My Sherlock Holmes Part 7

"No," snapped Mr. Holmes.

Both Dodgson and I looked at him in bewilderment.

"Mr. Wiggins shall stay with us and hear your entire discourse on these troubling events," said Mr. Holmes. "I have need of his a.s.sistance and he is someone we both can trust. Are we agreed?"

Dodgson nodded and so did 1.

"Now then," said Mr. Holmes, "tell me about these diaries and the circ.u.mstances surrounding their disappearance."

"It has been my custom to maintain a diary in which I record thoughts, feelings, ideas, beliefs, activities, and other such items of personal interest that I may wish to consult at some future date. It is not uncommon to maintain such a doc.u.ment. It is my companion, confessor, mirror and yardstick. Others may use a diary to engage in small talk with themselves, or to express what if spoken would have them expelled from polite society. I, too, use my diaries for certain practical matters-to make note of the publication and date of notices about my works, to log the names of visitors or people to whom I've journeyed and the particulars of the pastime, to note payments for expenses I have incurred, and so on. But I also evaluate my efforts to serve G.o.d's purpose. In that regard, my diary is a doc.u.ment of my frailties and temptations-and, yes, my prayers."

"If they were unearthed," Mr. Holmes said carefully, "would they contain any entries that would get you in trouble with the law?"

"Some fates are worse than 'trouble with the law,'" said Dodgson.

"Perhaps, and we'll get to those considerations in due time," said Mr. Holmes. "But let us proceed deliberately. If the perpetrator of this a.s.sault on your property were brought to trial, could his barrister harm you by reading excerpts from your diary?"

Dodgson blanched. "Is that sort of thing done?" he asked.

"Yes," said Mr. Holmes. "The clear logic of the law holds that stealing is stealing. And punishment is meted out to the evil who prey upon the innocent. But when you have law, you have lawyers-creatures no doubt not contemplated when the Almighty was devising His plan to which you had just referred. Lawyers earn their keep by introducing as evidence any froufrou that would distract a judge and jury from the contemplation of the demands of justice. In a court of law, there certainly could be a solemn recitation of your words as an attempt to deflect wrath away from the filthy thieves and toward you. It's not right, but there you are."

"I'd be mortified. I'd be ruined. Perhaps you should not perform this favor."

"Consider the consequences," said Mr. Holmes, "if no effort is made to retrieve the precious journals."

Dodgson looked into the fireplace and seemed to be peering into his own personal h.e.l.l.

"Isn't this a pretty puzzle," he said. "I can embark on the rescue of my own rightful property and thereby create the legal contraption that will ruin me; or I can let sleeping dogs lie with the grim knowledge that they will awaken some day and cruelly rip whatever remains of my reputation to shreds. One path leads to ruin whereas the other path leads to ruin."

"It's a shame," I cut in, "that you didn't burn the diaries."

Dodgson's gray eyes flickered with anger and sorrow. Mr. Holmes shot me a sharper look. Apparently I was to be seen and not heard.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I thought I was part of this."

"And, indeed you are," said Holmes. "Be a.s.sured that I will advise you of the moment when your talents are to be of use. Until then, please reward us with your patience-and your silence."

I could not help but marvel at the splendid company in which I found myself. In the old days someone simply would have told me to shut me mush.

"How could I burn them?" asked Dodgson. "They are my life, my solace and perhaps even my instrument of salvation."

"There is a third possibility," Mr. Holmes said. "Although I a.s.sist the police, I am not, nor would I care to be, an agent of the law. This allows me to provide discretion when appropriate. I would be proud to do that for you."

Dodgson flashed a pathetic smile, and said, "Thank you, Mr. Holmes, I would be most grateful if you were to continue in this matter."

"I do not care to know the particulars of your diaries. And I am sure Mr. Wiggins shares my feelings."

I soberly nodded in agreement, hoping that my face did not betray my rampant curiosity.

"However," Mr. Holmes continued, "we do need to know what the diaries look like."

"Excuse me for a moment," said Dodgson, and he rose from the table. He walked purposefully over to the bookcase, reached to the topmost shelf his hand could extend, and secured a black leather-bound volume of a size and thickness that made it identical to the remaining books on that very shelf as well as those on the shelf below.

"My mind has always been awash with ideas for stories and songs and poems and games and mathematical problems," said Dodgson, as he returned to the table. "And I suppose I wanted some convenient repository for the fragmentary ideas that I was too busy to get to. And perhaps I was a bit full of myself, thinking that the stray musings of a young man were worth logging. Anyway I started this one while I was staying at the Residence of Ripon Cathedral, where my father served as canon."

