The Singular Case of Raffles

by ThisBookBelongsTo

When Conan Doyle was writing Holmes, the public desperately wanted him to collaborate with Hornung to pit the amateur cracksman against the consulting detective. Both men refused... Here's my take on how an encounter between the two might have panned out.

The Adventures Of Sherlock Holmes

The adventures of Sherlock Holmes: The singular Case of raffles

It had been many weeks since I had called on my old friend, Sherlock Holmes, and I felt an overwhelming urge to see him again. So it was that after closing up practice one grey afternoon, I summoned a hansom cab and bade the driver to take me across town, to 221B Baker Street.

When we arrived, I noticed Holmes's unmistakeable, gaunt figure pacing back and forth across the lighted window in the apartment we had once shared. I took the stairs two at a time and so arrived breathless at the door, which stood ajar as though someone had left it in a hurry. Peering inside, I saw my friend marching up and down the room in an agitated state, surrounded by scraps of paper and muttering furiously to himself. He looked up at the sound of my arrival and gestured that I enter, a smile breaking out across his otherwise anxious-looking face.

"Sit, Watson, sit! I am working on a particularly perplexing case at the moment, and I would value your opinion on the matter, as always." I sat as bidden, accepting the glass of whisky he had decanted for me. "I would be glad to be of some service, Holmes," I replied. "What is this terribly complex puzzle you would have me look at?" I had no doubt that there was no observation I could possibly make that he had not already noted a thousand times, but I was happy to be a part of one of his fascinating cases, nonetheless.

"It is not at all complex at first glance, but upon deeper inspection this may well be the most difficult case I have ever had brought before me. Here are the facts: Last Friday, an exceedingly valuable case of silver tableware was liberated from it's owner's home in Kensington, at some time after eleven in the evening but before it was checked upon, as per routine, at six o'clock the next morning. The thief left no incriminating evidence, the police say, and the site of the crime has been too far tampered with for even me to glean anything from it. So here I am left, with on the one hand an owner, anxious to regain their inheritance, and on the other the risk of serious discredit falling upon the police should I fail in my task, all overshadowed by a complete lack of means to continue. What, Watson, is a man to do in such a situation?" I confessed that I did not know myself what the proper course of action was, but my friend looked more withdrawn and unhappy than I had ever seen him, so I added soothingly: "I remain, whatever the odds, convinced of your ability to solve this, even if your own faith in yourself is diminished by this temporary setback. Of all the cases we have shared, never have I known you to be stopped in your way to resolving every problem."

Holmes seemed reassured by my conviction, and he said as much: "Doctor, you know that your faith means a great deal to me, and I thank you for it. You have much encouraged me, though I still see no way out." He smiled at me, and I grinned in return, gratified to hear that our friendship remained strong as ever. Of course, I felt the same way in reciprocate.

I left the apartment in the small hours of the morning, with a promise to return early, forsaking my practice for the day. For my own part, I would much rather uncover a case with Sherlock Holmes than pay house-calls any time of the day. When I arrived home, Mary just shook her head in resignation as I explained where I had been, and brought me a cup of tea to bed, as helpful and lovely as ever. I honestly do not know how she put up with my escapades with Holmes- in her place I fear I would have been driven mad.

Upon entering 221B the next morning, I found Holmes at breakfast, with a second place set with a steaming cup of Earl Grey and a plate of eggs and toast, still hot. "How on earth did you know I would be here in time to enjoy these?" I asked Holmes, and he smiled up at me from behind his newspaper. "Simple. It is Tuesday, so the traffic had no cause to be sluggish or heavy, and there has been no report of any accident to increase congestion on the city's roadways. Also, when you promise to be early, you invariably are, hence I have risen before my usual time to be awake to greet you. There are a few other minor facts, but those are the key ones. It is simple, really." As always, I was astounded by how plain it sounded, his art of deduction, but I knew that it was really nothing of the sort, having on more than one occasion fallen short at it myself.

"Well, I must say that I'm impressed. How is the case progressing?" I asked eagerly as I wolfed down the breakfast most unceremoniously; there were no boundaries of etiquette between my friend and I. Holmes frowned. "Hum. Well, there has been some small progress made, though we have very far yet to go. The Baker Street Irregulars have, by their own methods of enquiry, discovered, and duly reported, the recent presence of a stooping, aged beggar outside the mansion belonging to the Lady Oakham, from whom the fortune in cutlery was taken. He was seen there on every night for a week and a half before the theft, and never since. He wore, I am told, a large and shapeless brown coat, all patches, and a greying top hat with a distinctive bird's-egg blue hatband. He wore a slight beard, but no moustache. One of the urchins followed him home on the seventh day, but was unable to track him through the slums."

