Holmes and I were both in the sitting room, reading; Holmes, a monograph on Egyptology by Professor Rockhill, and I indulging in a weakness for the sensational with Dick Donovan’s latest mystery novel. I knew Donovan slightly from the Savage Club and had always needed to be discreet within earshot, lest references to friends’ cases should find their way in fictionalized form into one of his lurid shockers.
We were startled from our reading by the sudden rap at the door. An unexpected guest! Holmes rose quickly and showed our visitor in with all due courtesy. The man was perhaps thirty, tall and lean but moving with a grace that belied his size and athletic build. He had with him a small bag, which he placed carefully on the table before taking the seat that Holmes indicated.
He looked at my friend. “You would be Sherlock Holmes, the consulting detective?” At Holmes’s nod, he turned to me. “Thus making you Dr. John Watson?”
“Yes.”
Satisfied that he was in the correct apartment, our guest withdrew a small wooden case and handed us each a card, on which was printed:
DR. ROBERT BEECH
Entomologist
“I am engaged in the study of insects; those that are native to Africa and the Far East are my area of specialty. I have come to you gentlemen with a bit of a problem that has me perplexed and I have hopes that Mr. Holmes can perhaps be of assistance.”
Holmes said nothing, but steepled his hands and looked at our visitor with his full measure of attention.
“On a recent trip to Egypt, I found some rather unusual items in proximity to one another. I am afraid that the relationship of these items is too far beyond my rather specialized area of study for me to discern any clear sort of meaning. But you, Mr. Holmes, are famous for solving puzzles; would you mind very much having a look at what I have brought along? Your assessment of these items would be most appreciated.”
Holmes nodded and our visitor opened his bag, carefully taking out three very peculiar items. The first was a cylinder of metal, rather greenish in hue, with an intricate pattern of markings that seemed to me to be completely devoid of any possible meaning. The thing itself was about a foot in length by four inches in width and a thickness of about half that. The markings apparently covered all the surfaces and were a chaotic mélange of whorls, slashes, and geometric shapes. As I peered at the object a pattern of sorts seemed to emerge, but my eyes must have suffered some strain from my recent reading, as the inscriptions seemed to shimmer and shift as I stared at them. Blinking, I turned my attention to the other items on the table.
The second was a crudely carved stone that looked like nothing so much as a starfish hewn from common quarry rock. While this may have been of some interest to an archaeologist, I could not fathom what possible relationship it had to the metal cylinder or to the repulsive third item.
The third item was much more in keeping with Dr. Beech’s vocation. It was a large glass vial, which he carefully unwrapped from a thick cloth, revealing the contents: a singularly repulsive worm floating in formaldehyde. The creature was about an inch long and resembled a centipede, though with a good deal fewer legs. The head of the beast displayed nasty-looking mandibles surrounding what appeared to be a stinger or proboscis of some sort. I shuddered involuntarily.
While many of the lower forms of life seem strange or even repellent to us, there was something about this thing that went beyond physical repugnance. It felt unclean somehow. I was somewhat gratified that the creature was quite dead and at no risk of escaping to go burrowing about in our apartments.
“The worm,” our guest went on, “is of singular interest, being found in arid deserts in a solitary state with no visible source of nutrients. The other objects are interesting curios, but of no great import, though I thought that, with your knowledge of cryptograms and the like, you might be able to translate the markings on the cylinder.”
During the whole of this narrative, Holmes’s eyes had darted quickly from the worm to the cylinder to the carved stone. Suddenly he sprang to his feet.
“Sir, I’ll ask you to leave now. You are no more a professor of entomology than am I. You are a common fraud, and these things you have brought along are of no more interest than the sort of curios that Barnum displayed in his museum. Good day to you.”
For a moment I thought the stranger would attempt to strike my friend, as he fairly trembled with rage at Holmes’s accusations. But he regained his composure, silently gathered up his things, and left without another word.
I looked at Holmes quizzically, awaiting some sort of explanation for his uncharacteristic behavior.
There was a twinkle in his eye as he turned to look at me. “Good old Watson. You think I’ve gone mad from cocaine, that I am addled and cantankerous as the result of the drug. No, no, don’t deny it, old man—it’s plain in your expression. I assure you, I haven’t gone mad, nor was I being any more discourteous than was mandated by the situation. These are deep waters, Watson, deep waters indeed! Our ‘guest’ is a very dangerous man, and I would not have behaved as I did were I not certain that he had only a sword and knife upon him and that your revolver was near at hand.”
“Great heavens, Holmes, I saw no such devices, though I applied your methods as best I could . . .”
“Well then, Watson, what did you make of our visitor and his bag of gewgaws? The situation was very transparent.”
I summarized my observations as I recalled them: “Our man was considerably above average height and athletically built, which, while unusual for a scientist, is not unheard of, particularly as his branch of study calls for a good bit of fieldwork. He was dressed well and carried a walking stick, certainly more as a fashionable accessory than from any physical need. Again, not the usual affectation of a man of science, but again, not unheard of. He was perhaps thirty years of age, young for his profession, but of an age where he would be more likely to be pursuing fieldwork than molding young minds in the halls of academe. All in all, nothing to contravene his story.”
“Splendid!” Holmes clapped his hands and leaped to his feet, beginning to pace back and forth. “Watson, you have learned my methods well! Everything you say is accurate and plausible upon the surface. However, you saw only what our visitor wanted you to see and did not truly observe what was there to be observed.
“The walking stick he carried concealed a sword blade—I have seen its type many a time. You failed to note the unusual head of the cane that provides for a guard and grip necessary for combat. That in itself is not damning, but taken with the other evidence, it is clear that our man is not who he claims to be.
“Did you not take note of his wrists? His right was at least an inch or more thicker in diameter than the left. This, coupled with the calluses on his right hand, is indicative of a man who spends a good deal of time handling a sword—which, in turn, is suggestive of a duelist. Further, I noted his tendency to place his weight on the balls of his feet; again, the mark of a man who spends no little time in practicing swordplay.”
“Holmes!” I exclaimed. “That’s astonishing. You could not possibly have had more than a slight glimpse of his wrists.”
My friend smiled and continued his explanation. “Did you not note his curious tan?”
“Of course I did—he looks like he has recently been burned red as an Indian.”
“Precisely, Watson; and that is exactly what I found curious about it. A man who truly spent a good deal of time out of doors would display a much deeper and more even sort of coloring, consistent with frequent exposure to the sun over a prolonged period. Our man has the appearance of your average Londoner after his first trip to a sunny clime; hardly likely if he were telling us the truth about his occupation. Further, his calling card gave no address; a common enough practice of the world traveler, but, taken with the intensity of his tan, it immediately suggested fraud. Our man is most emphatically not accustomed to any location more exotic than our own coast.