Sherlock Holmes and the Chinese Junk Affair and Other Stories (6 page)

It was with a heavy heart and a troubled mind that I reluctantly bid my old friend goodbye. I felt awful, I was letting him down. Not that I would be able to contribute much in the way of help, but I would be there to give my moral support.

Yet, what could I do but answer the call of my patient? I had become his doctor by one of those quirks of life we nearly all experience at some time or other.

It had occurred soon after Holmes and I decided to take the rooms at 221B Baker Street. Just like I had bumped into Stamford, my old dresser under me at Bart’s, and who had been instrumental in bringing Holmes and I together, so it was that I acquired a patient.

I had been about to cross the road and was waiting for the traffic to pass, when I received a tap on the shoulder and, upon turning around, was overjoyed to discover an old friend, ‘Trimmer’ Timmons; beaming face and as jovial as ever.

He was nicknamed Trimmer because of his insistence of trimming every vestige of fat from any meat he ate; bacon, beef, mutton, pork, whatever, with great deliberation, as though working on a cadaver.

He detached every morsel of fat, pushing it to one side of his plate, then satisfied that all that remained was lean, he would begin to eat. So Trimmer it became and Trimmer it remained at least in all his student days.

We both enjoyed meeting each other again, swapping anecdotes about our student days together at medical school and later at Netley, the course for Army surgeons.

He and I travelled together on the same troopship on the long voyage to India. It was a wonderful adventure for us both. For me, the Army posting was a godsend, far better than putting up a brass plate and sitting in a cold room somewhere, waiting and hoping some patient would come; starvation and penury was the lot of many newly qualified doctors, unless you were very fortunate.

It was not so with Trimmer, however. His father had a thriving practice in Brook Street. He had expected, nay insisted, that when Trimmer qualified he should join him in the practice.

But Trimmer had enjoyed his freedom for too long as a student, and was reluctant to be bound up in the strict and rigid life his father would demand, as essential to the professional niceties he considered his patients expected.

So after many family arguments about his future, Trimmer got his way and was allowed to have his freedom, for a short time, as an Army surgeon.

Having got the wanderlust out of his system, Trimmer returned and joined his father in the practice. None too soon either, because his father’s health began to cause concern and he would often take to his bed for a few days, leaving Trimmer to manage on his own.

So over coffee Trimmer asked if I would locum at the times when his father took to his bed. I agreed, because although I had my Army pension it was not great, and any means I had of supplementing it was not to be overlooked.

So, soon afterwards I received a note from Trimmer asking me if I would locum for a day or two. This I did gladly, and that is how Mr James Henshaw of James Henshaw and Sons, Purveyors of High Quality Foods, became my patient.

He had never had need of a doctor in his life. His wife and sons likewise. Some families are like that, enjoying good health always, and unable to understand why others are not so blessed. As Trimmer put it, ‘If every family were like them, doctors would sit on the pavements with begging bowls.’

But to Mr James Henshaw came an unusual experience; he became ill — suddenly. Trimmer was out doing the domiciliary rounds, and I had just finished the surgery when a cabby came demanding a doctor come at once, as Mr Henshaw of James Henshaw and Sons, Purveyors of High Quality Foods, was standing in his office, unable to move his legs. ‘It’s as though ’e’s rooted to the floor, I seed ’im wi’ me own eyes,’ gasped out the excited cabby.

Grabbing my medical bag, I informed the nurse where I was going, and in a flash the cabby whipped up the horse and, in what seemed no time at all, I was being led through the doors of a very high-class emporium indeed.

The several shop assistants, men and women, attired in smart immaculate dress, broke off from serving, to stare at me as I rushed up the wide impressive staircase to his office.

I was shown in by an elderly lady clerk. I saw my patient at once; he was standing with his legs astride, grasping with both hands the side of his large leather-covered desk. He was truly transfixed, unable to move either leg even an inch. He looked at me with wide appealing eyes, rather like a lost dog who looks up at every stranger, hoping that it is its master.

He was sweating and had a terrified look upon his smooth plump face. A man of about sixty years of age, I guessed.

My first task was to calm him down and so I talked and assured him that, as soon as I was able to examine him, I was sure he would soon be on the way to recovery. One of his sons had arrived, and had obviously been informed about the situation, because he had not interrupted my conversation between me and his father, but had stood quietly but concerned in the background.

I asked that we be left alone whilst I examined him. As I did so, I talked and discussed it with him. Soon the look of terror and despair was replaced by calm and, I think, hope that his condition was not life threatening. I explained he had an inguinal hernia, a rupture, and that palliative treatment was to wear a truss. I did not go further into the cause or description of a hernia, because I realised it would only upset my patient further.

Slowly, on its own accord, the hernia receded and my patient was able to begin moving his legs again, until he was able to take a few steps across the room and sit down in his chair.

With the help of his son, we supported him down the staircase and through the shop into a cab. His son and I accompanied him home, a rather grand house as would befit a successful purveyor of High Quality Foods.

After suggesting he take the rest of the day quietly at home and that I would see him the following day, I left him in the care of his loving family.

I became in his eyes the greatest doctor who walked, only because the man, never having any ill health, had no experience of the profession to compare me with.

Often patients, who are attended by one doctor all their lives, are very reluctant to have another, being certain that their doctor is the best in the world.

So grateful was my patient, that each Christmas I would receive a huge hamper containing a goose, wines, nuts and lots of other good things along with his best wishes. I must confess I felt quite a fraud, knowing I had performed no life-saving feat or anything special that any other doctor would not have done. But, as Holmes remarked, it obviously gives him great pleasure to give and I should be pleased it gave him such pleasure. I know Mrs Hudson agreed with that sentiment.

