II — Mr. Holmes Make an Important Confession

Welcome to the second installment of “The Adventures of Shylock Homes” by John Kendrick Bangs. (Read the first one here.) Bangs wrote 10 of these installments of Shylock’s adventures in the underworld for American newspapers in 1903. In this episode, he meets with other detectives, including LeCoq, a fictional detective created by Émile Gaboriau, a 19th-century French writer and journalist.

From certain advices lately received from the upper world, I judge that an attempt is being made to prove that I am still living in the flesh and did not meet an untimely end in the final conflict between myself and Professor Moriarity.

Inasmuch as this is constructively, if not intentionally, an attack upon my sincerity, I venture herewith, my dear Watson, to send to you, (through the medium of my present editor, your new address being unknown to me), a true statement of what actually happened together with some account of my more recent adventures in this wondrous lower world, whither all must sooner or later betake their way.

Frankly, I have been hourly expecting you here, else I should have communicated with you earlier. So many good Britons are daily arriving in large consignments, due, I am told, to the ravages of war, that knowing your reckless habit of patriotism, I have feared — and for my own pleasure hoped — that ere many days I should greet you with welcoming arms.

This eventuation now appears remote, and however much I may regret the postponement of a reunion which would gladden my spirit and relieve the tedium of many a lonely hour here by the Styx, I nevertheless cannot but be glad for old England’s sake that you are yet spared to her, since she stands to-day in such woeful need of her purest and best. I wish, too, that I might return to former scenes to put my mind upon the problems which so vex my countrymen. But, alas! this may not be, for in very truth I have departed from the life terrestrial, and am now settled permanently in my new abode.

From the moment of my arrival I have found much to occupy my time and to divert my mind, and plenty of opportunity likewise for the practice of my profession, for frankly the detectives who preceded me here — Hawkshaw, LeCoq and Old Sleuth — are prime amateurs compared to myself, choosing the plague methods of the circus man rather than by subtlety actually ferreting out the mysteries of crime.

Indeed, there has been much laughter here over the methods of these three persons, who fondly hoped that they held a monopoly in the detective’s profession , and most diverting was the spectacle afforded my eyes on the first day after my arrival here as I walked up the main business street of Cimmeria, a busy, bustling avenue, whereon in the course of an hour’s walk one might encounter the greatest figures in all history from Adam down to Bismarck — great figures in art, letters and science, great soldiers, great actors, great princes — it was diverting, I say, to see swinging overhead, amid all these interesting scenes, flaunting garishly in the public eye, a great gilded sign denoting the location there of the office of

HAWKSHAW, LECOQ, SLEUTH & COMPANY

with smaller signs all over the building announcing

MYSTERIES CLEARED WHILE YOU WAIT.

FERRETS BY SPECIAL APPOINTMENT TO APOLLYON

FAMILY SKELETONS REHABILITATED

and a hundred others, by which it seemed evident that this precious trio had gained the idea that the science of deduction was the practice of quacks rather than the subtlest of professions.

So diverted was I by this display, and at the same time so disgusted to think that my honorable calling was being debased to the low level of mere commerce that I resolved to put these persons to the test, and consequently mounted the steps leading to their offices.

“Is Mr. Hawkshaw in?” I inquired of the man behind the desk.

“No, sir,” he replied civilly enough, “Mr. Hawkshaw has gone to Gehenna to discover the whereabouts of a bag of diamonds recently stolen from Madame de Pompadour.”

“Oh, indeed,” I put in, “well, can I see Old Sleuth?”

“I am very sorry, sir, but Old Sleuth has been summoned to the palace to discover who it was that put carbolic acid instead of vitriol in the Emperor’s salad dressing.”

“Interesting problems, both of them,” said I. “Can I see M. LeCoq?”

“What is your business with M. LeCoq?” he asked politely.

“I wish to discover the identity of a man who I suspect has been my worst enemy for years,” I replied.

“I will take M. LeCoq your card,” said the young man.

“That is just the point,” said I, “I have no card. If I had I should know the name of the man I seek.”

The clerk eyed me narrowly.

“I don’t understand.” said he.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t.” I observed, “that’s why I wish to see M, LeCoq. Perhaps he would.”

“Who is it, James?” came a voice from the depths of a tall antique clock standing in the corner of the office.

