The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures - Mike Ashley [232]
The Legacy of Rachel Howells
Michael Doyle
Preface
Another very singular case came within my own observation. It was sent to me by an eminent London publisher. This gentleman had in his employment a head of department whose name we shall take as Musgrave. He was a hard-working person, with no special feature in his character. Mr Musgrave died, and several years after his death a letter was received addressed to him, in the care of his employers. It bore the postmark of a tourist resort in the west of Canada, and had the note “Confl films” upon the outside of the envelope, with the words “Report Sy” in one corner.
The publishers naturally opened the envelope as they had no note of the dead man’s relatives. Inside were two blank sheets of paper. The letter, I may add, was registered. The publisher, being unable to make anything of this, sent it on to me, and I submitted the blank sheets to every possible chemical and heat test, with no result whatever. Beyond the fact that the writing appeared to be that of a woman there is nothing to add to this account. The matter was, and remains, an insoluble mystery. How the correspondent could have something so secret to say to Mr Musgrave and yet not be aware that this person had been dead for several years is very hard to understand – or why blank sheets should be so carefully registered through the mail. I may add that I did not trust the sheets to my own chemical tests, but had the best expert advice without getting any result. Considered as a case it was a failure – and a very tantalizing one.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
“Some personalia about Sherlock Holmes”
The Strand Magazine, December, 1917
Over the years in which I have been associated with Mr Sherlock Holmes many players have appeared on our little stage at 221b Baker Street. The appearance of each was, of course, closely scrutinized by Mr Holmes and myself but once the spotlight has shifted these actors have all too often exited through the wings, never to return. I have often wondered what has become of these clients, and those associated with them in the cases which I have recorded – and in the hundreds which still await the attention of a competent biographer.
To this pattern there have been several exceptions. Professor Moriarty is a constant presence: his influence, if not the man himself, is likely to continue; the dark side of human nature will, it seems, be always with us. His colleague Colonel Moran, spectator of the Reichenbach drama, has appeared more than once on our stage as have Inspector Lestrade, his colleagues at Scotland Yard, our dear Mrs Hudson, our page boy Billy, my wife Mary and some few others. Of the majority however we have heard no more. For Sherlock Holmes, whose interest wanes rapidly with the solving of each problem, this is of little moment: friendship, like any other emotion, is to him distractive and to be avoided. To me however the passing of these ephemerae is a matter of regret; I am glad therefore for this opportunity to lay before the public a case which returns to the limelight a woman whose intelligence – and avarice – Sherlock Holmes had grievously underrated when he first had occasion to be involved in an investigation in which her wicked hand had played a part. This intriguing affair has not yet been brought to a conclusion. Tracing the final threads, and the identification and arrest of the murderer, whom neither Holmes nor I have yet met face to face, appear likely to provide a bonus: a visit to the Americas, and to the splendid young country of Canada. I have every hope of being accompanied, if the activities of the London criminal permit, by Sherlock Holmes himself.
With or without Holmes – for I make bold to say that the final steps can, if necessary, be entrusted to me – this excursion will bring home guilt to the person in question; until then however it cannot be positively asserted. The reader will forgive me if I obey