Following the extraordinary success of its 2022/23 world premiere tour, Sherlock Holmes: The Valley Of Fear makes a much-anticipated return in a production that combines original live music, stylish theatricality, and magical storytelling for an unforgettable theatrical experience.
Blackeyed Theatre's highly acclaimed production of The Valley of Fear brought Nick Lane's stage adaptation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's epic final Sherlock Holmes novel to the public in 2022. In this drama, we find the great detective drawn into a mystery stretching from 221B Baker Street to an ancient moated manor house to the bleak Pennsylvanian Vermissa Valley.
Faced with a trail of bewildering clues, Holmes begins to unearth a darker, wider web of corruption, a secret society, and the sinister work of none other than Professor Moriarty.
The reviews are universally glowing, with The Sherlock Holmes Journal calling it "Truly stunning."
Starring Bobby Bradley, Joseph Derrington, Blake Kubena, Gavin Molloy, and Alice Osmanski, the UK tour includes dates in Derby, Bath, London, and Dundee, from now through April 2024.
The trailer for the performance indicates the high energy and excitement:
And if you can't catch the show live, the script of the play is available from MX Publishing. [Disclosure: MX Publishing is a sponsor of the I Hear of Sherlock Everywhere podcast.]
aka "Kean" |
“What on earth is this?” I cried, for at this moment there came the pattering of many steps in the hall and on the stairs, accompanied by audible expressions of disgust upon the part of our landlady.“It’s the Baker Street division of the detective police force,” said my companion, gravely; and as he spoke there rushed into the room half a dozen of the dirtiest and most ragged street Arabs that ever I clapped eyes on.
At this moment there was a loud ring at the bell, and I could hear Mrs. Hudson, our landlady, raising her voice in a wail of expostulation and dismay.“By heaven, Holmes,” I said, half rising, “I believe that they are really after us.”“No, it’s not quite so bad as that. It is the unofficial force,—the Baker Street irregulars.”
As he spoke, there came a swift pattering of naked feet upon the stairs, a clatter of high voices, and in rushed a dozen dirty and ragged little street-Arabs.
“In future they can report to you, Wiggins, and you to me. I cannot have the house invaded in this way.”
What are the essential volumes that every Sherlockian should have in their library? John Bennett Shaw had an idea with what became known as The Shaw 100. But a more modest and attainable version was needed.
In stepped Peter Eckrich and Rob Nunn, BSI (“Elementary”). IHOSE listeners may recall Peter and Rob from their previous work, The Finest Assorted Collection. This time, they collected individuals who had a strong view as to which Sherlockian books ought to be part of every Sherlockian's library to develop 17 recommendations that make up Canonical Cornerstones: Foundational Books of a Sherlockian Library.
The 17 essays (a Canonically-appropriate number) are each a window into the interests, passion, and knowledge that the authors bring to their subjects, which range from some early Sherlockian scholarship to some latter-day must-haves.
We have the Canonical Couplet quiz again. The winner, chosen at random from all correct answers, will win a copy Canonical Cornerstones. Send your answer to comment @ ihearofsherlock .com by March 29, 2024 at 11:59 a.m. EST. All listeners are eligible to play.
If you become a supporter, not only will you help to ensure we can keep doing what we do, covering file hosting costs, production, and transcription services, but we have thank-you gifts at certain tiers and ad-free versions of the episodes for all patrons.
Multiverse of Mystery, now crowdfunding, is a collection of new stories about Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson across the multiverse. The authors are all members of the International Association of Media Tie-In Writers, so they know how adaptations work. As the project page says,
"Our writers have placed the archetypal detectives into new genres, new alien worlds, or new historical time periods that may or may not exist. We go from medieval India to futuristic military sleuths, from 12th-century manhunters to gender-swapped consulting detectives, from…well, you get the idea."
I interviewed book co-editor Carrie Harris and project manager Bob Greenberger about the genesis of the volume. The Kickstarter is open for two more weeks, and pledges are available for paperback, hardcover, and/or digital copies.
Carrie Harris: When the project team got together, we discussed potential topics for the anthology, with the only caveats being that the project had to be tied into a license (since it’s sponsored by the International Association of Media Tie-In Writers), and the license had to be in the public domain (for simplicity’s sake). I brought up the idea of using Holmes and Watson for a purely self-serving reason: I love them. I was also hot on the heels of seeing Everything Everywhere All at Once, which is where the multiverse idea came from. I was thrilled when it made the final cut.
Bob Greenberger: Holmes and Watson have achieved universal affection, largely because Sir Arthur Conan Doyle gave us something so unique it resonated with the general public. The love for the duo forced him to resurrect his dead detective, and he's been unkillable ever since.
CH: No other theme. We wanted it to be clear which character was Holmes and which was Watson, regardless of their names. I love random Easter eggs for folks who are fans of the original stories, and we’ve got some really great ones, but we didn’t require them.
I think leaving the gates fairly wide open gave us the opportunity to see the wide range of where these characters could go. Some have been moved into other genres or historical time periods. Some stories move them onto other worlds. Some play with the relationship between the characters. But they are always identifiably Watson and Holmes, and the game is always afoot.
CH: This project is the IAMTW’s second anthology, and therefore, the call was only open to IAMTW members. These folks are seasoned professionals, and they gave us some spectacular pitches, so the selection process was quite easy. The IAMTW is an organization that promotes the craft of tie-in writing, provides networking opportunities for tie-in writers, and sponsors the Scribe Awards to recognize the best-licensed works each year. Our members have written for just about any franchise you can think of, and probably plenty that you can’t! There’s a real craft to writing licensed fiction, and these folks are experts in the field.
BG: The anthologies and essay collections we've done to date are all ways to publicize our organization and showcase our members. Unlike, say, SFWA, we can't produce a collection of award-nominated stories since we don't control the copyrights. Going [public domain] made the most sense. Each collective is brainstorming their own themes, and people sign up as their schedules and interests allow.
BG: Aaron Rosenberg, Keith DeCandido, and Scott Pearson have all previously written the traditional Holmes & Watson. Christopher A. Abbott has been producing annual collections of novellas, and they've contributed to these, as I will for a 2025 book. My schedule didn't allow me to do more than project manage this book for Carrie. I am running the Kickstarter campaign and will help coordinate the back-end as needed.
