A Case of Identity: Part Two

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“Welcome to Sherlock Holmes Short Stories.”

I'm Hugh Bonneville, and from the Noisa podcast network,

this is a case of identity, part two. Last time, a young woman of independent means Mary Sutherland, came to Holmes in a state of agitation. Her fiancé, Hosmer Angel, vanished the previous week, on the very morning of their wedding, and hasn't been seen since.

Mary's stepfather recently returned from France, enjoying her not to give up hope, insisting he felt confident that she would see Hosmer again. But Sherlock Holmes was more doubtful. His advice to the distraught young woman,

was to put the young man out of her mind forever.

“Now, with the jilted bride having just departed from Baker Street,”

Holmes and Watson are free to discuss the case. [music] Sherlock Holmes sat silent for a few minutes with his fingertips still pressed together, his legs stretched out in front of him, and his gaze directed upward to the ceiling.

Then he took down from the rack the old and oily clay pipe, which was to him as a counselor, and having lit it, he leaned back in his chair with the thick blue cloud-reath spinning up from him, and a look of infinite langer in his face.

Quite an interesting study that made him he observed. I found her more interesting than her little problem, which, by the way, is rather a trade one. You will find parallel cases if you consult my index in and over in 77,

and there was something of the sort of the haig last year, old as is the idea, however, there were one or two details which were new to me, but the maiden herself was most instructive. You appeared to read a good deal upon her,

which was quite invisible to me, I remarked. Not invisible, but unnoticed Watson, you did not know where to look, and so you missed all that was important.

I can never bring you to realize the importance of sleeves,

the suggestiveness of thumbnails or the great issues that may hang from a bookcase.

“Now, what did you gather from that woman's appearance?”

Describe it. Well, she had a slate-colored, broad-bremmed straw hat with a feather of a brickish red, her jacket was black with black beads, sewn upon it, and a fringe of little black jet ornaments.

Her dress was brown, rather darker than coffee colour, with a little purple clush at the neck and sleeves. Her gloves were greyish, and were worn through at the right forfinger,

her boots, I didn't observe. She had small, round, hanging gold earrings, and a general air of being fairly well-to-do, and a vulgar, comfortable, easy-going way. Sherlock Holmes clapped his hands softly together,

and chuckled. "Pot my word, Watson, you are coming along wonderfully. You have ridded and very well indeed.

but you have hit upon the method, and you have a quick eye for colour.

“Never trust to general impressions, my boy,”

but concentrate yourself upon details."

My first glance is always at a woman's sleeve.

In a man, it is perhaps better first to take the knee of the trouser, as you observe, this woman had clush upon her sleeves, which is a most useful material for showing traces. The double line, a little above the wrist, where the type-rightist presses against the table,

was beautifully defined. The sewing machine of the hand-type leaves a similar mark, but only on the left arm, and on the side of it farthest from the thumb, instead of being right across the broadest part, as this was.

I then glanced at her face, and observing the dint of a pants-lay at either side of her nose, I then should remark upon short sight and type-writing,

which seemed to surprise her.

“It surprised me, but surely it was obvious.”

I was then much surprised and interested on glancing down to observe that though the boots, which she was wearing, were not unlike each other, they were really odd ones. The one having a slightly decorated toe cap,

and the other a plain one. One was buttoned only in the two lower buttons out of five, and the other at the first, third and fifth. Now, when you see that a young lady, otherwise neatly dressed, has come away from home with odd boots, half buttoned,

it is no great deduction to say that she came away in a hurry. And what else?

I asked, keenly interested, as I always was,

by my friends in decisive reasoning. I noted in passing that she had written a note before leaving home, but after being fully dressed. You observed that her right glove was torn at the forefinger, but you did not apparently see that both glove and finger

was stained with violet ink. She had written in a hurry and dipped her pen to deep. It must have been this morning, or the mark would not remain clear upon the finger. All this is amusing, though rather elementary,

but I must go back to business, Watson. Would you mind reading me the advertised description of Mr. Hussmer Angel? I held the little printed slip to the light. Missing, it said.

