The Case of the Confidence Trickster
by M

          “Holmes,” I said, “I’ve just received the most extraordinary letter.”

          “Indeed?” he responded as he stood near the window lightly bowing the strings of his violin—I guessed that he had been composing, for the tune was coming across sporadically. 

          “Yes, listen to this,” I said and proceeded to read aloud the following.

          My dearest John,

I regret that our correspondence has been only occasional of late; I do beg your forgiveness.  I am, however, in a bind and am of the opinion that you are the only one who might aid me.  A close acquaintance of mine is suffering from some mysterious illness.  There is a chance that the disease has an Eastern origin, and your knowledge of such things is far greater than mine. 

No doubt you are asking yourself why I am unable to find an expert in the thriving metropolis of Philadelphia—there are several, in point of fact, but my friend’s political ambitions prompt her to request absolute privacy.  She will let no one but I tend her.  She is a very influential leader in the suffragette movement.  She fears that being seen ailing would undermine her recent gains.  I have, however, persuaded her to allow a trusted and discreet friend from overseas to attend her, and so I humbly beg your assistance.  

Please wire if you are able to make the journey.  Always, very sincerely yours,

Alistair

          “Remarkable,” I said.  Holmes had let his violin bow hang limp in his hands as he listened with intent.  After some thought and consideration, I said finally, “I must go, I believe, for the lady seems unshakable.”  I looked over at Holmes, who had propped his violin and bow against his chair and taken his seat.  “Might you like to accompany me?” I asked impulsively.

          He arched an eyebrow, considered for a moment then said, “I have no other pressing engagements.” 

          I smiled over at him with obvious pleasure, for I had not wanted to spend so long a time away from him.  The ship journey over would take nearly two weeks, and it was likely my medical ministrations would keep me away for a considerable period of time.  All in all, I expected to be gone for six or eight weeks, if not more.  “I’ll send a wire to Alistair immediately,” I said. 

~

           “I am exceedingly pleased that you agreed to come, Holmes,” I said, “but you are, of course, under no obligation to do so.’

          He looked over at me curiously and said, “We have already boarded the ship, Watson, it is a trifle late to remind me that I need not have come.”  Indeed, we had unloaded our trunks and just walked up the gang-way. 

          “Nevertheless,” I said with a smile, “I am glad of your company.”

          “Your tickets, sirs,” the ship steward asked.  I handed him the first-class tickets, generously provided by Alistair Worsley, and he snapped his fingers curtly in the air, thus, gaining the attention of a boy in ship’s livery.  “Take these gentlemen to their suite, Bailey,” the steward commanded.   “Welcome aboard, sirs,” he said as he handed us our stamped tickets.

          We were shown a very excellent set of rooms on the mid-deck; the décor was pleasant and not overly-nautical.  Our young attendant stowed our carpet-bags on the rack as we took in our surroundings.  When his task was finished, he said with an accent that hinted he was from the lower classes but was trying to sound like a gentleman, “My name is Bailey, good sirs, and I will be serving you on your passage.  Your trunks will be arriving shortly.  Please ring the bell should you need anything, sirs,” he stood erect and proud as he recited, and I couldn’t help but like him instantly. 

          “Thank you,” Holmes said pleasantly.  Our young servant bowed slightly and made to leave.

          “Bailey,” I called and caught him near the door, where I pressed a few coins to his palm.

          “Thank ye, sir,” he said, slipping slightly into his born accent.  “Most generous of you, sir,” he finished with a bow, gentlemanly accent regained, and left.

          “Fine lad, that,” I said. 

          “Yes, sharp young man,” Holmes said absently as he removed his coat and placed his hat and cane by the door.  I did likewise, and we settled onto the short sofa in the cabin’s common room.  I poured us some brandy.  Holmes lit a cigarette.  “Your friend, Watson, has done very well by us; these rooms are most luxurious.”

          “He is the most generous of men,” I said.  “He has always been so.  You shall like him very much, I’ll wager.  Though I’m sorry to report he’s a fellow rugger and not a boxing-man,” I informed him jovially.

          “We must all possess some little flaw, my dear Watson,” he said teasingly, “I’ve learned to overlook it in you; surely I can bring myself to do the same for your friend.”