CH: This is an excellent question! I’m personally excited to be a part of this project because of the talent and experience of the contributors. These writers are experienced at diving into an established world, identifying what makes it special, and using those elements as a backbone for creating something new and interesting. We’ve seen a lot of takes on these characters over the years, and from day one I felt confident that we could contribute something special to that body of work.
CH: Yes! When I was working through the pitches, I really wanted to explore the potential in this relationship. The dynamic between the two of them is one of my favorite elements of the original canon. Could their friendship turn into something else? Hate? Romantic love? What would that look like? We’ll be exploring all of that. Honestly, I can’t wait.
The book is available to preorder, and will be released on 5 March 2024. (Amazon | Bookshop.org)
“Your merits should be publicly recognized. You should publish an account of the case. If you won’t, I will for you.”
John F. Baesch, BSI (“State and Merton County Railroad") died on November 14, 2023 at the age of 78.
This entry is going to be necessarily long, because John Baesch was a man of varied interests and many friends. We have a number of contributions from people in various areas of John’s Sherlockian orbit, but keep in mind that these entries are only from the Sherlockian facet of his life; he enjoyed many others as well.
And most of all, because he was one of my longest-standing friends in the Sherlockian world.
John was warm and welcoming, and eagerly engaged all newcomers to the community, because he was once one too, and knew what it was like to be a shy stranger in a room full of people who know each other.
This is one of the many ways John’s Catholic faith crept into his hobbies. He modeled his behavior on Jesus in Matthew 25: 31-40: “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me.”
To meet John is to never be a stranger to him. The first time we met was at an annual dinner of the Speckled Band of Boston in 1991; it was the first Band dinner for each of us. As guests and members milled about during the cocktail hour on the ground floor of the Tavern Club, he approached me and remarked that it was nice to see a younger person at the event (I was still in college at the time).
John, who was always interested in education, asked which school was my alma mater and what I was studying. When I told him I studied classics at Boston University, his face lit up at the realization that a fellow classics major stood before him. He told me about working for Amtrak, living on the water in South Boston on the second floor of a two-family house, and we shared our admiration for Sherlock Holmes.
We exchanged addresses, and before long were regular correspondents. We brunched together on occasional Saturdays and counted the weeks and days until the next Speckled Band meeting.
He invariably greeted me with “W. Scott!” or “Friend Scott!” when we got together, and our conversations often turned to other topics of mutual interest, many of which were connected to other clubs and organizations. And this is a critical detail to understanding John: John was a joiner.
If there was something John was interested in and there was an organized group of people, John would join it. The Titanic Historical Society, the English-Speaking Union, the Wodehouse Society, the Gilbert & Sullivan Society, and of course, dozens of Sherlockian societies. It’s not like he was jumping on bandwagons (one could scarcely call any of these groups or interests trendy); it was simply this: John loved being around people.
So he when he discovered that I liked the Titanic, he encouraged me to join the THS. He introduced me to the lovely garden parties of the ESU in Boston. He consulted with me and gallivanted around Boston with me to find suitable venues for the biennial meeting of The Wodehouse Society.
In my years as a graduate student at BU, John became a mentor and active participant as I established the Bull-Terrier Club there. He helped to plan many of our events, including going to the racetrack, polo matches, the New England Aquarium, and more. He even wrote a standing toast to the bull-terrier. Always willing to regale us with stories, John was invested in the group as “In a Communicative Humour.”
He even penned the official Toast to the Bull-Terrier:
John was always one to communicate, whether in person or via the post. He was an enthusiastic correspondent, sending postcards, greeting cards, letters, and CARE packages filled with clippings from newspapers, magazines, church bulletins or photocopies of items in books. He was always thinking of the people who shared his interests, and his thoughtful notes showed it.
[Click to enlarge]
He would often send cards that memorialized some of those things, such as a postcard from Keen's Chop House (where early Gillette Lunches were held during the BSI Weekends) or an annual greeting card noting the date of the sinking of the Titanic. And he always wrote with his beloved Montblanc ballpoint pen that he kept with him everywhere he went.
The conversation with John in person was always memorable. If he found something particularly funny, his laugh would rise to the level of a cackle, and you couldn’t help laughing along. He was so mirthful that way.
And if you were with him during one of those lunches, it typically involved a bacon cheeseburger that occupied John’s attention during one of his stories. He’d remove the lettuce (“Who am I to take food from the mouths of hungry rabbits?” he’d rhetorically ask.), pile on the ketchup and Grey Poupon, and take a bite in the middle of a sentence. Literally in the middle. So you had to wait for him to finish chewing before you could respond or know what he’d say.
At brunch, he ordered coffee quickly, but let it sit on the table for almost too long — long enough, it turned out, so it would be a temperature that allowed him to quaff the entire thing in one gulp, thus delivering a quick jolt of caffeine to his system.
Related to coffee — since we spent time around Boston, we invariably saw tourists with t-shirts and sweatshirts from The Black Dog, a popular tavern in Martha’s Vineyard. Every time someone like that passed us on the street, John would say, “Oh, look at MEEEEE! I went to Martha’s Vineyard!” When he moved from Boston, John gifted me with a pair of coffee mugs from The Black Dog.
That move from Boston to Philadelphia took place in 1996, after a year or so of John temporarily living at the Union League Club there. John was in Boston for my graduation from grad school, which was also the year our mutual friend Josh Shafer graduated.
Josh was also a member of the Bull-Terriers and gladly participated in some of the Sherlockian hijinks with John and me, including appearing with us on stage at a Speckled Band meeting in 1994 as Watson to our Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes, and heading to Autumn in Baker Street.
The blue button-down brigade at Autumn in Baker Street |
When Josh, as a junior, applied to BU’s study abroad program at Oxford, John and I said we’d visit him if he got in. Sure enough, he did, and John and I made good on the promise in March of 1995. When we were in London and Oxford — places John had visited many times — I couldn’t help but notice John’s sheer joy. I wondered aloud why he was having such a good time if he had already been there. And I’ll never forget his reply:
“It’s the ‘hey wow factor’ — I get to watch you experience all of this for the first time, and it brings back the same feelings I had when I first saw it.”