On the morning of the 14th, a gentleman named Hussmer Angel, about five foot seven inches in height, strongly built, shallow complexion, black hair, a little balled in the centre, bushy, black side whiskers, and moustache, tinted glasses, slight infirmative speech, was dressed when last seen in black,

frock coat faced with silk, black waistcoat, gold-albert chain, and gray-harris-tweed trousers, with brown gators over elastic-sided boots. Known to have been employed in an office in Leidenhall Street. Anybody bringing that will do, said Holmes.

As to the letters, he continued glancing over them. They are very commonplace, absolutely no clue in them to Mr. Angel, save that he quotes Balsak once. There is one remarkable point, however, which will no doubt strike you.

They are typewritten, I remarked. Not only that, but the signature is typewritten. Look at the neat little Hussmer Angel at the bottom. There is a date, you see, but no superscription, except Leidenhall Street, which is rather vague.

The point about the signature is very suggestive. In fact, we may call it conclusive, of what?

“My dear fellow, is it possible you do not see how strongly it bears upon the case?”

I cannot say that I do, unless it were that he wished to be able to deny his signature if an action for breach of promise were instituted? No, that was not the point. However, I shall write two letters, which should settle the matter. One is to affirm in the city, the other is to the young lady's stepfather, Mr. Windy Bank,

asking him whether he could meet us here at 6 o'clock tomorrow evening. It is just as well that we should do business with the male relatives. And now, Dr. We can do nothing until the answers to those letters come, so we may put our little problem upon the shelf for the interim. I had had so many reasons to believe in my friend's subtle powers of reasoning

and extraordinary energy in action that I felt that he must have some solid grounds for the assured and easy demeanor with which he treated the singular mystery which he had been called upon to fathom. Once, only, had I known him to fail, in the case of the King of Bohemia and of the Irene Adler photograph.

But when I looked back to the weird business of the sign of four

I felt that it would be a strange tangle indeed, which he could not unravel.

“Now, I left him then, still puffing at his black clay pipe,”

with the conviction that when I came again on the next evening, I would find that he held in his hands all the clues, which would lead up to the identity of the disappearing bright groom of Miss Mary's subland. Favan La Dine, a lion, soft, mid-shoppy, fine-owned business

with the check-out of the world for the best converse. That's right. The check-out of the world for the best converse. The legendary check-out of Schoppie-Fi, is just looking at his website,

just a little social media, and about everything. Well, that's the music for your ears.

As you can see, Schoppie-Fi is working with Schoppie-Fi,

it's going to be a real help for you. Let's start a test today for an EuroPromonet, on Schoppie-Fi.de/recorder. A professional case of great gravity was engaging my own attention at the time, and the whole of the next day I was busy

at the bedside of the sufferer. It was not until the close-up on six o'clock that I found myself free, and was able to spring into a handsome and drive to Baker Street. Half afraid that I might be too late to assist at the denumer of the little mystery. I found Schoppie-Fi's alone, however,

half asleep with his long thin form curled up in the recesses of his armchair. A formidable array of bottles and test tubes, with the pungent, cleanly smell of hydrochloric acid, told me that he had spent his day in the chemical work, which was so dear to him.

Well, have you solved it? I asked, as I entered. Yes, it was the by-selfet of Baritown. No, no, the mystery, I cried. Oh, that, I thought of the salt that I have been working upon.

There was never any mystery in the matter.

Though as I said yesterday, some of the details are of interest. The only drawback is that there is no law I fear that can touch the scoundrel.

“Who was he then, and what was his object in deserting Miss Sutherland?”

The question was hardly out of my mouth, and Holmes had not yet opened his lips to reply when we heard a heavy football in the passage and a tap at the door. This is the girl's stepfather, Mr. James Windybank, said Holmes. He has written to me to say that he would be here at six.

Come in. The man who entered was a sturdy middle-sized fellow, some 30 years of age, clean-shaven and shallow skin, with a bland, insinuating manner, and a pair of wonderfully sharp and penetrating gray eyes.

He shot a questioning glance at each of us, placed his shiny top hat upon the sideboard, and with a slight bow, cycled down into the nearest chair. Good evening, Mr. James Windybank, said Holmes. I think that this type written letter is from you,

in which you made an appointment with me for six o'clock. Yes, sir, I am afraid that I am a little late, but I am not quite my own master, you know. I am sorry that Miss Sutherland has troubled you about this little matter,

“for I think it is far better not to wash linen of the sort in public.”

