The Adventure of the Sequel
to the Adventure of the Angry Author
by Dan Fiorella
On that brisk autumn morning of '83, I awoke to find Holmes seated in his easy chair, amid the haze of an entire evening's worth of pipe smoke. He was deep in thought and wasn't immediately aware of my presence.
"Another case so soon, Holmes? You've barely place the finishing touches on the last one. Or do you fear Professor Moriarity will make another assault on the crown?"
Holmes got up to empty his pipe into the unlit fireplace. "No, Watson. The Queen is safe. Moriarity and his Chinese rockets have been soundly thrashed. What peaked my curiosity was this package Inspector Lestrade delivered yesterday. He pointed to a hat box then handed me the note Lestrade had enclosed:
My Dear Sherlock Holmes (it read), My men came across this unique object on patrol along the water front. We have no line on it and knowing your penchant for puzzles, I suspect you might have a spot of fun with it. Good luck to you.
-Inspector S. Lestrade
Scotland Yard
"One of the few suspicions Lastrade has had that proved correct," Holmes slyly added whilst he re-filled his pipe with skag from his Persian slipper. "See what you can make of this, Watson."
From the box he removed a large newsboy cap. Not an ordinary cap but a large cap. A very large cap. Almost thirty-three inches in diameter. "A cap that size, possibly used by a circus clown or a music hall comic."
"Possibility but not likely."
Holmes turned the hat over in his hands, no doubt as he had done all night. "This hat is a regularly worn article of clothing. There are no traces of stage make-up on it."
"Holmes, you're not suggesting some one actually wears that hat as part of his normal attire?"
Spinning the hat on his finger he replied, "I'm not certain one would use the term 'normal' in regards to this hat. The size alone…” --Holmes put the hat on and it dropped to below his chin-- "would attest to that,"
"He must be of exceptional intelligence," I suggested,
"How so, Watson?"
"Simply a matter of cubic capacity. A head that large must be filled with something," I stated, recalling a point Holmes had once made.
Holmes removed the cap. "The head may be large because it is so full of dreams." I had no idea what he meant and before I could ask, he began relating what he had deduced from the hat as to the owner's identity:
"I believe we are looking for a diseased man. Note the inside band. One side is worn down normally. The right side has an unusual amount of dead skin tissue. See for yourself, old man." He handed me the hat and his convex lens.
"A growth, which has caused this poor man's head to swell to an unseemly size. The odors would suggest ulcerous sores which never heal. I also believe the disease has infected his face."
As to allow him to continue, I asked how he had deduced that piece of information.
"Traces of burlap along the sweat band. He is wearing a mask made of it, which tells me he is obscuring his face from the public. I can easily contribute that to this disease. He is left handed. Extremely left handed. The brim of the cap is frayed with use on the left side. Only the left side. Possibly the disease has affected his arm."
"Holmes, if what you're describing is true---," I began.
"If, Watson?"
"There is a very sick man wandering the streets."
"Perhaps." Holmes returned the hat to its box. "I don't think it is a contagious disease and he has had it quite some time, judging by the age of this cap." He seated himself and began plucking the strings of his violin.
"Someone like that would belong in a hospital, I would imagine,”
"Excellent, old man! Leave it to that military mind of yours to point the way. He was in a hospital. Until recently," Holmes said between snatches of musical notes.
"How on earth can the hat tell you that?" I demanded.
"Again, we look inside the hat, on the band.” Which I did, making note of a tag that read “if lost please return to London Hospital.”
Lastrade was a bigger dolt than Holmes gave him credit for having missed that. The hospital, the extent of the disease, it sounded familiar. Then a thought occurred to me. I dashed to my medical journals, filled with the prospect of having solved this mystery before Holmes. I found the proper volume and quickly came to the desired page. A medical study of one John Merrick by Dr. Fredrick Treves. The facts coincided with Holmes' deductions. Merrick was deformed, covered with sores, enlarged skull, distorted face and the useless right arm. I handed the book to Holmes, whose face lit up in a smile. Something I have rarely been in the presence of.
"Splendid, Watson, splendid. A first rate medical mystery solved by a first-rate medical man. But I believe you'll find a more detailed account in the volume dated 1882 with some newspaper clippings.”
"Then you already knew whose hat it was?" I felt properly dejected having thought I could out-think the master detective.
Holmes placed his hand on my shoulder, "My dear fellow, I simply wanted to double check my conclusions, I was afraid I might be settling for an obvious conclusion.
Talking over the medical aspects of the case with you made me certain.”
Before I had a chance to absorb all this in, Mrs. Hudson knocked and entered.
"There's a gentleman to see you, sir," she said handing Holmes a business card.
"Speak of the Devil and he shall appear," piped Holmes. "Please, show the good doctor up."
In a few short moments we were joined in our quarters by the eminent Dr. Fredrick Treves. A handsome, nay, dashing gentle¬man he was. Well dressed in the manner fitting a physician to royalty. He removed his gloves as Holmes stepped forward to greet him.
"Welcome, Dr. Treves, to our humble abode."
