The Sensible Necktie and Other Stories of Sherlock Holmes (14 page)

“Since the staff at the hotel all seemed to me to be decent people, my suspicions fell on the boy who had given us the news. I concluded that he must have been lying, and that we had fallen victim to his childish prank. The colonel did not seem to agree with my supposition, but said nothing, and we left it there. There was no further conversation between us that evening, and dinner passed in silence. It wasn't until we went up to our beds that I was reminded of my whistle. I had made some passing mention of it to the colonel, and wanted to show it to him, thinking he might make something out of the inscription. He looked at it closely, and there was immediately something anxious about his face. I told him I might hand it over to an archaeologist at Cambridge, or maybe present it to a museum, but he only frowned and told me I'd be better off chucking it into the sea. I don't know what made him say this, but by now I had really had enough of him, and bade him goodnight.

“That night, I experienced the most fantastic and fearful occurrence of my life. Once more, I was tossing and turning in my bed, and it was not until I rose to draw the curtains that I noticed to my great surprise that they were gone. In fact, the entire curtain rod had been removed. I assumed it was the maid who had done it to wash the curtains and then forgotten to replace them, and since it was late I did not want to make a fuss, so I managed to make up for it by making use of my railway rug. In the middle of the night, however, I was woken by the sound of my rug falling from its place, leaving the window bare. The moon shone brightly into the room, and I wondered whether I should go to the trouble of rearranging it. Just then, I heard the sound that had disturbed me the previous night. It was the sound of someone, or something, shifting in the other bed. Within seconds, I was out of my bed, grasping my walking stick, when I saw, as clearly as I see you now, a figure rising up from beneath the sheets, and sitting upright in the bed. And then, suddenly, it bolted up, and stood on the floor, right in between the two beds. It now blocked the door and started to float through the room towards me. It was a figure, much the size of a man, a tall man, but if you were to ask me to describe it, I could only say that it was all bed linen.

“I backed towards the window, which by now was my only escape. It came closer, and I could not keep myself from crying out. Upon hearing this, it was as if it had finally managed to locate me, for now it hurried towards me, and was only inches from me, when the door was thrust open and Colonel Wilson appeared, framed by the light from the corridor outside. And with his appearance, it was as if the creature vanished into thin air, or at least whatever it had been which had filled the sheets, for they were still there, but simply fell onto the floor in a large jumble. The colonel came up to me, and managed to calm me down. I dropped onto my bed, and I must have fallen asleep, or fainted. When I woke up, it was daylight, and I saw that the colonel had slept in the other bed, wrapped in a rug. The linen was still on the floor by the window.

“He and I had a long talk after breakfast, during which we tried to wrap our heads around what had happened, and what we had both seen, for he maintained that he had also seen the figure, just before it disappeared. I am afraid that I found it impossible to hold onto my rationalist outlook in this intercourse, and the colonel was most understanding. I gave him the whistle to dispose of, and he threw it into the sea, just as he had advised me to do. The next day we both left the Globe, and I returned to Cambridge, only to find that I could not leave this whole experience behind me. I spent all of Christmas trying to occupy my mind with other things, but it kept haunting me, not least because I simply cannot incorporate it into my worldview. And so, last night, I decided that I would put the matter into your hands. Perhaps it is too late to investigate it, but simply telling you about my experience will put me at ease, knowing that another rational mind will have the opportunity to meditate on it.”

The professor fell silent, removing his spectacles to polish them with his handkerchief. Holmes was tapping his fingertips on the armrests of his chair.

“Have you spoken to your archaeologist friend since you came back?” he asked.

“I have not. I did not feel it was very urgent, and besides, he is away until the beginning of next term.”

“And what happened to the bed clothes?”

Parkins lowered his eyes. “Since I was so panic-stricken, I insisted that they were burned, and paid the hotel-owners for a new set.”

“Did you or anyone else examine them?”

“No. Wilson carried them from the room and out into the back garden, where the landlord burned them.”

“I see. And there was no formal inquiry conducted?”

“Oh no. I could not have faced it, and the hotel-owners indicated that they did not want rumours spread about their house.”

“That is understandable,” I remarked.

“Yes, but hardly helpful to us,” said Holmes. “What else can you tell us about Colonel Wilson?”

“Well, what do you have in mind?”

“His first name?”

“Desmond, I think. He told me he is club secretary at the Burlington Club and I believe he takes rooms in St James's. I also seem to remember him telling me he is a widower, when he explained about his strong religious feelings.”

“How did he come across to you when you elaborated on your rationalist standpoint?”

“He was very controlled and took care not to make passionate statements, but it was clear to me he was uncomfortable. So was I. In the end, I think we came to a sort of silent truce which derived from our not approaching the subject again. And, of course, I was more compliant after my nocturnal experience.”

“Ah yes, that,” Holmes remarked, as if the incident was only a marginal aspect of the affair. “Did you ever have the opportunity of inspecting the other bed?”

“Not really. When the maid mentioned that both had been slept in, I was angry with her, and left my room without trying to make heads or tails of it.”

“Was it the same type of bed as the one you slept in?”

Parkins raised his hands. “Mr Holmes, I appreciate your interest, but I fear your attempts at comprehending the matter is in vain. I understand that your impulse is to solve the mystery, but I am starting to think it has no natural solution. I only came here to share my experience with you, to unload my burden, as it were, and now that I have done so, I already feel better.”

“So the experience has managed to convert you?” I said.

The professor looked my way, and seemed a bit surprised at hearing it so frankly put. “Yes. Maybe it has.” His gaze wandered, as if he only now realised the extent of this business.

We were interrupted by Holmes loudly clapping his hands together and bouncing out of his armchair.

“Well then, there is not much more we can do for you. I hope you don't think your visit has been in vain, and I promise you we will get back to you if we should have any further thoughts on the matter.”