And so it was that I arrived in Brighton. I had hoped it was to be only a short stay and my ministrations would soon have my patient fit and well again. I was disappointed. I found him a very sick man, and his health was slow to recover.

*

I spent many restless nights wondering how Holmes was coping. Had he found some clue which would enable him to begin the jigsaw which, when completed, would enable him to meet the Prime Minister with a definite answer?

Yet the more I turned the case over in my mind, the more I considered Rodger Hardy was no confidence trickster. He had achieved a result which defied all known laws. No other conclusion could be reached. I remembered Sir Simon quoting his headmaster’s report on Rodger Hardy, sneaked, he said, along with his own, when he was left alone in his study for a few minutes. ‘High powers of concentration when his interest is aroused. Strong sense of duty. Good sport. Will be greatly missed.’ The character of a boy does not change so much when he becomes a man.

I felt great relief when my patient was sufficiently strong for me to leave him in the care of a dedicated nurse, enabling me to take the first available train up to London.

I had been away almost a month and it was with some trepidation that I arrived at Baker Street and sought from Mrs Hudson the state of health and general well-being of my friend, Holmes.

I was much relieved when she said he was ‘Now his usual self’ and continued, ‘But he must be very busy as he was hardly ever in his rooms except to return and sleep.’

I asked her about what she meant by the expression ‘He was now his usual self’?

‘Well,’ she said, ‘After you went away for the first few days he appeared most unlike his usual self. He would return in the evening for his meal looking most depressed, in fact as though he had all the worries of the world upon his shoulders. Then one evening he returned and appeared more cheerful playing his favourite pieces on his violin.’ She smiled, ‘I was sure he was all right again.’

I thanked her and, after dealing with my correspondence which had accumulated in my absence, I settled down to await the return of Holmes, hopefully in time for our evening meal together.

He arrived early and I was pleased to see the account of his health and well-being given by Mrs Hudson was correct. He appeared full of vim and vigour and I was touched by his obvious and genuine pleasure at my return.

When I considered the time was appropriate, I approached him about the current case of Rodger Hardy.

He rested his chin on his hand as he was wont to do, choosing his words, I thought, carefully, and replied:

‘It is going very well, Watson. I must admit to you, at one time I felt I was up against a brick wall, a scientific brick wall. If I could have travelled to China and have spoken the tongue, moved about and investigated, then things might have been easier, much, much easier. But that was impossible.

‘However, I hope shortly to be able to give a definite answer to Lord Bellinger. You know, it was my dread that I would have to face him with an indecisive answer. I would have failed him, myself and the country. The only real advantage I had in the case was the time element. Rodger Hardy had not pressed for an early decision, and had decided to visit America in the meantime. He is due back shortly.

‘Rodger Hardy had realised the matter would have to be discussed eventually by the full Cabinet, and perhaps committees appointed, all of course sworn to secrecy, to discuss it before any decision was reached. Even with the full authority of the Prime Minister, it would all take time. Rodger Hardy had, however, put a deadline on the time; that time is almost up.’

He smiled at me and placed his hand on my shoulder.

‘Now, Watson, my old friend. Enough of the Rodger Hardy case, let me hear all the news you must have; about your patient, who I assume is now on his way to a full recovery, and of Brighton and its society, but most of all about yourself.’

I knew that he would reveal nothing more about the case and so we passed the evening in a relaxing way, after I had first brought him up to date about the health of my patient and the social events and news of Brighton.

I read the back issues of the London papers and caught up with the latest events, gossip and society functions, whilst Holmes tinkered with his test tubes and chemicals.

And so we settled back into our normal way of life at Baker Street, the excellent Mrs Hudson looking after us both in a way which bordered on that of a mother and an indulgent aunt.

It was two weeks after I had returned to Baker Street when Holmes, who had spent most of those two weeks out and about, obviously working on the Rodger Hardy case, asked if I was doing anything in particular the following afternoon. I replied that I was not. Holmes then surprised me by saying, ‘We must look smart tomorrow, Watson. We will be meeting the Prime Minister and some of his Cabinet.’

I was surprised, but no further explanation was forthcoming, and so two o’clock the following afternoon found Holmes and me waiting outside a rather shabby building, a disused workshop in fact, in one of London’s less salubrious streets, for the appearance of the Prime Minister and some members of his Cabinet.

Three four-wheelers arrived carrying the Prime Minister and three members of his Cabinet, which included Sir Simon, of course. In the other two coaches were a number of hefty policemen.

The Prime Minister seemed in a less sombre mood than the last time we had met, the Cabinet members likewise. The reason, I was to learn later, was that Holmes had promised the Prime Minister to end the uncertainty about the ‘Transposer’, and was prepared to prove his findings. The party followed Holmes into the building, the policemen on guard outside.

The workshop was divided into three rectangular areas and had been built in the early eighteenth century, stone walls and roofed in Welsh slate. The three workshops were identical in size and layout, being, as I have mentioned, rectangular in shape. All three were connected by a corridor to allow passage from one workshop to another. A further door in each workshop allowed the workers to make use of the narrow piece of grass space between the buildings for the purpose of visiting the long since demolished wooden privies. The main reason for the space between the workshops, however, was to allow windows to be placed in every wall to make full use of the daylight.

Chairs had been arranged in a small office which was warmed by a blazing coal fire. Holmes later confessed that because of the years between the fireplace being used and now, the problem of removing birds’ nests, soot and dislodged bricks had been a problem for one of the many casual workers whom Holmes employed from time to time. However, lighting the fire a few days before the visit had ensured there was no problem on the day.