And that was an important part of life for John: being happy for other people. Having been a confirmed bachelor until he was in his fifties, John always called love “the great spectator sport,” and he derived great satisfaction in seeing love bloom between young people. Which makes great sense why so many people cheered on John when he met and married Evy Herzog, the great love of his life.
The year following our London trip was the first time I was invited to the BSI Dinner, and John was there to offer encouragement, guidance, and to be a roommate. That ‘hey wow factor’ was still in play. As part of the experience, we attended Tosca at the Metropolitan Opera (a couple of Boston Sherlockians enjoyed going to the opera in NYC). And going with John — decidedly not an opera fan, but a fan of Cardinal Tosca (which became a great Halloween costume) — was a Baeschian experience.
During Act I, John was so enthralled with the Latin Mass portion of the opera that he began to sing along in Latin out loud during the performance. That turned a few heads. And then, in a more subdued section in either Act 2 or Act 3, he fell asleep and began to snore, at the same volume of his singing. That turned a few heads too. It made for a memorable BSI weekend.
After I graduated in 1996, John shared that he was moving to Philadelphia permanently, so I inquired, “What’s going on with your apartment?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” was John’s reply.
Josh and I both expressed interest and John offered us advice if we were to pass the standard of the landlord of 1836 Columbia Road in South Boston. He turned to Josh and said, “You, dress like a hockey player.” Turning to me, he said, “And you, dress like you’re Catholic.” It worked.
1836 was a shrine to John’s passions, one of which was railroad and hotel china. Everywhere John went, he collected it, either in original or reproduction. He even left me a set of Delta First Class cups and plates.
When we helped John pack up, we found one room had bookcases against every wall and a huge pile of books in the center of the room. As we were boxing things up in a different room, we heard John scream from that room, “OH MY GOD!!”
Thinking the bookscases had collapsed on him, we rushed into the room to find out what happened. John exclaimed, “There’s a CHAIR under this pile!”
There are still things from 1836 that John left behind for me that remain with me to this day that remind me of him — a pair of L.L. Bean boots, vintage tins to hold medical supplies, Penhaligon’s cologne, railway travel kits, a number of bow ties and neckties, the Delta cups and Black Dog mugs, a love of Blenheim ginger ale…
But most are the memories of just enjoying life in his presence. John’s insatiable curiosity and interest in other people made him well-respected and well-regarded by everyone who met him.
To make a friend of John Baesch was to make a friend for life.
John with Susan Rice |
John had a wide circle of friends in the Sherlockian community, and a few of them graciously agreed to share their memories of John.
When I heard about our loss of John Baesch, so many memories of him began tumbling about in my mind. When I was asked to share some of these thoughts with others, three memories came to the fore because they represent some of the attributes that defined John.
When John came to his first meeting of The Clients of Sherlock Holmes, in Philadelphia, it was obvious that he didn’t know what to expect. He stood in the doorway of our meeting room, hesitating to enter and appearing that he might retreat at any moment. Would he be made welcome? Would the discussions that evening be ultra-academic and outside his experience? Would he meet anyone with whom he could engage in conversation? (I know that these were some of his thoughts because he shared them with me months later). When I saw him at the door, I saw his hesitation and went over to both welcome him and to draw him into the group.
Ultimately, I embraced him, both figuratively and literally, and we became friends. After that first meeting, John became a regular attendee and participant in Clients’ events. There was a certain shyness to John that was entirely appealing. However, once he became comfortable in someone’s company, all that shyness dissipated. He was so accomplished both professionally (and, later, in the Sherlockian world) that his hesitancy to assert himself was surprising. However, this was one manifestation of John’s innate modesty.
Some years later, John was in London and Scott and I were on one of our semi-annual visits to England. We were in Derbyshire for a few days when we decided to drive down to Manchester to visit the Grenada Television Studio’s exhibitions, most particularly the interactive and the museum features having to do with Sherlock Holmes. While wandering through the display area containing huge glass cases containing memorabilia used in the production of the Jeremy Brett series, we literally bumped into John! He and a friend had come up from London for the day for the same purpose as ours. Although he had seen John a month or so before that, he greeted us as if we hadn’t been together for years!
We were as delighted to see him as he was to encounter us and there were hugs all around. We spent the rest of that visit and the rest of the delightful day together. Again, it was typical of John that friends were more than just friends but were virtual family. It was as if we had known him all of our lives!
My third fond memory of John is, perhaps, the most significant. Scott and I were at a Scion meeting and there was John. Of course, we sat down to catch up on our Sherlockian and personal activities since the last time we had been together. John looked a bit woebegone and, naturally, I asked why he was sad. He told us that he realized that he had really begun to like Evy Herzog but was reluctant to ask her out. As part of a long-time Sherlockian couple myself, I thought that they would be a great couple, so I asked him why he hesitated. I’ll never forget his response. “Because SHE’S Evelyn Herzog!”
I looked at him in amazement and replied, “But YOU’RE John Baesch!”
We encouraged him to follow up on his feelings (as, I might add, did a number of others) and to ask Evy out on a date. The rest is Sherlockian history! We were so pleased that Evy and John found each other and ultimately shared two decades of love and happiness (and Sherlockiana).
It’s that thought that warms my heart as I think of our friend, John Baesch, and it helps me to deal with our shared loss. G-d bless you, John.
This is a fascinating episode that brings us closer to the inside story of "The Woman" — an honor bestowed every year by the Baker Street Irregulars — and a bit of personal history from one of those very women.
Beverly Wolov is a longtime Sherlockian and is well-known by the Sherlockian community as a longtime companion of Peter Blau, BSI ("Black Peter"). You've heard from Peter on four episodes previously (links to those below), but now you have an opportunity to hear about Bev's role — in particular how her journey is bookended by Michael Kean, "Wiggins" of the BSI.
Bev does a wonderful job of bringing us back in time and helping us understand how The Woman is selected, what has happened at their dinners and how the proceedings have evolved, and even shares a bit of the tradition with us.