He opened the diary and read aloud, "One January 1855. Tried a little Mathematics unsuccessfully. Sketched a design for illumination in the t.i.tle page of Mary's Book of Sacred Poetry. Handbells in the evening. A tedious performance."

He snapped the book shut, and sonorously proclaimed, "Thus wrote Dodgson."

"That hardly seems the stuff of scandal," said Mr. Holmes.

"No," said Dodgson, "and to answer your previous question, nothing of a criminal nature appears in my journals. I have performed no acts forbidden by law or by our Creator. That is not testament to my rect.i.tude or discipline but rather my abject fear of breaking the commandments of G.o.d."

"We know that," said Mr. Holmes.

"Nevertheless, people gossip about me," said Dodgson. "They tsk-tsk at the thought of the hospitality I extend my child friends. They whisper about the married women who have journeyed here for picnics and dinners and such. They depict me as a naive old man with puzzles in his pocket and a hopelessly childish sense of the world. Good grief, Holmes! My parents brought eleven children into this world. There was no shelter for naivete in my father's house. It was too small.

"Others paint me as a cunning rascal who enjoys the blessings of marriage without the sanction of marriage. My targets are said to be my female friends whose ages range from five to forty. I do love female company but I have not compromised anyone.

"I believe that to despise fame is to despise merit; but there is another side to the coin. People who do not know me feel they have license to concoct and spread stories about me. My good sister, Mary Lutwidge Collingwood, even posted me a letter about all of this gossip. I told her, 'You need not be shocked at my being spoken against. Anybody who is spoken about at all is sure to be spoken against by somebody; and any action, however innocent in itself, is liable, and not at all unlikely, to be blamed by somebody. If you limit your actions in life to things that n.o.body can possibly find fault with, you will not do much.'"

"A n.o.ble sentiment, indeed," said Mr. Holmes.

"Gossip is transient," said Dodgson. "But the written word remains. And the words I have written into my diaries about my reflections must not remain. My diaries describe not only what I did and said but what I thought and dreamed and of course what I prayed. I do believe that my candor on these pages helped spare me from actually taking the path that I saw in my visions. That and keeping very busy."

"At least," said Mr. Holmes, "you are spared the indignity of having a certain doctor spread the news of your most private habits to the world."

"How convenient it must be to have a doctor at your beck and call," said Dodgson. "Only one medicine helps me. I think that the more one feels one's own sin, and the wonderful goodness of G.o.d who will forgive so much, the more one longs to help others to escape the shame and misery one has brought on oneself."

"That may be," said Mr. Holmes. "I do not traffic in such thoughts. But I know that this young fellow and I will help you to escape the snares of others.

"Now, then," he continued, "when were the books taken from you?"

"About two months ago I had a thought about a word game I could devise that could teach children about logic," said Dodgson. "It reminded me of a notation for a game I made back then which I thought might a.s.sist me in this new diversion. I never finished that first game because writing about Alice consumed so much of my spare time. I went to this very book case and it was gone, along with three of its companions."

"And," asked Holmes, "when was the last time you consulted that diary."

"I have no idea. It's been years and years."

"Who else knows about these diaries?" asked Mr. Holmes.

"n.o.body," declared Dodgson. "Absolutely n.o.body!"

"Without being impertinent," said Mr. Holmes, "I would venture to guess that somebody does."

"Lots of people keep diaries," said Dodgson, "but I have never made any special point about them. I never discuss them. They are never in view when anyone visits with me. Nothing about their appearance invites interest. They are just dull, black books on a shelf in an aging lecturer's bookcase."

"Was anything else taken?" asked Holmes. "Any other book, an art object or trinket or some other private possession?"

"Nothing," said Dodgson.

"You are quite sure?"

"As you know," said Dodgson, "it is my habit to make lists of everything. I gathered my various inventories and proceeded to check. I thought of you as I proceeded. I thought you would be proud of my thoroughness and foresight. Nothing else was missing."

"I am honored by your thoughts," said Holmes. "Have you received any communications from the thief?"

"I have not," said Dodgson.

"No threats to make the contents public unless you pay a ransom or perform a service or cease from some real or imagined action."

"No," said the shocked Dodgson, "but I live in fear that a message of that sort will come to me."

"Let's see what facts we have a.s.sembled," said Mr. Holmes. "Four diaries have been taken from your bookcase. The thief took only these and nothing else, so clearly that was his purpose. The crime occurred somewhere between two months and 'years and years ago.' You've received no menacing letters or demands for money. So we do not have a motive and without a motive our search for suspects can take us anywhere."