          His lighter moods were always a great pleasure for me—perhaps because his black moods were so extreme—and I laughed at his jest.  I took the last swallow of my brandy, set the glass down, and settled my head upon my companion’s shoulder.  Many would not think Sherlock Holmes overly fond of tender gestures, but he would often give indications of much contentment at such times.  We sank into the sofa comfortably, casually talking of current affairs and the likelihood of bold movements by London’s criminals in the immediate future.  I was feeling a decided delight in our journey and was looking forward to our forthcoming excursion to America. 

~

          Just after the launching of the S.S. Rhynland bound for Philadelphia, Holmes and I made our way to the dinning room.  Because we were traveling with first-class tickets, the ship-line had taken the liberty of making certain social arrangements.  The dining tables would seat a group of eight people selected for a comfortable social milieu.  Our dining partners for the voyage would be a retired English Naval officer and his wife, a young American student returning home from holiday, a pair of middle-aged maiden English sisters, and a widowed American lady somewhere between thirty and forty. 

          Our dinner conversation the first evening was restricted to the usual pleasantries at first, but soon (after Admiral Denbigh had taken several healthy swallows of his wine) we were regaled with stories of naval battles and the like.  Upon completion, the gentlemen retired to the smoking room.  Whilst there, we had the opportunity to discover that our young bachelor from America was a student of law at the University of Pennsylvania, but that his real passion was for the cultivation of flowering plants.  He had been in England visiting botanical gardens and collecting specimens of roses.  We all soon exchanged our respective vocations, and Holmes was subjected to a barrage of questions about the criminal under-world and the detection of crime from our young friend.  Holmes was patient, but answering questions about his profession was a tedious occupation for him.  I found a reason to excuse ourselves early, and we were soon walking along the deck toward our cabin. 

          “You looked a bit tired back there, Holmes,” I said as we paused outside our door to take in the cool sea air.  “I thought you might want to turn in.”

          “I am not a terribly sociable man, Watson, as you know.  Answering wearisome questions about my unique profession is rarely a pleasure,” he said.  After a slight pause, he continued, “But I am not in the least tired.”  He was leaning against the rail, looking out to sea, but for an instant he shifted his eyes rapidly in my direction.  If he had been a young lady, I would have taken it for a playful come-hither glance, but his masculine nature obliterated any innocent coyness in the gesture and replaced it with cool proposition.

          I smiled, leaned closer to my companion so that my voice could not be overheard, and suggested a course of action that would be unseemly for a gentleman to commit to paper.  It had the desired effect, for Holmes closed his eyes for a brief moment (imagining the many benefits of my proposal, I suspected) and then taking me by the hand he quickly propelled us both through our cabin door.  I take immense pleasure in probably being the only person who is able to make the great Sherlock Holmes lose his composure entirely. 

          We were kissing feverishly the minute the door slammed shut.  We worked frantically trying to rid each other of our many articles of clothing as we stumbled our way toward one of the bed-chambers.  I silently cursed the man who invented cuff-links, and when I finally managed to extricate Holmes’s I threw them wildly across the room.  He flashed me an amused smile and proceeded to make short work of my braces, shirt buttons, and trouser fly.  I was wearing very little by the time we both tumbled onto the bed and Holmes immediately brought to life my most ungentlemanly suggestion. 

~

          My empty stomach had prompted me to awaken early, so I left Holmes to sleep and made my way to the sitting room.  I rang the bell to have the bath drawn, and Bailey arrived within seconds.  In less than quarter of an hour I was soaking in delightfully hot water, reveling in delicious memories of the night’s activities.  Still smiling to myself, I exited the bath, shaved, dressed, and was soon striding toward the dining room with the swagger of a man who’s had a most pleasant, if not fully restful, evening. 

          The breakfast table was missing several of our troupe; Holmes, our law student, and the Admiral and his wife were all absent.  My dining companions were the remaining three ladies.  My humor that morning was so bright that it was contagious, and we were all soon sharing a breakfast filled with much laughter and good feeling. 

          After our meal, Mrs. Traxton, the widowed American, requested that I stroll with her round the ship, and so taking my elbow we ambled along the railing.  She was very interested in my surgical career, and so I shared with her several interesting medical stories from my time in the East.  She was a sophisticated and vibrant woman, and quite flirtatious if truth be told.

          We soon stopped to talk and look out at the rolling sea; we spent nearly half an hour there before I heard Holmes’s languid voice behind me, “Mrs. Traxton, good morning.”  I turned to face him as he politely took the hand she offered and performed an perfunctory rendition of kissing it. 

