Sherlock Holmes

and the case of

The Wooden Box

Part 1

It has not escaped my notice that throughout the many cases in which I have chronicled the investigations and adventures of Mr Sherlock Holmes and myself, that the vast majority of such recordings orbit around either the criminal or the sinister. One might venture to suppose that our life together and intimate dealings led us to live such morbid and melancholy lives. It would be a lie to say that there were not times where myself and Holmes felt that the outcome of an investigation - although being the one of justice - did more harm then good. However, for every depressing or failed outcome there was a case in which true good came of it.

I mention the above as although it is not something I would readily admit to my friend, I would agree with him in that I do on occasion fall foul of my duties to report the facts as they are, and instead lean my writings to what the readers may desire. The dark, the sinister, the gritty and the scandalous. It is a guilty secret of mine which from time to time I feel as though I must recompense for by bringing to light the more human actions of Mr Sherlock Holmes. Some may recall the story of the yellow face, where by Mr Grant Munro and his now adopted daughter from his wife's first marriage. What follows therefore is the case of the wooden box, a case which has a soft, warm place in my heart.

For some months my friend Sherlock Holmes had been rather constant in his working. Being consulted upon a fresh case almost the moment after the conclusion of the last, and quite often before said conclusion. I was currently back in my old lodgings at Baker Street, assisting with Holmes' investigations when possible but without the iron constitution and dedication to the craft as my friend possessed, I found myself hard pushed to keep up with all of his goings on. Thankfully there came an easing of work which although Holmes would never admit, I believe he too was thankful of. One can only withstand a barrage for so long before something gives. It was on a calm and beautiful morning when after breakfast we found introduced into our sitting room, a beautiful young lady by the name of Miss Elizabeth May.

She was as fair a lady as you could imagine. Her hair was of a rich chestnut colour, tied back in an elegant waterfall braid exposing her light and clean features which although stricken with anxiety and fear, showed that at less stressing times she truly was a women who man would fall for. Her dress, although not that of the richest and prosperous family, had a very simple and elegant appeal to it, so too did the small bag which she clutched nervously with her fragile, delicately gloved fingers. Both myself and Holmes rose as the young lady was shown in. Holmes gestured gently towards the empty sofa to which the the lady acquiesced. Graciously she lowered herself into the seat followed closely by ourselves. It soon became apparent as to how disturbed the young lady was, as she seemed to struggle to raise her gaze up off the floor and with the attempt to speak, her hands trembled.

'My dear lady,' said Holmes in his smooth, calming manner, 'Prey, take your time. I shall ring for Mrs Hudson to bring you some fresh tea to calm your nerves.'

With a few deep breaths our frightened female guest finally mustered the will to speak. 'Thank you Mr Holmes but I am fine now. Although I come to you in grave need for consultation, I feel that it was relief rather then fear at this moment that held the words back from my tongue, relief that I'm finally sitting here with the one man who can help me.'

'Well, I assure you that I am not completely the cold, calculating man whom my companion here has so often described me as being. If there is anything in my power to do for you my dear, I shall.'

At the mention of these words the poor soul threw her head in her hands with a fit of tears. 'You have no idea how reassuring that is to hear. I feel as though a heavy burden has been lifted by taking you into my confidence. For a week now I have been tormented by my thoughts and by the strange events that has occurred, and so to know that now I am to share this with another, and one such as yourself, gives me a light at the end of an otherwise dark and endless tunnel.'

'Prey, in your own time, my lady, lay out the events as they unfolded. Leave no detail out no matter how trivial or unrelated. We shall then see to it that you receive some consulting as to the matter, and hopefully some help to resolve it. Now, in your own time.'

'I suppose to begin with I should explain my situation. I am not a married women and although there have been a number of prospect suitors, my heart will always belong to my first and one true love, a man called Thomas Stringer. He was an ambitious man with dreams of making his fortune with gold in America. We were engaged before he left, but he promised that when he returned he would give me the life I deserved, unfortunately though, his ship was one of many lost at sea that winter. I fell into a great depression and for a number of weeks I lay upon deaths door with a broken heart. When I came back to the world it was my father who nursed me back to health.

'My father, Joseph May, is like me, a broken hearted as my mother passed away when I was very young. It was he who raised me and who I live with at present. He is a banker for the Colts bank near Westminster and although we are not well of, we live a comfortable life together. He has always been the most loving father to me, raising me well and supporting my decision against taking another suitor. I feel as though deep down inside that big, caring heart of his he secretly hopes I shall never leave him, however I know that should my mind change, he would support me with the love he's always shown no matter what. This he's shown when I decided to take up a part time position at one of his banks branches as a typist where I work Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I digress though. The reason why I call upon you today is because of recent events which involve my father that have caused him to change in both manner and appearance. The strangest being his recent anger and annoyance with me.

'As I have said, it has been nearly a week since things began, last Monday to be precise. I had been let out of work earlier then usual that day and so thought I might surprise my father at home with something fresh from the bakery en-route. However, as I entered our street and approached our home it became apparent to me that there was a carriage waiting outside of the house. This was not unusual, but my father leads an orderly life which I am very much a part of, and to my knowledge he had said nothing of a visitor for that day. Curiously I entered and to my surprise in our sitting room I found my father talking over a large wooden box with the most queer looking fellow I have ever seen. He was a short and wiry man, hunched over with small, squinting eyes which sat behind thick glasses. Everything from his slick hair to his almost frog like appearance made me feel uneasy throughout, yet the most unsettling feeling came from his dominant manner. My father appeared to be submissive to this odd little man.

