The Adventure of the Bearded Man

A Sherlock Holmes Story

I had just finished plastering a cast onto the leg of a little one who had taken a tumble from a tree some eleven days later. I ushered the lad and his grateful mother out of my office and choose to take advantage of a few moments with no patients to settle in to my paperwork. It was not to be.

Holmes barged into my office with a crash of widely opened door, stalked to the chair opposite my desk, and seated himself with a flourish. My agitated receptionist was just steps behind him. "I am sorry, Doctor Watson! I tried to tell this gentleman that I would call him in but he refused to wait!"

I smiled disarmingly at the woman. "All is well, Mrs. Lomas. Mr. Holmes has his reasons for his rudeness, I'm sure. Would you be so kind as to close the door behind you? Thank you."

If Holmes was at all aware of the effect he had had on my receptionist, he showed no sign of it. Instead he leaned forward on his seat, placing elbows on my desk and looking me directly in the eyes. He was obviously excited as only he could be when on the scent of interesting clues. "Cornwall, Watson."

I must admit, when he did things like this I felt as though I had been absent for the better part of a conversation I was unaware had transpired. "Cornwall?"

"Yes Cornwall. That is where we will be headed tomorrow. I have a chalet already in order."

I would trade nothing for helping Holmes on his cases, for I have had no greater excitement or purpose in my life than to help that man in my own humble way to see justice done. However, there were times I did wish he would remember that I for one had a wife and a practice to consider when making such plans. And, for Cornwall?

"You have most peculiar timing for deciding to take a holiday, Holmes."

I earned a scowl from my companion for this comment. "Surely I would not conspire to torture myself with something so mundane as a holiday of my own accord, Watson. The case leads us to Cornwall."

"Ah, then our Garment Grabber has taken holiday to Cornwall?"

"I would say it is not holiday which has taken him to the west, but our explorations of the area will be sure to turn something up on the matter."

This was how I found myself calling upon my neighbor Dr. Ansuther to beg his generosity in tending to my patients for a week or two and going home to plead my case and beg the kindness of my wife in allowing said absence. Both were, I am eternally grateful to say, amenable despite the abruptness of the plans. Such was the life of being Holmes's companion.

Seated on the train, Holmes began dolling out a few of the details to me. "You will recall, Watson, that Mrs. Scaffold's undergarments were made of silk. This is true of all of the more notable undergarment thefts. It is also well to know that all of the undergarments stolen, both those reported to the papers and those my researches have turned up, belonged to very large women."

"Holmes," I chided, "what an unfortunate detail to consider relevant!"

Holmes raised an elegant dark eyebrow in my direction. "But relevant it is. Consider it, Doctor. The larger the house the more paint required to cover it. The same is true of silk undergarments and portly women."

"Are you saying they took the garments for the sake of the silk and not the, well, the more obvious nature of such a theft? Then why not take silk dresses, or sheets?"

A tiny smile briefly touched Holmes's somber lips. "They have been taking silk sheets. As you well know with the romantic drivel you sell, sensationalism is more interesting than bare facts to the public. The papers have not been reporting any more than the undergarments because those are the most perverse. As for the dresses, there have been two wedding dresses taken. You see, all the silk garments and cloth taken have one striking thing in common."

I surprised myself by making a fairly fast connection between wedding dresses, Mr. Scaffold's description of his mother's undergarments, and the usual description of bed sheets. "All of the silk that has been stolen is white?"

"You are on your game this morning, my dear chap! That is exactly so. White silk sells for higher profit in the right markets because it is yet able to take on any shade of dye."

Understanding filled my mind and I exclaimed, "Then we are not dealing with a Garment Grabber so much a a silk smuggler?"

"Indeed," Holmes agreed, lighting a match to a cigarette despite the no smoking sign on the train compartment window, "Though I feel it would be more accurate to say we are dealing with a silk smuggling ring. Have you your revolver? This group may prove to be dangerous."

I patted my jacket pocket. "I have it here. I would hardly leave for such an excursion with you without it. I don't understand what would bring such a ring to Cornwall, however."

Holmes barked a laugh. "Where would you suggest hiding a smuggling ring then, friend Watson? The middle of London? No. Where better to hide such a criminal organization than in a place where no one will look. And certainly none at Scotland Yard would look at Cornwall."

As for how Holmes himself came to this conclusion, he was silent on the details. In fact, he was silent for the rest of the trip. Resigned to keeping my own company, I turned on my seat and stretched my stiff leg out in hopes of catching a nap before we arrived.

To Be Continued