We have the Canonical Couplet quiz again. The winner, chosen at random from all correct answers, will win a copy of the 2022 Baker Street Journal Christmas Annual: Women on the Periphery of the BSI, 1940–1960. Send your answer to comment @ ihearofsherlock .com by March 14, 2024 at 11:59 a.m. EST. All listeners are eligible to play.
If you become a Patron of the Arts, not only will you help to ensure we can keep doing what we do, covering file hosting costs, production, and transcription services, but we have thank-you gifts at certain tiers and ad-free versions of the episodes for all patrons.
It might seem strange that we would celebrate a holiday about romance with a detective whom Watson called “a reasoning machine.”
But let's not forget that there was also an occasion when Watson wrote “I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as of a great brain,” (even if it was the only time).
The fact is, love plays a part in much of the Sherlock Holmes canon, from the deep and true love of Jefferson Hope and Lucy Ferrier in A Study in Scarlet that was made even more tragic by the interference of Drebber and Stangerson.
That was immediately followed by The Sign of Four, another novel tinged with romanticism, as Watson didn't work “a love-story or an elopement into the fifth proposition of Euclid,” but rather met Mary Morstan, (one of ) the great love(s) of his life.
Again and again, we find clients who arrive on the doorstep of 221B Baker Street with some concern over an affaire de coeur. So what better way to celebrate the day than with some romance-related episodes of I Hear of Sherlock Everywhere and Trifles?
There are many couples in the Sherlock Holmes stories: husbands and wives, intended spouses, or spurned lovers. There is a good deal of love that runs through the Canon, some of it good and decent, some of it passionate and infatuated, and some of it selfish. Episode 90 of I Hear of Sherlock Everywhere covers love in the canon.
Then there was that time when Mrs. Watson called the good doctor by another name. Was it a sign of infidelity on her part? A typo? Whatever it is, it's just a Trifle (Episode 7).
We know that Watson had “an experience of women which extends over many nations and three separate continents, but which continents were those? And what did the relationships consist of? Trifles Episode 61 looks at John Watson, Ladies Man.
Poor Mary Sutherland was led astray by her stepfather, who posed as Hosmer Angel. Sherlock Holmes was outraged, but it didn't stop him from getting romantically involved under false pretenses. It's Trifles Episode 369.
Feel free to browse the archives of Trifles for other related episodes. Are there other instances of romance that you can think of that are worth exploring?
Old hawker woman by Bartolomé Esteban Murillo, c. 1645 (Alte Pinakothek, CC BY-SA 4.0) |
Occasionally here in the I Hear of Sherlock Everywhere test kitchens, we like to prepare “something a little nutritious,” as Holmes craved at the conclusion of "The Dying Detective."
In our case, we turn to the must-have for all Sherlockian cooks: Dining with Sherlock Holmes: A Baker Street cookbook by Julia Carlson Rosenblatt, BSI ("Mrs. Turner") and Frederic H. Sonnenschmidt, BSI ("Simpsons").
Before we share today's recipe with you, we have two episodes you can pair it with — perhaps you can listen to these while you prepare the dish.
The first is an interview with Al & Julie Rosenblatt at their home, discussing the origins of the Culinary Institute of America Sherlock Holmes dinners (which Julie organized with Chef Sonnenschmidt) and the cookbook:
The other is an episode of Trifles in which we celebrated National Culinary Arts Month by discussing Dining with Sherlock Holmes.
This has become a regular feature in our household. We first tasted the dish at a meeting of The Men on the Tor, held at Gillette Castle. It was a catered affair, and there were large pans of noodles comingled with chicken and mushrooms in a lovely creamy wine shallot sauce.
It's easy to prepare and will impress Sherlockians and non-Sherlockians alike at your next dinner party.
From Dining with Sherlock Holmes:
In the world of cuisine, a gourmet dish was once created to honour the Spanish painter Bartolomé Estebán Murillo (1617-1682). The name Murillo has Holmesian connotations as well, for it was Don Juan Murillo, alias 'The Tiger of San Pedro', whose villainy marked "The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge."
The tyrant Murillo fled England as Holmes and Baynes of the Surrey Constabulary, each working independently, closed in on him, at the culmination of an adventure which had produced a plethora of grotesque clues, among them a mutilated white cock.
Appropriately enough, the dish named for Murillo is also a gallinaceous fowl. Whether it be coincidence or consanguinity, the connection is inescapable. It points unerringly towards the inclusion of a suitable chicken dish in (dis)honor of Don Juan Murillo, the Tiger of San Pedro.
4 boneless chicken breasts
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/3 to 1/2 teaspoon pepper
4-5 oz. / 110-140 g butter
12 mushroom caps
2 shallots, chopped fine
1/3 bottle white wine
4 oz. / 120 ml double cream
1/2 1b. / 250 g fine noodles
Cut each chicken breast into 4 pieces. Season the chicken pieces, and brown them on both sides in 2 oz./60 g of hot butter.
Add the mushrooms; cook them with the chicken, covered, in a 350° to 375°F. oven (180°-190°C., No. 4 or 5) until the chicken is done. Arrange the chicken pieces and mushrooms in a dish and keep them hot.
Fry the shallots lightly in 1 oz./30 g of butter. Add the white wine and boil it down to half the volume. Add the cream and cook until the sauce is creamy. Pour it over the chicken.
Cook the fine noodles according to package directions. Toss them in 1-2 0z. /30-50 g of butter, and garnish the chicken with them.
If you try this out, let us know what you think! And leave us a comment below to let us know what other kinds of Sherlock Holmes-related recipes you might be interested in.
Oh, and if that painting by Murillo above struck you as eerily familiar, you may be onto something.
"I suppose that I am commuting a felony, but it is just possible that I am saving a soul. This fellow will not go wrong again; he is too terribly frightened. Send him to jail now, and you make him a jail-bird for life."
It's odd to think that the Mary Russell series predates this show, yet we've never spoken with Laurie R. King, BSI ("The Red Circle") specifically about her most acclaimed series.
The 18th book in the Mary Russell series, The Lantern's Dance, is available on February 14, and Ms. King joined us to talk about her creation. Her familiarity with Sherlock Holmes is far from typical, and this unusual pairing of Ms. Russell and Mr. Holmes, which began with The Beekeeper's Apprentice in 1994, is as fresh and resilient as ever.
