It`s often said that doctors make the worst patients and I was feeling fretful
enough to prove the point. Still, it was a day that would cause any Londoner to chafe at
having to remain indoors: high summer and a cloudless sky outside as the sun warmed the
cobblestones of Baker Street and smiled through the opened windows of number 221B. The
chemical retorts stacked on the acid stained workbench glistened, dust motes danced over
the piles of books lying in untidy heaps and only the unused fireplace seemed mournful.
Candidly though, the fireplace was not the only thing in the room which seemed to
be of no present utility to anyone. That description might well have been applied to me,
John H. Watson, MD, late of the Medical Department of the Indian Army. For I was
temporarily crippled by a sharp attack of gout in the toes of my left foot, an attack of
such severity that I was compelled to spend most of my time sitting in my armchair by the
empty fireplace with the afflicted foot resting on a footstool. Not only were my toes
paining me, but the affected nerves also extended to my old Afghan bullet wound, summoning
up frequent sharp twinges as unwelcome reminders of past service on the North West
Frontier.
It ill becomes an old campaigner to complain about minor afflictions but such was
my mood that I would have gladly welcomed the chance of a few minutes conversation with
that brash young author, Mr Kipling, so that I might have told him what I thought of all
the tosh he writes about the Great Game. In my humble opinion, if the Russians or anybody
else want to rule Afghanistan, we Britons should offer them every encouragement to try to
do so. That blighted territory has caused nothing but trouble for anybody foolish enough
to meddle in its barbaric affairs and always will do.
But since there was neither Mr Kipling nor anybody else present to talk to, I
perforce attempted once again to find something interesting to read in the books Mrs
Hudson had placed by my side. It was not an occupation which could divert my restlessness
for long. Unusually for one of my normally placid temperament I now had some inkling of
the oppressive boredom which settled on Holmes when there was no case of interest to apply
his mind to. For me, a brisk walk in the fresh air and a half pint of best bitter
afterwards in the `The Cask and Greyhound` would have settled my nerves admirably. Yet
even those small pleasures were presently denied me.
Perhaps, though, the matter of most concern was the absence of the world`s greatest
detective. For Sherlock Holmes was carrying out one of the most important investigations
of his career, and doing so far away from his usual haunts. He had been gone from London
for over five days and I believed him by now to be somewhere in Transylvania.
"I have no wish at all to be dispatched on this mission, Watson," he had
told me from amidst a cloud of his favourite shag tobacco on the eve of his departure to
Dover. "But the request came not only from the Prime Minister and the Foreign
Secretary: there was also an appeal from an even more majestic level, one which no loyal
Englishman could deny. Indeed, never before can I remember such concern in the highest of
circles, not even when the plans for the Bruce-Partington submersible vessel went astray.
So I`m bound for the Balkans, and no discussion is to be entered into."
"But, Holmes, what could happen in those primitive areas to affect British
interests?" I`d asked of him in surprise.
"Why, Watson, anyone who takes the trouble to read the daily newsprints knows
that the Austro-Hungarian Empire is a ship of state with many in its crew ripe for mutiny.
Now we have certain word that the Black Hand Gang of Serbia is planning to strike a blow
which will be deemed a casus belli for a general uprising against the Imperial
authorities. I agree that in times past that would have been a matter of little interest
to London, but we live in a changing world. One of the most important capitals in Europe
has passed into the control of a vainglorious peacock with a thirst for military
adventures. Let a spark strike in the Balkans today and it might set off the whole of
Europe like a gigantic powder magazine. That is a tragedy that any man must do whatever is
in his power to prevent. So now I fear I must make my departure for the boat train."
I`d struggled to my feet to shake his hand and bid him God speed. "I only wish
that I might come with you, Holmes, but with this accursed foot I would be more hindrance
than help."
"Come, Watson, cheer up. Even if you were able to chronicle this case it`s an
absolute surety it could never be published, not for as long as the Austro-Hungarian and
British Empires endure. And I fear you would find the foothills of the Carpathian
Mountains but a poor substitute for our usual lush hunting grounds in the Home Counties.
No, it`s best you stay and hold the fort against my return, stout fellow that you are.
Farewell."
Well, if I was still holding the fort, it was as a forlorn and crippled garrison.
As Holmes had done so many times before me, I wished that something would happen which
would occupy my mind. And how soon and how fully was that idle wish to be granted!
