The Revised Case of the Sussex Vampire
46, Old Jewery
Nov.19th
Re vampires
Sir:
Our client, Mr. Clement Briggs esq. of Trevor square has made some
inquiry from us in a communication of even date concerning vampires.
As our firm specializes entirely upon the assessment of machinery, the
matter hardly comes within our purview, and we have therefore
recommended Mr. Briggs to call upon you and lay the matter before you.
We are, sir,
Faithfully yours,
Morrison, Morrison, and Dodd
E.J.C
'This is your proof?' Gunn said, tossing the above epistle on to Angel's desk, with a dismissive gesture.
'Hey! Careful with that!' said Spike 'that paper is fragile. is more than a hundred years old!'
'If what you assert is correct, it should be in an acid-free mount in some library with proper photo-screening aids' said Wesley 'not folded and kept in a carton of --Inecto?' This incredulously, as he read the small print on the aged packaging.
'Oy! Careful! That's an important relic in the history of hair dyeing!'
'Oh, I know a far older one' said Wesley, looking pointedly at Spike's aggressively blond hair.
'Why'd you keep that?' asked Spike suddenly, turning on Angel who had a curious squirming expression on his face.
Angel looked even more embarrassed 'Well, after Alexandria, you and Dru left for Warsaw and I collected all your debris.to bargain with' he said hurriedly as everyone in the room turned to stare at him. 'I know you can be foolishly sentimental.'
'What? Killing and turning Sid Vicious was not sentiment. It was pure logic mate. Or would you have me turn all Lestaty and singing me own tunes! Bet you fancy yourself as some dark and broody rock star, but I don't.'
'I was not referring to the Sid Vicious incident.'began Angel patiently. Here he was interrupted by Doylewho asked Spike'Did you by any chance do anything to Bowie?'
'That was Dru' said Spike, 'wanted Ziggy.' But he was still looking at Angel, who was toying with the penholder, not meeting his eyes.
' Lets leave aside your parental issues and complexes and lets look at this .you're saying Sherlock Holmes was real and you met him and this letter refers to that meeting? Were you by any chance Mr. Clement Briggs esq.? Gunn asked, settling into a chair opposite Angel
'I don't remember reading about proper vampires in Sherlock Holmes ..Not that I read of any improper vampires..coz had you been written about Spike, it would have been most improper.I mean as a result of some improper deed. Not that the writing would have been improper.' Fred trailed off, as everyone turned to look at her in exasperation.
'As I recall in the end there was no vampire in the Case of the Sussex vampire.' said Wesley who had time to go up to the research wing and get a copy of the Case Book of Sherlock Holmes.
'And as I see the opening letter published is different as well.'he presented the open page for all to see.
Re vampires
Sir:
Our client, Mr. Robert Ferguson of Ferguson and Muirhead, tea brokers
of Mincing Lane has made some inquiry from us in a communication of
even date concerning vampires. as our firm specializes entirely upon
the assessment of machinery, the matter hardly comes within our
purview, and we have therefore recommended Mr. Ferguson to call upon
you and lay the matter before you. We have not forgotten your
successful action in the case of Matilda Briggs.
We are, sir,
Faithfully yours,
Morrison , Morrison, and Dodd
E.J.C
Spike's swagger refused to go away. He seated himself on Angel's desk and continued to profess.
'The real case was Matilda Briggs.and the giant rat of Sumatra-"the story that the world was not prepared for."' He said, his booted feet hitting Angel's precious teakwood desk with a steady tattoo, as he expounded his case.
'I don't understand' said Wesley. 'You are saying that Holmes was real -not a literary creation. Was Sir Arthur Conan Doyle not real then?'
'Oh! He was real enough-was Watson's brother-in-law, borrowed as a figurehead for the stories. Sherlock Holmes lived and worked from Baker Street all right...most things in the stories are true to life--with careful editing. Much like your average lawyerly duties here.' Spike spoke with conviction.