We talk about the development of the Sherlock Holmes character in her series, the impact of India, how fandom has responded and grown, and discover at which major events Laurie will be appearing this year.
The Canonical Couplet quiz is back, and it's an easy one! The winner, chosen at random from all correct answers, will win a copy of The Lantern's Dance. Send your answer to comment @ ihearofsherlock .com by February 14, 2024 at 11:59 a.m. EST. All listeners are eligible to play.
If you become a Patron of the Arts, not only will you help to ensure we can keep doing what we do, covering file hosting costs, production, and transcription services, but we have thank-you gifts at certain tiers and ad-free versions of the episodes for all patrons.
Photo credit: Will Walsh |
Ray Betzner presents Francine Kitts the award (photo credit: Will Walsh) |
Mr. Sherlock Holmes listened with attention to the long report which I was able to present to him that evening, but it did not elicit that word of curt praise which I had hoped for and should have valued. On the contrary, his austere face was even more severe than usual as he commented upon the things that I had done and the things that I had not.“Your hiding-place, my dear Watson, was very faulty... As it is you were some hundreds of yards away, and can tell me even less than Miss Smith... You really have done remarkably badly.”“What should I have done?” I cried, with some heat.“Gone to the nearest public-house. That is the centre of country gossip. They would have told you every name, from the master to the scullery-maid...Well, well, my dear sir, don’t look so depressed. We can do little more until next Saturday, and in the meantime I may make one or two inquiries myself.”
“Left shoe wrinkled, right one smooth.”“I did not observe that.”“No, you wouldn’t. I spotted his artificial limb. But proceed.”
“Then you use me, and yet do not trust me!” I cried with some bitterness. “I think that I have deserved better at your hands, Holmes.”“My dear fellow, you have been invaluable to me in this as in many other cases, and I beg that you will forgive me if I have seemed to play a trick upon you.”
The Baker Street Irregulars just marked their 90th anniversary with the BSI Weekend, filled with events for Sherlockians of all kinds.
If you weren't able to make it to New York — or even if you were! — tune in to hear about some of the events, people, books, and more that were part of our experience. And plan ahead for other events in the year ahead. After all, it's meeting up with other kinsprits that make this little hobby so special.
Our first Canonical Couplet quiz of Season 18 is here, and that means it's your chance to participate and see if you can win yourself something from the IHOSE vaults or the BSI Weekend.
Send your answer to comment @ ihearofsherlock .com by January 29, 2024 at 11:59 a.m. EST. All listeners are eligible to play.
If you become a Patron of the Arts, not only will you help to ensure we can keep doing what we do, covering file hosting costs, production, and transcription services, but we have thank-you gifts at certain tiers and ad-free versions of the episodes for all patrons.
One of the more whimsical events during the annual Baker Street Irregulars Weekend is a recent addition: the running of the Wessex Cup. It's a horse race named after the iconic race that the eponymous missing horse was scheduled to run in "The Adventure of Silver Blaze."
Now, before you wonder where a horse race might be staged in Manhattan, let us spoil it by telling you the horses are not actual equines. In fact, they're toy wind-up horses with mini-figure jockeys, festooned with custom items made by Peggy McFarlane, BSI ("Violet Westbury").
Mavis, owned by Madeline Quiñones |
And the action takes place on Thursday, January 11, 2024. Details below.
All of this is made possible under the auspices of the ACD Society and organized by Ross Davies, BSI ("The Temple"). Last month, interested parties were able to purchase a stable and claim their place in the Wessex Cup.
For those present in New York City for the BSI Weekend, the race may be seen in person, hosted by Otto Penzler, BSI ("The King of Bohemia") at The Mysterious Bookshop — on January 11, 2024, starting at 11:15 a.m. sharp.
If you're not able to be there, the event will be carried live online. You can register to watch by filling out this form.
The second annual running of the Wessex Cup is accompanied by the third annual Doylean Honors to recognize exemplary contributions related to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in the categories of fiction and poetry, performing arts, scholarly writing, and visual arts.
It promises to be an exciting and fun event. Hope you can take part in whichever format works for you.
Listen to our interview with Ross Davies, Cliff Goldsfarb, and Ashley Polasek on All Things ACD:
There were supernatural elements in the original Sherlock Holmes stories. Elements of gothic intrigue like voodoo, a possible vampire, a family curse, and a spectral hound come to mind.
So when Christian Klaver looked at the intersection of his interests in sci-fi, fantasy, Sherlock Holmes, and writing, it was only natural to find some existing and contemporary examples and bring them to life. Thus was born The Classified Dossier of Sherlock Holmes series from Titan Books.
Christian shares stories of these passions with us, bringing us from his childhood inspiration to the Universal monsters, Cthulhu, and more. And we find ourselves back in 1890s London with Oscar Wilde and Conan Doyle for the third entry in the Dossier: Sherlock Holmes and Dorian Gray.
We even got Christian to spill his plans for his next series of books, so you'll want to tune in to hear about that.
And if you are chosen as a winner of this Canonical Couplet quiz, you'll get a copy of Christian's new book!
Send your answer to comment @ ihearofsherlock .com by January 14, 2024 at 11:59 a.m. EST. All listeners are eligible to play.
If you become a Patron of the Arts, not only will you help to ensure we can keep doing what we do, covering file hosting costs, production, and transcription services, but we have thank-you gifts at certain tiers and ad-free versions of the episodes for all patrons.
Following our recent appearance on Sherlock Mondays, we revisited Christopher Morley's wonderful introduction to the Baker Street Irregulars' edition of "The Blue Carbuncle" from 1948.
For our Patreon supporters (and our PayPal supporters here) we have Burt's full reading of Morley's essay, followed by commentary and discussion with Scott afterward.
You can hear a sample here:
I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes on Christmas Eve, with the intention of wishing him the compliments of the season. He was lounging upon the sofa in a chartreuse dressing-gown, the day’s newspapers well-studied and his black briar emitting a curl of blue smoke in the ashtray. Beside the couch was a straight-backed chair, and on the stile hung a seedy and disreputable fur-trimmed stocking hat, much the worse for wear. A lens and a forceps lying upon the seat of the chair suggested that the hat had been hung with care for the purpose of examination.