I opened my mouth to speak, but Holmes waved a hand and continued. "The second point brought in by the same source is that a wealthy gentleman, whose identity is unknown, rents a series of properties in the same area our man was lost sight of in, but has never been known to either occupy or rent them out." Holmes appeared to be done speaking, so I remarked, "So, what does he have them for? Perhaps he and this man of ill fortune are in collaboration- the rich man takes the bulk of profit from their crimes, paying his observer a commission?"

"It is possible," agreed Holmes, "and we shall certainly have to investigate the matter further. You will have to excuse me now however- I must assume another role for this stage of the investigation." He left me alone while he went to change into the costume of one of his numerous aliases. I noted to myself with some satisfaction his automatic assumption that I would be a part of his investigation- not for a moment did he think that I would let him down. I smiled contentedly as I reflected how this man, originally distant and strange-seeming, had grown to become my closest friend. Holmes emerged from his bedroom at this point, and looked enquiringly at my broad smile. "Did I miss some great amusement in my absence?" he asked, and as I looked up to reply I was staggered to see not my well-kept friend there before me but a dishevelled and unkempt man, whose slovenly manner and general demeanour would have instantly placed him as a beggar or tramp, had I not known it was my friend beneath the disguise. "Nothing much," I replied to his question. "I was just musing, as one is sometimes taken to do. I was happy in my observations, is all." He looked intrigued, so I continued awkwardly. "You see, I had merely noticed how readily you accepted my partaking in your case- it pleased me."

"Oh? I had not realised I had made such a presumption," my friend commented, thinking deeply. "I suppose I did. Well, I am glad you feel that way Watson. To my end, I am more than happy to have you on side for the case- indeed, I would have no-one else, even given the choice of any man." He looked at me hesitantly for a moment, as though expecting reprimand or disagreement from me, but when none came he smiled slightly to himself and suddenly resumed his role as the unfortunate beggar man, leaving the flat with promises to return later in the day with hard evidence, and that I was welcome to stay but was to feel no obligation. I did stay, preferring the fuggy apartment of obscurities to my own clinical, formal place of work that was the alternative. I made use of the time to update my case files and continue in the ceaseless work of writing up our more singular adventures, but I was well finished for the day long before Holmes returned.

I must have drifted asleep, for when I opened my eyes next it was dull in the room, though I thought I perceived Holmes's bent figure working across the room, by dim candle light. I stirred sleepily, and my friend looked over from his papers, pen midway to the inkwell. "Ah, Watson. I took the liberty of informing your wife that you would be spending the night here- that was alright, I suppose? Good." I nodded, then shook my head to clear the sluggish thoughts of sleep from my brain. "Now then, I am sure the next question on your lips is an enquiry into my progress today. I am sorry, by the way, that you could not accompany me, but I was forced to travel in character, making companionship impossible. The beggar known as Arthur Barclay, the chap I left as earlier, always works alone, though he is a social man in other aspects. An excellent character for acquiring information without being expected to in return expose fictitious facts about oneself." He put down his pen and turned his basket chair to face where I still sat. "I have discovered, in short, that the wealthy man who owns the houses in the slums is none other than city gent and man about town Raffles, a respectable gentleman who is rather free with his money and an optimistic investor. That may explain his purchase of the run-down properties. As to the tramp, he has been seen upon occasion all across town, although despite his frequent appearance, depressingly little is known about him, save that he has no fixed name, and he rarely takes much in plying his trade. I have followed this Raffles all day, being unable to find the beggar, and have discovered that he enjoys a glass of French sparkling wine, he is not married or engaged to be, he is friends with everyone in the important and influential circles, he is generous and kind, friendly, and overall the model citizen."

"Not exactly incriminating evidence, then," I observed.

"No," replied Holmes. "It seems that he is an innocent man, merely associated falsely in this crime. I cannot shake the feeling that he is involved, though, somehow… But, no. If we are to get to the root of this case, we must find the beggar."

We sat up until late that night talking over each point again and again, but nothing more came of our discussions, and I eventually retired to bed, though by the look of him, Holmes intended to sit out the night and contemplate. When I fell asleep, he was resting, cross-legged, in the basket chair by the empty fireplace, his characteristic black pipe gently smoking away.