'That, my young friends,' said Spike pointing at the open book on the desk, ' was the cover story invented to send to the Strand .You see, our pal Doyle had already blabbed his bit regarding the letter to Greenhough Calamity Smith-before the story had completely played out, and he knew what his friend Holmes was dealin' with.' He looked at the perplexed faces before him. 'Ol' Calamity was the editor of the Strand--the rag that first printed the stories?' he explained as if to exceptionally slow-witted pupils. 'And Calamity rather fancied the idea of vampires, very fanciful he thought it, coz he believed with absolute certainty in the completely fictional nature of all ghoulies and ghosties .so they chucked up this tame tale, instead of what your boss and I really got up to in Baker Street .'
Gunn interrupted the pontificating.
'Wait a minute -- Angel was with you in this escapade?'
Fred looked accusingly at the dark vampire, who had given up trying to prevent the story from coming out, knowing that one cannot always wrestle a childe into submission, however much one may want to.
He looked up, fingering the frown lines on his brow. 'I'm sure Spike will give us the complete story.' he said wearily.
'You bet I will, mate-you've kept the best years of our lives from our young and impressionable students. Shame!' the blond vampire smirked. 'Now children, if you're all settled down -and I have a plate of these spicy buffalo wings to help with the telling, lemme begin. It was like this.'
In the light of the curious letter that Sherlock had received that day, it was hard to miss that he was remarkably agitated. As I finished breakfast, he had apparently made up his mind as to his likely course of action and reached up a lean arm to draw down the indexed volumes that held within their covers the most comprehensive collections of obscure crimes , criminals, personages and other sundries that the world's first, and undoubtedly foremost, consulting detective had compiled over long years of study. As I was having the coffee, he had reached the correct section of the great book for his gaze grew intent as he traced with a long forefinger the object of his enquiry.
'Ah! Here are discussions of vampirism in Hungary, vampirism in Transylvania' he read intently for a moment but in the same overwrought manner that had possessed him since the receipt of the letter, he had thrown aside the book with an exclamation of disgust. ' What do we have to do with waking corpses that may only stay in the grave if persuaded with a wooden stake?'
Here I had ventured the opinion that vampirism was not limited to the dead and how medicine had known of cases where the old drank the blood of the young, trying to gain youth and strength through sympathetic means.
'No Watson, the letter is not the only news I have of this ill-fated vessel. Only a few days ago I had news from an old seadog of the vessel mooring at Liverpool and of the strange happenings in the harbor area.' 'Yet the Matilda Briggs remains a mystery .it does the route from Sumatra through the major islands of the South China sea and then through Colombo and the Suez Canal to Liverpool. It is owned by the Briggs Allied shipping corporation and has been the scene for mysterious disappearances of its crew and passengers for the past couple of years.'
'The South China sea route is not exactly renowned for the peace and quiet it offers its users, but the Matilda Briggs is getting a bad reputation even in these salubrious environs.'
The lean intelligent face bore the unmistakable signs of that great brain excited by work suited to its proper caliber.
'The head of the Briggs corporations has formed an opinion that supernatural elements are involved.' He indicated the discarded volume that lay before the fireguard with an impatient gesture. 'There lies all I know of vampires! And its very scanty information, and not worth the trouble of reading out. No Watson, this requires first hand enquiry. You, I perceive, are planning to go out, I will see you in the evening.' And he sat down to the breakfast from which the strange epistle had kept him.
As my duties with my practice kept me in Kensington all day, it was five in the evening when I reached the lodgings in Baker Street where I was staying once again following the death of my dear wife. The familiar routine of the comfortable rooms and the exceptional company of my illustrious friend allowed me to the bear the passing of the dear woman from my life.
It was cold and dark, and already the fog was beginning to form in the great channels that crisscrossed the metropolis, banking thickly between the tall buildings, settling over warehouses and huddled terraces, and in to the stone heart of the great city. When I entered our dwelling I noticed that Holmes had not yet returned from his expedition, but I was exceptionally glad of the fire that burned in the hearth, sending its flickering warmth around the familiar untidiness.
I was engrossed in going over one of my accounts of Holmes' adventures , when presently the bell rang and a step sounded outside. A knock fell upon the door and in came a man of disreputable aspect. Ginger hair escaped from beneath a rough tweed cap, while his clothes gave off an offensive odor of creosote and sweat. His face expressed such malice and low cunning as he stood leering at me, in his seaman's jersey and oils that I involuntarily took a step toward the bureau where my revolver was kept.
'Where is Mr. 'olmes?' said my guest in a rough Yorkshire accent.
