We had not pursued a case for some time, which was clearly
driving Holmes to distraction. He was trying once more, with my
medical assistance, to wean himself from the substances that he
found so addictive, and that was not helping matters.
Thus it was that when there came a knock at the parlour door, I
was not surprised to see him leap to his feet at the prospect of a
distraction.
“Perhaps that is Inspector Lestrade, come to seek your
help on a matter baffling to the police? Or one of those
ragamuffins you call your Baker Street Irregulars, bringing a hot
tip on an unsavoury matter?” I offered.
“I think you will find, Watson,” he said, as he made
his way to the door, “that it is none other than our landlady
Mrs. Hudson, based on the sound of her tread in the
hallway.”
Surely enough, he opened the door to find the lady in question
on the other side, carrying an envelope and looking somewhat
disapprovingly at the clutter Holmes had forbidden her to tidy.
“This is for you, Mr. ‘olmes. I found it by the front
entrance when I came back from me shopping . . .”
“And I will wager it is from a recent arrival from
overseas; Canada, I believe,” said Holmes, taking the
envelope and holding it to his nose. “Note the slight aroma
of maple syrup.”
It was my turn to leap to my feet. “That’s fine,
Mrs. Hudson, thank you for bringing this our attention.
Goodbye!” I said, as I closed the door on the open-mouthed
woman.
Holmes had procured a letter opener from his desk and slit open
the flap of the envelope. “The paper is of a higher quality
than I would have expected from the colonies, though,” he
mused, as he pulled two strips of paper from the envelope.
“That’s odd,” I said, as he held up the
first slip, which had four words displayed:
TIC AXLE ITCH SHOE
Holmes said nothing, but regarded the second slip of paper with
an intense gaze.
APE TACK DUPE BUFF
“Even you have to admit that this message makes no
sense,” I protested. Again, he said nothing, his brow
furrowed in thought.
Suddenly, he strode to the bookshelf, pulled out a book and
paged through it until he found the information he needed. He then
scribbled some notes on the back of the envelope, consulted an
atlas and then looked up triumphantly. “We must be off
quickly, Watson. The game is afoot.”
I asked him how he had arrived at a solution, and he responded
in his usual enigmatic way.
He then made his way quickly to the hallway, toward the front
door. “Fetch my valise from the closet, I am off to book
steamship passage to Canada,” he called back over his
shoulder.
As she watched him stride off down the road, Mrs. Hudson looked
at me suspiciously. “Didn’t I ‘ear you say your
dead wife ‘ad relatives in Canada that you was wantin’
to visit? And wasn’t you sayin’ just the other day that
an ocean voyage would be the perfect way to keep poor Mr.
‘olmes away from that foul stuff ‘e keeps taking? And
didn’t you ‘ave pancakes for breakfast this
morning?”
“And wouldn’t you like a bit of paid time off, my
dear madam?” I said, holding up a not insignificant banknote,
to buy her silence.
In the end, her avarice was more powerful than her conscience,
and she agreed to “keep her gob shut”. (I was at a loss
to remember when she had begun to speak with that ridiculous
accent.)
And that is how we found ourself headed to the colonies where .
. . but that is a story for another time.
You can check your answers for this puzzle on
Geochecker.com.
Congratulations to bggy and sabresfan for the
joint FTF!