I doubt that you will find this story on the top ten list of most Sherlockians. There are not enough thrills, for one thing. Did you ever wonder why Watson selected it for publication? There must have been dozens of cases among his notes that posed more difficulties in their solutions, or contained even more bizarre features. Perhaps he was proud of the fact that Holmes called on him in person to enlist his aid in the case. Perhaps the story appealed to him because of his own military background. Or perhaps he published it because Holmes liked it. The Master certainly solved this one very logically and completely. It is almost a textbook illustration of Holmes’s methods of gathering evidence. Perhaps this was one of the cases Holmes might have included in the “course of lectures” that he preferred to Watson’s “series of tales.”

The Investigation: From the first, Holmes viewed the Barclay case as a “supposed murder,” and he correctly singled out the clue of the missing door key as the most significant point to resolve. But there is one feature of the crime scene which troubles me, and which I do not think Holmes considered with sufficient care: the position of Colonel Barclay’s body. He was found “with his feet tilted over the side of an armchair, and his head upon the ground near the corner of the fender…dead in a pool of his own blood.” I don’t have any problem with the head on the fender, but how did his feet end up over the side of an armchair? Was he standing up or sitting down during the altercation with his wife? Either way, can the Hounds explain how he ended up with his head on the ground and his feet over the chair?

Were the police aware that there had been a third person in the room when Colonel Barclay died? If not, should Holmes have told them? Should Holmes have gone to the police after he talked to Miss Morrison? Should he have told the police about Henry Wood? Why was Holmes so determined to keep the police out of this case?

A few other questions: If Watson had never formally practiced medicine while living in Baker Street with Holmes, how did Holmes know what his friend’s habits were on a busy day versus a light day?

Was Major Murphy romantically inclined towards Nancy Barclay? Did he request Holmes’s help in order to clear her of murder, or was he worried that he might eventually be seen as a suspect?

Leaving aside Barclay’s wrongdoing, would Nancy have had a happier life if she had married the “harum-scarum” Henry Wood?

If Wood only partially understood the language of his captors outside Bhurtee, is it possible that he made a mistake as to Barclay’s duplicity? Was Barclay responsible for Wood’s capture without being guilty of intentional betrayal? Did he simply make a bad map, or let slip some casual conversation about Wood’s mission that was overheard by the native servant? Was the servant the true culprit?

The first time I read this story, I felt so sorry for Holmes! He looked rather foolish compared to the clever Inspector Baynes. Had it not been for his enlistment of the ex-gardener to watch over the gate and rescue Miss Burnet, Holmes would have come out of the case without any credit at all. It’s been said on list that we are sometimes too quick to criticize Sherlock Holmes, but this is one where it might be difficult to see the positive side. In a moment, a few comments and questions to start off the Hounds’ pursuit of the difficult and unpopular case of “Wisteria Lodge.”

Inspector Baynes: Inspector Baynes is the rare member of the official police who was able to score a clear victory over Sherlock Holmes at his own game; so much so that Holmes seems almost superfluous to the story. I was particularly disappointed that Holmes had to be told the true identity of “Henderson.” This is just the kind of thing that Holmes generally found out for himself! Why didn’t he know it?

Here’s an idea: Sometime during the Great Hiatus – let’s say it was in 1892, the seemingly impossible date of this case – Watson, still interested in the art of detection despite Holmes’s death, heard of the Wisteria Lodge/High Gables incident and decided to write up a detective adventure featuring the wily Inspector Baynes. Alas, no publisher would touch the story of an unknown provincial policeman, and the account never saw the light of day in its original form. Years later, when Holmes had gone into retirement, Watson decided to work up the story as if Holmes had been marginally involved, thus ensuring that it would be published. This idea would explain some of the problems of the story. What do the Hounds think?

