Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 47, No. 4. Whole No. 269, April 1966

Margaret Norris A Case of Identities

The Sherlock Holmes parody-pastiche to end all Sherlock Holmes parody-pastiches...

It was one of those glorious mornings that can happen so unexpectedly in early spring. Until now the weather had been reluctant to admit that winter was really past, and cold damp breezes had kept even the most adventurous from rambling in the park except in heavy overcoats and wool mufflers.

This morning, however, the sky was blue and the air balmy, and I considered this an excellent augury. Children swarmed round the fountain under the benevolent eye of a very large policeman, and I sat on a bench quivering in excited anticipation. At long last Sherlock Holmes was to become part of my life again! The event had been put off far too long already.

I was, I admit, somewhat apprehensive. I had been looking for my old acquaintance for some time, convinced by many little clues that the force of his great mind was at work in this new world. I had finally hit upon the idea of advertising in the agony columns of the daily newspapers, thus: SH. If you remember the days of The League, for God’s sake come to me. Watson — with a box number that would reach me.

I suspected he was aware of his own identity and I believed that such an appeal would fetch him to me. Now I had had my answer, and at any moment he would be coming along to find me on the third bench from the fountain.

I anticipated that he would be, as I was, much changed. Curiosity might have dictated that I sit at a distance, in order to observe him before he discovered me; but I was determined upon fair play, and so I was on the proper bench, and had even armed myself with a medical volume, that he might have no early doubt as to my identity.

While I waited, I carried on a desultory conversation with the immense collie who has been my companion of late, and who lay patiently beside the bench, alternately eyeing the children playing round the policeman and the path down which the figure of our visitor might be expected to appear.

He did not keep us waiting long. Nor did he hesitate perceptibly at sight of us, though the shock must have been great. I am compelled to admit that, although I had considered all possibilities in anticipating his appearance, I was for a moment disappointed in him.

He was now the direct antithesis, physically, of all he had been — ridiculously short, bustling, apple-cheeked, and very fat. Worse, he was exceedingly young, and his walk bespoke the aggressiveness he had never openly displayed in the past. Watching him approach, I groaned at the indignity of his gigantic brain being trapped in such an uninspiring physical form.

He came to my side, his eyes searching my face anxiously. “Can it be?” he asked. “Can this really be my old friend Watson?”

“Reincarnation has created an amazing change in both of us,” I admitted. “Nevertheless, I am very glad to see you again, Holmes.” We clasped hands.

“I was wondering how I should find you,” he said, “when your advertisement came to my attention. Such a simple course of action had not occurred to me. How fortunate you remembered my habit of reading the newspapers thoroughly each day.”

“Considering how much of our time together you spent with your nose buried in the news, it would seem queer indeed if I did not remember.”

He chuckled. “Ah, Watson, your sense of humor runs in the same old vein. I had a moment of fear, when I first saw you, that it would not.”

“And I was tempted to laugh aloud when I saw you. But upon closer inspection I recognize the old intelligence in your eyes, and, considering the indications I have had recently that you are continuing to operate in the old pattern, I discount any notion that you are not as dangerous as ever you were.”

“Dangerous? But surely that is an odd word to use between us?”

I decided on a bold stroke. “Not at all. Come, sir, let us throw off these disguises and face each other on the old footing. You are dangerous to me, and I am certainly dangerous to you — Professor Moriarty!”

He fell back a pace. “Really, Watson, if this is a joke—”

“It is certainly not a joke. And I am not Watson. Do you not guess the truth, even now? I am Holmes.”

“Ah, of course.” He gazed at me intently, and smiled. “I should have anticipated it. But your advertisement bespoke the good Watson so genuinely that I was taken in. I decided too easily that the bumbling doctor, could I but get into his confidence, would sooner or later lead me to you, for you would surely be looking for him. I suppose you planned it so?”

“Yes. I needed to find you. Your vast criminal organization has been too successful lately; it is being felt in too many places around the world. You had to be stopped until we could gather all the threads into our hands and destroy them. There were many paths by which I might have reached you, but time was of the essence, so I decided upon subterfuge. It has turned out excellently.” I rubbed my hands.

He was puzzled. “I really cannot see how our meeting will be of benefit to you. You have no evidence against me, or you would have used it; and now that we have met I can as easily recognize you as you can recognize me. Unless you are in disguise?” He leaned forward to examine me. “No. Even you could not be that good! And forgive me for saying it, but I see no danger in you in your present form.” He laughed.

“And yet, even as you stand there you are in the greatest danger,” I said calmly. I was determined that his amusement should not nettle me. I was not ashamed of my condition; indeed, it had certain advantages.

He looked around in some alarm. “You have men covering me with revolvers? But surely, Holmes, that would not be following your usual code of fair play?”

“No. No one offers you physical violence, my dear Professor. And yet you are in imminent danger. I give you fair warning.”

He became angry. “Of what use is a warning when I cannot perceive the cause for it? I declare, Holmes, I think you are pulling my leg. It would be best if I leave you before I lose my temper.”

“You will not find it that easy to leave,” said I.

He came closer and glowered at me. “No? And pray, why not?”

“Because of yourself — your curiosity and your temperament. You need to find out what I intend to do.”

“And what do you intend to do?” He was suddenly enraged. His apple-cheeked face turned crimson, and his fat hands closed round my arms. He shook me, and I cried out in pain. “What do you have up your sleeve, you... you female!”

In three strides the gigantic policeman was upon us and holding Moriarty firmly by the collar. My collie, who had been about to clamp his teeth into the Professor’s leg, subsided with a growl. I chuckled.

“I had in mind doing exactly what I did do — force you to forget what I now am, and attack a woman in a public park, before witnesses. You have betrayed yourself into the hands of the law. You are undone!”

He howled with rage, struggling in the indomitable grip of the policeman. “By heaven I will get my revenge for this, Holmes!”

“Perhaps,” I said negligently. “But I think that first you will go up for a suitable stretch, after I give my evidence. You will be well out of the way while we dispose of your organization. Take him away.”

“And,” I added, as the majestic arm of the law started off, “don’t be too gentle with him, my good Lestrade!”

The policeman grinned, and touched his cap. “No sir, Miss Holmes,” said he.

“Well, we are alone again.” I bent to pat my faithful collie. “There was a moment when I thought you would have the leg off him, Watson. It is good to be able to rely on your friendship once more. Although sometimes I wish... I wish you had not returned as a dog. However, I suppose it was inevitable. ‘Man’s best friend,’ and all that. Just as it was inevitable that poor Lestrade should have to pay for his sins by being a policeman all over again. I do wonder, though, what I ever did to deserve having to come back as a woman.”

Together we walked slowly out of the park.