It was quite against my wishes that she came, but she is a very excitable, impulsive girl, as you may have noticed, and she is not easily controlled when she has made up her mind on a point. Of course, I did not mind you so much, as you are not connected with the official police,

but it is not pleasant to have a family misfortune like this, noise to broad. Besides, it is a useless expense, for how could you possibly find this, "Hosmer Angel."

"On the contrary," said Holmes quietly. "I have every reason to believe that I will succeed in discovering Mr. Hosmer Angel." Mr. Windybank gave a violent start and dropped his gloves. "I am delighted to hear it," he said.

"It is a curious thing," remarked Holmes, that a typewriter has really quite as much individuality as a man's handwriting, unless they are quite new, no two of them write exactly alike. Some letters get more worn than others,

and some were only on one side. Now, you remark in this note of yours, Mr. Windybank, that in every case there is some little slurring over of the E, and a slight defect in the tail of the R. There are 14 other characteristics,

but those are the more obvious. We do all our correspondence with this machine at the office,

Our visitor answered, "Glancing keenly at Holmes with his bright little eyes."

And now I will show you what is really a very interesting study, Mr. Windybank Holmes continued.

“I think of writing another little monograph,”

some of these days on the typewriter, and it's relation to crime. It is a subject to which I have devoted some little attention. I have here four letters which purport to come from the missing man. They are all typewritten.

In each case, not only are the E's slurred and the R's tailless, but you will observe if you care to use my magnifying lens, that the 14 other characteristics to which I have alluded are there as well. Mr. Windybank sprang out of his chair and picked up his hat.

I cannot waste time over this sort of fantastic talk, Mr. Holmes.

He said, "If you can catch the man, catch him, and let me know when you have done it." Certainly, said Holmes, stepping over and turning the key in the door. "I let you know then that I have caught him."

"What? Where?"

“shouted Mr. Windybank turning white to his lips,”

and glancing about him like a rat in a trap. "Oh, it won't do really, it won't." said Holmes, swarvely. There is no possible getting out of it, Mr. Windybank. It is quite too transparent,

and it was a very bad compliment when you said that it was impossible for me to solve so simple a question. That's right. Sit down and let us talk it over. Our visitor collapsed into a chair with a ghastly face and a glitter of moisture on his brow. It's not actionable, he's dammed.

I am very much afraid that it is not. But between ourselves, Windybank, it was as cruel and selfish and hot as a trick in a petty way as ever came before me. Now, let me just run over the course of events

“and you will contradict me if I go wrong.”

The man sat huddled up in his chair with his head sunk upon his breast like one who is utterly crushed. Holmes stuck his feet up on the corner of the mental peace and leaning back with his hands and his pockets

began talking rather to himself as it seemed than to us. The man married a woman very much older than himself for her money, said he, and he enjoyed the use of the money of the daughter as long as she lived with them. It was a considerable sum for people in their position

and the loss of it would have made us serious difference. It was worth an effort to preserve it. The daughter was of a good, a nibble disposition but affectionate and warmhearted in her ways so that it was evident that with her fair personal advantages

and her little income she would not be allowed to remain single long. Now her marriage would mean of course the loss of a hundred a year so what does her stepfather do to prevent it? He takes the obvious course of keeping her at home and forbidding her to seek the company of people of her own age.

But soon he found that that would not answer forever. She became restive, insisted upon her rights and finally announced her positive intention of going to a certain ball. What does her clever stepfather do then? He conceives an idea more credible to his head than to his heart.

With the connivance and assistance of his wife, he disguised himself, covered those keen eyes with tinted glasses, masked the face with a moustache and a pair of bushy whiskers sunk that clear voice into an insinuating whisper and a doubly secure on account of the girl's short sight he appears as Mr. Hosmer Angel

and keeps off other lovers by making love himself. It was only a joke and first grown-up visitor.

We never thought that she would have been so carried away.

Very likely not. However, that may be the young lady was very decidedly carried away and having quite made up her mind that her stepfather was in France the suspicion of treachery never for an instant entered her mind. She was flattered by the gentleman's attentions

and the effect was increased by the loudly expressed admiration of her mother. Then Mr. Angel began to call for it was obvious that the matter should be pushed as far as it would go if a real effect were to be produced. There were meetings and an engagement which would finally secure the girl's affections from turning towards anyone else.

These pretended journeys to France were rather cumbers.

