The Vanishing Man (Or The Railway Arches Mystery)

© 2024 M J H Simmonds. All Rights Reserved

“Look at the date, Watson,” exclaimed Holmes, a long, pale finger pointing to the top of the morning newspaper.

“It is Monday, the third of November, 1902, what of it? How is the date relevant to the case?” I replied with a sigh, knowing full well that I would shortly have my answer.

“Please recount what we so far know of the affair please, Doctor,” ordered Holmes.

“Very well. It was late last night or, rather, early this morning. A young constable observed three young men entering a lockup garage under one of the railway arches on Pedley Street. He became suspicious as they appeared to be under the effect of drink. Two of the men held each other up while the third worked at the door until it opened. Believing that they were breaking in, the policeman ran towards them and watched as they swiftly dashed inside the small dark recess, slamming the door closed behind them.”

“Upon reaching the lockup, the constable pulled open the heavy door and shouted to the men that they were under arrest. He grabbed at the nearest rogue but one of his companions pushed him away and the two men fled out into the night. The constable quickly decided that his best option was to attempt to apprehend the third man. He swiftly closed and bolted the door behind him and turned to face the final intruder, truncheon held aloft. However, he was astonished at what he saw before him. The small room was empty, the last man was nowhere to be seen. A nearby street gaslamp let in enough light for the young policeman to be certain that he was quite alone. Three of the walls were solid brick, the only point of entry or exit was through the door behind him. All that lay on the floor were some rags and a pile of dirty straw. He, and latterly his colleagues, carefully examined the walls and all were found to be sound and secure.”

“You saw the poor man, yourself, just a few hours ago, Holmes,” I stressed. “He was at his wit’s end.”

“The area was relatively well lit and he insists that only two men pushed their way past him. He has nothing to gain from this affair, he could just as easily never have mentioned it to anyone, yet he chose to confide in us. I can see no rational explanation for this mystery. Three men entered that room but only two ever left it,” I concluded.

“The date tells you all, dear fellow. That and the heavy boots of the constable and his fellow policemen,” replied Holmes with a sigh. He was already becoming bored, having solved the case in his head.

“The date? Let me think. November the third, what is special about this time of year? Wait a moment, it is just two days from Guy Fawkes Day, or ‘Night’ as the firework makers seem to be calling it these days.”

Holmes nodded slowly, so I continued, hoping that I would somehow stumble across the answer.

“What else? Firework displays, large-scale drunkenness, public unrest and even rioting have been associated with this date.” Holmes shook his head to indicate that I had not yet made the essential connection.

“On a more innocent note, children dress up a figure as Guy Fawkes and parade their creations through town, asking ‘a penny for the Guy’ before placing the effigy atop a large bonfire later that night and burning poor old Guy Fawkes to cinders once more.”

“The Guy” I exclaimed, excitedly. “Ha, that is it! Why, of course it is. It was never three men, it was two men carrying a straw-filled effigy of the would-be destroyer of parliament. They must have entered the lock-up, thrown down the dummy and then been surprised by the policeman bursting in unannounced. In the ensuing melee, the men escaped but the dummy was trampled upon and reduced to rags and straw. The constable’s colleagues stomping around later would have rendered the effigy unrecognisable, just part of another dirty industrial floor.”

“Well, I never, old man, what a remarkable incident.” I shook my head in disbelief and tamped down the tobacco in my bowl. Pulling a taper from the fireplace, I lit my fine Rhodesian briar before passing it to Holmes to apply to his hideous, dirty black churchwarden.

“Never fail to make a note of every conceivable detail, Watson, or fail you will,” commented Holmes, settling down for an evening of pipe smoking and contemplation.