"Prospects do not seem promising," said Dodgson.

"On the contrary, my dear Dodgson," said Holmes, "this shall he one of my easier adventures."

"It cheers me to hear that," said Dodgson, "but I don't see how that can be."

"It's simple," said Holmes. "Whoever did it is someone you know and trust. By definition, that eliminates most of the world's population."

"Most comforting," said Dodgson. "Actually, Mr. Holmes, I do feel comforted by the knowledge that you are a.s.sisting me-even if nothing comes from your labors."

"Don't worry, we shall find your diary s.n.a.t.c.her," said Mr. Holmes. "One more thing. Would you be so kind as to furnish me with a list of people who have been in this room for years and years."

"How many years?"

"That is entirely up to you and the limits of your concentration. The more extensive the list, the greater are our chances of identifying the culprit. And do not exercise judgment. Do not exclude a name because you doubt that they could have done such a thing. Omission of the one guilty name wastes more of our time than the inclusion of a hundred innocent names. And please append to each name, a brief description of who the person is, when they might have been here, and what, if any, grounds for dispute they might have you, no matter how trivial. I will need this infor mation tomorrow morning."

"Certainly," said Dodgson, "now that we have discussed this dreary business, you must have dinner with me in the Hall."

The thought of a good dinner cheered me.

"No," said Mr. Holmes. "This young man and I are heading to town for dinner and a room, and we will begin the hunt tomorrow."

Dodgson was crestfallen.

"There, there," said Holmes, "it scarcely would serve our enterprise to have you seen eating and drinking with a somewhat notorious consulting detective. Our young friend will appear at this door tomorrow at noon and you shall give him the list we discussed."

And so I did and so he did.

When I returned to our room in town, I ceremoniously handed the list to Mr. Holmes. He weighed it in his hand as if to judge its merit and glanced at the top page, which simply bore the t.i.tle, "List of Visitors to Dodgson House at Tom Quad as Requested by Holmes and Wiggins."

Dodgson's list was fourteen pages long. With meticulous longhand he enumerated all who had entered his apartment. In addition to their names, the don added date, nature of visit, station in life, the duration of their stay, and any notation about the disposition of the visitor toward him. Asterisks marked a goodly number of entries. These denoted visitors who made more than one appearance at Mr. Dodgson's house. Mr. Holmes pressed the lengthy doc.u.ment back into my hand and told me to a.n.a.lyze it.

I wanted no part of this tedious task.

"Mustn't you examine this yourself in order to further your investigation?" I asked, mustering the best argument I could to forestall this dreary occupation. "Especially since he went to all this trouble to prepare it in accordance with your urgings."

"I've seen Dodgson's lists before, and I have no desire to burrow through one more such compendium. Some clue does lurk in that list of names, and your industry will be most helpful in recovering it. As to the other concern, Dodgson knew I would request such a list and made sure to prepare it in advance. He then affixed a t.i.tle page after we left. Notice the cover sheet is rendered with broader strokes than is used on the subsequent pages. He felt no need to conserve ink."

"Why didn't he provide it yesterday?" I asked with some indignation.

"He believes that one must not even give the appearance of presuming on the good nature others, even when they are friends, as we are."

With that, Mr. Holmes grasped the handles of his worn leather satchel, said, "I trust you to give me a full report when I return," and was out the door.

With Holmes's ominous request dangling in the room's atmosphere, I attacked the list with the same gusto usually reserved for overboiled cabbage.

I must admit that, although hardly as gripping as one of those voluminous sagas penned by M. Dumas, Dodgson's list mesmerized me. It revealed a very different wonderland from the one for which he is so justly noted. It was an almanac of credos and purpose as well as quarrels, rebukes, and misunderstandings. And oh how the man loved rules. I have noticed that some of our species need the guiding lantern of clear and well-articulated instructions for every part of daily living. I have heard that this is particularly evident in those more northern countries of the continent; but I have not been. Charles Dodgson was not simply content to know and live by the rules. He restlessly devised new prescriptions for behavior, for games, for elections, and so on. And he was quick to protect the standards he lived by, his reputation, his faith, his friends, his works, and his privacy.

Dr. Dodgson reached for his pen at the first appearance of a slight or a.s.sault. From one of the greatest thinkers in English literature came a steady river of letters and essays to right the wrongs he observed and he was ready for battle with no distinction between the pure and the petty. As a result this shy man who loved to spend his time daydreaming of puzzles and their solutions found himself constantly opening his door to people who wanted to praise him or understand why he had committed to writing a list of their failures for others to consider. And he would tell them.

