.. -*- encoding: utf-8 -*-

.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 47368
   :PG.Title: Some Adventures of Mr. Surelock Keys
   :PG.Released: 2014-11-16
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: Herbert Beeman
   :DC.Title: Some Adventures of Mr. Surelock Keys
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1913
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

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SOME ADVENTURES OF MR. SURELOCK KEYS
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      SOME ADVENTURES
      *of*
      MR. SURELOCK KEYS

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      HITHERTO UNRECORDED

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      by

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      Herbert Beeman

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      SOLD IN AID OF THE ORGAN FUND
      OF ST. MARY'S CHURCH, KERRISDALE

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      PRICE FIFTY CENTS

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      THE KERRISDALE KRONIKLE OFFICE
      1913 

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   CONTENTS

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I.  `THE ADVENTURE OF THE STEVESTON CAR`_
II.  `THE ADVENTURE OF THE IRATE HOUSE-HOLDER`_
III.  `THE ADVENTURE OF TWO AND TWO`_
IV.  `THE ADVENTURE OF THEOPHILUS BROWN`_
V.  `THE ADVENTURE OF THE THIRTEEN CABS`_
VI.  `THE ADVENTURE OF MR. SANTA CLAUS`_

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.. _`THE ADVENTURE OF THE STEVESTON CAR`:

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   \I.

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   THE ADVENTURE OF THE STEVESTON CAR

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One evening early in the month of November, 1908,
we were sitting in our cosy rooms in Butcher Street.
I was busy extending the notes I had made of some of the
marvellous doings of the Great Detective, when Keys
stretched his long arms towards the gramophone to start
the gentleman who was "afraid to go home in the dark," off
on another long explanation of his reasons, but I stopped him
with a question—even friendship has its limits, you know:

"You saw the *Eburne News* of Saturday last, Keys, I
suppose?" I said.

"You know nothing ever escapes me, Whenson," he
replied.

I thought of the Tiger of San Pedro in *Collier's* and
*The Strand* recently, but as it would be about as safe to
rouse the tiger, I omitted the retort obvious.

"You refer to the penetration of the vitrified material
by the leaden missile, I presume?" he said.

"Yes, the bullet from a .22 through the car window,"
I replied.

"Well, there was one peculiar thing about that case,
but after all it was merely a matter of calculation.  The
shot was fired according to one account at Kerrisdale, and
from another between Townsend and Eburne.  That is
easily accounted for.  The shot struck the glass at the
first named place, but so fast was the car travelling that it
had proceeded two miles before the bullet reached the
woodwork on the other side."

"Oh!" I said.  When I had sufficiently recovered
I asked him if he had discovered who fired the shot.

"That is a mere vulgar detail, Whenson," he said
coldly, as he turned to start the gramophone again.





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.. _`THE ADVENTURE OF THE IRATE HOUSE-HOLDER`:

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   \II.

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   THE ADVENTURE OF THE IRATE HOUSE-HOLDER

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We were just finishing breakfast when the door was
unceremoniously burst open and an obviously excited
little man precipitated himself into the room.

"You are an optimist, I perceive," said Keys quietly.

The little man looked amazed, as well he might, not
knowing the powers of the Great Detective as well as I did.

"How on earth did you know that?" he ejaculated.

"Quite simple, my dear sir," answered Keys, "you
came in without knocking.  What can I do for you?"

"Well, sir," the little man went on excitedly, "my
name is Bloggs, sir, Joseph Bloggs, and I am the victim of
a conspiracy.  The Council have sent me in a bill for $96
for three months water rate, and I never used so much in
my life.

"No, I can quite believe it," said Keys drily, surveying
the rather drab appearance of the visible portions of
our visitor's anatomy.  "But whom do you suspect?"

"Well, sir, I voted against the nincompoops that the
effete electors have chosen to represent them, and now
they're soaking me."

I could not control my laughter at this unconscious
pleasantry, but the little man glared at me, and Keys
frowned me into silence.

"Whenson, he has given me a clue; get my gum boots
and a piece of blotting paper."

Accustomed to obey his strange commands without
question, we were soon following Mr. Bloggs to his home.

Once inside the gate, without hesitation Keys strode
across the lawn till he reached a place under which, owing
to the unevenness of the ground, it was easy to see the pipe
was laid, and stooping down he placed the sheet of blotting
paper on the grass, and a second later he held it up
saturated with water.

"There is a break in the pipe, Mr. Bloggs," he said.
"Get it mended."





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.. _`THE ADVENTURE OF TWO AND TWO`:

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   \III.