          “Mr. Holmes, what a pleasure it is to see you,” she said warmly.  “We all missed you at the breakfast table.  Would you like to join us on the upper deck; we were heading there presently.” 

          Holmes smiled slightly at her and then shot me a very warm look.  “I’d be delighted,” he replied evenly.  We spent the morning lounging about the upper deck, feeling the salty sea air upon our cheeks.  Holmes sat silent, making only obligatory gestures of agreement or disagreement, while Mrs. Traxton and I chatted jovially about this and that.  I noticed that during certain portions of our conversation, Holmes’s attention was inexplicably roused.  I could not fathom why certain topics should gain his interest while others did not; but then he is a most peculiar man and I have resigned myself to never fully understanding the workings of his great mind.

~

          Several days later, Holmes and I were sitting in our cabin after dinner.  Holmes leaned over and rang the bell.  Bailey was at our door in a few moments (longer than usual, I noted casually, for the boy was exceedingly prompt).  Holmes requested a refill on our brandy decanter, and it was swiftly brought in.  Then Holmes said to Bailey, “Please remain and shut the door, young man.”  I was surprised at this request, for it was a most unorthodox command.  “Sit, Bailey, I would like to ask you a few questions in front of the good doctor.”  What on earth was Holmes up to, I wondered, becoming increasingly more confused by his odd behavior.

          Bailey did as he was bade and said, “As you wish, sir.”

          “Has anyone been making inquiries about Dr. Watson?” Holmes asked.

          Bailey paused and gave a shy smile; a faint rose color tinted his cheeks.  “Aye, sir, a lady,” he replied.  I was stunned.

          “And of what nature were those inquiries?” 

          The young man’s blush deepened.  “She was interested in the doctor’s social position, as well as his financials, or at least she seemed to be, sir.  She was being quite sly about it, but I knows what she was after.”  His gentlemanly accent slipped just at the end and he gave a conspiratorial glance at Holmes, who returned it.

          “Was there nothing more?”

          “Yes, sir,” Bailey continued, with gentlemanly accent recovered.  “Finally she asks if the good doctor was spoken for, engaged.” 

          “I say!” I exclaimed, “what’s all this about?”  Bailey quickly looked startled, as though I was accusing him of something; he dropped his eyes to the floor.

          “Thank you, Bailey,” Holmes said as he stood and ushered the boy out the door, where he whispered something to him that I could not make out.  I also saw him give the young man something, and then Bailey said enthusiastically (sans gentlemanly accent), “I won’t let ye down, sir.”  With that he was gone, and Holmes returned to his seat across from me. 

          “What’s all this about, Holmes?” I demanded.

          “You are being pursued, my dear Watson,” Holmes said evenly, “by the widow Traxton.”

          “What?” I asked incredulously.  “I have given her no cause, made no advances!”  I was inexplicably irate at such a ludicrous notion. 

          “Calm yourself, Watson,” Holmes said with control, something that I lacked at the moment.  “You are, I know, a completely innocent party in this affair.  The widow Traxton, on the other hand, is not.”

          “What do mean?” I asked curtly.

          “I believe her to be a confidence trickster, and a rather cunning one at that,” he said with some satisfaction.  “This Traxton is, unless I am very much mistaken, skilled in the seduction and subsequent fleecing of wealthy men.  As soon as she has them in her thrall, she proceeds to rob them of their riches.  You, my poor fellow, have caught her attention as a very easy prospect.”

          “Good God,” was all I could say to this exposition.

          “Do not look so surprised,” Holmes said with a quirky smile.  “An exceedingly handsome English surgeon traveling first-class without a wife or ring on hand…I’d say you look an excellent mark for such a villain.”

          I sat for some time taking all of this in.  “I shall simply absent myself from her company entirely,” I said with determination.

          Holmes looked over at me now with a look of apology, and I knew what he was going to say, “Watson, I must ask from you a most unpleasant favor…”

          “I shall refuse; the mere thought of that woman disturbs me too greatly,” I replied before he could finish.

          “You must,” he insisted flatly, “for I am not currently in a position to prove her treachery.”