We spent the next day trawling the city, exploring in detail every nook, every alleyway, but to no avail. We both began to despair that we would ever turn up a lead, when a hoarse voice by my ear startled me. "I hear, sirs, that you have been seeking my presence? Penny for the poor beggar man, gents?" We turned to see a hunched elderly man leaning against a shadowy doorway, clothed in the brown coat and top hat that Holmes had described so clearly to me. I was about to speak when Holmes's voice came, strong and commanding: "Indeed, you've been a real challenge to us. Quite the slippery character! I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is my close friend Doctor John Watson. May we ask you some questions? You are a most intriguing man, I must say!" I noticed his forced tone of joviality, and affect a similar demeanour myself as the man agreed to speak with us. He invited us to come with him to his home, where we could speak in privacy.

We wove our way through a truly confusing network of streets and tracks, until I was entirely without bearings, although my friend was walking beside me muttering street names to himself, and occasionally noting a shop or feature to himself, no doubt working towards his aim to know every inch of the city in which we live. His almost encyclopaedic knowledge of London had often saved our skins in many a difficult situation, and I confess I remain in awe of his memory for the thing. We eventually arrived at a derelict-looking set of rooms, to which the man produced a large key, letting us inside.

Looking across at Holmes, I saw that he was wearing the carefully bland expression he reserved for times when his ingenious mind was working hard, and he wanted to be sure that our host was unaware of such. I caught his eye, but he just shook his head slightly. Ah well, my curiosity would keep for later. In the meantime, I looked around the shabby room, trying to deduce from it the habits of the occupant, à la Holmes. My friend noticed my prying gaze and smiled in response, undoubtedly amused by my amateur efforts.

"What may we call you, sir?" I asked the elderly gentleman as he set to lighting a fire in the dusty grate. I noticed that the wood was fresh, despite the overall appearance of dereliction about the place. So, someone came here frequently, or at least had been recently. Of course, he said it was his home, but surely a place so fraught with dust and darkness couldn't be anyone's place of residence? "Call me… James. James Jackson," replied the man, after a moment's pause. I frowned at this unlikely answer, but remained silent at a look from Holmes. "Well, Mr. Jackson, we just wanted to ask you a couple of simple questions regarding the recent theft at the Oakham Mansion." Holmes spoke soothingly, but his voice had an undertone of determination.

Our host looked startled at the blunt statement, and half-rose from his seat before reconsidering and setting himself back down, although he looked uncomfortable now. "I am afraid, gentlemen, that your search for me has been in vain. Although it is true that the front of the mansion has been my… place of work for the past week or so, I know nothing of the recent theft." He spoke firmly, but his voice shook, and I noticed that it sounded somehow different to before.

"Peace, dear sir," replied Holmes. "I did not mean to sound so harsh. I merely thought, falsely as it transpires, that seeing as you had been seen around there, you may have known something of the event." He lowered his voice slightly, to a conspiratorial tone, and continued. "You know, this whole thing has the police quite baffled? Well, they were stumped so far as to call me in to investigate, and even I am quite lost for clues- a rare occurrence, I assure you sir. My friend here will surely back my statement up as more than mere bragging." I nodded vigorously, sure that Holmes needed me to play a part and not interfere. If he was on some trail, then the last thing I wanted was to obscure it.

The man opposite us seemed to relax at this last, and he spoke more confidently. "So, you're not police? I assumed, you see, with the manner of authority and the subject of questioning… I've noticed someone following me these past days, and I was concerned that the police had come to some false conclusion when you turned up, as to my involvement in the crime. It's true, the whole thing was very cleverly done, though. Very nicely carried off." He was beginning to sound a little smug, and he must have noticed this, for he added hurriedly: "Not, of course, that I know any more of it than you gentlemen do- in fact, I'm sure you are far better informed than one whose only source is a discarded news sheet."

"Indeed, sir. But as our trail has turned cold, I beg that you accept our apologies for intruding upon your time, and that we may take our leave. Again, I am very sorry to have troubled you." Holmes rose from his seat to leave, and taking his cue I too prepared to go, and soon we were out in the streets, I following my friend as he infallibly retraced our steps until we were back in the more reputable parts of London, where I knew my way better.

We caught a cab the rest of the way back to Baker Street, and once in the flat Holmes began speaking excitedly. "He was aware of the crime, I'm sure of it! Did you notice how he panicked at first when I mentioned the purpose of our visit? Almost certainly, he was an accomplice. But there was something more- when I revealed that we were not with the police- he relaxed noticeably, and he became somewhat overconfident. His downfall, I'm afraid. The boastful tone he assumed when I planted the bait of the crime having baffled the authorities- only one responsible for the crime would have taken pride in it having been so successful. Yes, our friend back there is in for a surprise tomorrow. "Watson," he turned to address me directly, and ceased his frenzied pacing, "please send a message to Scotland Yard with the address of the house we visited. I have it here on this note card, see? Now then, what do you notice about the address of the house we visited?" Holmes seemed about to burst with satisfaction, but I admit that I hadn't the faintest clue what he had discovered that had passed me by.

