A Study in Sherlock

I found that my American medical counterpart, Dr. Roswell Park, was a man of great learning and a citizen of some standing in the medical community. He and I toured the University of Buffalo medical school facilities, the county morgue, and three of the local hospitals, as well as the field hospital that had been established at the edge of the grounds of the Pan-American Exposition. Everywhere we went, all doors opened and he was welcomed, something between a visiting potentate and a fatherly benefactor.

He and I examined the X-ray machine that was on display at the Exposition, which made it possible to see inside the body to detect a break in a bone or identify dangerous lesions. There was also an infant incubator on the midway, which I found particularly promising.

In many of our moments we were in places where the only possible eavesdroppers were the dead—the cadavers used for dissection by medical students, or the fresh bodies of transients found near the docks off Canal Street. During these times we discussed the difficulties of the assignment that the president and Holmes had given us, but we found a number of solutions in accepted medical protocols and in the simple matter of being prepared in advance to make sure events unfolded in certain ways and not others. Dr. Park was a man of such thoroughness that he thought of some things I had not—making sure that certain interns and nurses would be the ones on duty the afternoon and evening of September 6, because they would unhesitatingly follow his every order, and arranging to have horse-drawn ambulances prepared to make certain clandestine deliveries during the nights that followed. By the end of that day I was ready to entrust my life to Dr. Park. It was a sentiment that went unexpressed, because that was precisely what I was doing, as he was entrusting his life to me.

I returned to the Genesee Hotel in the evening, and found Holmes and Booth still in earnest conference. Holmes had brought out the makeup kit that I’d sometimes seen him use in London. It was a mixed collection of substances he had borrowed from the art of the theater, but even more liberally borrowed from the more subtle paints and powders employed by fashionable ladies in the interest of beauty. He had often gained information in the past by posing as a longshoreman or a gypsy or an old bookseller, and this kit had helped transform his face. It seemed from the change in his appearance that the young actor Mr. Booth was as expert as Holmes. He had changed once more. He now appeared to be a rough sort of fellow of thirty years who worked outdoors with his hands. His skin and hair had darkened a bit so he seemed to be from somewhere in continental Europe.

They had also laid out a series of maps of the Pan-American Exposition grounds that Holmes appeared to have drawn from memory. Booth was studying one of them.

“You’ll have to wait long enough so the first hundred or so get through the doors and meet the president,” Holmes said. “By then the line will be moving in an orderly way, and the guards will be getting overconfident and bored. Remember that the first move is mine. You will act only after I do.”

“I understand,” said Mr. Booth. “And then I’ll make some hasty attempt at departure.”

“Certainly, but be careful not to succeed. You must remain embroiled with the guards and police officers. If you make it into the open, one of them will surely get a shot off.”

“I’ll be sure to be overwhelmed promptly,” said Booth.

And on they went. Since my presence was not required I retired to my bedchamber and settled my mind with a nap, which helped me to digest the many details I would need to remember two days hence. It was a few hours later before Mr. Booth stood and shook Holmes’s hand. By then, I noticed, he had once again become the old white-haired man.

“I won’t see you again until the afternoon of the sixth, Mr. Holmes. I’m sure we agree on all of the essentials of the performance. If you learn of any changes, please let me know. I’m staying at the boardinghouse at Main and Chippewa Streets.”

“I will, Mr. Booth. In the meantime, know that we have great confidence in you, and we salute you for your patriotism.”

“Good-bye. And good-bye to you, Dr. Watson. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

“Good-bye, Mr. Booth.”

And he was gone. Holmes quickly put away his disguise kit and some other items he and Booth had studied, and said, “I’m hungry, Watson. It’s time for a late supper.”

We left the hotel and walked around the block to a small establishment that had many of the qualities of a London public house. Sitting at a table in the rear of the house was a large man in a blue police uniform. His hat was on the table next to an empty beer glass, and as we came in the door, I saw him move it to the seat beside him.

“Mr. Bull,” said Holmes.

“Sit down,” said the policeman.