The difficulty of the situation: In my opinion, this is one adventure where the changes made for the Granada television version actually improved the story (if you leave out those annoying mirror tricks in the camera shots, that is.) We saw “first hand” many more of the people and scenes that were presented to us as third-person accounts in the written version. Even the somewhat forced scene where Holmes and Watson ended up inside High Gable at least gave us a glimpse of the terrible Don Murillo and his henchman, and seemed preferable to the pointless days Holmes spent with his spud and his tin box in the story as it was originally written. My reason for bringing this up is Holmes’s statement in “Wisteria Lodge” that he could not act sooner because, “There is nothing upon which we can apply for a warrant” to search High Gable. This doesn’t seem quite right to me. Did Holmes discuss the question of a warrant with Inspector Baynes before reaching this conclusion? It does not appear that he did. And why not? Because he didn’t want to tip his hand to the official police? Because he wanted the full credit for solving the case? What do the Hounds think of Holmes’s methods here? What was he waiting for? What should he have done?

The action takes place on a large country estate inhabited by a cruel tyrant from another country. An English governess has charge of the children, there is a secretary named Ferguson, and the household has a connection to Latin America. Could it be “Wisteria Lodge”? Yes it could be, but it’s not. This week’s story is “The Problem of Thor Bridge,” and though it seems to me that Holmes was never in better form, the Master himself was not entirely satisfied with his handling of the case. Whether you agree or disagree, I hope you’ll meet us at the bridge that spans the reed-girt sheet of water for that mixture of imagination and reality which is the basis of our discussions. In a moment, I’ll chip in with a mere couple of comments and questions to start things off.

As good as gold? Was Grace Dunbar as good a person as Neil Gibson described her? Holmes didn’t take the Gold King’s word for it, but once he met her, he seemed to accept Miss Dunbar’s innocence completely. Was she that good, or simply that charming? Do her own words suggest a particularly fine human being, or does she seem a bit overwhelmed by it all?

Why didn’t Gibson divorce his wife?

At the conclusion of the story, Holmes said, “…the financial world may find that Mr. Neil Gibson has learned something in that schoolroom of sorrow where our earthly lessons are taught.” But did Gibson suffer any particular sorrow, once he was able to stop worrying that Miss Dunbar might be hanged? Did he learn anything? Was it likely that Grace Dunbar’s supposedly good influence was a lasting one?

Holmes said, “I do not think in our adventures we have ever come across a stranger example of what perverted love can bring about.” Whose love was perverted? Mrs. Gibson’s for her husband or her husband’s for Grace Dunbar?

Sluggish in mind: Why was Holmes disappointed with his detective skills in this story? His statement seems overly self-critical: “I fear, Watson, that you will not improve any reputation which I may have acquired by adding the case of the Thor Bridge mystery to your annals…. I confess that the chip in the stonework was a sufficient clue to suggest the true solution, and that I blame myself for not having attained it sooner.” Was this the true reason for his dissatisfaction, or did he have other reasons to be unhappy with himself at the conclusion of this case?

Watson’s introductory paragraph is full of the kind of extra information that Sherlockians hunger for. Of particular interest are the untold cases of James Phillimore, the cutter Alicia, and Isadora Persona and his matchless worm. Is there any significance in the fact that Watson’s list includes unfinished and unsuccessful cases?

How big is a tin dispatch box? Is it bigger than a breadbox? My impression has always been that it was slightly smaller than the average breadbox, and therefore not something that would take up a lot of space if someone wanted to keep it around the flat. That being so, why did Watson store his box in the vaults of Cox & Co.?

Until Holmes performed his own experiment with Watson’s revolver, there was only one chip on the stone parapet of Thor Bridge. This suggests that Mrs. Gibson never practiced her maneuver with the string and the stone, but trusted everything to work perfectly the first time. Does it make sense that anyone clever enough to think of the arrangement in the first place should have left its actual practice untried?

