A Study in Sherlock

“It’s a pleasure, sir,” Holmes said, and shook his hand.

I said, “I’m honored to meet you.”

We were inside the library in a moment, and then someone, presumably Allen, closed the door behind us. Holmes said, “I don’t mind if our friend Captain Allen hears what we say.”

The president shook his head. “He knows what I’m about to tell you, and some day in the future having been here might make him subject to unwanted inquiry.”

The president went to the far end of the library and sat in a leather armchair. I noticed he had a glass on the table beside him that appeared to be some local whiskey-like spirit mixed with water. “Would you care to join me in a drink?”

I saw that there were a decanter of the amber liquid and a pitcher of water on a sideboard, and a supply of glasses. In the interest of politeness, I poured myself three fingers of the distillate. Holmes said, “Water for me, Watson, at least until I’m sure I won’t need a clear head.”

I brought him the water and we each sat in armchairs facing the president. Holmes leaned back, crossed his legs at the knee, and said confidently, “You’re a president who has learned of recent plots against his life. You are about to appear in public at an international exposition. I assume that what you want is for me to take charge of your personal security to ensure that you are not assassinated.”

“Why no, sir,” President McKinley said. “I called you all this way because I want you to ensure that I am assassinated.”

“What?” I said. “Perhaps I—”

“Your surprise proves you heard the president correctly,” Holmes said. Then he looked at President McKinley judiciously. “Dr. Watson will agree you appear to be in perfect health, so you’re not avoiding the pain of a fatal illness. I can see from the lack of broken vessels in your facial skin that the alcohol you’re drinking now is not your habitual beverage, but an amenity for guests. You were only recently reelected by a nation grateful for your service. Unless there’s some curious delay in the delivery of bad news in this country, I don’t think there’s a scandal. And if you wanted to kill yourself, you’re fully capable of obtaining and operating a firearm, since you fought in your Civil War. Why would a leader at the apex of his career wish to be murdered?”

“I don’t wish to be murdered. I wish to appear to have been murdered.”

“But why? Your life seems to be a series of victories.”

“I’ve become a captive of those victories,” he said.

“How so?”

“Five years ago, with the help of my friend the party boss Mark Hanna, I assembled a coalition of businessmen and merchants, and ran for president on a platform of building prosperity by giving every benefit to business. Using protective tariffs and supporting a currency based on the gold standard, I helped lift the country out of the depression that had started in 1893, and made her an industrial power.”

“Then what can be the matter?”

“I’m a man who got everything he wanted, and has only now discovered that his wishes weren’t the best things for his country.”

“Why not?”

“Unintended consequences. Mark Hanna got me elected, but in doing so he spent three and a half million dollars. I’m afraid we have irrevocably tied political success to money, and that the connection, once made, will be disastrous for this country. The men with the most money will buy the government they want. I got us out of a depression by favoring business. I believed men of wealth and power would be fair to their workers because it was the right thing to do. Instead, the giant companies I helped act like rapacious criminals. They employ children in inhuman conditions in factories and mines, murder union spokesmen, keep wages so low that their workers live like slaves. Their own workmen can’t buy the products they make, and the farmers live in debt and poverty. Since my reelection, I have been trying to bring sane and moderate regulation to business, but I have had no success. My allies, led by my friend Senator Hanna, won’t hear of such a thing. My opponents don’t trust me because I was champion of their oppressors. I wanted a second term to fix all the mistakes of the first term, but I find I can’t fix any of them. I am clearly not the man for this job.”

“Your people reelected you.”

“I should not have run. I am a man of the nineteenth century. I understood the challenges of the time—bringing an end to slavery, building the railroads, settling the western portions of the country. But my time is now over. We have moved into the twentieth century, and I have overstayed history’s welcome.”

I said, “Mr. President, if you were to be assassinated, what would become of your nation?”

He smiled. “That is one of the few things that don’t worry me. I selected a special man to be my vice presidential running mate. His name is Theodore Roosevelt. He’s what I can never be—a man of the twentieth century.”

“I’m afraid I know little about him,” said Holmes. “I remember reading that he led a cavalry charge up San Juan Hill.”