"I haven't the slightest idea, I'm afraid, Holmes," I said. "Sorry to disappoint, but we can't all have your comprehensive knowledge of London's every street; indeed, of every house!" Holmes chuckled at my exclamation, and explained himself.

"You see, this house is in the slum, which our gentleman was espied disappearing into last week, by one of the Irregulars, you recall my telling you of it? Well, I made some enquiries into the matter, and the outcome is that the property we were visitors to today is just one of those owned by the wealthy gentleman, Raffles, who I discovered had been buying up cheap properties in that very same slum, for no obvious reason!" He seemed fairly agitated now, and I began to worry that he would have some kind of heart failure if he continued in this manner. "That is why he has been buying the houses, Watson! To cover this beggar, when he associated with him in crime! Perhaps he is in league with a great many men, all of whom use these, these safe houses! Perhaps he has been behind other unsolved mysteries, other unresolved crimes!" He stopped, quite red in the face. His entire manner was completely apart from his usual, composed state, instead being excited and animated, gesturing expressively to enforce his points.

I began to see the web of connections untangle as Holmes explained to me, but there was still something that was bothering me. "Holmes," I began, unsure whether my point was important now that the problem was as good as solved, "When we were speaking with the man, back at that house, I noticed something peculiar about his voice."

"Hmm?" Holmes looked straight at me, his full attention focused on what I was saying. It was rather disconcerting, actually.

"Well, when you mentioned the crime to begin with- I fancy he thought we were there to arrest him or some such thing- his voice changed. It lost its hoarse, dry sound, became clearer. It took on a slightly altered tone, too. I only noticed because I was considering what might be causing his vocal distress. I suppose that being a doctor never really leaves you, even out of practise…" I trailed off at the look on my friend's face. His eyes were wide, and he was wearing an expression of utter surprise, as though he had just realised something very shocking.

"'Pon my word, Watson! I do believe… No- but, what else? Of course it is! Watson," and here he fixed me once more with that unnerving gaze, but this time it was accompanied by a look of what I took to be admiration, much to my surprise. "Why, Watson, I do believe that you have solved it! In the morning, we must pay a visit to one Mr. Raffles, I think. Now, get some rest. You look exhausted." I gladly complied, being tired out from our day's exertions, but I could hardly sleep for thinking over Holmes's final exclamation- what had he meant? It had been he who had solved this, surely, not I?

The morning came, and we hurriedly made our way to the home of Mr. Raffles, a large, modern town house in the centre of London. We were granted an audience with the man himself, and were shown up to his rooms. He stood with his back to the door, outlined in the grand window, but upon hearing our arrival he turned to face us, his face open and welcoming. "A delightful morning in our fair city, is it not gentlemen?" He greeted us warmly, offering us drinks of our choice.

"Let us get down to the purpose of this visit," said my friend, and I was surprised to detect an edge of ice in his voice. "We are here on behalf of the London Police Force, to detain you for arrest, for the execution of the theft of valuable property belonging rightfully to Lady Oakham, from her mansion." The man seemed astonished, then he laughed, though it sounded forced.

"What an absurd suggestion- why should you think that it was me? What motive have I, after all? See sense, man!" He was shaken, I could see, by Holmes's assured accusation, and there was no wonder!

"Holmes," I began, "are you quite sure-" But I was cut short by Holmes, who raised a hand to stop me, before speaking out: "Sir, I know you are guilty of at least this crime. I know, in theory, how you carried it out, and I am quite certain of my reasoning in both respects. Right now, your best form of defence is to tell us the absolute truth, with no detail kept back. I have policemen stationed at every door to your charming home here, and all that remains is for you to clear up a few points, purely for my own interest, before they take you into custody." The man seemed to deflate, and he slumped into a high-backed chair by the wall, and with an unsteady hand lit a cigar before responding to Holmes's calm, self-assured statement.

"What you must understand is that it is like a drug, only unlike any I've experienced. The thrill, the exhilaration of a successful crime, it is more addictive than anything." His voice was hoarse from the shock, and he cleared his throat before continuing. I realised, with a start, that I recognised his voice, though I was not aware of having met the man before. I looked questioningly to Holmes to confirm my startling realisation, and he nodded approvingly, smiling at my deduction. The man, Raffles, continued, drawing my attention back to his dressing-gown clad frame.