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   THE ADVENTURE OF TWO AND TWO

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Keys was giving way to one of those orgies of spring
onions and Limburger cheese to which he occasionally
succumbed—for even the greatest of men have
failings—and the atmosphere of our dining room was very unpleasant
to one with my delicate olfactory nerves, so that it was
with a feeling of positive relief that I welcomed the pungent
odor of the smoke from a strong black cigar that was wafted
in on us as the door opened to admit a stranger.

A tall, nervous looking man, he commenced to apologize
for having interrupted us at supper, but Keys waved
aside his explanations and said abruptly.  "You are a
married man, sir, and very fond of your wife."

Wonderingly our visitor pleaded guilty to both
indictments, and Keys resumed:

"Of course any one could tell that your wife has
given you a Christmas present, a man with your intelligence
would never buy a cigar like that, and only love for her
would induce you to smoke it."

"Sir, I can see you are just the man to solve the
mystery that is making my life a hideous nightmare, if I am
fortunate enough to interest you in my case.

"My name is Humphrey Drake, and I am a country
squire living in a peaceful village, and up to a week ago
I was as placid as one of my own cows, but alas all is
changed and I know not what dreadful fate is hanging
over my head.  I once read a wonderful book called '*The
Sign of the Four*,' (I am a modest man, so I blushed at
this unconscious praise, you, dear reader, will know why),
and now I fear that the terrible end of Bartholemew Sholto
will be mine."

Mr. Drake turned very pale, whether from fear, or
from the strong cigar, I do not know, but after a few minutes
he recovered himself, and at Keys' request continued his
story.

"Last week I had occasion to go to the stable
immediately behind the house and on one of the walls saw in
figures made with a piece of white chalk, this sign," and
drawing his fountain pen from his pocket, he marked on
our white table cloth

::

     2
     2 .
     —
     4 .

"I haven't been able to sleep
since, and now I have come to you for help."

"Why did you visit the stable, Mr. Drake?" asked Keys.

"Well, lately the carriage and harness have not been
properly cleaned, or the horse well groomed, and I went
to speak to the stable-man about it."

Hastily consulting a time-table, Keys disappeared into
his bed room, returning the next moment disguised as a
stable-boy, even to a straw, which he was chewing
assiduously.

"Whenson will put you up, Mr. Drake, and I will
report to you at breakfast tomorrow morning.  Meanwhile
you can sleep in peace."

Coming down to breakfast the next morning, we
found Keys seated by the fire reading the paper.

"Good morning, all is well, but breakfast first and
business afterwards," he said.

It was not until our pipes were well alight that Keys
deigned to satisfy our curiosity.

"The mystery was a very harmless one, Mr. Drake,
as I expected it would be after the clue you gave me.  I
went round to the back of your house and looked in at the
stable window, and there was the culprit, your young
stable-man, with a laudable desire to improve his mind, though
rather at the expense of his duty to you, I am afraid, was
pouring over the arithmetic section of Barmsbirth's Universal
Educator, and with a piece of white chalk was endeavoring
to work out a simple sum on your stable wall, and, my dear
sir, the answer to his sum, and the explanation of your
mystery, is that two and two make four."





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.. _`THE ADVENTURE OF THEOPHILUS BROWN`:

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   \IV.


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   THE ADVENTURE OF THEOPHILUS BROWN

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"'Tis not in mortals to command success," as the Immortal
Bard hath it, and to illustrate the fact that my friend,
Mr. Surelock Keys, really is mortal which one might easily
doubt from some of the marvellous things that he has done,
I will give you an incident that happened recently.

A tremendous battering at my bedroom door woke
me from a sound sleep, and an urgent request from Keys, to
join him downstairs, hurried me into my clothes.  On
entering the dining room I saw a pallid youth whom Keys
introduced as Mr. Theophilus Brown.

Then Keys, in his most abrupt manner, asked him
what he wished to tell us, and after much hesitation, and
with frightened glances towards the door, he blurted out
a very incoherent and rambling story about a severed leg,
that he had seen hanging up somewhere, on his way home
the previous evening, and how he was afraid something
dreadful would happen to him because he didn't tell the
police.

"Well, you can now, here is our old friend, Inspector
Morebusiness" (You, dear reader, can guess his real name).
"Tell the Inspector what you saw."

"It was a leg of mutton hanging up in a butcher's
shop," shouted the miserable would-be humorist, as he made
a dash out of the door, just in time to escape the bottle of
ink that Keys sent hurtling through the air, only, alas! to
smash on the rapidly closing door.

The Inspector rolling on the floor in a paroxysm of
laughter could hardly get out the words.  "First of April,"
and Keys sank back in his chair muttering the monosyllable
"Stung!"





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.. _`THE ADVENTURE OF THE THIRTEEN CABS`:

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   \V.