“Nobody seems to know,” replied James. “He don’t know, and I don’t know, and—”

I Encounter LeCoq

“I will see him,” said the voice from the depths of the clock, whereupon the door of the ancient timepiece opened, and LeCoq stepped out. I recognized him at once by the tense look of his right eye, as well as by the short, sharp, nervous method of enunciation which he affected.

“What can I do for you to-day, sir?” he asked, closing his left eye wholly, and staring me coldly in the face with his right, slamming the door of the clock violently behind him.

“I wish to be identified.” said I simply. “You see I am a sufferer from Aphasia, and I cannot recall my name, although I know perfectly well who I am.”

“Hum!” said LeCoq, scratching his head, with a puzzled expression in his
right eye. “Aphasia, eh? Well, er — James, bring me an atlas,” he added,
turning quickly to the clerk at his side.

I must confess I could not penetrate the mystery of the atlas, but I held my peace.

“Aphasia!” LeCoq repeated, as James retired, and then he muttered, “That’s new to me.”

LeCoq turned over the leaves of the atlas hastily, peering anxiously at a number of the maps, and then ran his fingers slowly down the vertical columns of that part of the index which was devoted to the letter A.

“You say you are a sufferer from Aphasia?” he asked in a moment, sparring for time.

“That’s the situation,” said I, watching his finger with an eager interest.

“Perhaps I can help you,” he said a trifle embarrassed, as he failed to take note of anything like Aphasia in the list of printed names, “but you will have to help me a little. We detectives, you know sir, are after all merely another kind of doctor. We must rely somewhat upon what our clients tell us. Now frankly, although in my youth I was acquainted with all portions of the civilized globe, I never in all my experience heard of Aphasia. I’ve heard of Africa, and I know my Asia as well as the next man, but the composite — that perplexes me. Where is this new continent which is unknown to me, and from what city or part of Aphasia do you came?”

“Why,” I began, “Aphasia, M. LeCoq—”

“You see,” he interrupted, genially, “if we knew the precise place in Aphasia where you are best known, by writing to your friends there and describing your personality we could soon ascertain —”

“Exactly, M. LeCoq.” said I, repressing with difficulty my desire to smile “But you see aphasia is not a continent, but a disorder.”

“James,” said M. LeCoq sharply, “take away this atlas and bring me the dictionary. You must excuse my clerk, my dear sir,” he added, apologetically, “he is a trifle dull. You see, we have so many cases, so varied, so complex, that we cannot always, offhand, rise to an occasion. That James should have brought me an atlas instead of the far more useful dictionary, is not wholly inexcusable, considering the unexpected quality of your proposition. As a matter of fact,” he whispered confidentially in my ear, “I knew the moment I saw you through the keyhole of the clock that you were suffering from aphasia, but I wanted to give that boy a lesson. He has no initiative, and merely carries out orders. Had he really been interested in his work, he would have corrected me, as I wished him to, and brought me a vocabulary instead of a map.”

“I quite understand your position,” said I, dryly, “but a first-class detective, M. LeCoq, does he leave matters to a clerk, or does he attend to the whole business himself?”

“The latter always, but we are so busy we must occasionally leave some things to a subordinate,” LeCoq replied, magnificently. “My method has always been to deal with the question in the large. But to return to your own case, you are somebody?”

“I’ve tried to be,” said I.

“Are you conceited?” he demanded, suddenly.

“Very,” said I.

“Whom do you admire most in life?” he queried.

“George Washington,” I replied, offhand.

LeCoq looked a trifle disappointed, and then he laughed.

“Most conceited men,” he observed, “admire themselves most. I had hoped to surprise you into blurting out your own name. I know you are not George Washington, for he is a client of ours.”

“Here’s the dictionary,” said James, returning with the book.

“You needn’t bother about the dictionary, M. LeCoq,” said I. “Aphasia is a mental disorder involving forgetfulness and inability to utter the thought that is in the mind. I know who I am perfectly well, but I forget the word or sequence of words which indicate my identity. I have just arrived, and I don’t want to go to a hotel and register without being sure of myself.”

“Come inside,” said LeCoq, opening the little gate. “I’d like you to come into the private office where I can talk with you. You are really an interesting case, Mr. — er — ah — I forget your name?”

“So do I,” said I, not to be taken by surprise.