I told him I had no idea, and that if he had a message for my friend I would be glad to convey it.
'Nah, youse not doin' me outta the reward promised. I knows your kinds well.'And he stood muttering on the threshold.
'Please yourself,' I said, taken aback by the rudeness of the fellow, 'and wait for Mr. Holmes to return in silence.' I turned my back on the intruder and continued to sort through my manuscript. After a moment the guest spoke 'What're you writin' then-one of 'em penny dreadfuls? More ways to do a good man from his money?'
'My good man!' I said, tried beyond my patience and turned back to look at the amused countenance of my friend. 'Holmes! You gave me quite a start.'
Sherlock Holmes shook his head and took off his jacket. 'This won't do, Watson! Why, this is the very pea-jacket and boots I wore as the asthmatic sailor in the affair of the Sign of the Four, when you were here with our friend Athelney Jones, and yet you were taken in.'
I excused myself on the ground that the disguise was so excellent and his very voice and manner, even his build, so different from the refined and austere figure of my friend that it would be impossible for an unwary person to spot the deception.
He deprecated his ability and went to his bedroom from whence he emerged once more in his mouse colored dressing gown and proceeded to curl up in his chair before the fire. His expression was grim as he filled his pipe with the noxious shag tobacco taken from its customary place in the Persian slipper,
'It's a damnable business, Watson.' He lit his pipe and fixed me with his earnest, sharp gaze. 'As you are aware from our association through the problems that have passed our way over the years, the faculty of reasoning is dependant on certain fixed principles-- natural laws, inexorable in themselves, that allow the trained mind to reason and reconstruct a logical series of events both forward and backward with a reasonable amount of certainty. What if I told you, Watson, that in this case I find myself against elements that might cause me to revise this immutable law that is the basis of my functioning?'
While I stared aghast at my friend, he leaned forward and extracted a brown, paper-wrapped package he had left on the mantelpiece, having taken it from his seaman's garb. He opened it and tossed something from it at me.
'Here, you might find it useful to carry this in your pocket at all times. They know we are after them.'
I looked in astonishment at the white, round object he had thrown at me. It was bulb of garlic.
46, Old Jewery
Nov.19th
Re vampires
Sir:
Our client, Mr. Clement Briggs esq. of Trevor square has made some
inquiry from us in a communication of even date concerning vampires.
As our firm specializes entirely upon the assessment of machinery, the
matter hardly comes within our purview, and we have therefore
recommended Mr. Briggs to call upon you and lay the matter before you.
We are, sir,
Faithfully yours,
Morrison, Morrison, and Dodd
E.J.C
'This is your proof?' Gunn said, tossing the above epistle on to Angel's desk, with a dismissive gesture.
'Hey! Careful with that!' said Spike 'that paper is fragile. is more than a hundred years old!'
'If what you assert is correct, it should be in an acid-free mount in some library with proper photo-screening aids' said Wesley 'not folded and kept in a carton of --Inecto?' This incredulously, as he read the small print on the aged packaging.
'Oy! Careful! That's an important relic in the history of hair dyeing!'
'Oh, I know a far older one' said Wesley, looking pointedly at Spike's aggressively blond hair.
'Why'd you keep that?' asked Spike suddenly, turning on Angel who had a curious squirming expression on his face.
Angel looked even more embarrassed 'Well, after Alexandria, you and Dru left for Warsaw and I collected all your debris.to bargain with' he said hurriedly as everyone in the room turned to stare at him. 'I know you can be foolishly sentimental.'
'What? Killing and turning Sid Vicious was not sentiment. It was pure logic mate. Or would you have me turn all Lestaty and singing me own tunes! Bet you fancy yourself as some dark and broody rock star, but I don't.'
'I was not referring to the Sid Vicious incident.'began Angel patiently. Here he was interrupted by Doylewho asked Spike'Did you by any chance do anything to Bowie?'
'That was Dru' said Spike, 'wanted Ziggy.' But he was still looking at Angel, who was toying with the penholder, not meeting his eyes.
