An Original SHERLOCK HOLMES Adventure...

“The Case of the Silver Egg”

 

An original Sherlock Holmes tale written by Dr. John Watson M.D. as told by Anai Bendai...

 

 

 

 

In the year of 1897, a curious and incongruous succession of cases had engaged my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes’ attention, ranging from his famous investigation of some missing heretical biblical documents of great import--an inquiry which was carried out by him at the express desire of His Holiness the Pope--down to his arrest of Ralston Margrove, the notorious Butcher of White Chapel which removed a blight from the East End of London. Close on the heels of these two famous cases came the terrible tragedy of the Magician's Booth and the very obscure circumstances which surrounded the death of the famous opera singer Miss Minerva Grace, however, no record of the doings of Mr. Sherlock Holmes would be complete which did not include some account of the very unusual affair of the “glowing airships” of London witnessed in the night skies along the Thames throughout the middle of the last decade of the 19th Century.

During the first week of June, my friend had been absent so often and so long from our lodgings that I knew he had something on hand. The fact that several rough-looking men called during that time and inquired for someone by the moniker “Sir Craig James of Oxford” made me understand that Holmes was working somewhere under one of the numerous disguises and names with which he concealed his own formidable identity. He had at least five small refuges in different parts of London’s bowels,in which he was able to change his personality. He said nothing of his business to me, and it was not my habit to force a confidence from him either. The first positive sign which he gave me of the direction which his investigation was taking was an extraordinary one. He had gone out before breakfast, and I had sat down to mine when he strode into the room, his hat upon his head and a wicked looking barbed-headed spear tucked like an umbrella under his arm.

"Good gracious, Holmes!" I cried. "You don't mean to say that you have been walking about London with that huge thing jutting from out of your underarm?"

"I drove to the fish monger’s and back."

"I say. The fish mongers?"

"And I return with an excellent appetite, Watson. There can be no question, my dear Watson, of the value of exercise before breakfast. But I am prepared to bet that you will not guess the form that my exercise has taken."

"I will not even attempt it," I said stabbing with a fork at the yolk of my morning egg.

He chuckled as he poured out the hot black coffee into his cup and inhaled the aroma then gave me a most curious and amused sidelong glance.

"If you could have looked into Lankhedges back shop, you would have seen a large dead sea eel swung from a hook in the ceiling, and a crusty looking elderly gentleman with his shirt sleeves rolled up above his elbows furiously stabbing at the greyish-black eel with this very weapon while it thrashed about in its final death throes. Indeed Watson, I was that energetic person, and I have satisfied myself that by no exertion of my strength can I deal a fatal blow to the eel with a single blow. Perhaps you would care to try sometime?"

"Not even for king's treasure,” I said, shuddering as I carefully buttered my toast. "But why in God’s name were you engaged in this untoward activity Holmes?"

"Because it seemed to me to have an indirect bearing upon the mystery of the Wandering Carnivale which currently preoccupies my thoughts. And if I’m not mistaken, we should expect a knock at the door any second on a totally unrelated matter of no less import."

Before even a few seconds had passed, a soft rapping sounding at the front door. I shook my head in amazement at Holmes keen hearing and acute deductive reasoning.

“Ah, young master Webster! I got your wire last night, and I have been expecting you. Come and join us!” Holmes said after opening the door to reveal a startled young man still in the process of knocking at the upstairs door. Mrs. Hudson had let him in unaccompanied no doubt as he had in recent times been quite a frequent visitor to Mr. Holmes' consulting room.

Our visitor was an exceedingly alert man, thirty years of age, dressed in a quiet tweed suit, but retaining the erect bearing of one who was accustomed to official uniform. I recognized him at once as Jonathan Webster, a young police inspector, for whose future Holmes had high hopes, while he in turn professed the admiration and respect of a pupil for the scientific methods of the famous amateur. Webster’s brow was clouded, and he sat down with an air of deep dejection.

"No, thank you, sir. I breakfasted before I came round. I spent the night in town, for I came up yesterday to report."

"And what had you to report?"

"An Airship sir. A glowing airship in the sky."

"Surely you refer to a meteor or some other astronomical anomaly no doubt? As I am aware of no comets currently in the evening sky, we can safely rule that phenomenon out. But perhaps you witnessed an illuminated hot air balloon of the brothers Montgolfier's design?"

"No sir. It weren't a balloon, sir. It were an airship of some kind. Like a sea ship, only shiny like a mirror and glowing in the night sky. It weren't no ballon Mr. Holmes. Of that I am most positive."

"Here you go constable," I said, pouring our visitor a cup of hot coffee which he eagerly swallowed at the expense no doubt, of some scalded tastebuds.