For most of us, this is one of the least satisfying tales in the Sherlockian Canon. There isn’t much detecting for Holmes to do, and that’s lucky because the little bit of detecting that he does is totally off base. And to confuse us further, the Doubleday editors have done some damage to the text of this one, changing the “dead yellow” face of the Strand into a “livid, chalky white,” among other things. Thank heavens the story has a happy ending, at least! Why did Watson publish this one? Well, that’s a discussion question itself.

“It is all surmise”: Holmes had such a bad-brain day during “The Yellow Face” that I think it’s a shame he didn’t leave the case to Watson. Consider Watson’s assessment of Grant Munro: “From every gesture and expression I could see he was a reserved, self-contained man, with a dash of pride in his nature, more likely to hide his wounds than to expose them.” That observation may not be as showy as Holmes’s deductions regarding Munro’s pipe, but it has more to do with the case than anything Holmes came up with. Given Watson’s obvious empathy with the client, did you ever wonder if Watson’s own private theory as to the case might not have been more on the mark than Holmes’s blackmail story? Did Watson actually mention an alternative theory to Holmes, though he chose not to reveal it in the published account? Did Holmes have a few unkind words to say about his friend’s opinions? Of course Watson was not the kind of man to blow his own horn, nor was he likely to put himself in a good light at the expense of his friend’s reputation, but is it just possible that the publication of this story was as close as Watson would ever come to directing a big “I told you so!” at his friend Sherlock Holmes?

But here is an opposing point of view. During a discussion a few weeks ago, one of the Hounds mentioned that the case of “The Five Orange Pips” might make more sense if we thought that Holmes was not around for that one, and that Watson tried his own inadequate hand at detection. Could “The Yellow Face” be another instance of a case that Watson tried to handle in Holmes’s absence?

Could the dating of this case help explain why Holmes was off his game? (Or why he was not around.) Scholars have cited the season of the year, the dearth of other cases, the presence of a page boy, the degree of Holmes’s drug use, the state of the friendship between Holmes and Watson, and many other clues to support their theories as to one date or another. What say the Hounds?

I suspect that a lot of our disappointment with this story comes because we, like Holmes, find ourselves imagining so much more exciting explanations to the mystery. Was the face at the window Norman Bates’s mother? How about a yellow-faced alien? Would the surly woman at the cottage door burn the place down like the first Mrs. Rochester? Would any Hounds care to confess their own wild surmises as to the ending of this story?

Those dangerous Canonical animals are on the loose again! It’s only a flashback, but where was Leon Sterndale or even Sebastian Moran when somebody really needed their services? No, I don’t mean that they should have shot Sahara King, who really can’t be blamed for the attack on Mrs. Ronder. I was thinking that it might have been satisfying to turn the big guns onto the porcine beast Ronder and the sneaking weasel Leonardo (who deserted Eugenia Ronder after she was nearly desserted by Sahara King.) Ah well, I suppose the big game hunters were simply “un-a-veil-able” at the time. In a moment, I’ll post the comments and questions to kick off this week’s story of “The Veiled Lodger.”

“Poor girl”: Deformed, mutilated, or frightening faces occur fairly frequently in the Canon. I can think of “The Man with the Twisted Lip,” “The Crooked Man,” “The Hound of the Baskervilles (I mean Seldon; as far as I know the Hound was positively radiant), “The Illustrious Client,” “The Blanched Soldier,” and also “Wisteria Lodge,” if you can judge by the constable’s reaction to the that face in the window. “The Yellow Face” turned out to be a mask, but it looked scary enough before its secret was revealed. Can the Hounds think of any other frightening faces in the stories? Are there any common threads to the stories where disfigurement rears its ugly head? Was this “Phantom of the Opera” sort of thing popular in those days? (I mean writing about mutilated faces, not having them.)

Was little Jimmy Griggs in love with Mrs. Ronder?

Is a North African lion different from other types of African lions?

