Sherlock Holmes

and the adventure of

The Conjurers Trick

Part 1

Upon looking back over my years at Baker Street I am faced with a plethora of bizarre and quite often, exceptionally unique cases in which I have had the honour of assisting my dear friend Sherlock Holmes. So large is the number, that it has taken the course of many years to curate my notes and extract the most noteworthy for publication. Many of these cases have of course made the daily papers, even gracing headlines of the more prestigious news outlets, while as always rarely giving any mention to the indomitable detective who had made such a difference to the outcome. Naturally with journalists however, in the attempt to fit such finer detail into often so fewer allocated columns, the true character of said cases are lost. One such case which immediately springs to my mind is that of the conjurer's trick, in which the facts that led to the unforgettable arrest were somewhat over shadowed by the final, extraordinary outcome of the case. Now that such time has passed, I feel as though the facts are about ready to pass into the public domain.

During late August of 87', I was en-route back to our humble lodgings at Baker Street after returning from a short sabbatical of some two weeks, where by I had attended a series of lectures at the university of Edinburgh. These talks had been regarding the treatment of tuberculosis based upon the acclaimed research of the British born, German professor, Robert Koch. Although I had missed the company of my companion and his exhilarating profession during my time away, I had rather enjoyed the change in climate which came with the trip. Trading the sprawling and endless metropolis of London for that of the Scottish capital came as a refreshing change for me as I've never much enjoyed the warmer months in our home town. Edinburgh with its location much further north offered an invigorating and refreshing break from the stuffy cauldron of London in the summer time. That summer particularly had been much hotter then previous years which seemed to only be amplified among the close and humid streets of London. The smoke hung low over the tops of the buildings and seemed to cause the air to thicken and hang heavy, as though it clung to the inside of ones chest.

It was late morning by the time the hansom bringing me from King's Cross arrived at Baker Street and upon stepping out of the carriage onto the bustling footpath which lay before our rooms, I happened to glance up to observe Sherlock Holmes through the windows, pacing back and forth across the sitting room like that of a sentry on guard. Given my familiarity with his habits I immediately jumped to the conclusion that some important matter must be weighing heavy upon his mind, this of course being a case of great complexity. As I have become somewhat of Holmes's unofficial biographer, and never wanting to miss any detail, I quickly settled my fair with the driver before hurrying myself inside. Upon entering I found my friend just as I had observed him from the street, marching from one side of the room to the other, head sunk on his chest, hands clasped tight behind his back. His brow was drawn thickly down in a harsh look of contemplation while his eyes were fixed in a sharp, cold and yet vacant stare, as was his manner when working through a problem. It became apparent to me that my absence had not caused my friend to ease from his work as I noted numerous books sprawled out across the sofa, opened to what appeared to be random pages relating to trinkets and jewels, along with a pile of balled up news papers in the corner. His pipe also sat upon the fireplace next to his Persian slipper half empty of tobacco, while his violin lent against his chair. All of these observations were signs pointing to my friends habits during an investigation. It then occurred to me that so deep in thought was my friend, that at first he seemed oblivious to my presence and it was only after addressing him that he broke from this self induced, trance like state.

'Putting the finishing touches to a case are we?' I asked, removing my hat and comfortably settling myself down into an armchair.

'No my dear Watson. Starting a fresh.' He replied with the excitement he could only receive from his profession. 'I understand your confusion given the sorry state you have arrived back to find our rooms in. During your absence I have been lending my expertise to a case of forgery in Greenwich. The recently married Lord Whitley had not long ago purchased an exquisitely beautiful diamond necklace for his newly acquired bride. To his misfortune however, it had turned out to be an exceptionally well crafted forgery. The case was some what stimulating at the beginning albeit, rather transparent once one had acquired all the essential details. It turned out that his Lordship had been taken in by the two Ferguson brothers of South Africa who have been making their way across the continent, posing at jewellers of a prosperous gold mine back in their homeland. I recalled numerous reports of such forgeries in the news papers over the past year which all bore their fingerprints, so upon attaining a description of these two men and the forgery in question, I was quick to identify who they were from Lord Whitley's statement. With the help of Lestrade we were able to located the brothers and arrested them just last night. No doubt they will face harsh punishment for causing such a stir among the hierarchy of England and of Europe. It was only in the small hours in which which I returned and had barely awoken this morning before receiving this letter.'