“Pray continue, my dear friend,” Sherlock said, raising his eyebrows at bringing his own coffee cup to his lips to inhale the rich aroma and then hesitating in a contemplative gesture before taking a short, silent sip.

“No, this were no balloon, sir. I have seen such contraptions afore, but this strange sight resembled nothing I have ever witnessed in my life. This airship were some aerial device of some kind with the appearance of polished metal, like a mirror as I've said. But that is not the strangest detail about this incident, Mr. Holmes. Not by far."

Holmes stood suddenly and raised a hand to gesture a momentary silence from our guest and then strode to the fireplace where he commenced to pull a plug of soft, fresh tobacco from a Persian slipper which hung there for that sole purpose.

After lighting his pipe and pursing his lips a few times in his usual nervous manner, he gestured for our guest to continue with his most curious testimony at the point where he had left off.

"And what," said Holmes, puffing on the end of his pipe was the most strange detail about his incident Mr. Webster?"

"There were people aboard who were calling down that they needed help sir. They were calling out for help. It was most horrifying."

“By the immediacy of your testimony, I would deduce you were a first-hand witness to this strange unidentified aerial object. Of that I am correct?"

“Indeed sir. Indeed I was. I was on my way back from police business on Trafalgar Square towards my apartment on Sotheby. My evening rounds were finished and I was on my way home to retire for the night. It was not yet even a quarter past midnight when I heard these desperate voices shouting out for help, their pleas coming from high above me in the night sky. And removing my bobby hat to get a better look, I peered upwards into the clear night sky sir and saw this bizarre metal shield, but more rounded, like a silver egg sir, with open portholes all around the sides of it, glowing brightly from within with a green light. And I could see people Mr. Holmes. I could see people looking out of those portholes and yelling for help down to me. Some had even managed to hang their arms outside the holes like a prisoner behind jail bars would do. Even recalling it now sends shivers down my spine. It weren’t natural. And It weren’t a balloon either sir. It weren’t anything like I’ve seen before or even considered. What was it Mr. Holmes? What was this strange silver egg hanging in the night sky with people calling down to me for help from within it?”

“A delusion perhaps,” Holmes muttered half to himself, crossing his legs and setting his coffee cup down on the table. "You will of course assure me you were not enjoined with a tankard earlier that night."

"I had not a drop to drink sir," the constable stated defiantly. "I do take my duties seriously and honorably Mr. Holmes. I did not dream this sight."

"About how fast would you estimate this ‘silver egg’ was moving in the night time sky over the Thames last night just past midnight? As fast as a horse at full clip? The speed of a handsom cab? Perhaps a train at full steam?"

“That’s just it sir… It’s speed changed. It moved very slowly at first and then just sat there in the stars above me, not more than a hundred feet away from me sir. Then I heard the voices calling out for help and witnessed the figures moving about and calling out in the green light and WHOOSH… it sped away from me faster than anything I’ve ever seen. Much faster than a train at full steam, sir. Much, much faster than a bird. I've never seen anything move as fast as what I saw."

“What would you compare it to?” I asked our young Mr. Webster. My own curiosity was now piqued beyond my usual professional interest. “Say, a round being fired from a cannon?”

“Yes sir! Very much like that, indeed! Like a shot from a cannon sir! One moment it was just hanging there in the sky and the next moment it moved away like a round being fired from a cannon."

“Utterly fascinating,” Holmes whispered while settling back in his chair, his hands enfolded as they are when he is lost deep in thought. "And what sound accompanied this rapid acceleration?"

"None that I heard," the young constable said, finishing the last dregs of his coffee which I promptly refilled. "It were totally quiet. Besides the sounds of the people onboard hollering for help - it were totally quiet."

“This is a most disquieting incident, is it not? We have reached out with our minds to try to understand it and found ourselves gaping at an abyss of speculation. I fear my dear Webster,” Sherlock declared as he leaned towards the table candle, cigarette in mouth as to light, “that this extraneous observation of yours is beyond the prevue of my deductive skills of reasoning. In the immortal words of Shakespeare, ” There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. What you witnessed was apparently an aberration of reality. A one in a billion probability. Yet, nevertheless, you experienced it firsthand and now you are left with the intangible traces of it upon your memory and it will haunt you forever unto Eternity.”

“Well said Holmes but what was it?” I asked. I was just as hungry for his answer as I was for the sweet buttered toast which I held before my lips.

“That!” Holmes announced, “We may never know, but rest assured that our current appetite for reality will become much more unusual as time passes as the human imagination grows. For what we hunger for, we need.”

And that was all he said about the matter. Nothing more. Just that curious commentary and the stark indifferent attitude against it were his trademark and so I assuaged young Mr. Webster to join me downstairs for some scones and idle chatter.

to be continued....