Sherlock Holmes in Montague Street - Volume 3

Foreword

by Dr. John H. Watson

It was in the spring of 1894 that I was shocked and amazed to discover that my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, had in fact survived his encounter at the terrible Reichenbach Falls with the late Professor Moriarty of evil fame and memory. It was only due to the reticent nature of Holmes himself that London, nay, England itself, did not immediately ring with the news of his return to Baker Street.

Rather than announce that he had resumed his practice with a triumphant fanfare, he allowed word to spread quietly. First, of course, it was the official force that knew of his reappearance. Our old friend, Inspector Lestrade, was very quick to let everyone know the truth regarding the arrest of Colonel Moran, who had attempted to assassinate Holmes from the window of an empty house facing Holmes’s Baker Street rooms. Within weeks, the volume of visitors climbing the seventeen steps to Holmes’s sitting room met, and then surpassed, the number that had previously journeyed there. Holmes occasionally stated with amusement that times were certainly different than when he and I had initially taken lodgings there, back when visitors had been much fewer and farther between.

Some weeks after Holmes’s return to London at the conclusion of his great hiatus, I sold my practice with no great regret and moved back to the Baker Street lodgings. Only much later did I learn the purchase was made by a young doctor named Verner, a distant relation of Holmes’s, who paid the highest price that I had ventured to ask. It was Holmes who really found the money.

There were several confusing days when my possessions were moved back into the house. Mrs. Hudson was quite patient, and - I think - glad of my return. The photographs of Beecher and General Gordon returned to their former resting places, books were replaced on shelves, and my desk between the sitting room windows was cleared of Holmes’s accumulated detritus for my own to replace it. This was not a new experience for us, as I had already moved back in once before after the death of my dear first wife, Constance, in late 1887. Somehow, now, in spite of the joy at discovering that my friend still lived, I could not escape the realization that I was returning to Baker Street yet again after the death of a spouse, this time my beloved Mary, gone for a year that very day.

I had fallen into a brown study as I unpacked a crate in my room upstairs when I was startled to hear Holmes’s voice. Watson! he called. Watson!

I made my way down the stairs and into the sitting room, where Holmes was standing by my desk, holding a pair of Strand magazines in his hand. I dreaded what he was about to say, having already heard some of his comments on the works that Conan Doyle and I had published during his missing years.

What is this all about? he asked, his expression confusing me, as it appeared to be more amused than angry. I had been prepared to explain, yet again, my presentation of his cases in a way that would be enjoyable, rather than as some dry treatise on criminal investigation. Yet, as I began to prepare another defense, I realized that he was holding up two newer issues of the periodical, which did not feature any of my work at all.

Those are the two latest issues, I replied, somewhat puzzled. I do continue to read it, even if it does not feature anything that I have written.

And do you then have any knowledge of what these particular stories could be about?

I noticed that he had a finger slipped between the pages of the top magazine, and as he let the pages fall open, I suddenly understood.

Ah, I said. The Hewitt story. Then Mycroft did not tell you?

No, he replied. There have been a great many other things to discuss since my return. No doubt this has slipped his mind. I take it that you can inform me what this is all about?

Certainly, I stated, moving toward my chair by the fire. But how did you notice the stories in the first place? There was nothing immediately obvious on the cover to indicate any connection with events from your own past.

"I simply picked up the top copy to see how the Strand has changed, if at all, from the time it started publication, shortly before the events at Reichenbach and my absence from England. As I flipped through it, I noticed several illustrations by your friend Paget. His style is somewhat unique, you will admit.

Pausing to study them, in a story ostensibly about someone named ‘Martin Hewitt’, I was amazed to discover that, except for the change of name and a few other added spurious facts, the investigation described was one of my own early cases, when I lived in Montague Street, and written up by my old friend, Brett, the journalist. He turned, stating, Of course, my curiosity was also piqued by noticing and remembering the familiar and unusual words ‘Lenton Croft’ in the title of the piece.

I nodded, and Holmes sat down in his chair, with the two magazines lying in his lap. Late last year, I explained, during the time that Doyle and I decided to publish the narrative of your supposed ‘death’ in ‘The Final Problem’ - , Holmes winced, and I continued, " - Newnes at the Strand was frantic. He wanted more narratives of your investigations. However, I must admit that I did not feel the need to publish any more. After your disappearance, and then with Mary’s passing last year, my need to write had become more intense. However, when I had finally reached the point where I could tell of your final struggle with Professor Moriarty, and also answer his brother’s scurrilous charges against your memory, I felt that my work was done. Doyle agreed, having tired of being associated in the venture long before that point.

Soon after that, Newnes was approached by your old friend, Brett, who had the idea that he could write up some of your earlier cases, when he had lived upstairs from you in the same house in Montague Street.

In 1876, interrupted Holmes. Brett was only there for about a year, while my time at No.24 Montague Street stretched for several years on either side of that. But I interrupt. My apologies. Please continue.

Not at all. Newnes was very happy to reach an agreement with Brett, who would provide the raw information for the narratives. Then, an author that Newnes knew, named Arthur Morrison, would take Brett’s rough notes and shape them into more cohesive narratives. As I understand it, Brett’s career in journalism had ended a few years ago, and he was not capable of revising the notes and presenting them to Newnes’s standards on his own.

Holmes nodded. I have not seen Brett in over three years, but I fear it was drink that eventually caused his decline. All the signs were there. Even when we lodged in the same building, and he occasionally participated in some of my investigations, he did not have the ambition to write them up at the time, or to use those events that literally fell into his lap in order to advance his career with the news organization where he was employed.