The case of the reed in the breeze.

It was a dark November day, which at times would depress me, but my present surroundings raised my spirits. My wife, whom I dearly missed, had gone off for two weeks to visit her family in Dorset. My old regimental surgeon’s assistant, who served with me in Afghanistan and had just completed medical school, took over my practice for a few weeks. I had unexpectedly come into a few hundred pounds with an old investment so I could afford to pay a substitute. Holmes, on several occasions, had kindly asked me back to my old digs, so I took advantage of this respite and was now back with the welter of test tubes and notebooks, and with the noisome aroma of Holmes’ latest tobacco. I was brought out of my reverie by a sharp remark from Holmes, “Watson, I wouldn’t waste my money on that.” I never have become used to these intrusions on my thoughts. I sputtered, “On what should I not waste my money?” “On an expensive bespoke suit you have been thinking about contracting. It does not suit your image as a humble family practitioner.” “Really, Holmes, you infuriate me and amaze me at the same time. You must have spoken to my wife.” Holmes shook his head, “No, I did not, but the deduction was elementary. One, you told me you dined with Thompson a week ago. Two, Thompson has all his suits bespoke in Saville Row. Three, you told me that you recently had an unexpected windfall of a few hundred pounds. Four, I noted that you were gazing at your worn cuffs on your trousers. Hence, you decided to spend your money on a new, bespoke suit.” “My wife will be sorely disappointed if I do not,” I said. “That is a factor with which you will have to deal. I cannot account for the thinking of a woman,” Holmes said and then gazed off in the distance. I instantly said, “Irene Adler.” Holmes turned and looked at me, “What did you say?” I said, “Irene Adler; isn’t that what was in your thoughts after your assessment, may I say benighted assessment, of the enigmatic tastes of women?” Irene Adler is the only one who ever evenly matched wits with Holmes, and whom he always referred to thereafter as “THE woman.” Holmes laughed, “Watson, you have bested me at my own game.” My victory was short-lived, for there was a knock on the door. I opened it, and Mrs. Hudson appeared. “Oh, Dr. Watson, it is so good to see you again. I hate to interrupt, but there is an anxious young woman to see Mr. Holmes. May I show her up?” Holmes said, “Please do, Mrs. Hudson. Watson, I need something to interrupt my intellectual drought with no new cases to test me for the past month.” The young woman was very anxious, indeed. She was well, but not expensively, dressed. She sat down in a proffered chair and immediately bent her head forward and sobbed, “We are ruined, we are ruined.” “Watson, some brandy for our young friend.” Then, turning to the sobbing woman, “Please take some brandy, gather your thoughts, and tell us about the troubling matter.” In a few minutes she collected her wits and came forward with this story: “I am Mrs. Barbara Carruthers, and my husband Stanley is the chief clerk at the law firm of Rich Brothers, which is located in Middle Temple. They are a well-known firm of solicitors noted for their preparation of contracts for clients. Yesterday morning, Stanley was charged with transporting an important contract to a large shipping company. There were details in the contract that would be devastating to the company if the terms became public. Stanley as head clerk was always selected for the important deliveries. “He put the contract along with his lunch in his new leather case, which I had given him as a present. It is a lovely case, and it is the envy of all the other clerks in the office. He had taken a shortcut behind the Billingsgate fish market. All of the drivers of the fish carts come there in the morning to pick up a supply of fish to take to fish stores and restaurants. They are a rough bunch, and Stanley was glad to get past them. Suddenly, he was hit on the head from behind and did not come to his senses for several minutes. His lovely case was missing, and he had no glimpse of who might have hit him. He was certain that whoever it was, he wanted the expensive case and would not have known about the importance of the contents. That is our sad story. Stanley reported it to his office immediately, and they are furious with him, giving him only a few days to find it. I must tell you, Mr. Holmes, we want to start a family, and if Stanley is discharged we are in very poor straits. He has been up night and day trying to find the case. That is why I am here. He had only one piece of information, but it does not seem very helpful.” “That is a sad story,” Holmes agreed. “But we