          We stared at each other for several very long and tense moments; he was testing my will, and I was trying hard to resist his.  Suddenly he did a most unexpected (and under-handed thing, I thought), he said, “Please, Watson,” in his most charming and persuasive voice.  I had not expected this tack; my gaze shifted and my will broke.  Damn this man, I thought.

          “I am not happy about this in the least, Holmes,” I said forcefully, “and I want it duly marked that you are quite in my debt from this moment forth.”

          He smiled triumphantly at my acquiescence and said coolly, “I am yours to command.” 

~

          Following Holmes’s guidance, for two days I allowed Mrs. Traxton to believe her advances were succeeding.  I was even subject to several uncomfortable kisses upon the cheek, but was careful to avoid any situations that might end in more bold attempts.  I was not entirely sure of Holmes’s ultimate plan, but I trusted he would not put me into an overly-compromising position with the widow Traxton (would he? I asked myself).  I was becoming increasingly nervous about this very point as the days passed, for if I was to be her next victim, she would need to persuade me to her bed soon. 

          It was this prospect that kept me on edge and not the best of company around Holmes; after all, this was his doing.  And what’s worse, I got the impression that he was enjoying watching me play the eligible bachelor to this woman.  I chaffed at his amusement at my expense.

          “Damn it, Holmes,” I said vehemently one night after dinner, “this is maddening!  And if you even think I’m going to let this go so far as to have that woman in my bed, you are very much mistaken!”

          “My dear Watson,” he said with his usual calm, “I would not suggest such a course of action; it is not necessary for the success of our ruse.”  He paused briefly then added, “And I would not have this woman’s hands upon that which is mine.”  His tone was even but his eyes conveyed that this, and not the case, was the ultimate reason.

          Something stirred me suddenly, and the next instant I was across the room to where he was standing against the bed-chamber door, arms folded across his chest.  I pressed myself hard against him and kissed him with a passion that took him by surprise.  I was soon ripping his clothes from his body, heedless of tearing shirt seams and dislodged buttons.  He was completely astonished at the behavior my raw need instigated.  He did not protest, but instead submitted willingly (and with much pleasure, I noticed) to my rather forceful desires. 

~

          “And Mr. Holmes will be away all evening?” Mrs. Traxton asked with a seductive smile as I closed the cabin door behind us. 

          “Yes,” I replied, “the gentlemen will play billiards until dawn.  They have taken to placing wagers, and Holmes is bent on regaining some of his lost capital.” 

          Her smile stayed upon her face as she moved over to me and gave me a kiss upon the cheek, holding it for some little time to suggest an advance on my part would be most welcome.  Instead, I mustered a smile and stepped over to the small table to pour myself a very large glass of brandy.  “Would you like a glass?” I asked.  “I hardly ever touch the stuff myself, but Holmes enjoys it.  He says it’s fortifying.”

          “I would enjoy just a small glass,” she said innocently.  “Thank you.”

          I swallowed my glass down quickly and hastily poured another just as full.  I would soon be quite intoxicated but still fully aware of my prescribed moves.  We were sitting together upon the short sofa, her legs crossed so that her knee touched mine.  Once my second drink was finished, she took the glass from my hand and kissed me again upon the cheek, placing her lips closer to mine than previously.  Then without saying anything (no doubt she noticed my state of inebriation) she took me by the hand and we went into my bed-chamber and shut the door.  She was smiling seductively all the while.  I followed her lead, as I was supposed to, and sat upon the bed.  I smiled slightly, trying to portray both severe drunkenness and nervousness.  It worked.

          “Why don’t you lie down, Dr.?” she asked as she placed her (loathsome, criminal) hand upon my chest.  I lay down and smiled with what I hoped was desire.  Then before she could commit to kissing me full on the mouth, I lowered my eyelids like a man who has had a touch more drink than he can handle, and feigned as though I had passed out. 

          Her hand was still upon my chest, and she asked, “Dr. Watson?  Are you awake, Dr?”  Then she removed her hand but did not get up from the bed.  We held our positions for nearly quarter of an hour before she asked again, “Are you awake, Dr.?”  When I did not answer this time, she slid quietly from the bed and began to inspect the bed-chamber.  She opened the night stand, found nothing of interest (as there was nothing to find), then proceeded to rummage carefully through the wardrobe and my trunk.  This searching took about a half an hour, as she was doing a very thorough job while at the same time being careful not to wake me.  She soon finished her search and just as she opened the bed-chamber door she said to my seemingly unconscious form, “Thank you, Dr. Watson, for an enchanting evening.”  Her tone was smug—and premature.