"You are engaged," said I, "perhaps I interrupt you."
"Not at all. I am glad to have a friend with whom I can discuss my results. The matter is a perfectly trivial one" (he motioned his thumb with a jerk in the direction of the cone-shaped covering), "but there are points in connection with it which are not entirely devoid of interest, and even of instruction."
I seated myself in his armchair, and accepted the glass of heated eggnog Holmes offered, for the day had been still and cold and now that night had fallen, it was colder still. "I suppose," I remarked after a sip of the landlady’s concoction and the warm glow that started to radiate from within, "that, homely as it is, this thing has some deadly story linked to it--- that it is the clue which will guide you in the solution of some profound mystery, and the punishment of some malefactor."
"No, no. No crime," said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. "Only one of those whimsical little incidents which will happen when you have four and a half million human beings cheek-by-jowl within the space of a few square miles. Amid the action and reaction of so dense a swarm of humanity, every possible combination of events may be expected to take place, and many a little problem will be presented which may be striking and bizarre without being criminal. You know Peterson, the commissionaire?"
"Yes."
"It is to him that this trophy belongs."
"It is his hat."
"No, no; he found it. Its owner is unknown. I beg that you will look upon it, not as a tattered tupplue, but as a conical conundrum. Your arrival is fortuitous as Peterson is downstairs with Mrs. Hudson getting a cup of tea and I as yet have listened to his story. We shall listen to it together. In the meantime let us see what we can deduce of the owner.”
"From his hat?"
"Precisely."
"But you are joking. What can you gather from this old battered bonnet?"
"Here is my lens. You know my methods. What can you gather yourself as to the individuality of the man who has worn this article?"
I took the harried headgear in my hands, and turned it over rather ruefully. It was a red triangular plush cap with a white fur pom-pom at the point, and white fur trim around the base. The lining had been of red silk, but was a good deal sweat stained. There was no maker's name, at least as far as I could tell, but sewn in once-golden thread were strange linear hieroglyphics. It was pierced in the inner brim for a hat-securer, but the elastic was missing. For the rest, it was exceedingly dusty, and spotted in several places, although there seemed to have been some attempt to hide the discolored patches by daubing them with red ink.
"I can see nothing," said I, handing it back to my friend.
"On the contrary, Watson; how many fingers am I holding up?”
“Three.”
“Your eyesight is fine. You fail, however, to apply reason from what you see."
"Then pray, tell me,” I replied with some asperity, “what it is that you can infer from this hat?"
He gazed at it in the peculiar introspective fashion which was characteristic of him when he took on the air of a disappointed tutor lecturing a particularly dense pupil. "It is perhaps less suggestive than it might have been," remarked Holmes, "and yet there are a few inferences which represent at least a strong balance of probability. That the man was highly intellectual is of course obvious upon the face of it, and also that he was fairly well-to-do, although he has now fallen upon evil days. He had foresight, but has less now than formerly, pointing to a moral retrogression, which, when taken with the decline of his fortunes, seems to indicate some evil influence, probably elves, at work upon him.”
“Elves!”
“This may account also for the obvious fact that his wife has ceased to love him,” he continued, disregarding my remonstrance. “He has, however, retained some degree of self-respect. He is a man who leads a sedentary life, goes out little, perhaps just once a year, is middle-aged, has grizzled hair which he has had cut within the last few days, and which he anoints with rather expensive avocado-cream. These are the more patent facts which are to be deduced from his blushing bucket. Also, by the way, that it is extremely improbable that he has gas laid on in his house, no doubt because he lives on an isolated farm raising reindeer."
“Surely, you’re joking!”
“You know I detest that nickname. I don’t even allow my brother Mycroft to call me that.”
“No, no; I meant you are certainly not serious.”
“Ah. I’m quite serious, my dear fellow.”
"How did you deduce that this man was intellectual?"
For an answer, Holmes slipped the linty lid upon his head. The fur brim passed over
the forehead and settled upon the bridge of his nose. "It is a question of
cubic capacity," said he; "a man with so large a brain must have
something in it."
"The decline of his fortunes, then?"
"This hat is old. These type of plush fur-lined hats have long been out of
fashion. It is a hat of the very best quality. Look at the fur, and the
excellent lining. If this man could afford to buy so expensive a hat. and has
had no hat since, then he has assuredly gone down in the world."
"Well, that is clear enough, certainly. But how about the foresight, and
the moral retrogression?"
"Here is the foresight." said he, putting his finger upon the little
disc and loop of the hat-securer. "They are never solid upon hats. If this
man ordered one, it is a sign of a certain amount of foresight, since he went
out of his way to take this precaution against the wind. But since we see that
he has broken the elastic, and has not troubled to replace it, it is obvious
that he has less foresight now than formerly, which is a distinct proof of a
weakening nature. On the other hand, he has endeavored to conceal some of these
stains upon the plush by daubing them with red ink, which is a sign that he has
not entirely lost his self-respect. The further points, that he is middle-aged,
that his hair is grizzled, that it has been recently cut, and that he uses avocado-cream,
are all to be gathered from a close examination of the lower part of the
lining. The lens discloses a large number of hair-ends, clean cut by the
scissors of the barber. They all appear to be adhesive, and there is a distinct
odor of avocado-cream, which is rare in this part of the world and speaks of a
wanton self-indulgence and further evidence of moral regression. This dust, you
will observe, is not the gritty, gray dust of the street nor the dirt of the
country, but the fluffy brown dust of the house, showing that it has been hung
up indoors most of the time; while the marks of moisture upon the inside are
proof positive that the wearer perspired very freely, and could, therefore,
hardly be in the best of training."
"But his wife - you said that she had ceased to love him."
"This hat has not been brushed for months, perhaps a whole year. When I
see you, my dear Watson, with a year's accumulation of dust upon your hat, and
when your wife allows you to go out in such a state, I shall fear that you also
have been unfortunate enough to lose your wife's affection, if not your wife
herself."
"You have an answer to everything. But how on earth do you deduce that the
gas is not laid on in the house?"
"One tallow stain, or even two, might come by chance; but, when I see no
less than five, I think that there can be little doubt that the individual must
be brought into frequent contact with burning tallow - walks upstairs at night
probably with his topper in one hand and a guttering candle in the other.
