Today's column should come with a different byline--that of Dr. Watson, the famous detective's faithful companion, for it is written in his largely imagined words but familiar style.
I find it recorded in my notebook that it was a typically torrid August day in the year 2016. Holmes had received an email while we took our lunch at 221-B Baker Street in downtown Little Rock and was clicking out a reply on his iPhone. "My dear Watson," he began, "forgive my manners at table, but this case is of some urgency, as you will appreciate. I suppose we must look upon you as a man of letters, considering the narratives you have so often inflicted on a long-suffering public. And I have no doubt this story will provide you with ample grist for your next memoir. Allow me to share this message with you, and--ah, hah!--here is our client now!"
A measured tread was heard upon the steps and a moment later a stout, tall, mustached gentleman was ushered into the room by Holmes' fussy but protective housekeeper, Mrs. Hudson. Our visitor's whole life history was written in his heavy features and pompous manner. From his seersucker suit to his fashionable sunglasses, it was clear the man was a counselor at law, maybe a judge, and surely a conventional liberal safely cushioned from life's discomfits. And therefore in a position to lecture those who hadn't been so fortunate. Yet he appeared much discomfited, as if some recent experience had ruffled his usual composure. After presenting his business card--it announced him as The Hon. M. Scott McTeague III, Esq., Little Rock, Ark.--he proceeded to describe his business with us:
"I have had a most singular and unpleasant morning," he began. "Never in my life have I been placed in such a situation. It is most improper. It is most improper--most outrageous. I must insist upon some explanation by somebody in a position to acquaint me with the true facts. Preferably under oath." Our caller swelled and puffed in self-righteous anger as he began to relate his tale.
"Pray sit down, Mr. M. Scott McTeague," said Holmes in his most soothing voice. "In the first place, may I ask why you came to me?"
"Well, sir, it did not appear to be a matter in which I wanted my name bandied about in the public prints. You know very well how prone to licentious gossip newspaper columnists can be. A foul lot, I would say, except of course when they use material the right people have leaked to them. Nor, I have to tell you, am I overly fond of private detectives, a class with which I have absolutely no sympathy, but--nevertheless--having heard your name . . . ."
"Quite so," replied Holmes, stoking his meerschaum and gazing at our guest's disheveled and distraught appearance. "But in the second place, why did you not come to me at once? You do appear more than a bit confused."
"You are right, Mr. Holmes. In my rush I never gave a thought to how I looked. I was only too glad to be on my way over here and then--"
"Come, come, sir," replied Holmes, laughing. "You are like my friend Dr. Watson over here, who has a bad habit of telling his stories wrong end first. Please arrange your thoughts and let me know in their due sequence, exactly what those events are which have reduced you to such a state, and sent you, unbrushed and unkempt, with dress shoes unlaced and vest buttoned awry, in search of advice and assistance."
Our client looked down with a rueful face at his own disreputable appearance. "I'm sure it must look very bad," he continued, "but in my whole life a thing like this has never happened to me before. But I will tell you all about the whole strange business, and when I'm done, I'm sure you will admit that there has been enough to excuse me." And he began to tell us about his morning when--
Suddenly there was a bustle outside and a couple of gentlemen entered. One of them was well known to us, a lieutenant in the State Police--an energetic, gallant and, within his limitations, a capable officer. He shook hands with Holmes and introduced us to his comrade. "But why have you come?" our first caller asked of the policeman. "What do you want?"
"We wish a statement, Mr. McTeague, telling us all you know about a tan Cadillac DeVille bearing Arkansas plates and outfitted with a custom-made platinum grille. It was involved in a shooting at a modest drive-in pub in the western part of the city. An innocent employee there was severely wounded--shot multiple times--by three men who quickly fled and haven't been seen since. The automobile should be easily recognized, yet it hasn't been. It was last seen heading east toward Bowman Road with only temporary plates on it. But despite this detailed description of the suspects and dozens of reported sightings, we have no leads. Though at least $20,000 in reward money awaits their apprehension."
"I know nothing about it," said Counselor at Law McTeague, who seemed genuinely perplexed by the policeman's inquiries of him.
"Hmmm," added Holmes, having listened carefully to the conversation without joining in with prejudgments. "We can only wait patiently until this excellent state policeman reports back to us."
"As I surely will," said the policeman.
"Perhaps so," said Holmes. "In the meantime I will apply my deductive logic to the case. For the police have their way of going about things and I have mine. The game's afoot, and I can only express my thanks to you, Counselor McTeague, for rescuing me from the insufferable tedium of idleness." And off he went, deerstalker hat and all, to solve the Affair of the Missing Automobile, which may deserve a chapter of its own in the next edition of The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.
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Paul Greenberg is the Pulitzer Prize-winning editorial writer and columnist for the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette.
Editorial on 08/31/2016