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   THE ADVENTURE OF THE THIRTEEN CABS

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London was in the throes of a general strike, and
the labour world in such a seething ferment that
many of the unions had broken from the control of their
leaders, while others were led to lengths that many of the
members deeply regretted, but were unable to prevent, so
that deeds of violence were of daily occurrence.

As we sat at breakfast Inspector Morebusiness was
announced, and Keys bade him to enter, not very cordially
I am afraid, as it was the first time we had seen him since
his display of—to put it mildly—undue levity over the
unfortunate case of Theophilus Brown.  However, on seeing
how white and worried the Inspector looked, Keys' look
of annoyance passed away, and heartily inviting him to join
us at the table, refused to listen to his story until he had
done justice to our ham and eggs and coffee.

It was a terrible story that the inspector had to tell us.
nothing less than the destruction of the National Gallery,
with its priceless treasures, and of course loss of life, or
injury, to anyone happening to be in the neighborhood, for
nitro-glycerine was the destructive agent used.

He went on to say that the police had no clue, and
in despair he had come to Keys, a genuine acknowledgment
of the Great Detective's marvellous powers, if a somewhat
tardy one.

Keys closely questioned him as to anything unusual
having been noticed in the vicinity, and the inspector said
that one of his men had seen thirteen cabs passing shortly
before the explosion.

"Arrest the President and all the Officers of the Bakers'
and Pastrycooks' Union, at once," said Keys.  Greatly
wondering, but willing to catch at any straw, the Inspector
hastened to obey him.

One evening, some little time after the conviction and
subsequent confession of the men whose arrest Keys had
ordered, the Inspector dropped in, he said, for a smoke, but
it was easy to see that he was dying to ask a question, so
presently Keys said, "Well, Morebusiness, you want to
know how I did it."

The Inspector nodded an eager assent.

"Well, my friend, it was quite simple.  Dynamite is
heavy stuff, and in such a quantity could not have been
carried by hand without exciting suspicion, but what more
harmless looking than a four-wheeler, and thirteen of
them—isn't that a baker's dozen!"





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.. _`THE ADVENTURE OF MR. SANTA CLAUS`:

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   \VI.


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   THE ADVENTURE OF MR. SANTA CLAUS

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It was Christmas Eve.  Outside the snow was falling
heavily, but we were comfortably seated in front of a
cheerful fire, in our dining-room in Butcher Street.  With
strange illogicality Keys was playing "Rest Ye Merry
Gentlemen" on the comb, for surely one could neither
rest nor be merry with that beastly row going on, but it
was only another proof of the extraordinary incongruity of
that marvellous man.  Laying down the comb—thank
goodness—he turned to me.  "Whenson, when I was a little
boy I believed in Santa Claus, and stockings, and—"

A knock at the door interrupted these remarkable
confidences, which were revealing the Great Man in a light so
foreign to his usual taciturnity.

"Come in," he said.  The door opened slowly, and a
strange figure appeared before our astonished eyes.  It was
a small boy, hardly reaching to the handle of the door, and
his little cap was covered with snow.

"Ah, ha!" said Keys, in his most impressive manner,
"you have just come in from outside."  At the evidence of
such uncanny powers of deduction the little creature started
to run away.

"Don't be frightened, my little man.  I knew it from
the coagulated moisture collected on your cap, but little boys
must learn to be polite.  Lift your lid."  He did so, scattering
the Christmas largesse all over our priceless Bokhara rug.

"Now come over here and tell its your troubles," said
Keys kindly.

In the genial warmth of the roaring fire, his damp
clothes steaming like a hot toddy—a strange concoction of
the ancient Romans—his little lips lisped a tale of a
strangeness such as had surely never been told before, unless I may
be allowed to except some stories of mine which have been
published by the well-known firm of Brown & Younger.

"Please sir, I writted a letter to Mr. Sandy Claws
Esq., to bring me a hairy-plain for Christmas all painted red
all over, and the Post-Offis they sent the letter back and
says as how they carn't find 'im.  I knowed you could find
anybody, so I come to you."

"Quite right, my little man," and Keys' keen eyes
gleamed with professional pride.  "You go straight home to
bed and to sleep, and I will see that Mr. Santa Claus calls
and you will find the red aeroplane when you wake up in
the morning."

Quite satisfied the diminutive client departed, and Keys
picked up the comb again—I found I had an important
engagement and departed also.

It was close on one o'clock in the morning when I
returned, and Keys was still sitting before the fire.  With
unusual geniality he got up and held out his hand.  "Merry
Christmas, Whenson."  We shook hands.  Feeling something
sticky, I looked at my right hand, and saw some red paint
on it, and then I noticed some white fluff adhering to the
front of his coat.

Keys often assumed disguises, but—as Santa Claus!—well,
I forgave him the comb.

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