Mrs. Ronder was obviously very troubled in mind, but was she actually “wasting away,” or was this merely an exaggeration on the part of the kindly and full-figured landlady?

I find Holmes’s sympathy towards Mrs. Ronder to be quite touching, and all the more so because it is so unexpected from Holmes. I have always imagined that Holmes originally came to see the lady merely because he wanted his curiosity satisfied, and that he himself was surprised at the effect her story had upon his emotions. The question is: Why? By 1896, Holmes must have seen and heard of dozens or perhaps hundreds of tragedies and injustices. Why did Mrs. Ronder’s case inspire such an unusually heartfelt response from the usually cold reasoning machine?

Notes of his doings: Watson mentioned that “The Veiled Lodger” was one of those “terrible human tragedies,” rather than a detective story, but what really inspired the good doctor to include this case among his published chronicles? And while we’re speaking of detection: Holmes didn’t do any of it in this case. Do you think he took any money?

Is Watson’s opening paragraph related in any way to the remainder of the story, or was it simply a handy place to insert some unfinished business? Aside from that warning about the politician, etc., what else might Holmes and Watson have done to protect their case files?

This is a question that comes up every time “The Veiled Lodger” is discussed, but that’s because it’s simply unavoidable. The internal evidence makes it clear that Watson and Holmes were not sharing rooms at the time of the story, but Watson was obviously quite nearby because that note from Holmes brought him over in time to meet Mrs. Merrilow. What explanation might there be for Watson’s absence? As another line of thought, might it be possible to argue that it was Watson who was living in Baker Street and Holmes who was staying elsewhere?

Was Holmes trying to quit smoking? Was that the reason he teased Watson about “your filthy habit?” Had Watson and Holmes taken up separate residences while Holmes was going through withdrawal?

Like A Study in Scarlet, The Valley of Fear doesn’t merely fill in the motive for the present-day crime: it makes a novel within a novel out of past history. I’m not a big fan of the Study digression, but I found the story of Birdy Edwards to be quite exciting and enjoyable for its own sake, and I easily suspended my knowledge of history and my pride in my Irish ancestry while I was reading it. But I certainly understand those who find the Vermissa Valley tale to be a bit off the mark as far as pure Sherlockian enjoyment is concerned. Having said that, I wonder if we might ask ourselves the question in this way: Would Valley be a better Sherlock Holmes story if the Birdy Edwards segment had been much more compressed, like the story of the Sir Hugo Baskerville, or Jonathan Small’s past history?

In his years with Sherlock Holmes, I can imagine that Watson got his hands on manuscripts from more than a few people who wanted their stories made known to the public. Obviously, the good doctor could not publish them all, but instead had to exercise his powers of selection. Why were Jefferson Hope and John Douglas the two whose long histories made the cut? Are there any Canonical characters whose past history would interest us even more? For instance, would it be fun to know more about Irene Adler and the King of Bohemia? Anyone else?

This is the last of the four Sherlock Holmes novels, and like Study and Hound, a very large percentage of Valley is devoted to the doings of characters other than Sherlock Holmes. And now I wonder: Would it have been possible to write a completely satisfying novel where the focus was almost entirely upon Sherlock Holmes? Is there any way that Valley could have been stretched to novel length with more about Holmes and less about Birdy Edwards? Would Hound have been an even better novel if we had followed Holmes onto the moor instead of staying almost exclusively with Watson’s point of view?

Some questions: Why did Porlock send his note to Sherlock Holmes in code? Wouldn’t Moriarty have been able to figure out the gist of it anyway, merely from the names that weren’t in code?

How could Moriarty come upon Porlock by surprise while Porlock was writing his message? Did they live in the same house? And if Porlock was a part of Moriarty’s high-paying organization, why did he make so little money that a ten-pound note from Sherlock Holmes was a significant inducement to betrayal?

