmes motioned for me to reassure her. There was no mistaking his surreptitious but clear gesture. Holmes was directing me to help her continue, and I did as he indicated.
“Yes, Miss Hotchkiss, I am a medical man, and as you rightly say, I have seen and heard many unusual things. A man of my considerable experience will not be surprised by anything you tell me. Please, by all means, please continue.”
Before she spoke I saw written plain on her face the dreadful thing was a terrible burden, a burden of such terribly heavy weight, that she desperately needed to share it with me, to lighten the burden. And then I saw her face change, and on it was plainly writ her decision to share it with me. Holmes saw it also, and held his breath in anticipation.
“Dr. Watson,” she said, “according to his sworn statement, admissible in a court of law, they attached a device to his sexual parts, he felt sexual desire, nature proceeded on its course, and they took his reproductive fluid.”
I had never heard of such a thing, and said so. Holmes was deep in thought. Miss Hotchkiss waited, perplexed but relieved that the dreadful thing had been bared. Finally Holmes spoke.
“I must see this man, and talk with him about his most unusual experience. We must be off! Watson, come with me. Miss Hotchkiss, I thank you for a most delightful evening, and now perhaps I can repay you by looking into this matter. Good evening!” And Holmes plunged out, with me doing my best to keep up.
We left so hurriedly my head spun, but then I am accustomed to Holmes’s abruptness with a case before him. A passing coach was hailed, and we were on our way to Cheltenham jail. Holmes remained hunched over in deep thought, entirely absorbed by the matter at hand. Finally he straightened up and spoke to me.
“What do you make of it, old chap?”
“Obviously a pint too many. Sleep it off, and all’s good as gold by morning.”
“Yes, that is possible, but I doubt it. The Society has strict standards for membership. If Mr. Fletcher tippled they would know it, and he would not be a member in good standing. And then there is his most curious story, and strange behavior.”
“The story is curious enough, I give you that. But I don’t see anything odd about his actions. An angry drunk is not uncommon.”
“Yes, Watson, that is true” Holmes replied, “but note the out of sequence events. Supposedly he became intoxicated, and then wrote a detailed, coherent statement and signed it. Only afterwards did he become angry and terrified, so much so that he was jailed. While terrified and angry he did not see anything out of the ordinary, so alcohol withdrawal, the usual
“Yes, of course I am. First pleasant euphoria, then anger and the desire to fight, next maudlin sadness with crying, and finally unconsciousness in alcoholic coma, with resolution by either waking or death.”
“Right you are, old boy, right you are. Note that in this case Mr. Fletcher became emotional after his daze lifted, and experienced terror with anger, a combination unknown in alcohol poisoning. This plus the fact he never experienced the frightening hallucinations of
Then a strange, faraway look came into Holmes’s eyes, a look I had only seen before with his most puzzling cases, and he said, “Watson, this promises to be a most interesting case. By all means we must speak with Mr. Albert Fletcher as soon as possible. Driver! Make haste!”
Except for one question Holmes asked me, the rest of our trip was made in silence. He asked me what the distance was between Woking and Cheltenham. One of the maps I carry showed a distance of exactly 20 miles. Holmes directed me to recheck the distance and I found it on another map, which also said 20 miles. There was no doubt about it, the distance between Woking and Cheltenham was 20 miles. When I told Holmes this he gave a little grimace, and said nothing, but I could see the news displeased him, and left him agitated.
The driver did his best to follow Holmes’s order, and made haste over so many pot holes and ruts in the road, that when we finally arrived at Cheltenham jail, it was none too soon for me; my rear end was sore from the bouncings it had received.
Cheltenham jail was a gloomy old place, dark and foreboding, lit on the outside by a single lantern whose feeble rays, obscured by the dirty glass, gave only a weak, crepuscular light. We entered and identified ourselves to the single jailer on duty, who seemed an eager enough to please fellow, and then asked to speak with Mr. Albert Fletcher. The jailer surprised me by saying, “happy to oblige you, governor, but you can’t speak with him.” Holmes immediately said sharply, “what do you mean?”
To which the turnkey replied in a regretful voice, “I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t speak with the prisoner, because he’s not able. He’s dead.”
