Not Strictly Sherlock

The Ink of Revenge: Part 2

It was mid-morning, and Briggs managed to rouse himself from a fitful sleep. He splashed water from the basin on his face and grabbed an open whisky bottle for a long pull of liquid. He grimaced as the cheap whisky burned a path down his throat on the way to its final destination in his bloodstream.

He needed a story, he needed to come across something he could write about and then sell to one of the papers, something beyond society news or the police beat. He would never get outside the confines of his present situation unless he could re-capture stories that made headlines. He was too old and jaded to start over again on the bottom rung of the ladder, but he had angered too many men who were now in positions to make decisions. He needed to produce something undeniable, something that would push old scores aside in favor of increased sales and circulation.

He dressed, grabbed his satchel, and walked out the door, down the stairs, and out into the street. First, a cup of tea, then he would change his "fishing charts" because if he wanted better stories, he needed to start working in more productive waters.

He bought a copy of The Times and grabbed a cup of tea at the nearby street vendor. Scanning the paper, he noted the usual blasé headlines: Scotland Yard investigates Hartlington's Brokerage House, a young man found dead at the waterfront near Albert bank, "IIex" ridden by Arthur Nightingale won the Grand National, an expansion of the Great Western Railway via the Cornwall line had been finalized...

Bored with the paper, he glanced over at the front-page headlines of the other major London papers that lay in stacks about the ground in front of the newsstand, when his eye was caught by the rack of booklets, short tales, and magazines. There, next to some penny dreadfuls, were several of Dr. John Watson's short stories about his adventures with Sherlock Holmes. He reflexively reached into his satchel for his copy of the Doctor's latest effort, only to find that it was missing. He pulled his bag around in front and searched for the small booklet, just to confirm its disappearance.

"Do you want a Sherlock Holmes story mate?"

Briggs blinked into focus and realized that the newsstand clerk was speaking to him.

"Sorry - what did you say?"

"I asked if you wanted a Sherlock 'olmes story, as your sittin' there staring at them," said the busy shopkeeper. He managed to make two sales and holler prices at bystanders all while talking with Briggs.

Briggs picked up a copy of "A Case of Identity," the same story that he lost the previous night, prior to his taking the time to read it.

"Oh that's a good one your 'olding, except 'olmes allows the cad to get away - not very common for 'im - that'll be one guv," as the shopkeep passed a paper on to another customer.

"Allows him to get away?" said Briggs. What on earth would compel the detective to do such a thing?

The newsman in him suddenly required an answer: "alright, I'll have it."

Mission in hand, he walked the few blocks up to Bloomsbury Square where he could sit outside on a bench and enjoy the air, sun, and parade of people while reading. He struck a Lucifer, lit a cigarette, and started to read the tale of "A Case of Identity." He told himself to push through the poor writing and to examine the facts of the tale, and within those facts, find the "why and how" in Holmes' motivation.

The young woman in the story, Miss Mary Sutherland, lived at home with her mother and step-father, Mr. James Windibank. Her father had been a successful plumber but had passed on several years prior and his widow eventually sold his business for a nice sum. Enter the new man in her life, Mr. Windibank, who married the well-off widow.