Holmes said the key to the Birlstone mystery was the missing dumb-bell. When I read the story, however, I thought it was the missing wedding ring that provided the essential clue to the solution of the problem. Holmes also took note of the missing ring, but for him the case really seemed to come together over the question of that dumb-bell. For what reasons might Holmes have been more inclined to focus on this piece of evidence more so than the ring?

As if to give us a chance to recover from the blood and busts of “The Six Napoleons,” Watson offers up a course of academic scandal, where the participants’ knives are used only for the purpose of whittling down pencil points. It’s no wonder Holmes was reluctant at first to get involved – a case like this hovers dangerously near to the “zero-point” he mentioned in “The Copper Beeches,” of “recovering lost lead pencils and giving advice to young ladies from boarding schools.” Still, Holmes never could resist a mystery, no matter how trivial – and neither can we. Once the client begins to state the evidence, it’s hard not to be caught up in the chase. Please join in the scholarly baying as the Hounds travel to “one of our great university towns” and select the cheating heart from among “The Three Students.”

Cozy, tricky, and oddly familiar: This case has one feature that I admire: its “trick confession” scene is one of the more plausible in mystery fiction. Notice how Holmes’s flair for the dramatic inspires him to arrange an imposing tribunal that would be almost certain to rattle both the honest Bannister and the impulse-cheater Gilchrist. But supposing the scene had not come off, is there any other way that Holmes could have settled the matter?

One thing has always troubled me about this case, and that’s the trips to the stationers’ shops for clues as to the origin of the pencil. Holmes called it “the best and only final clue,” but isn’t it true that he had already drawn his conclusions based on the height of the three students? And what would it have told him if he could have found the right kind of pencil at one of the shops? Even if he could have shown that Gilchrist purchased a pencil of that sort, couldn’t he have claimed to have lost it or lent it to someone else? Weren’t the clay pellets a better clue than a pencil?

Baring-Gould’s Annotated mentions various theories that “The Three Students” was a hoax, possibly arranged by Watson. What evidence is there that this case, small as it was, may not have been the genuine article, but instead a bit of theatre itself?

“Come if you want to:” Does this story tell us of a certain fraying in the relationship between Holmes and Watson? Note Holmes’s thinly veiled insults: “Not one of your cases, Watson – mental, not physical,” and “There are others.” There are many times when Holmes gives Watson a zing, but he does it with wit or a certain amount of gentleness – or at the very least he waits until Watson does or says something wrong, which is not the case for these two remarks. Of course there must have always been limits to how much Watson reported back to his readers. Was Holmes getting nastier, or was Watson just editing less of it out of the published versions? Could it be that Holmes was going through some difficult experience? Had he quit smoking, for instance? If this story takes place in 1895, does it help to explain why Watson wasn’t living with him in 1896?

If there is such a thing as a guilty pleasure in the Canon, this story is mine. I know it isn’t in the top tier of Watson’s accounts for overall quality, but it’s a favorite with me, and I can still remember where I was when I read its climactic scene for the first time: out on North Main Street, waiting for the Ashmont bus. But let me take one step back from that occasion. I was in my mid-thirties when I first began to read the Sherlock Holmes adventures, and one of the things that struck me was how exciting they were despite the relative rarity of violent action (we see its results, but not usually its occurrence) and the almost complete absence of love scenes. And then the sudden thunderbolt, when Killer Evans’s revolver rang out and Holmes revealed “the depth of love and loyalty which lay behind that cold mask.” Wonderful! Next up, a few comments and questions that I hope will set the Hounds on the trail of still more moments of revelation in this week’s story, “The Three Garridebs.”

Killer Evans: Early in the story, when he was posing as John Garrideb, Killer Evans said, “I’ve read of your tricks, Mr. Holmes…” By this time in the Master’s career, had lots of criminal made themselves familiar with Holmes’s methods? Did Killer Evans get his Garrideb idea from reading either “The Red-Headed League” or “The Stock-Broker’s Clerk?” And if so, what ever made him think he could fool Holmes with his scheme?