' Lets leave aside your parental issues and complexes and lets look at this .you're saying Sherlock Holmes was real and you met him and this letter refers to that meeting? Were you by any chance Mr. Clement Briggs esq.? Gunn asked, settling into a chair opposite Angel
'I don't remember reading about proper vampires in Sherlock Holmes ..Not that I read of any improper vampires..coz had you been written about Spike, it would have been most improper.I mean as a result of some improper deed. Not that the writing would have been improper.' Fred trailed off, as everyone turned to look at her in exasperation.
'As I recall in the end there was no vampire in the Case of the Sussex vampire.' said Wesley who had time to go up to the research wing and get a copy of the Case Book of Sherlock Holmes.
'And as I see the opening letter published is different as well.'he presented the open page for all to see.
Re vampires
Sir:
Our client, Mr. Robert Ferguson of Ferguson and Muirhead, tea brokers
of Mincing Lane has made some inquiry from us in a communication of
even date concerning vampires. as our firm specializes entirely upon
the assessment of machinery, the matter hardly comes within our
purview, and we have therefore recommended Mr. Ferguson to call upon
you and lay the matter before you. We have not forgotten your
successful action in the case of Matilda Briggs.
We are, sir,
Faithfully yours,
Morrison , Morrison, and Dodd
E.J.C
Spike's swagger refused to go away. He seated himself on Angel's desk and continued to profess.
'The real case was Matilda Briggs.and the giant rat of Sumatra-"the story that the world was not prepared for."' He said, his booted feet hitting Angel's precious teakwood desk with a steady tattoo, as he expounded his case.
'I don't understand' said Wesley. 'You are saying that Holmes was real -not a literary creation. Was Sir Arthur Conan Doyle not real then?'
'Oh! He was real enough-was Watson's brother-in-law, borrowed as a figurehead for the stories. Sherlock Holmes lived and worked from Baker Street all right...most things in the stories are true to life--with careful editing. Much like your average lawyerly duties here.' Spike spoke with conviction.
'That, my young friends,' said Spike pointing at the open book on the desk, ' was the cover story invented to send to the Strand .You see, our pal Doyle had already blabbed his bit regarding the letter to Greenhough Calamity Smith-before the story had completely played out, and he knew what his friend Holmes was dealin' with.' He looked at the perplexed faces before him. 'Ol' Calamity was the editor of the Strand--the rag that first printed the stories?' he explained as if to exceptionally slow-witted pupils. 'And Calamity rather fancied the idea of vampires, very fanciful he thought it, coz he believed with absolute certainty in the completely fictional nature of all ghoulies and ghosties .so they chucked up this tame tale, instead of what your boss and I really got up to in Baker Street .'
Gunn interrupted the pontificating.
'Wait a minute -- Angel was with you in this escapade?'
Fred looked accusingly at the dark vampire, who had given up trying to prevent the story from coming out, knowing that one cannot always wrestle a childe into submission, however much one may want to.
He looked up, fingering the frown lines on his brow. 'I'm sure Spike will give us the complete story.' he said wearily.
'You bet I will, mate-you've kept the best years of our lives from our young and impressionable students. Shame!' the blond vampire smirked. 'Now children, if you're all settled down -and I have a plate of these spicy buffalo wings to help with the telling, lemme begin. It was like this.'
In the light of the curious letter that Sherlock had received that day, it was hard to miss that he was remarkably agitated. As I finished breakfast, he had apparently made up his mind as to his likely course of action and reached up a lean arm to draw down the indexed volumes that held within their covers the most comprehensive collections of obscure crimes , criminals, personages and other sundries that the world's first, and undoubtedly foremost, consulting detective had compiled over long years of study. As I was having the coffee, he had reached the correct section of the great book for his gaze grew intent as he traced with a long forefinger the object of his enquiry.
'Ah! Here are discussions of vampirism in Hungary, vampirism in Transylvania' he read intently for a moment but in the same overwrought manner that had possessed him since the receipt of the letter, he had thrown aside the book with an exclamation of disgust. ' What do we have to do with waking corpses that may only stay in the grave if persuaded with a wooden stake?'
Here I had ventured the opinion that vampirism was not limited to the dead and how medicine had known of cases where the old drank the blood of the young, trying to gain youth and strength through sympathetic means.