Anyhow, he never got tallow stains from a gas jet."
“But elves?”
“I am familiar with over thirty types of European writing systems. These markings sewn into the lining are Tomte runes, peculiar to an especially short Scandinavian race locals refer to as ‘elves’. Our friend the hat owner is not a Tomte himself as seen by the hat size but must have a deep association with them to adapt their writing. They are a happy but short-tempered race, given to much mischief. Loyal if treated well, but pranksters and thieves if crossed. Long association with them could again lead to moral retrogression.”
“And the reindeer farming?”
“There are several indications. One: this type of hat is still fashionable in northern climes. Two: the white fun, unless I am very much mistaken, is polar bear, again an indication the wear resides up north. Three: the Tomte live in Scandinavia and nowhere else. Four: there are reindeer hair on the outside of the hat. As the author of A Study of Ungulates and Ruminants and Their Association with Criminal Actives, Illustrated with Forty Color Plates I was able to identify the fur quite easily. It seems then highly probable our mysterious friend is a reindeer farmer.”
Footsteps sounded on the stair and after a knock on the door Peterson the commissionaire entered. He greeted us cordially and at Holmes’ urging began his tale.
“I had an important commission this evening, but because it was Christmas Eve, the cabbie decided not to wait for me. The streets were fairly deserted and there was not another cab to be found so I started to walk back home while keeping my eyes peeled for transportation. I was walking down Bartholomew Lane---“
Holmes sat up straight on the sofa. “You were in the City?”
“Yes sir. Quiet as a tomb.”
“Go on”
“Well, it was dusk and not a soul to be seen. I reached the corner when I suddenly heard the jingling of bells and out of the sky dropped this funny hat, right at my feet. It’s not quite a bobble or a toque and it had this queer sort of writing inside and I thought that if anyone could make sense of this happening and maybe return the hat to its owner, it’s Mr. Holmes.”
“What else.”
“Sir?”
“What else did you find, Peterson?”
The commissionaire’s cheeks flushed. We knew Peterson to be an honest man and his reaction was one of embarrassment, not guilt. “We-ell,” he stammered, “after I picked up the hat and looked at it and took a step onto the way of going home, this piece of paper fluttered out of the sky right into my hand. I thought it was…a reward – in advance, like, for getting the hat back to its owner…’
“A reward?”
“You know, for doing a good deed…from…” Here Peterson looked up at the ceiling. He reached into his pocket and then held out his hand. There in his palm was a clean, crisp five-pound note. Holmes took up his lens and the note and examined it under the lamp and even held it under his nose briefly. When he turned back to us his manner was still phlegmatic but there was a most singular intentness in his eyes that told me he had chanced upon some clue of importance. Holmes went over to his desk. “I propose an exchange, Peterson, this fiver for yours. It’s not quite as new, but it will spend the same and I guarantee it has the same amount of luck as yours.”
Peterson took the note with some reluctance. Holmes turned back to his desk and scribbled out a message, handing it to the commissionaire along with some coins. “Please go to the telegraph office and send this before you go home. And,” he said placing a hand on the man’s shoulder, “I can assure you this felt-and-fur Phrygian will find its home ere long.”
As soon as the door close, Holmes tore off his dressing gown and headed to the wardrobe in his room, all the while speaking. “What a blind beetle I’ve been! You remember that pretty little problem of Helen Stoner’s at Stoke Moran? At first all the clues pointed to the gypsies but once on the scene it became obvious it was that group of plasterers hired by her nefarious step-father.” Readers of these somewhat incoherent series of memoirs will recall “The Adventure of the Spackled Band”. “Well, my deductions about that hirsute headgear were perfectly reasonable, logical and entirely wrong, all because I lacked two facts.”
“The five-pound note?”
“And the location.”
“Bartholomew Lane?”
“The corner of Bartholomew Lane and Threadneedle Street.”
A dark and sinister notion started forming in my mind. Holmes came out of his room and tossed me a pistol while checking to see that his was loaded. “Be a good fellow and hail us cab, eh, Watson?”
The horse’s hooves beat out a swift tattoo as our hansom headed to the City. “I believe you suspect Peterson’s fiver was a forgery.”
“You positively scintillate tonight, Watson.”
“So the hat is part of a disguise.”
“For over one hundred and thirty years Jules-Thomas and Sons has been operating out of the same building in the West End providing costumes and property for theater companies and acting troupes. Like many immigrants to our shores, they anglicized their name from the original Scandinavian Jultomten.”
“Jultomten—Tomte?”
“Exactly so, Watson. The Jules-Thomases are descended from that Scandinavian race locally known as elves and even today their scion are exceedingly short people. Early in the company’s history, the family name was sewn into their costumes—”
“In Tomte runes.”
“Watson, your eyesight improves by the moment! We can now look at our muffed mantle in a new light. It was manufactured well over a century ago of the best materials and meant to be durable. It was designed to fit all heads so was made on the larger side, so it could accommodate wigs. There is also the well-known factor of actors possessing larger crania than the general population. To save costs, it is repaired frequently, such as the touch-ups of red ink. As there is usually strenuous action on stage during the course of a production, that would account for the hat-securer and the sweat stains. As there is not much call for this type of hat except during the holiday season, there would naturally be a many-months accumulation of dust in the storage area located in the oldest part of the building where gas has yet to be laid. The dust tells us one other thing; professionals like Jules-Thomas would not allow a costume to go out in such a condition. Therefore, it must have been stolen.”
“The freshly-cut grizzled hair then must belong to the thief.”
“Bravo, Watson! I see that marriage has not staled your infinite variety. Cabbie, stop here.” We were let off at Cheapside and Queen Victoria Street and, being as inconspicuous as possible on the deserted streets, made our way to the “Grey Lady of Threadneedle Street”. The Bank of England, the financial heart of the Empire stood dark, silent and imposing in the light of the gibbous moon. The air was still and our breath shot out in front of us like smoke from a pistol shot. We made our way along the bank’s façade on Princes Street where Holmes found a rope ladder almost invisible in the shadows. We climbed to the first level roof and surveyed the five story wall that stretched above our heads to the top of the building. Here the cunningness of the rope-ladder’s design was made clear as even in the bright moonlight it was practically invisible to the eye and from the street below would be non-existent.