Is there a Moorville, Kansas? I couldn’t find the town on any of the maps that I own. If Moorville didn’t exist, why did Evans put a fake town on his card? This criminal does seem to have had his limitations as a schemer, so why didn’t he simply kill Garrideb? Was he truly a “soft-hearted guy,” or was there a practical reason for using deception instead of violence? And why did Evans wait such a relatively long time between getting out of prison and approaching Nathan Garrideb?

Had Evans been a partner in Prescott’s counterfeiting operation? Why? They didn’t seem to be friends, and counterfeiting doesn’t require a violent partner. If they weren’t business associates or friends, then how did Evans learn the location of Prescott’s counterfeiting equipment?

Holmes and Watson: Watson appears to be living at Baker Street during this adventure. But why did Holmes open a drawer and hand a revolver to Watson instead of telling Watson to bring his own gun? And did anyone remember to load the guns? Does that explain why neither Holmes nor Watson fired a shot in response to Killer Evans’s attack? What made the “crash” when Holmes struck Evans with his gun? Do you think that Holmes would really have killed Evans if Evans had killed Watson?

As I read the shooting scene, Evans stuck his head out of the trap door, saw Holmes and Watson, diverted them with a little chit-chat, and then pulled out his gun and fired while he was still largely in the hole. This would at least explain how Holmes and Watson didn’t see him go for his gun. But how did Evans then sprawl on the floor when Holmes hit him? Did he first leap up and then sprawl? Have any athletic Sherlockians ever attempted to recreate this scene?

Why didn’t Holmes bring the police with him as he did in “The Red-Headed League?”

Did his injury have anything to do with Watson’s decision to move out? (See “The Illustrious Client,” which took place a few months after “The Three Garridebs.”) Did Watson’s injury have anything to do with Holmes’s decision to retire? Watson says this story may have been a comedy. I don’t see the comedy. Can anyone else find it?

Did you think that Sherlock Holmes was a bit rude and crude in last week’s story, “The Mazarin Stone?” Well, this week the Master picks up right where he left off, and the results are not pretty. Perhaps it would be easier to tolerate his puerile sarcasm towards Steve Dixie and Susan Stockdale if we could see that he was doing his best for his client, but the Sherlock Holmes of “The Three Gables” is as ineffective as he is annoying! Still, he’s Sherlock Holmes, and I hope we will find some good Hounds who will NOT run silent, and that we can all survive this “Harrow-ing” adventure without defiling our wells of speech and civility. In a moment, the week’s comments and questions on “The Three Gables.”

Guilt by association: I am a bit confused by the organization of the “Spencer John” gang. Steve Dixie reported to Barney Stockdale, and we assume that Barney reported to the head of the gang. However, Barney and his wife Susan also worked for Isadora Klein on what seems to have been a fairly regular basis. Is such criminal moonlighting a likely situation? Was “Spencer John” really Frau Klein’s nom de guerre? Was Isadora Klein behind the “killing of young Perkins outside the Holborn Bar?” Was Perkins a suitor who didn’t get the hint after his first beating?

The story doesn’t tell us how long Susan Stockdale had been posing as a maid at the Three Gables. But why didn’t Isadora Klein have her search for the manuscript instead of going through all that other trouble?

Holmes spoke glowingly of Douglas Maberley, but from what we know of him, was he really the kind of man Holmes would have admired?

Watson wrote that Holmes was in “a chatty mood” at the beginning of the case. Was he taking cocaine again? Was the drug responsible for his ungentlemanly behavior?

The de-Klein and fall: The worst mistake Holmes made in this case was his failure to arrange for Mrs. Maberley’s protection. When he asked her if her lawyer was “a capable man,” the context was such that she undoubtedly assumed Holmes was referring to Sutro’s legal skills. As it happens, Sutro was somewhat elderly himself and would not have been sufficient protection even if Mrs. Maberley had asked him to spend the night. Holmes later said he should have left Watson on guard, and that would have certainly been better – though perhaps not for Watson! Why didn’t Holmes arrange for a police presence, such as the trap he laid for Beppo in “The Six Napoleons?”