'No Watson, the letter is not the only news I have of this ill-fated vessel. Only a few days ago I had news from an old seadog of the vessel mooring at Liverpool and of the strange happenings in the harbor area.' 'Yet the Matilda Briggs remains a mystery .it does the route from Sumatra through the major islands of the South China sea and then through Colombo and the Suez Canal to Liverpool. It is owned by the Briggs Allied shipping corporation and has been the scene for mysterious disappearances of its crew and passengers for the past couple of years.'
'The South China sea route is not exactly renowned for the peace and quiet it offers its users, but the Matilda Briggs is getting a bad reputation even in these salubrious environs.'
The lean intelligent face bore the unmistakable signs of that great brain excited by work suited to its proper caliber.
'The head of the Briggs corporations has formed an opinion that supernatural elements are involved.' He indicated the discarded volume that lay before the fireguard with an impatient gesture. 'There lies all I know of vampires! And its very scanty information, and not worth the trouble of reading out. No Watson, this requires first hand enquiry. You, I perceive, are planning to go out, I will see you in the evening.' And he sat down to the breakfast from which the strange epistle had kept him.
As my duties with my practice kept me in Kensington all day, it was five in the evening when I reached the lodgings in Baker Street where I was staying once again following the death of my dear wife. The familiar routine of the comfortable rooms and the exceptional company of my illustrious friend allowed me to the bear the passing of the dear woman from my life.
It was cold and dark, and already the fog was beginning to form in the great channels that crisscrossed the metropolis, banking thickly between the tall buildings, settling over warehouses and huddled terraces, and in to the stone heart of the great city. When I entered our dwelling I noticed that Holmes had not yet returned from his expedition, but I was exceptionally glad of the fire that burned in the hearth, sending its flickering warmth around the familiar untidiness.
I was engrossed in going over one of my accounts of Holmes' adventures , when presently the bell rang and a step sounded outside. A knock fell upon the door and in came a man of disreputable aspect. Ginger hair escaped from beneath a rough tweed cap, while his clothes gave off an offensive odor of creosote and sweat. His face expressed such malice and low cunning as he stood leering at me, in his seaman's jersey and oils that I involuntarily took a step toward the bureau where my revolver was kept.
'Where is Mr. 'olmes?' said my guest in a rough Yorkshire accent.
I told him I had no idea, and that if he had a message for my friend I would be glad to convey it.
'Nah, youse not doin' me outta the reward promised. I knows your kinds well.'And he stood muttering on the threshold.
'Please yourself,' I said, taken aback by the rudeness of the fellow, 'and wait for Mr. Holmes to return in silence.' I turned my back on the intruder and continued to sort through my manuscript. After a moment the guest spoke 'What're you writin' then-one of 'em penny dreadfuls? More ways to do a good man from his money?'
'My good man!' I said, tried beyond my patience and turned back to look at the amused countenance of my friend. 'Holmes! You gave me quite a start.'
Sherlock Holmes shook his head and took off his jacket. 'This won't do, Watson! Why, this is the very pea-jacket and boots I wore as the asthmatic sailor in the affair of the Sign of the Four, when you were here with our friend Athelney Jones, and yet you were taken in.'
I excused myself on the ground that the disguise was so excellent and his very voice and manner, even his build, so different from the refined and austere figure of my friend that it would be impossible for an unwary person to spot the deception.
He deprecated his ability and went to his bedroom from whence he emerged once more in his mouse colored dressing gown and proceeded to curl up in his chair before the fire. His expression was grim as he filled his pipe with the noxious shag tobacco taken from its customary place in the Persian slipper,
'It's a damnable business, Watson.' He lit his pipe and fixed me with his earnest, sharp gaze. 'As you are aware from our association through the problems that have passed our way over the years, the faculty of reasoning is dependant on certain fixed principles-- natural laws, inexorable in themselves, that allow the trained mind to reason and reconstruct a logical series of events both forward and backward with a reasonable amount of certainty. What if I told you, Watson, that in this case I find myself against elements that might cause me to revise this immutable law that is the basis of my functioning?'
While I stared aghast at my friend, he leaned forward and extracted a brown, paper-wrapped package he had left on the mantelpiece, having taken it from his seaman's garb. He opened it and tossed something from it at me.
'Here, you might find it useful to carry this in your pocket at all times. They know we are after them.'
I looked in astonishment at the white, round object he had thrown at me. It was bulb of garlic.