"Doctor, excuse me, but there`s a young lady on the doorstep who wishes to
speak to Mr Holmes."
I looked up to see Mrs Hudson`s honest face at the doorway. It seemed odd that she
should have troubled to ascend the staircase for such a pointless announcement.
"Then she is unfortunate in her timing, as well you know, Mrs Hudson. Mr
Holmes is abroad and not expected back for some time. Whatever the lady`s difficulties,
she must seek her help for them in some other quarter."
Mrs Hudson was as little affected by my blast of irritation as an oak tree by a
gentle breeze: "Yes, Doctor, but this is not quite an ordinary young lady. Her name
is Miss Oakes."
I felt my brows crease in puzzlement at her words. Was I supposed to be acquainted
with this female?
"Miss Maude Oakes," Mrs Hudson repeated with a touch of asperity and
suddenly I realized whom she was referring to.
"You mean the tennis player? The All England champion?"
"Yes sir, that Miss Oakes. The girl who won at Wimbledon last year and will
again tomorrow, when she beats that American upstart, Daisy Cavanah."
Mrs Hudson`s already sharp voice became even sharper with disapproval.
"Can you imagine that, Doctor, some Yankee coming over here and thinking they
can beat the English at their own game? And yet that may well happen if Miss Maude has to
go out onto the court in the same condition she`s in now. In no fit state to represent her
country, poor dear, I can see that much for myself."
I had no idea that Mrs Hudson had such an interest in any sport, but it was indeed
possible that she might approve very strongly of Miss Oakes. Certainly everybody in the
country knew about the young female champion, even those not normally interested in
tennis. For Maude Oakes was in the way of being England`s sweetheart and I was astonished
at my own slowness in not noting her name as soon as I heard it. I well remembered once
seeing her play and it was a treasured memory. A tall strapping Amazon of a girl with a
figure which made men catch their breath as she ran across a court, the hem of her skirt
brushing against the grass so swiftly it sometimes seemed more like flying than fleetness
of foot.
Yet it was not only her athletic and sporting prowess had made her a favourite of
the press, but also her beauty and it seemed there was always some excuse for her
photograph to be published in the news tabloids yet again, almost always with her tennis
cap perched jauntily on top of her tresses of blonde hair.
Of course I reflected that Maude Oakes seemed the most unlikely of visitors to be
expected at Sherlock Holmes` lodgings. Whatever had brought her here there was probably
little enough that I could do to help her. Still, she was more than welcome to enter, for
the sight of her would light up my morning as surely as the sun was brightening up
everybody else`s day. And presumably a few minutes conversation could be of no great
matter to Miss Oakes, whatever the urgency of her business.
With the aid of my stick I had managed to struggle to my feet when Mrs Hudson
showed the young lady in. There are some people who can dominate their setting just by
being there, like a diamond displayed amongst stones. They have a physical presence and a
personality which seems to be cut from a more glittering cloth than the more prosaic
material the rest of us have to wear during our earthly existence. Miss Oakes was one
such: she was taller than me, broad shouldered, deep bosomed, yet with a waistline which
would have done credit to a danseuse; her blonde hair and vivid blue eyes were made for a
Viking`s delight and her complexion had the freshness of newly dewed rose petals. Above
all else though, my first impression of her was of a radiant energy and a grace of
movement worthy of display on the stage of Covent Garden.
Quite frankly, once she was touching my hand in greeting, I was regretting my
decision to admit her. For I suddenly realized how old and infirm I must seem when
compared to this young and golden embodiment of youthful Britannia.
"Doctor Watson, it is good of you to see me. I`m in desperate need of sound
advice. In fact it was an assistant manager of the Savoy Hotel whom suggested that I come
here, though he himself knows not the half of my troubles."
Indeed, she looked to be near despair, and my heart beat in sympathy, as it must in
the breast of any decent man when appealed to by a person of the feminine persuasion.
"Miss Oakes, we could hardly turn away a young lady of your accomplishments
away from our doorstep. But it is my sad duty to tell you that Mr Holmes is abroad and
unable to help you for the present."
She nodded briskly.
"So I was informed when I arrived. But perhaps my journey has not been wasted.
Frankly, the matter which brings me here is so delicate that I would actually prefer to
reveal it to a medical man in the first instance. Please, may I talk freely to you?"
