A Study in Sherlock

Previously a television director, union organizer, theater technician, and law student, Lee Child is the worldwide number one bestselling author of the Jack Reacher series. Born in England, Child now divides his time between New York and the south of France. He clearly remembers his interest in the matter at hand being sparked by reading in his grandmother’s Reader’s Digest an article about Joseph Bell, Arthur Conan Doyle’s medical school professor, often supposed to be the model for the character and therefore in Child’s opinion the “real” Sherlock Holmes.

“The Red-Headed League” appeared in 1892 and was collected as part of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

THE STARTLING EVENTS IN THE ELECTRIFIED CITY

(A MANUSCRIPT SIGNED “JOHN WATSON,” IN THE COLLECTION OF THOMAS PERRY)

During the many years while I was privileged to know the consulting detective Sherlock Holmes and, I fancy, serve as his closest confidant, he often permitted me to make a record of the events in which we played some part, and have it printed in the periodicals of the day. It would be false modesty to deny that the publication of these cases, beginning in 1887, added something to his already wide reputation.

There were a number of cases presented to him by people responding to the new, larger reputation my amateurish scribbles brought upon him. There were others on which I accompanied him that I have never intended to submit for publication during my lifetime or his. The event in Buffalo is a bit of both. It is a case that came to him from across the Atlantic because his reputation had been carried past the borders of this kingdom between the covers of The Strand Magazine. And yet it is a case deserving of such discretion and secrecy that when I finish this narrative, I will place the manuscript in a locked box with several others that I do not intend to be seen by the public until time and mortality have cured them of their power to harm.

It was the twenty-fifth of August in 1901, the year of Queen Victoria’s death. I was with Holmes that afternoon in the rooms that he and I had shared at 221B Baker Street since Holmes returned to London in 1894. I was glad I had closed my medical office early that day, because he seemed to be at a loss, in a bout of melancholy, which I silently diagnosed as a result of inactivity. It was a day of unusually fine late summer weather after a week of dismal rainstorms, and at last I managed to get him to extinguish the tobacco in his pipe and agree to stroll with me and take the air. We had already picked up our hats and canes from the rack and begun to descend the stairs, when there came a loud ringing of the bell.

Holmes called out, “Hold, Mrs. Hudson. I’m on sentry duty. I’ll see who goes there.” He rapidly descended the seventeen steps to the door and opened it. I heard a man say, “My name is Frederick Allen. Am I speaking to Mr. Holmes?”

“Come in, sir,” said Holmes. “You have come a long way.”

“Thank you,” the man said, and followed Holmes up the stairs to Holmes’s sitting room. He looked around and I could see his eyes taking in the studied disorder of Holmes’s life. His eyes lingered particularly on the papers spread crazily on the desk, and the very important few papers that were pinned to the mantel by a dagger.

“This is my good friend, Dr. John Watson.”

The stranger shook my hand heartily. “I’ve heard of you, Doctor, and read some of your writings.”

“Pardon, Mr. Allen,” Holmes said at this juncture. “But I wish to use this moment for an experiment. Watson, what would you say is our guest’s profession?”

“I’d guess he was a military man,” I said. “He has the physique and the bearing, the neatly trimmed hair and mustache. And I saw the way he looked at the manner in which you’ve arranged your rooms. He’s a commissioned officer who has inspected quarters before.”

“Excellent, my friend. Any further conjecture?”

“He’s American, of course. Probably late of the conflict with Spain. American army, then, judging from his age and excellent manners, with a rank of captain or above.”

Mr. Allen said, “Remarkable, Dr. Watson. You have missed in only one particular.”

“Yes,” said Holmes. “The branch of service. Mr. Allen is a naval officer. When I heard his accent, I too knew he was American, and said he’d come a long way, implying he’d just come off a trans-Atlantic voyage. He didn’t deny it. And we all know that the weather the past week has been positively vile. Yet he didn’t think it worth a mention, because he’s spent half his life at sea.” He nodded to Allen. “I’m sorry to waste your time, sir. Watson and I play these games. What brings you to us, Captain Allen?”

“I’m afraid it’s a matter of the utmost urgency and secrecy, gentlemen.”

Holmes strolled to the window and looked down at the street. “I assure you that I have been engaged in matters of trust many times before. And Dr. Watson has been with me every step in most of these affairs. He is not only an accomplished Royal Medical Officer who has been through the Afghan campaigns, he is also a man of the utmost discretion.”

“I believe you, Mr. Holmes. I have permission from the highest levels to include Dr. Watson in what I’m about to impart.”

“Excellent.”

“No doubt you know that in my country, in the city of Buffalo, New York, the Pan-American Exposition opened on the first of May. It’s been a highly publicized affair.”

“Yes, of course,” Holmes said. “A celebration of the future, really, wouldn’t you say? Calling the world together to witness the wonders of electricity.”

“That’s certainly one of the aspects that have made us most proud. It was hoped that President McKinley would visit in June, but he had to postpone because of Mrs. McKinley’s ill health. At least that was the public story.”

“If there’s a public story, then there must be a private story,” said Holmes.

“Yes. There were indications that there might be a plot on the president’s life.”

“Good heavens,” I said.

“I know how shocking it must be to you. Your country is renowned for its stability. Not since Charles the First in 1649 has there been the violent death of a head of state, and when your late, beloved Queen Victoria’s reign ended a few months ago, it had lasted nearly sixty-four years. In my country, during just the past forty years, as you know, there have been a civil war that killed six hundred thousand men, and two presidents assassinated.”

“It’s not a record that would instill complacency,” I admitted, but Holmes seemed to be lost in thought.

He said, “Who is suspected of plotting to kill President McKinley?”

“I’m afraid that I’ve reached the limit of what I’m authorized to say on that topic at present,” Captain Allen said.

I felt the same frustration I often have at official obfuscation in my own military experience, where a doctor is outside the chain of command. “If your business is a secret from Holmes, then how can you expect him to help you?”

“I spoke as freely as my orders allowed. My mission is to deliver a request that you two gentlemen come for a personal and private meeting with the President of the United States, who will tell you the rest.” He reached into his coat and produced a thin folder. “I have purchased a pair of tickets on the SS Deutschland of the Hamburg Amerika line. The ship is less than a year old, a four-stack steamship capable of twenty-two knots that has already set a record crossing the Atlantic in just over five days.”

“Very fast indeed,” I conceded.

Holmes lit his pipe and puffed out a couple of times to produce curlicues of bluish smoke. “How did the President of the United States come to think of me, when he can have many capable men at his command within minutes?”