Various Scouts in the employ of Christ Church came to that famous sitting room. The Scouts were responsible for a.s.sorted housecleaning duties and reported directly to the House Manager. But that did not stop Dodgson from complaining that an accidental fire in this Scout's chimney made the young man a menace to the house, or that the "dangerous effluvium" coming from beneath that Scout's room required immediate attention, and this other Scout's clumsiness caused breakage among some of Dodgson's favorite pieces of gla.s.s and china. Both the Head Chef and the Hall Manager journeyed to Dr. Dodgson's apartment when he complained about, "beefsteak almost too tough to eat, Portugal onions quite underboiled and uneatable and boiled potatoes that are always mealy."

He must have had quite a tete-a-tete with J. Barclay Thompson, reader in Anatomy. Thompson was Dodgson's match when it came to voicing objections; although Thompson did not have the charm, wit, or good manners that we a.s.sociate with Dodgson. The "keeper of bones," as Dodgson referred to the man, took exception to how T. Vere Bayne served as curator of the Common Room. After vigorously defending Bayne, Dodgson was elected to succeed Bayne, an outcome that Thompson took badly.

Then there was the wine merchant who supplied the Common Room. He was summoned to Dodgson's premises and informed in no uncertain terms to stop bestowing gifts upon Dodgson and to stop pestering the curator for meetings.

Nor did Dodgson spare his family from his honesty. His nephew Stuart Collingwood went away from a visit quite vexed. ("He asked me to comment on his attempts at writing with as much frankness as I could muster," noted Dodgson. "I complied fully and faithfully. Alas, my observations and suggestions did not please him.") Actually it was a relative few who came or left in anger. Dodgson was available to students, met with fellow faculty, entertained notable personages who were visiting Christ Church and, of course, there was his female company-mostly young women under the age of twelve, often, but not always, accompanied by a parent.

And of course there was the Liddell family. As one might expect, the members of this family had gathered, like rosebuds, the greatest quant.i.ty of asterisks. Henry George Liddell was Dean of Christ Church, and the man who made all decisions controlling Dodgson's life in the community of scholars. The Dean's daughter, Alice Liddell, is part of the legend of Lewis Carroll. A married woman by the time I met Charles Dodgson, she had been the little girl for whom he named the adorable character and to whom, along with her sisters, he first told the Wonderland stories.

In his commentary about the family on the list, Dodgson wrote the following. "Henry George Liddell, who was h.e.l.l bent and I do not use the term lightly to alter the look of the house against all common sense, and has taken exception to each article I have published about the architectural vulgarities he wishes to visit upon us and who has alienated the feelings of his family toward me, the lovely Alice, the poor departed Edith, the sweet Ina, and their loving and saintly mother Lorena."

I finished my notes, and looked around the room for other amus.e.m.e.nt. Holmes had left enough reading matter. But being interested in neither the daily newspaper nor the Dictionary of Tropical Toxins, I looked elsewhere. Holmes had left his pipe behind. Now there was an opportunity. I always wondered how smoking a pipe would affect my appearance. I suspected it would give me a quite distinguished look. This was my chance. Finding the mirror and striking what I believed to be a pensive pose, I placed the pipe between my lips as I had seen Mr. Holmes do so many times. I tilted my head just a bit for the proper touch of authority, and nearly fainted. What a foul taste! What a wretched residue. I expelled the noxious instrument from my mouth and carefully placed it back where I had found it. Finding no other recreation, I settled into the easy chair and drifted off to sleep.

Scarcely seconds later, or so it seemed, a thunderous banging on the door awakened me. Annoyed, I flung open the door and saw a mustachioed workman standing in the portal. The impudent rascal hadn't even bothered to remove his cap.

"Yes," I demanded.

"I'm here to attend to your lamp, sir."

"There's nothing wrong with the lamp," I said.

"There must be sir," he said. "They send me to fix it and they don't generally do that if they don't have to. And besides, there's something wrong with every lamp in this fine establishment."

"We don't wish to be bothered," I said.

"That's the funny thing," the workman said. "n.o.body wishes to be bothered, but when something goes wrong in the middle of the night, they don't mind bothering me. Well, I needs me sleep, too, you know."

And with that, the scoundrel stepped right past me into the room.

"And another thing," he said, "don't you know it's bad manners to smoke another man's pipe?"

The workman was Mr. Holmes, of course. He tricked me once again. I don't know how many times I've seen him in one of his masquerades. Even though it's one of his favorite tactics, and even though we continue to have odd encounters at critical junctures with a blind man or beggar or driver or old lady, he fools us. Each time I vow I will see through his disguise the next time. I should stop making such vows.