'Upon my entrance both seemed shocked and angry at my presence, and in an instance my father had slammed the box shut and locked it with a key from his watch chain. They both glared at me with the look of being caught in some disreputable act. My normally loving father even questioned me in such an accusing tone that I have never heard of before. I apologetically explained that I had finished early and planned to surprise him with his favourite baked treat. In a way that he's never treated me before he ushered me back out of the room, nearly pushing me off my feet, and with a slam of the door, shut me out. You can imagine how confused I was at such an event but seeing that I had angered my father so, I retired to my room for the remainder of the day.

'That evening however, we dined together as is our habit and in spite of the angry incident earlier on in the day, my father seemed to be back in his normal, loving mood. I had intended to leave the event from earlier in the day be, but my curiosity got the best of me and so I questioned him as to the wooden box which now sat atop fireplace, still locked and this mysterious visitor. He became greatly irritated by these innocent and harmless questions, telling me that it was none of my concern and that I'd do well to stay out of this affair. He then proceeded to storm off to his room. From that evening to yesterday morning I have lived in a strange state of limbo, both concerned for my father and any possible danger or trouble he may be in, while at the same time wanting to avoid angering him further with my inquiries.

'My limbo came to be broken yesterday morning by a telegram which he had left open upon the breakfast table. It read as follows:

Mr Joseph May. It may be best to conclude our business at my home less we have a repeat intrusion by your daughter. Bring the wooden box with you. MK

'I feared for my father and with only the best intentions I thought it best to attempt to see what was contained within this wooden box before it could possibly be too late. Therefore, last night I waited up until I heard father retire to his room. He is normally a heavy sleeper and so I knew that if I waited until the clock had gone midnight I would be safe to venture downstairs to the sitting room for a look, although without the key I did not have much hope that I would find anything at all. With great care I crept up to the box upon the mantel and slowly felt about it for any sign of weakness. It is a strong, heavy box of simple design, with small but thick hinges and a small brass key hole on the front. From what I could see, there was no way of opening it without said key. I had not the time to think further as at that moment light spilled into the room from the hall and standing, silhouetted in the doorway was the dominating figure of my father. So ripe with anger was he at my nocturnal investigations that he near pinned me against the wall with rage. He roared that I was to stay out of this business of his, and that if I was to pry, the only thing I would find is sorrow and heartbreak.

'In tears I retreated to my room, leaving him there with this cursed box. My mind was made at this point. That my father was in trouble and that I needed to seek your help sir. I therefore waited until he left this morning before coming straight over to see you. Please Mr Holmes, tell me you can help us.'

The lady relapsed back into tears briefly before composing herself with the grace of a true lady. Holmes meanwhile, who had sat patiently throughout the lady's narrative leant forward, gently touched the back of her delicate hand with his almost hypnotic calming manner, 'I will do everything I can for you. You may be right and there may be some threat to your father, but I strongly doubt this to be the case. I do require a few additional facts before continuing though.'

Miss May nodded. 'To begin with, may I inquire as to Mr may and his appearance. You say that not only his attitude towards yourself had changed, but his appearance also?'

'Yes, he is an older man anyway but within these last few nerve wrecking days it seems as though the life has been drawn from him. He has no colour to his weary face and besides these fits of anger, he seems to have no will to do anything at all. Saying that it seems likely that his change in appearance pre-dates this past weeks events, but I can only imagine that things have been weighing heavy on his mind longer then I have known about them.'

'Very singular indeed. Now, about this box. Is it of your house? Have you seen it before and if so, what is normally stored within?'

'I can't say that I've ever seen such a box within our home. If it was, then it has truly been kept a secret from me.'

'Finally this strange visitor. You say that you are unable to shed any light upon who he may be, other then the initials MK?'

'None at all. I can not lie and say I know all of my fathers acquaintances, but of the ones I do know, he is not among them.'

'Indeed. Very peculiar indeed. Well Miss May, what I suggest you do is return home and await the return of your father. Once he has returned do not continue with your questions but instead wire to me here. You have the means to do so?'

'Of course, but -' said the lady in a start, but was immediately interrupted by Holmes.

'Good! Once I hear from you, both myself and Watson will come straight to over.'

'But, but, what of my father? What of this box and of this strange man who seems to have control of him?'

'My dear, I would wager my own life and reputation against that of your father being in immediate trouble of any sort. If you do as I ask, you will soon have your answers. Until then.

With that our beautiful, and yet troubled client left. I rose to the window with the aim to oversee the lady down to the corner where by the road curves and she would move out of view, but to my surprise, by the time I reached the window and locked my sights on her pretty dress fluttering with her step, she had passed out of sight. I turned to Holmes and found him in one of his trance like states of thought which in my experience, I know better to disturb. Seating myself back down opposite him I took up the morning paper which was still fresh in the wake of our early guest. As I attempted to disconnect myself among the many stories of the day I was aware of Holmes muttering incoherently to himself.

'MK... MK... Sudden change in appearance and temper... Bring the box... MK...'