"Of course, Miss Oakes, of course."
The lady politely refused Mrs Hudson`s offer of a dish of tea. Once we were alone
and seated she produced a letter from her reticule.
"Before I show this to you, Doctor, I must first explain that during the All
England Tennis Championships I have been staying at the Savoy Hotel. As you know I have
been fortunate enough to win my way through to the finals, which will be played tomorrow
morning at eleven thirty. Yesterday I returned to the Savoy from Wimbledon with all my
playing gear in the cab with me. Somehow, between the time my cases were unloaded, and the
porter bringing them to my room, my racket was stolen."
"Stolen? At the Savoy!"
"Yes, it seems quite incredible and at first the management believed some
dreadful mistake had been made as they made the most desperate efforts to find out where
the racket could have gone to.
"You must understand, Doctor, how much that racket means to me. It was made
for me when I first began playing tennis by Mr Owen Mullard, at that time the senior
proprietor of Mullard and Sons of Restoration Row, a king of his trade and now,
regrettably, deceased. Every game since then I have played with my Mullard in my hand, and
I know it as well as any violinist would know his instrument. I also know that I can never
hope to play at my top form without my own racket. Which means I shall probably lose
against Daisy Cavanah."
I was aghast at the very mention of such a possibility.
"A Yankee winning at Wimbledon! Come, come, Miss Oakes, surely the loss of
even the most treasured of rackets cannot undermine your morale to the extent that you
could believe such a thing possible. Why, her Majesty herself is believed to be taking an
interest in the outcome of the Championships."
Miss Oakes shook her head sadly: "I fear that I shall indeed be defeated. All
conflicts on the Centre Court are eventually decided as much upon spirit as on skill, and
everybody involved in the game knows how much value I place on my Mullard. When she hears
that it has been taken from me Daisy Cavanah`s spirits must be elevated in the same degree
that mine have been lowered."
So obvious was her distress that I almost reached out to squeeze her hand in
compassion. Fortunately I was able to stop myself from committing such a terrible faux pas
with an unmarried lady.
"You say your racket has been stolen from you, Miss Oakes. Are you absolutely
sure that this is so? Might it not have been misplaced or taken away in error?"
"No, Doctor. For a letter addressed to me was delivered to the Savoy desk this
morning by a pageboy who handed it over with my empty racket case and immediately left.
Before I show it to you, I beg your assurance that you will keep its contents completely
confidential. Even the mere fact of my having received it would cause a terrible
scandal."
"How could that possibly be?" I asked.
"Read it and you will find out for yourself, for surely you will never have
seen a more infamous document, not in any of the nefarious criminal cases you have
chronicled as Mr Sherlock Holmes’ companion!"
Surprised by the openly displayed intensity of her emotions, I picked up the
letter. I was written on a single sheet of fine quality but unheaded writing paper with a
well shaped nib and neatly blotted:
`My Dear Miss Oakes,
Or may I take the liberty of calling you Maude? For I hope we shall be much better
acquainted by and by. I would indeed wish us to be friends, and as a friend it is my
pleasure to return to you your racket case, proving that I have possession of your
Mullard, which, I am happy to assure you, is unharmed.
Naturally, as a patriotic Englishman, it is my dearest wish that your racket should
also be returned to you forthwith so you may win the All England Championship. However,
being also a man, and perhaps your greatest admirer, I claim the privilege of returning
your property to you personally. Be on platform number six at Euston station at three
o`clock this afternoon. You will be approached and show a playing card, the Ace of Hearts.
Without any hesitation you will follow the person who shows you the card and obey any
instructions he or she gives you. By a roundabout route you will be brought to me and your
racket handed back to you.
However, before the transaction is complete, I shall claim my reward. As a keen
photographer I have long desired to capture your image, preferably holding your racket
aloft. But what would make the photograph perfect would be for you to pose for me wearing
nothing but your playing boots and your tennis cap. That would indeed be a picture worth
the taking.
If you genuinely desire to have your racket returned, and if you are willing to
grant me the favour I have asked for, be at Euston station at three o`clock. Should you be
unwise enough to involve the police in this matter, be aware that the agent who meets you
at the station will be completely unable to help the force to identify or locate me.
Furthermore, any such action will result in the immediate destruction of your precious
racket,
Your most obedient servant,
An Ardent Admirer`
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