I walked into his sanctum and sat down beside a huge wardrobe that took up one whole side of the room.

“My various disguises,” explained LeCoq, as he noted my glance at this great piece of furniture. “In five minutes I can transform myself into any kind of another person, and so completely, that no one would imagine me to be myself.”

“Remarkable,” said I.

“Now, as to your own case,” he observed, “whence do you come?”

“London,” said I.

“Live there long?” he demanded.

“Born there,” said I.

“Ah!” he cried, “We are getting at it. You are an Englishman!”

“What wonderful penetration!” thought I, but I never let on. “How do you guess that?” I said aloud.

“Never mind, Mr. Blank,” said he with a knowing shake of his head. “I certainly shall not reveal to you the secrets of my system. Your father was a member of the House of Lords?” he added inquiringly.

“No,” I replied, “He kept a tobacco shop in Cheapside.”

“Another point,” cried LeCoq, gleefully, “you are not of noble birth.”

“Marvelous!” I cried. “How do you do it?”

“Never mind that,” returned LeCoq patronizingly, “If you knew, you could be a detective like myself. The main point is whether or not I am right.”

“You are, sir,” I responded. “I am an Englishman and not of noble birth.”

“You became a tobacconist yourself? ” he demanded,

“I tried to, but failed,” said I. “I was too fond of smoking, and kept all the
good cigars in stock for my own use, selling only inferior weeds. That, of course, ruined the business.”

“Quite so,” said LeCoq. “And you became what?”

“A tailor,” I replied quickly. It was the first thing that came into my mind.

He eyed me closely with that penetrating right eye of his, but while it made me nervous, I never faltered in my own return gaze.

“Indeed, ” he said, drily. “A tailor, eh? In London?”

“Yes,” said I.

“A good one?” said he, with a lurking smile about the corners of his mouth.

“One of the best in the world,” said I, resolved to brag it out. “My coats fitted like the paper on the wall, my vests sat upon my customers as though they were a part of them, and as for my trousers they were perfection.”

LeCoq tapped a bell on his table twice and a buttons entered.

“Show this gentleman out.” he said sharply. “Good day, sir. I cannot take your case.”

“But—” I ventured. “Why? What have I—”

“I cannot take your case, sir,” he interrupted peremptorily. “You are not frank with me. Good morning.”

I rose up, completely nonplussed, I must admit.

“I am willing to go, M. LeCoq,” I said, “But really, I’d like to know why you send me off so unceremoniously. What have I done?”

“Done?” he cried angrily, “What have you done? You have tried to deceive me while seeking my aid. I cannot try to discover your identity when you tell me an untruth, for I can only reason from a basis of fact.”

“Well.” I said, meekly and hesitatingly, regretting that I had been caught in what undoubtedly was a lie, yet curious to learn in what manner I had betrayed myself. “I grant you I — er — I was not a tailor, but how did you know I wasn’t?”

“Because,” said LeCoq, haughtily waving me out of his presence, “because you stated that you were a London tailor and could make clothes to fit. Sir, I am a Frenchman, but I have studied the British all my days, and there never was a London tailor who could do that. Good morning.”

A Meeting with Boswell

And I passed out into the broad avenue, and inquiring my way to the nearest hotel, registered in propria persona, as usual,

SHYLOCK HOMES,

London, England

I must confess, my dear Watson, that I retired that night rather more favorably impressed with the talents of M. LeCoq than I had ever been before. He is a great sight cleverer than I had thought him. It also happened before I retired that I received a call from a gentleman who sent me the following card:—

JAMES BOSWELL,

Editor,

THE GHENNA GAZETTE.

That gentleman’s business was to arrange with me for a series of articles for the Gehenna Gazette, at $100 apiece, narrating such further adventures as, I might have in the nether regions, and I being somewhat low in my purse, immediately accepted.

The papers which follow are the ones that I have contributed under the conditions specified.

From all of which you will see that I am definitely out of terrestrial life and am really here where there is much to interest and plenty of material ready to the hand to one who knows how to make use of it. Kindly let my friends know, then, that any reappearance upon earth which I may seem to indulge in is spurious, and tell them that my dearest hope in life now has become that I shall shortly extend to them the welcome, hearty and unaffected, which was theirs when I occupied my lodgings in dear old London.