On July 3rd…

(Source: A Day by Day Chronology of Mr. Sherlock Holmes according to Zeisler and Christ, compiled by William S Dorn.)

Illustration by Sidney Paget for The Strand Magazine (1904)

July 3, 1895: At 2 a.m., Patrick Cairns killed Peter Carey with a harpoon. [BLAC]

And there in the middle of it was the man himself, his face twisted like a lost soul in torment, and his great brindled beard stuck upwards in his agony. Right through his broad breast a steel harpoon had been driven, and it had sunk deep into the wood of the wall behind him. He was pinned like a beetle on a card. Of course, he was quite dead, and had been so from the instant that he uttered that last yell of agony.

On July 12th…

Illustration by Richard Gutschmidt (1906)

July 12, 1895: Holmes captured Patrick Cairns. [BLAC]

I heard a click of steel and a bellow like an enraged bull. The next instant Holmes and the seaman were rolling on the ground together. He was a man of such gigantic strength that, even with the handcuffs which Holmes had so deftly fastened upon his wrist, he would have quickly overpowered my friend had Hopkins and I not rushed to his rescue. Only when I pressed the cold muzzle of the revolver to his temple did he at last understand that resistance was vain. We lashed his ankles with cord and rose breathless from the struggle.

[Our Watson comes through again. Way to Go! –Chips]

On July 11th…

(Source: A Day by Day Chronology of Mr. Sherlock Holmes according to Zeisler and Christ, compiled by William S Dorn.)

Illustration by Sidney Paget for The Strand Magazine (1904)

July 11, 1895: John Hopley Neligan was apprehended at Peter Carey’s cabin. [BLAC]

The nocturnal visitor was a young man, frail and thin, with a black moustache which intensified the deadly pallor of his face. He could not have been much above twenty years of age. I have never seen any human being who appeared to be in such a pitiable fright, for his teeth were visibly chattering, and he was shaking in every limb. He was dressed like a gentleman, in Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers, with a cloth cap upon his head. We watched him staring round with frightened eyes. Then he laid the candle-end upon the table and disappeared from our view into one of the corners. He returned with a large book, one of the log-books which formed a line upon the shelves. Leaning on the table, he rapidly turned over the leaves of this volume until he came to the entry which he sought. Then, with an angry gesture of his clenched hand, he closed the book, replaced it in the corner, and put out the light. He had hardly turned to leave the hut when Hopkins’s hand was on the fellow’s collar, and I heard his loud gasp of terror as he understood that he was taken. The candle was relit, and there was our wretched captive shivering and cowering in the grasp of the detective. He sank down upon the sea-chest, and looked helplessly from one of us to the other.

July 11, 1895: Holmes sent a telegram using the name of Captain Basil. [BLAC]

“Excellent, Watson. The alternative develops. Have you telegraph forms? Just write a couple of messages for me: `Sumner, Shipping Agent, Ratcliff Highway. Send three men on, to arrive ten tomorrow morning – Basil.’ That’s my name in those parts.

Illustration by Howard K. Elcock for The Strand Magazine (1923)

July 11, 1903: Prof. Presbury was attacked a second time by his wolf-hound, Roy. [CREE]

And then in a moment it happened! It was not the chain that broke, but it was the collar that slipped, for it had been made for a thick-necked Newfoundland. We heard the rattle of falling metal, and the next instant dog and man were rolling on the ground together, the one roaring in rage, the other screaming in a strange shrill falsetto of terror. It was a very narrow thing for the Professor’s life. The savage creature had him fairly by the throat, its fangs had bitten deep, and he was senseless before we could reach them and drag the two apart.

On July 10th…

(Source: A Day by Day Chronology of Mr. Sherlock Holmes according to Zeisler and Christ, compiled by William S Dorn.)

July 10, 1888: At about 2 am, Silver Blaze killed John Straker. [SILV]

Another one of my favorite stories in the Canon. I never had heard of a horse as a weapon and innocent of murder by reason of self-defense. At age 12, I did not care about racing laws, rules, and such. Now as an adult? I still don’t care about them. It’s a great story. –Chips

Illustration by WH Hyde for Harper’s Weekly (1893)

Once in the hollow he had got behind the horse, and had struck a light, but the creature, frightened at the sudden glare, and with the strange instinct of animals feeling that some mischief was intended, had lashed out, and the steel shoe had struck Straker full on the forehead. He had already, in spite of the rain, taken off his overcoat in order to do his delicate task, and so, as he fell, his knife gashed his thigh. Do I make it clear?