With Holmes in the lead we ascended the wall in the bracing winter night air, up past the sloping shingles of the top floor to the narrow, relatively flat roof. There, not far from us, silhouetted against the sky were a group of two-legged reindeer gathered around a skylight. They spoke in whispers with their backs to us, antlers bobbing in the cold. Nearby appeared to be a large sledge piled high with packages. Holmes took out his revolver and I followed suit. We crept to within a few feet of the costumed men then Holmes stood and in a quiet voice said, “Gentlemen, do not move.”
His voice rang out like cannon fire in the hushed darkness, seemingly turning the men to statues. Holmes edged closer to the skylight. “My friend here is known as the Deadly Doctor, so pray, be still,” he said sotto voce as he peered down in the stygian depths. I took pride in Holmes’ complement of my marksmanship until the sniggering of one of the men reminded me of its possible double meaning. The cocking of my hammer shut him up.
Presently, a shuffling sound emanated from within the building and up rose from the black hole a head of long white hair, then a face surrounded by a full white beard. One red-mittened hand held the rope ladder attached to the skylight, the other a bag slung over a shoulder. Holmes clapped his gun to the man’s head. “Up and out slowly, if you please. That’s good. Now place the sack down. Right. Watson, you’ve heard me speak of this gentleman, but I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure of meeting him. Doctor John Watson, Professor James Moriarty.” Holmes had pocketed his gun, grabbed the hair in one hand and the beard in the other and yanked away. There stood the former mathematics professor, his bald pate fringed with grizzled hair gleamed in the moonlight, his sunken eyes glaring with malevolence at the detective. “A masterful performance, Professor, although your costume is sadly incomplete.”
Comprehension broke on his features as the whole chain of events that led to his capture became clear. “The hat! If it wasn’t for that damned freak gust of wind--- “ Those were his first and last words of the evening as he clamped his mouth shut and refused to speak further.
Then from out in the street there arose such a clatter. “Watson,” said Holmes, his gun now back out and trained on Moriarty, “take that gentleman there” (he indicated one of the reindeer who would appear to be most at home at Newgate) “over to the ledge and have him report what he sees.”
I motioned the brute over and he peered down. “There’s a great lot of Black Marias, a fire brigade and a whole lot of coppers.” I motioned the man back to his herd.
“That will be Inspector Bradstreet, the Yard, the City Police and the ladder engine. I am afraid your brilliant plan of stealing the actual five-pound note plates” (here he tapped the sack with his foot) “and substituting counterfeit plates to cause the financial collapse of the Empire is for naught, Professor.” City and Metropolitan Police swarmed to the roof and soon the two professional law groups were fighting over who would make the arrest and who would claim credit in the papers. Eventually, the criminals were led away and the lawmen cleared the roof leaving Holmes and I alone at the scene.
Holmes examined the “sledge”, which was a balsa cutout ingeniously constructed to fold into a small, portable square for easy transport, yet from the street or the window of a neighboring building would appear to be substantial.
“There is always a touch of the extravagant to Moriarty’s schemes. To create a tableau of Father Christmas visiting the Bank of England just to discredit any possible witnesses…” He shook his head. “Hum. I wonder…”
“What is it, Holmes?”
“Peterson said he heard bells, then the cherry chapeau landed at his feet, yet neither Moriarty nor his ‘reindeer’ were wearing bells, and this cutout certainly doesn’t have any. Where did the sound come from?”
Then above the distant sound of London there was the faint jingling of bells, which grew louder, then a voice from above said, “Good night, Mister Sherlock Holmes. Ho, ho, ho.” We both turned skywards and there across the waxing moon appeared four pairs of reindeer drawing a sledge driven by a rotund bearded jolly man who waved at us. As we watched, the apparition turned to the north and rapidly disappeared clean out of sight.
I do not know how long we stood there transfixed but finally I whispered my companion’s name. That broke the spell. Holmes snapped, “Watson, you know my maxim that when you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. As it is impossible for reindeer to fly, the only vehicle able to lift such a sledge is a hot-air balloon, which was not in evidence, and further, a hot-air balloon could not achieve such speeds as witnessed, there can be only one probability for our folie à deux; Mrs. Hudson spiked our eggnog with absinthe!
“However, as this is the season of forgiveness, we shall not reprimand her, or mention it to her, or,” he turned to me and spoke in a steely voice, “mention this incident to anyone, ever!”
Holmes strode the roof edge and the rope ladder, then stopped and stared thoughtfully at that spot in the northern sky where the apparition vanished and where now faintly glowed a star.
“You know, Watson,” he spoke slowly as a clock chimed midnight, “I am not one to celebrate holidays, but if I were to wish for a present, I can think of no better one than to be with my old comrade-in-arms, back in action and on the thrill of the chase, putting the most dangerous criminal in London behind bars. Complements of the season.” He stuck out his hand.
“Complements of the season, Holmes.”
We clasped hands and shook.
For inspiration, I’d like to thank John Foster of the Sherlock Holmes Society of St. Charles and Gahan Wilson. —JCO’L
All nature seems at work . . . The bees are stirring--birds are on the wing . . . and I the while, the sole unbusy thing, not honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.
Derrick Belanger is one half of the duo responsible for Belanger Books, one of the prominent Sherlockian publishers, founded in 2015.
His passion for Sherlock Holmes began uncommonly — in a way we can't ever recall hearing from a guest before. But that passion fueled the founding and direction of Belanger Books, which focuses on traditional Sherlock Holmes pastiches as well as the Solar Pons stories.
Many of the titles on Belanger Books began as Kickstarter efforts, and the latest volume, Steel True, Blade Straight is an annual journal of Sherlock Holmes- and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle-inspired stories, poems, and scholarship and is endorsed by the ACD Society.
We also have listener mail, Sherlockian news, and of course the Canonical Couplet, which features as a prize your choice of a book from the Belanger Books catalog.
Send your answer to comment @ ihearofsherlock .com by December 29, 2023 at 11:59 a.m. EST. All listeners are eligible to play.
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