The Oriental Caper

Over the years, I have postponed publishing the mysteries of my friend Sherlock Holmes for many reasons, but never for such a personal reason. Now that many years have passed, I feel I can finally make public the events concerning The Oriental Caper.

It began early one July morning shortly after Sherlock Homes and I made residence, for the second time, at the rooms on Baker Street together. We were together in the front room discussing his remarkable attention to the craft of detection. As a man of science, I was questioning Holmes's selective disregard for certain scientific disciplines while spending considerable energy learning, and even promoting, other disciplines.

'I choose to limit myself to the disciplines which strengthen my deductive capacities,' Sherlock Holmes explained. 'While there may be considerable benefit to society with the sciences, if I were to pursue all of the sciences, my abilities would be suppressed significantly.'

'How, precisely, would you know if a discipline would not help your practice if you do not investigate its practicality?' I was positive I would win this argument. 'For example: the new science of psychology could determine how a subject comes to decisions, which can tell you why they chose such action. Certainly this would be beneficial.'

'I am not interested in why a deed is done, Watson; I'm interested in how. I study the actions of man, but the thoughts behind the actions are irrelevant. I have written a monograph on certain motivating factors – jealousy, envy, pride, et cetera – but the factors which place an individual into a category is of no concern.'

'But what of more important issues?' I pressed Holmes, acquiescing to his explanation. 'Natural theology can prove the existence of God. Isn't that an important field of study?’

'My deductive practice would not be afflicted with such an answer,' Holmes smiled his triumphant smile. 'Surely, if natural theology does prove the existence of a god, how would it prove this god is of the Christian man and not of the Mussulmen?'

Before Sherlock Holmes could complete his theatrical conclusion to the matter, the bell rang at the door sharply.

'It appears we have a caller,' Holmes quickly changed the subject. 'From the sound of the ring, and the softness of the steps on the landing, I would say this is a nervous woman indeed. Answer the door, would you?’

‘Good morning,’ I said as I opened the door. Standing on the landing was a young woman dressed neatly, but plainly, in dark colors. She was considerably shorter than I, with deep olive skin and green eyes. ‘How can I be of service?’

‘Are you Mr Sherlock Holmes?’ she asked.

‘I am not, but you have found him. I am Dr John Watson, and my companion here is Mr Holmes. Please come in-’

‘Pardon my interruption,’ a vision of stunned pleasure appeared on her face, ‘You can’t be the Dr Watson of the 66th Regiment of Foot?’

‘In the flesh,’ I responded quizzically. ‘To whom do I owe the honor?’

‘Kapoor, Jiah Kapoor. It has been just shy of fifteen years since we parted company.’

Holmes sprang from his chair, ‘Miss, please come right in and have a seat. Any friend of the good doctor is always welcome at this door.’

While Sherlock Holmes made Ms Kapoor comfortable, I stood there silent as waves of memories flooded to mind. It was indeed fifteen years since I had departed the British Raj aboard the troopship Orontes. It was while I was recovering in a Peshawur hospital from a shoulder wound suffered at the fabled battle of Maiwand that I first met little Jiah. We soldiers called her “Jay” because she would entertain us in song frequently. Jaih would climb up onto a trunk, and dance while the men cheered her on. But I especially took a liking to her. As I was wounded in the shoulder, she would follow be about the hospital grounds keeping me company for days on end.

Jiah was orphaned during the Anglo-Afghan War, and she found a home in that hospital. Being so young, she was not big enough to carry out any duties, only coming up to waist height. But her long dark hair, and her green eyes were endearing to the company men enough to raise our spirits, so her boarding was worth the expense.

In the weeks leading up to my departure, I troubled myself anxiously. We had grown so close, I was considering bringing her back with me to England. With no family in England, and my fever having left my faculties weakened, I was hoping she could lift my spirits. Alas, it was forbidden for a sick man to take a child on the ship.

‘My, it has been a long time, Jay. What brings you to London, and to the door of Mr Holmes?’

‘Yes, I’m sure you have a lot to catch up on,’ interjected Holmes, ‘but I believe you are in a hurry, Miss Kapoor, so shall we hear of your business?’

Jiah’s nervous complexion was now broken up with a smile, ‘I have come for a favor, Mr Holmes - though I haven’t been called “Jay” in nearly a decade. I am in the employ of Mr Arthur Callthorpe, residing as the nanny for his two children. We have arrived in London from the Indian Empire a fortnight ago.’ Her smile faded as she continued with a bite of her lip. ‘We have taken residence at the Hotel Woodworth.’

‘I am familiar with the place. I did some work for the owner concerning a triviality,’ Holmes asserted. ‘Please, continue.’

‘Mr Callthorpe is a very industrious gentleman, and has been quite favorable to me. Though he has been busying himself securing contracts around London with his assistant, Mr Henry Belfour, sometimes gone for days at a time. His wife, Maud, took the trains to the countryside as soon as we landed in search of a permanent residence, so I have stayed behind to care for the children.

‘Evelyn is the youngest, being five years of age. She’s a bright gal, with curly blond hair, and dimpled cheeks. Evelyn is very genial, and always behaves. The boy is Charles, just a year older than his sister, but with a temper the size of a full-grown man. Not a day goes by he doesn’t throw a tantrum over one thing or another. In fact, just last night he threw such a tantrum, he bloodied himself as he fell to the floor in convulsions.

‘Now to the matter that brings me here to your step: This morning as I prepared the rooms before dawn, as I do every day, I noticed a necklace missing from Mrs Callthorpe’s drawer. I came straight here on the recommendation of the hotel’s proprietor. Oh please help me, sir! I am terribly afraid. If I cannot find Mrs Callthorpe’s necklace before this evening, I shall be sacked for sure!’

Sherlock Holmes stuck his thumbs under his jacket’s lapels, sticking his chest out like a water fowl, and proclaimed, ‘This mystery shall be solved by lunch!’

To be continued.