Why didn’t Holmes offer to go through Douglas Maberley’s luggage? Even though he may not have known exactly what he was looking for until after he spoke with Langdale Pike, the chances are that he might have guessed the importance of the manuscript if he had seen it. Why didn’t he at least take a look? Why leave Mrs. Maberley to do it herself, especially since she obviously had no idea what was going on?

Holmes resolved the case by extorting money from Isadora Klein. Was this the best he could do, or should he have tried to have her prosecuted for the crimes involved in the theft of the manuscript?

Holmes was an introspective and thoughtful man, and we must imagine that he later reflected on this case with chagrin. Do you think his sloppy handling of this one may have influenced his decision to retire? Or was he sloppy because he had already made up his mind to get out of the detective game?

Some readers may feel cheated that there is in fact no such thing as a Sussex Vampire, but I for one find this adventure to be quite satisfying. It’s wonderful to see how Sherlock Holmes was able to apply his superior logic and wisdom to a problem that was created by strong human emotions and confused by elemental human fears. Even Holmes’s sarcasm, which we have discussed at some length on the Hounds of late, seems gentler and more to the point. This is the Holmes that I admire! So put away that garlic wreath and come join the Hounds this week as we discuss how the cold light of reason turned “The Sussex Vampire” to dust and ashes.

Agencies: I think the Hounds discuss this one every year, but we have so many new barkers that I think it bears discussing one more time: Why did Holmes twice refer to “this agency” in reference to his own detective business. Had he gone into business with some other person or firm? Was he selling insurance on the side to bring in a few extra bucks?

Did Ferguson think that the firm of Morrison, Morrison, and Dodd were attorneys? By their own description, they were assessors of machinery. But if so, how did they become involved with the Matilda Briggs and the giant rat of Sumatra? And for that matter, if Ferguson was a tea-broker, why was he involved with a Peruvian merchant in the importation of nitrates?

The Wife and Kiddies: Ferguson’s story of the so-called vampire attack on the baby includes this statement: “On one occasion about a month ago this child had been left by its nurse for a few minutes.” Does this sentence imply that even before the attacks, it was unusual for this baby to be left alone even for a brief time? Does anyone know if Victorian child-rearing included having someone stay with a baby nearly 24 hours a day, even when the child was nearly a year old?

Was Jacky’s infirmity truly caused by a childhood fall, do you think, or was his condition due to some embarrassing or shameful illness? Was this illness possibly something that had afflicted Big Bob Ferguson as well, causing the formerly “slab-sided” athlete’s frame to be “fallen in,” as Watson put it?

When visiting Mrs. Ferguson in her locked room, Watson made the comment, “It struck me as I looked at it that if Ferguson tried to force his way to his wife he would find it no easy matter.” I thought that she was simply being kept away from the baby. What might have made Watson think of it in quite that way? After identifying Jacky as the culprit, Holmes and Watson later left the Fergusons alone to discuss their problems. Was this wise, or was Mrs. Ferguson in some danger? Do you think the couple could forgive and forget their troubles?

I don’t have a copy of Grimm’s fairy tales with me at the moment, but I can’t remember any vampire stories in that particular collection of stories. What I can remember is countless stories of wicked siblings. Did Holmes’s mention of Grimm’s fairy tales suggest that he already suspected what was going on at Cheeseman’s?

At the end of the story, the reader is satisfied that Jacky is indeed the culprit, and even Bob Ferguson seems to accept this as the truth. But is it so certain that Jacky was the villain? Is there any real proof?

Holmes’s suggestion of a year at sea for Jacky seems too frivolous to take seriously. What do you suppose really happened to the unhappy boy?