The Mystery of the Missing Shirt

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The "Mystery" of the Missing Shirt is an American Sherlock Holmes parody written by A. E. Swoyer published in The Sunday Oregonian on 18 august 1912.

Characters are Herlock Shomes & Fatson.


Editions


The "Mystery" of the Missing Shirt

The Sunday Oregonian (18 august 1912, section 6, p. 3)


BY A. E. MOYER. You wonder how I know? These things (With abject apologies to Sir Arthur are easy to the trained mind! Fatson, Conan Doyle.) you remember the interesting little Herlock Shomes, the greatsdetective, problem of the Emerald Frankfurter, in eat, pipe in mouth, idly strumming a which this power enabled me to trace banjo. Times were dull in the sleuth- a clew the dull wits of the police had ing business, and our hero had not the not even seen?" price of his regular shot of hop; no The stranger, who, framed amid the mysterious murders nor clueless rob- wreckage of the broken chair, had been beries sought his mighty brain for a listening, open mouthed, now rose. "Mr. solution. The truth must be told-the Shomes," said he, "you are the man I peerless Shomes was on his uppers! need! Something mysterious and dread-"Great days, these. Fatson!" he said, ful threatens me! I am a marked man! carefully emptying the ashes from his Last evening---" the trembling tones of pipe into a bit of paper, and dexterous_ this strong man made even the callous ly rolling it into a cigarette. "Great Fatson shiver-"last evening, as an evi-days: No work for me; no annals for dence of this power, the very shirt was you to chronicle (at so much per stolen from my back. You, alone, can chronic) for posterity! It seems as if save me!" the pleasures of a neat murder no long- "This is, indeed, a mystery, a case er appeal to the strong-arm man; we after my own heart. I can see in it the are becoming a race of mollycoddles!" hand of that master criminal, Desperate A tear for a moment dimmed the eagle Desmond, who has thwarted me for eye of Shomes, trickled gently down years: Our lives are all in danger! But his classic nose and lost itself in the come, tell me the details." stubble of his two weeks' beard. "They are few enough. In the first **Education has done it," replied his place, my name is Dalrymple. I run a friend. "The real brainy criminal has doughnut foundry, and am fairly well learned that it is easier and more gen- to do. Last evening I dressed carefully teel to start a bank than to break into to go to the club; I remember my un-one; while the monetary results are dershirt particularly, it was of the the same. But, cheer up, Shomes, noth- knitted kind I always wear, but new. ing can keep a good man down but a I spent an hour at the club, and on tombstone or a cash register!" retiring found the shirt was gone! My "You are right, Fatson! And even outer shirt, vest and coat were in-now I feel that in exactly five minutes, tact." by yonder clock, a client, the victim of "H'm!" said Shomes. "You must have a dark and awful crime, will come-" been robbed of this--er-undergarment A ponderous knocking at the door then. either in your home, at the club interrupted him. Rising hastily he or between the two places:" set the clock ahead five minutes. "Thus "Marvelous ejaculated Fatson. is the power of deduction vindicated! Shomes, with the remarkable agility Right to the minute! Fatson, open the he always showed when on a clew, door. It is our client! (4)r, perhaps, the whipped out a pocket rule and meas-landlord for last January's rent," he ured the distance between Dalrymple's muttered, aside. "'Tis well I was not eyes. Swiftly he entered the results in seen!") a large ledger. "'Tis, indeed, Desmond's Before the faithful Fatson could reach work!" he muttered. "We must be the door, it opened, and a tall man, with quick! Mr. Dalrymple, may I have a a huge and shaggy beard, entered and sample of your whiskers? It is im-sank heavily into a chair; the latter, portant! Thanks." Snipping off a gen-not built for heavy sinking, collapsed. erous portion of the guest's lace cur-The strange visitor continued until tains, he turned his back, stufed them stopped by the floor. into his pipe and began smoking vig-"Aha!" said Shomes. "I see that you orously. are the victim of a slight accident: Again turning to his guest, he shot the question, "Have you dined? No? Good! Then we will accompany you-you must not be alone!" Dashing to the table, he seized a celluloid paper cutter and placed it in his pocket. "This is a desperate case-we must go armed!" he gritted, with a sinister scowl. "Fatson, call a taxi.