"You see, at first, I meant it only to be once, to pay for a gambling debt that I could not afford to pay. But then there was something else, that I could not quite afford either, and then some other small thing, and then another still, and I found my mind contemplating the relative ease of how crime had, before, brought me the appropriate funds. And it was so much quicker, and less work than if I had earned the money by conventional means. So it was that I began resorting to theft to buy the most menial things, remaining a perfect gentleman by day but by night a criminal, carrying off ever more challenging thefts. Now, finally, I have met my match, I see. I have reached the limit of my talents."

"I should be much obliged to you if you would be so good as to allow me to check my little theory as to how you did the thing? I thank you, sir," said Holmes, as the man nodded, his face the very picture of resignation. "Please correct me if I am mistaken. Now, I shall keep it brief, as I am sure that the officers downstairs are eager to be credited with your arrest. I believe that you first secured yourself and invitation to visit the recently widowed Lady Oakham- not a difficult task for such a gentleman as yourself, I am sure. You then surveyed the mansion for a number of days, under the guise of an elderly beggar- one James Jackson. In this manner, you learned the habits of the lady of the house, and more importantly you discovered how secure the valuable items were- checked only once a day, in the early morning, I expect that they seemed almost too simple a target for one of your ambitions. You went, as per arrangement, to visit the Lady Oakham, and persuaded her through some means that it would be best for all concerned if you spent the night at her home. That is the first point upon which I am unclear. How did you persuade her Ladyship to allow you to stay? I hear she is rather the reluctant host."

Raffles laughed humourlessly before replying: "It was far too easy, really. I merely acted the part of the visitor having made quite too merry, and she was very willing to have me stay over, rather than risk anyone seeing a drunkard leaving her home shortly after midnight- it would not have looked well, you understand. Of course, I was not really intoxicated." Holmes nodded thoughtfully, digesting this new piece of trivia upon which he thrived.

"Then," said Holmes, continuing his narration of events, "you removed the cutlery from its combination safe- too simple to break into, by far, in my professional opinion. Not really a proper form of security, when one considers how often they are forced open. But I digress from the topic, of your skilled- but no less illegal- removal of Lady Oakham's property, from right beneath her nose, as it were. You then proceeded to remove the box of silver effectively from the house, throwing it from the window to the room in which you stayed. There was a clear imprint left in the flowerbeds below, had the police cared to look for it," he added. "Then, you waited until the alarm was sounded for the missing valuables, and amid the ensuing bustle, you emerged from your room, apparently having been just awoken by the noise. You learned of the distressing situation from her Ladyship, behaving, I presume, in a much more sober and civil manner, and escaped the house, under the pretence that you would slow proceedings and merely be in the way of the investigation. We have already seen, when you were disguised most convincingly as James Jackson, the beggar, that you can act quite admirably. It must have been child's play for you, to convince the flustered Lady Oakham of your innocent and well-meaning intentions. Then, you simply collected the box of cutlery from the garden outside the house in secret, or else you had a collaborator do so on your behalf, with the intention of fencing the silver in a number of weeks, when the interest in the case had reduced enough so as to avoid suspicion falling upon your possession of the rather... distinctive items. I am correct, on the whole?"

The poor man looked astounded. "How-" he began, then stopped, shaking his head in disbelief. "I don't know how you knew all that, my man, for you are correct indeed, to the finest detail." My friend looked well satisfied, but he had one more question left. "I am aware, even as I ask, that you are unlikely to answer my next question, but I nevertheless feel bound to ask: did you work alone, or with an accomplice? And, if the latter, what is their identity?"

Raffles laughed, a genuine enough expression this time, saying "I am sorry, but it goes against every principle, even those of a criminal, to betray another man in his own downfall."

"I thought to hear as much," remarked Holmes genially. "Watson, would you be kind enough to fetch up an officer from downstairs? You will find a veritable horde of them in the hallway- everyone wants to be a part of this particular arrest. You, sir, are quite the man of the hour!"

And so it was that the case of the almost peerless criminal- save by the intellect and insight of my closest friend- was concluded. I remain convinced, however, that we have not seen the end of him; Raffles was a man whose energy and determination knew no boundaries, and I am sure that his enthusiasm would take more than a period of imprisonment, no matter how long, to quell it. And when he does return to the criminal scene, we will be ready for him, Holmes and I. Ready and waiting.

7