          “No, Mrs. Traxton,” Holmes’s voice drifted in from the common-room, “Thank you for a most enchanting evening.” 

~

          “Thank you again, Mr. Holmes,” Captain Hayes said.  “We’ll keep her in custody until we dock tomorrow evening.  I suspect the Philadelphia police will be pleased to have this particular lady in their clutches.  She’s quite infamous on this side of the Atlantic.” 

          “You are most welcome,” Holmes said and bowed his head modestly.  “But the credit is owed to my good friend Dr. Watson.  Without his assistance, her capture would not have been assured.  Good evening, Captain.”  With that, we took our leave.

          Still slightly intoxicated and pleased to be free of Mrs. Traxton’s “affections,” I was positively beaming as Holmes and I walked back to our cabin.  He of course noticed my present state, but said nothing until we were departing for our separate beds. 

          “I think not, Watson,” he said abruptly.

          “I beg your pardon?” I asked confused.

          “Bailey has moved all of your personal effects into my room.  I shan’t have you sleeping in such tainted quarters,” he said.

          “Bailey moved my things?” I asked.  “Did he not think it…inappropriate?”

          “Nonsense,” he said.  “My dear Watson, Bailey’s been a key confidant in this entire plot and understands fully the loathsome nature of our now-captured quarry.  No, do not give me that look; you know very well that I could not inform you of all aspects of the scheme, for you needed to be at your most convincing around Mrs. Traxton.  Bailey, on the other hand, gathered considerable information and was a critical element to orchestrating Mrs. Traxton’s behavior.  Ah, here he is now.  Come.”

          Bailey’s knocking ceased and he stepped into the room, a wide grin upon his face showing that he was immensely pleased with himself.  I was disarmed at the sight of his pride and all my indignity flooded away. 

          “You were wonderful, Dr. Watson!” Bailey said, beaming.  “That Mrs. Traxton were so surprised when she were caught.” 

          “Thank you, Bailey,” I said with a smile.  “I hear you were Holmes’s right-hand man the whole time.  Cracking job, young man.” 

          “Why…thank you, sir…” Bailey was very pleased by the compliment. 

          “Now, Bailey,” Holmes interrupted.  “Did you return the items to Admiral Denbigh?”

          “Aye, sir,” he replied, all business once again.  “Two gold rings, a diamond bracelet, and two thousand pounds of notes.”

          “Very good, and here, this should complete our bargain,” Holmes said handing Bailey ten dollars American and a one hundred pound note.  His eyes widened with surprise as Holmes held it out to him.  I myself was taken aback by such a large payment, and to a 14 year old boy no less.

          “But, sir…that’s too much, sir,” he stammered.  “The price were only a tenner, sir.”

          “When you arrive back in London, you’ll use the one hundred pounds to pay for a new wardrobe, books, and all other incidentals,” Holmes said.

          “Wardrobe, sir?  And books?” he asked confused.

          “Yes,” Holmes answered as if this should all be self-evident.  “Harrow will not take a young man without cap, gown, and necessary books.  All will be arranged for the start of the fall term.  I shall have my agent meet you off the ship when you return to Liverpool in two week’s time.  Off with you now.”

          Bailey paused only a second, then said in a small whisper, “thank you, sir.” 

          “Go on,” Holmes said with obvious pride at the young lad.  “Dr. Watson’s had a most trying evening.”

          Bowing deeply to first Holmes and then me, he shuffled from the room.

          I looked at Holmes in astonishment at his sudden generosity toward our young servant.  “A trans-Atlantic ship is no place for that keen young man, Watson.  The head master at Harrow owes me a small favor for helping him out of a bind several months back.  He will be sure to give our young friend a cordial welcome.”

          “I say, Holmes, you never cease to surprise me.”

          “It is not an entirely selfless gesture, Watson, I assure you,” Holmes said (though I knew altruism was his primary reason).  “The boy has a keen intellect as well as an uncanny understanding of human nature.  He also proved himself most astute in the more, shall we say, nefarious of a detective’s tasks.  And I certainly wish to steer such talent toward the side of justice and away from crime.   I cannot afford to have more than one Moriarty at large.”

 
The Case of the Philadelphia Affair