July 10, 1889: A letter from a foreign potentate was received in the foreign office. [SECO]

Illustration by Sidney Paget for The Strand Magazine (1904)

“I understand. Now, Mr. Trelawney Hope, I should be much obliged if you would tell me exactly the circumstances under which this document disappeared.”

“That can be done in a very few words, Mr. Holmes. The letter – for it was a letter from a foreign potentate – was received six days ago. It was of such importance that I have never left it in my safe, but I have taken it across each evening to my house in Whitehall Terrace, and kept it in my bedroom in a locked despatch-box. It was there last night. Of that I am certain. I actually opened the box while I was dressing for dinner, and saw the document inside. This morning it was gone. The despatch-box had stood beside the glass upon my dressing-table all night. I am a light sleeper, and so is my wife. We are both prepared to swear that no one could have entered the room during the night. And yet I repeat that the paper is gone.”

July 10, 1895: Holmes visited the scene of Peter Carey’s murder. [BLAC]

Cover illustration by Frederic Dorr Steele for Collier’s (1904)

“[…] Meanwhile, let me see the inside of the cabin.”

The traces of the tragedy had been removed, but the furniture of the little room still stood as it had been on the night of the crime. For two hours, with the most intense concentration, Holmes examined every object in turn, but his face showed that his quest was not a successful one. Once only he paused in his patient investigation.

I always wanted to use this illustration from Fredric Dorr Steele. I hope you enjoy it. –Chips

On July 9th…

(Source: A Day by Day Chronology of Mr. Sherlock Holmes according to Zeisler and Christ, compiled by William S Dorn.)

July 9, 1895: John Hopley Neligan attempted to break into Peter Carey’s cabin. [BLAC]

Illustration by Sidney Paget for The Strand Magazine (1904)

The outhouse was the simplest of dwellings, wooden-walled, single-roofed, one window beside the door, and one on the farther side. Stanley Hopkins drew the key from his pocket, and had stooped to the lock, when he paused with a look of attention and surprise upon his face.

“Someone has been tampering with it,” he said.

There could be no doubt of the fact. The woodwork was cut, and the scratches showed white through the paint, as if they had been that instant done. Holmes had been examining the window.

“Someone has tried to force this also. Whoever it was has failed to make his way in. He must have been a very poor burglar.”

July 9, 1895: Holmes received a wire from Inspector Hopkins. [BLAC]

Illustration by Sidney Paget for The Strand Magazine (1904)

During the first week of July my friend had been absent so often and so long from our lodgings that I knew he had something on hand. The fact that several rough-looking men called during that time and inquired for Captain Basil made me understand that Holmes was working somewhere under one of the numerous disguises and names with which he concealed his own formidable identity. He had at least five small refuges in different parts of London in which he was able to change his personality. He said nothing of his business to me, and it was not my habit to force a confidence. The first positive sign which he gave me of the direction which his investigation was taking was an extraordinary one. He had gone out before breakfast, and I had sat down to mine, when he strode into the room, his hat upon his head and a huge barbed-headed spear tucked like an umbrella under his arm.

“Good gracious, Holmes!” I cried. “You don’t mean to say that you have been walking about London with that thing?”

“I drove to the butcher’s and back.”

“The butcher’s?”

Illustration by Richard Gutschmidt (1906)

“And I return with an excellent appetite. There can be no question, my dear Watson, of the value of exercise before breakfast. But I am prepared to bet that you will not guess the form that my exercise has taken.”
“I will not attempt it.”

He chuckled as he poured out the coffee.

“If you could have looked into Allardyce’s back shop you would have seen a dead pig swung from a hook in the ceiling, and a gentleman in his shirt-sleeves furiously stabbing at it with this weapon. I was that energetic person, and I have satisfied myself that by no exertion of my strength can I transfix the pig with a single blow. Perhaps you would care to try?”

“Not for worlds. But why were you doing this?”

“Because it seemed to me to have an indirect bearing upon the mystery of Woodman’s Lee. Ah, Hopkins, I got your wire last night, and I have been expecting you. Come and join us.”