The thing to do was clearly to bring the business to an end in such a dramatic manner that it would leave a permanent impression upon the young lady's mind and prevent her from looking upon any other suitor for some time to come. Hence those vows of fidelity exacted upon a testament and hence also the illusions to a possibility of something happening

on the very morning of the wedding. James Windybank wished Mr. Sutherland to be so bound to Hosmer Angel and so uncertain as to his fate that for ten years to come at any rate she would not listen to another man. As far as the church door he brought her,

and then as he could go no farther, he conveniently vanished away by the old trick of stepping in at one door of a four wheeler and out at the other.

“I think that was the chain of events Mr. Windybank.”

Our visitor had recovered something of his assurance while homes had been talking. And he rose from his chair now with a cold sneer upon his pale face. "It may be so, or it may not, Mr. Holmes," said he, "but if you are so very sharp, you ought to be sharp enough to know

that it is you who are breaking the law now and not me. I have done nothing actionable from the first, but as long as you keep that door locked, you lay yourself open to an action for assault and illegal constraint." "The law cannot, as you say, touch you," said Holmes,

unlocking and throwing open the door,

yet there never was a man who deserved punishment more.

"If the young lady has a brother or a friend, he ought to lay her with across your shoulders. My jove," he continued flushing up at the sight of the bitter sneer upon the man's face. "It is not part of my duties to my client,

but here's a hunting crop handy,

“and I think I shall just treat myself to."”

He took two swift steps to the whip, but before he could grasp it, there was a wild clatter of steps upon the stairs. The heavy haul door banged and from the window, we could see Mr. James Windabank running at the top of his speed down the road.

"There's a cold, bladded scoundrel," said Holmes laughing, as he threw himself down into his chair once more. That fellow will rise from crime to crime, until he does something very bad and ends on a gallows. "But what I want to do today is not a dangerous study.

Mr. Baitag left his head behind the internet, so that he knows what to do." He said, "You can do it, you can do it." "You can do it, right?" "But you won't do it."

"It's not fair to do it, it's unfair to do it." "If you do it, you'll do it." "If you do it, you'll do it." "You'll do it." "You'll do it."

"You'll do it." "If you do it." "You'll do it." "You'll do it." "You'll do it."

“The case has, in some respects, been not entirely devoid of interest.”

I cannot now entirely see all the steps of your reasoning, I remarked. Well, of course, it was obvious from the first that this Mr. Hussmer, Angel, must have some strong object for his curious conduct, and it was equally clear that the only man who really profited by the incident as far as we could see was the stepfather.

Then, the fact that the two men were never together,

but that the one always appeared when the other was away, was suggestive. So were the tinted spectacles and the curious voice, which both hinted at a disguise as did the bushy whiskers. My suspicions were all confirmed by his peculiar action in type writing, his signature, which, of course, inferred that his handwriting was so familiar

to her that she would recognize even the smallest sample of it. You see, all these isolated facts, together with many minor ones, all pointed in the same direction. And, how did you verify them? Having once spotted my man, it was easy to get corroboration.

I knew the firm for which this man worked. Having taken the printed description, I eliminated everything from it, which could be the result of a disguise, and I sent it to the firm, with the request that they would inform me whether it answered to the description of any of their travelers.

I had already noticed the peculiarities of the typewriter, and I wrote to the man himself at his business address, asking him if he would come here. As I expected, his reply was typewritten,

The same post brought me a letter from West House

and Marbank of Venturech Street, to say that the description tallyed in every respect, with that of their employee, James Windybank. Voila, too.

And Miss Sutherland, if I tell her, she will not believe me.

“You may remember the old Persian saying,”

"There is danger for him who takeeth the tiger cub, and danger also for who so snatches a delusion from a woman."

There is as much sense in Hafiz as in Hades,

and as much knowledge of the world.

“Next time, on Sherlock Holmes' short stories,”

Holmes and Watson go up to university in the adventure of the three students. Someone at St. Luke's College has cheated on their Greek exam. Not exactly a matter of life and death, but it does threaten to bring the ancient seat of learning into disrepute.

“With three potential suspects in his sights,”

can Sherlock Holmes tell his alpha from his omega before the guilty party's scoops agrade they don't deserve. And with it, a coveted scholarship. That's next time. Can't wait a week into the next episode?

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