' And," he hissed, in a tone so low that Dalrymple could not catch the words, "don't get that gink on the corner, you lunkhead! Remember, we hung him up last week!" Quickly disguising himself by turn-ing up his coat collar, the great detect-ive led Fatson and Dalrymple to the door. In three-quarters of an hour the speeding taxi landed the party at a fa-mous restaurant two blocks away. "Fatson and I will enter first, Mr. Dal-rymple," muttered Shomes. "We must not be seen together!" "Why did you leave him, Shomesrs asked Fatson, timidly, as they hurried into the restaurant. "Fatson! Fatsc,r You will never be a great detective. Don't you know that the last man out pays the taxi? You would do well to read my monograph upon the subject." The meal passed in silence save for the voice of Dalrymple ordering fresh supplies. Like all great men, Shomes sometimes went for days without a meal, particularly when broke; then he ate ravenously. So it was on this occa-sion. Fatson, being an opportunist, did likewise. Dalrymple watched them with ever increasing respect. "I am glad the other fellow got my shirt!" he mut-tered, as he paid the check. At the scenes of the crime, as Shomes called them until he could determine which was the scene, the famous sleuth was at his best. Magnifying glass in hand, he poked and measured every-where, entering notes is the big ledger which Fatson carried. From time to time he put choice bits of evidence, such as a bottle of Wilson's, a few cigars and about a quire of the club paper Into his, Dockets; clews like these could not escape the eagle eye of Shomes. Finally he rose. "Mr. Dalrymple," he said, proudly, "I know the criminal! No further attempt will be made upon your life tonight! Go -home, and tomorrow night I will have news for you! rat-son and I will now retire." The next day was a busy one for both Fatson and Shomes. The former went about his medical labors in the veterinary department of the S. P. C. A.; the noted sleuth elected to experi-ment in his laboratory, as cool and col-lected as if Dalrymple were not com-pelled by a fiendish crime to wear his extra shirt. He refused to satisfy Fat-son's curiosity by any statement other than "Tonight we shall know all!" The day passed slowly for Fatson. Twice his boss called him down for an abstraction which caused him to inject strychnine into the veins of horses used by members of the Society, instead of those of less fortunate equines placed in his hands for a painless quietus. Annoyed by these trifles, Fatson re-turned, to find Shomes deep in one of those profound chemical researches which would have made him famous in the world of science had he cared to follow such a life. In the present in-stance he was trying to make a rye highball out of wood alcohol and lithia water. "How's the case?" asked Watson, cheerfully. "We haven't had a case for a month. you rummy!" retorted Shomes. "The last one we had you finished up when I wasn't arot.v:. Got soused on two bottles, tool thank you for remind-ing me of f "I meant the case of the stolen shirt," replied Fatson, hurriedly. "Oh-that! The crime was committed by a tall, dark, red-headed man, with a scar on his left cheek-a tool of Des-mond's! I have decoyed him here to-night. He thinks to find money and jewels; instead, he will find me!" No one but Shomes could have been so deadly menacing. The telephone jangled. Shomes tore down the receiver. "That you, Shomes? This Is Dalrym-ple. Remember that shirt business? Well, we were scared for nothing. It seems that at the club, Smith (he's a trifle near-sighted) thought he saw a raveling on my coat. It happened to be a thread of my shirt, and when he kept on pulling-well, you know what happens when you pull a thread of one of those knitted things. I guess we can call the mystery unraveled." "Just what I was about to inform you, Mr. Dalrymple. Herlock Shomes cannot be deceived!" Hanging up the receiver, the greatest of all detectives turned to meet the ad-miring gaze of Fatson. (Copyright by Shortstory Pub. Co.) .