This is one of my favorite images and passages from the Canon: a man carrying a harpoon through London after repeatedly sticking a pig in the back of a butcher shop! –Chips

On July 3rd…

(Source: A Day by Day Chronology of Mr. Sherlock Holmes according to Zeisler and Christ, compiled by William S Dorn.)

from Sherlock Holmes’ Strangest Cases, illustrated by Spain Rodriguez (2001)

July 3, 1895: At 2 a.m., Patrick Cairns killed Peter Carey with a harpoon. [BLAC]

And there in the middle of it was the man himself, his face twisted like a lost soul in torment, and his great brindled beard stuck upwards in his agony. Right through his broad breast a steel harpoon had been driven, and it had sunk deep into the wood of the wall behind him. He was pinned like a beetle on a card. Of course, he was quite dead, and had been so from the instant that he uttered that last yell of agony.

What a description!! Another one of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s fantastic word pictures.

On July 1st…

(Source: A Day by Day Chronology of Mr. Sherlock Holmes According to Zeisler and Christ, compiled by William S Dorn)

July 1, 1894: Jonas Oldacre brought his will to John Hector McFarlane. [NORW]

Jonathan Adams as Jonas Oldacre (1985)

“I must explain first,” said McFarlane, “that I knew nothing of Mr. Jonas Oldacre. His name was familiar to me, for many years ago my parents were acquainted with him, but they drifted apart. I was very much surprised, therefore, when yesterday, about three o’clock in the afternoon, he walked into my office in the City. But I was still more astonished when he told me the object of his visit. He had in his hand several sheets of a notebook, covered with scribbled writing – here they are – and he laid them on my table.
“‘Here is my will,’ said he. ‘I want you, Mr. McFarlane, to cast it into proper legal shape. I will sit here while you do so.'”

Illustration by Sidney Paget for The Strand Magazine (1904)

July 1, 1895: Patrick Cairns first visited Peter Carrey. [BLAC]

I found out where he was through a sailor man that had met him in London, and down I went to squeeze him. The first night he was reasonable enough, and was ready to give me what would make me free of the sea for life. We were to fix it all two nights later. When I came I found him three-parts drunk and in a vile temper. We sat down and we drank and we yarned about old times, but the more he drank the less I liked the look on his face.

On July 10th…

July 10, 1888: About 2 a.m., Silver Blaze killed John Straker. [SILV]

Another one of my favorite stories in the Canon. I never had heard of a horse as a weapon and innocence of murder by reason of self-defense. At age 12, I did not care about racing laws, rules and such. Now, as an adult? I don’t care about them. It’s a great story.

July 10, 1889: —A letter from a foreign potentate was received in the Foreign Office. [SECO]

July 10, 1895: Holmes visited the scene of Peter Carey’s murder. [BLAC]

On July 3rd…

July 3, 1895: At 2 Am Patrick Cairns killed Peter Carey with a harpoon. [BLAC]

Another one of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s fantastic word pictures. Quoting from the Canon:

And there in the middle of it was the man himself, his face twisted like a lost soul in torment, and his great brindled beard stuck upwards in his agony. Right through his broad breast a steel harpoon had been driven, and it had sunk deep into the wood of the wall behind him. He was pinned like a beetle on a card. Of course, he was quite dead, and had been so from the instant that he uttered that last yell of agony.

What a description!! His word pictures like that made me at 12 years old on the plains of Kansas move to Baker Street for the rest of my life.

On July 10th…

July 10, 1895: Holmes visited the scene of Peter Carey’s murder. (BLAC)

July 10, 1888: At about 2 AM, Silver Blaze killed John Straker. (SILV) Another one of my favorite stories in the Canon. I never had heard of a horse as a weapon and innocent of murder by reason of self-defense. At age 12, I did not care about racing laws, rules, and such. Now as an adult? I still don’t care about them. It’s a great story.

July 10, 1889: A letter from a foreign potentate was received in the foreign office. (SECO)

On July 3rd…

July 3, 1895: At 2 AM, Patrick Cairns killed Peter Carey with a harpoon. (BLAC)

Another one of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s fantastic word pictures. Quoting from the Canon:

And there in the middle of it was the man himself, his face twisted like a lost soul in torment, and his great brindled beard stuck upwards in his agony. Right through his broad breast a steel harpoon had been driven, and it had sunk deep into the wood of the wall behind him. He was pinned like a beetle on a card. Of course, he was quite dead, and had been so from the instant that he uttered that last yell of agony.

What a description!! His word pictures like that made me at 12 years old on the plains of Kansas move to Baker Street for the rest of my life.