Parkins looked content and was also on his feet.

“I thank you for your time, gentlemen. You may reach me at this address.” He handed Holmes a card and walked towards the door. He stopped on the threshold, hesitated for a second, then turned back to us. “There is just one more thing.”

Holmes stepped up to him. “Yes?”

“It is nothing, but I mention it, simply because I cannot fit it into the rest of the story. When I woke up after having fainted, the room was exactly like it had been except for one thing. The curtains were back. Good day to you.”

And with these words he left the room. Holmes closed the door behind him and returned to his seat with a smile. After a while, he became aware of my startled look. “Is something the matter, Watson?”

“I just think you could have been a bit more stubborn.”

“We did what he asked us to do. We listened to his story.”

“But what a story! Don't try to tell me you weren't intrigued by it.”

“On the contrary, my dear Watson. I found it very interesting indeed. Not to mention fraught with unexplored aspects which might very well provide the investigator with a natural solution. But you heard the man! His mind was made up. Besides, there was not much more he could tell us.”

Holmes started filling his briar.

“But do you intend to investigate it?” I asked.

“Yes and no. On the one hand, there is not much to investigate. It happened several weeks ago, and whatever traces there might have been at the hotel must be obliterated by now. Not to mention deliberately burned. On the other hand, it is intriguing to the point of being quite irresistible. And there is one lead which we may very well follow up.”

“Which one?”

“Colonel Desmond Wilson of the Burlington Club.”

Holmes lit the pipe and stretched out his legs in front of him.

“Three-pipe?” I inquired.

“Just so. But unless you are otherwise engaged, you may return this evening to see the case through.”

I had a few appointments at my practice that afternoon, one of which took much longer than I had expected, and it was well past six o'clock by the time I returned to Baker Street. Stepping through the door of the sitting room, I found it empty, but then suddenly, a white sheet jumped out from behind a window curtain with a booming wail. It only took me a second to realise that it was Holmes playing me a prank, and though I smiled at him, his trick, or perhaps more so the fact that, for a fraction of a second, I had fallen for it, quite annoyed me.

“Holmes, you rascal,” I said, barely hiding my irritation.

He pulled back the sheet, revealing a laughing face. “Please forgive me, my friend, for playing you such a simple trick, but you have also helped me in my work.”

“Indeed? How so?”

Holmes carelessly folded up the sheet into a bundle and threw it over the sofa.

“I wanted to know how an average reasonable man, and preferably one of a scientific schooling, would react when faced with an evidently bogus ghost.”

“And what is the conclusion of your experiment?”

“A most interesting one. Have a seat and help yourself to the sherry, and I will tell you what progress I have made since this morning.”

I did as he advised, and had soon forgotten my recent humiliation.

“It is remarkable, is it not,” began Holmes, “how most of us, in spite of our living in a modern age of reason, instinctively react to sights we cannot instantly explain as if they were encounters with the supernatural. You tried very well to hide your unease when confronted with my ghost, but I must say that even through the little holes I had cut into the sheet with a pair of scissors your instant reaction was apparent in your face. You did believe, if only for a very brief moment, that I was a ghost.”

I shifted in my seat at the hearing of this, but saw no point in vainly contradicting him.

“You need not be ashamed of this, Watson. I think any man would react in the same way. The question is why. There we very nearly move into your territory, old man. I believe that, deeply embedded into our subconscious, are conceptions which we have inherited from our forefathers, conceptions which have been created over a very long time, and a time during which, until only a century ago, most people did believe in the supernatural. And I think these conceptions constitute our natural instincts, the wild men within us expecting to meet goblins and devils while walking in the dark forest.”

“It is an interesting theory, Holmes. But it rests on the assumption that everybody is at heart a believer rather than a sceptic.”

“Well, to put it another way: we are first and foremost animals with primitive beliefs, and secondly civilised human beings with sophisticated beliefs. The primitive animal is dying within us, because it only took half a second for you to look through my disguise. But the more believable the apparition which confronts us, the more room to thrive we give to the irrationalist within. Thus, when we encounter a thing like that witnessed by Professor Parkins in his hotel room, which resists the most fervent attempts at rationalisation, our power of reason is severely damaged. Even a devout rationalist such as he finds reason to adjust his worldview.”

“That sounds reasonable enough,” I said. “But it hardly explains what it was he saw.”

“On the contrary, Watson. It explains why he reacted as he did to what he saw, and his reaction is the most important aspect of this whole business. About a hundred years ago, an interesting case took place in Hammersmith. You may have heard stories of the Hammersmith Ghost?”

“Yes, I'm sure I have. Several witnesses in the area claiming to have seen a white-clad apparition wandering the streets at night.”

“Exactly. It even came to the point where a local armed patrol was formed, and the leader of it shot dead a poor innocent plasterer on his way home, simply because the man was wearing the customary white clothes of his trade. The murderer, though, was eventually acquitted, since the jury thought he had been acting under the influence of the current state of panic following the ghost sightings. Consequently, all of a sudden shooting a man in cold blood was no longer a hanging matter.”

“I see your point. The reactions to the sightings created the hysteria that resulted in both a murder and the acquittal of the murderer.”

“And what was the cause of it? Eventually a local shoemaker stepped forward, admitting he had been dressing up in a sheet to get even on his apprentice, who had been scaring the shoemaker's children with ghost stories.”

“You should be thankful I did not draw a gun at you!”

“You see, Watson? This business was the consequence of a man dressing up in no better way than I just did. Can you imagine the result if someone tried a little harder to trick a man?”

“So you don't think what Professor Parkins saw was a ghost?”

“Don't be ridiculous, Watson. Ghosts don't haunt second-rate hotel rooms. I can think of a lot of better things I would do if I were dead.”