As he spoke, he gestured to his revolver upon the table - no doubt left there after the nocturnal activities of previous night - beneath this bizarre paperweight lay an open envelope. I lent forward, picking up the letter with great intrigue. The envelope was of a beautiful paper stock, lightly tinted and with an elegantly smooth texture. I half expected it to be that of a ladies but upon removing the message and flattening it out against my knee I was surprised to read the name Eugene S. Andrews. There were only a few lines of text, but for what they were, someone had clearly meant to impress by them. The hand writing was ever so graceful and written with extreme care taken to each word. Finally, it culminated with the most detailed and elaborate signature.

'Prey Watson, do read aloud.' Requested Holmes. 'It is always a good thing to refresh oneself with the details, especially through the words of another.'

'Dear Mr Sherlock Holmes,' it began, 'It is with urgent need in which I seek your council as I fear I have fallen victim to a heinous crime. I much prefer however to divulge the details to you in person. My livelihood is based on the strictest secrecy and so I would never trust the details to the easily lost form of a letter, and even less to a telegram. This is also why I have forgone reporting my case to the official authorities and instead seek your assistance in this matter. If it is agreeable with you, I shall call at midday today, at which point we may discuss the particulars further. Yours faithfully, Eugene S. Andrews.'

'No rest for the wicked, aye Watson.' Said Holmes with a chuckle, 'And this case certainly seems as though it will be a lot more stimulating then that of a forgery.'

'It is definitely a cryptic letter,' I replied, 'but how on earth can you deduce that it will be all that stimulating from only a few short lines?'

'Why, by studying what we already know of the author. Tell me Watson, what can you deduce from the letter?'

'Well, the most obvious fact is that the author is a man and whom ever this man is, he is very much the showman given his extravagant style, that much is for certain. His style of writing makes mine look like that of a commoner in comparison. He also appears to be fairly well to do considering the stationery used. It costs a pretty penny for paper stock like this and so only a person with money to spare would offer themselves such luxuries. Beyond that, I am at a loss.'

'Come Watson, surely you know my methods well enough to take your examination further." Said my companion with an ever so slight grinning in condescension. "It is true that this is both a man of education and of money, but we can go further and safely infer that he is a performer of a theatrical nature. This can be read in his flamboyant style of writing, as even when under the weight of his current situation, he takes care in his presentation. Seldom is the case when a gregarious man such as an actor, does not carry that character through into all aspects of his life. The overly imposing way in which he signs his name can only confirm what I have said as most typical gentlemen would show more reserve. This theory of our mystery acquaintance being a performer is further justified in the words which he chooses. He speaks of his livelihood being based on that of the strictest secrecy, and that he is unwilling to take matters to the police. This directs us to several professions. It could be that he is an agent of the state, seeking my assistant on a political or national security matter. This seems unlikely however as it is very rare that such secrets are trusted to a member of the public, even one such as myself. No, no, the powers at be like to keep the skeletons tightly locked away as best they can. Another idea is that our gentleman himself is involved in some kind of criminal vice. I won't entertain this theory however as it seems highly improbable that someone of that nature would seek my assistants given my association with the police. The most probably hypothesis therefore is that this man is that of a conjurer. Such a man undoubtedly has a certain theatrical flare which matches our inspection of the writing, and also fits well with his desire not to involve the loose lipped officers of Scotland Yard. It is simplicity itself my friend.'

'Astonishing,' I ejaculated, 'Absolutely astonishing. As is always the case, once you've explained your train of thought, the conclusion is so obvious that it's hard to see how I didn't come up with it myself.'

'Well Watson,' continued Holmes, taking up his pipe and lighting a match, 'in the spirit of theatricality and our mystery conjurer, let me take my theory into the realms of the fortune teller. This gentleman is a tall fellow of light build. He is of a fair complexion with tidy, dark, combed back hair. His face is long and somewhat eagle like in its features, with sharp and observant eyes. Of course such a man bears a moustache, finely trimmed and as black as the top hat which sits atop his head. His attire was minimalist and elegant, slightly more formal then the every day. Walking, he uses an ornate, ebony cane, and I can also say that he prefers cigarettes rather then a pipe.

I sat back in my chair with a start. 'How on earth! To come to the conclusion that he is a performer from the letter is one thing, but surely Holmes you can't expect me to believe you deduced all of that also. The cane. The cigarettes. Him moustache. This can only be speculation, no more then guess work - ' at that moment my words were cut short by a sharp tug at the bell, followed by three loud authoritative knocks at the door. Holmes looked at me with a mischievous grin and chuckled quietly to himself.

'If I'm not mistaken, I believe that the clock has just struck midday.'