Parodies Etc.> Parodies > When Doyle Meets Tolkien
The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
by Öjevind Lång
The Hanging Man
As my friend, Mr Sherlock Holmes, entered the shop, his deep-seated, keen eyes immediately perceived that a man had hanged himself from a hook in the ceiling. Following after him, I had the fact pointed out to me.
"This case is of course lucid, but it does have some interesting features," remarked Holmes.
"How do you mean?"
"Watson, I really would be at a loss what to do without you! Your predictability is like the Rock of Gibraltar. Now, you do see that this man's shoes have been newly blackened?"
"Yes."
"Furthermore, I notice that he has stood an excellent, fastidiously rolled umbrella against the counter, as if waiting for the proprietor to turn up."
"Yes. Where is the proprietor, by the way?"
"Really, Watson, I should have thought even you realized that the proprietor's whereabouts has no bearing on to the case."
I apologized.
"Your apology is accepted, Watson. Have you noticed the strange, flat object that adorns the floor under the unfortunate man's shoes?"
I bent down and took up the object in question.
"It is just a copy of 'Strand Magazine'. I fail to see how that can be of interest," remarked I.
"You do? Come, come. You know my methods, Watson; apply them."
I looked at the magazine. It had been opened upon a learned article by a well-known historian whose name had often been in the newspapers lately, since his appointment as tutor to the young Duke of Loamshire, a close kinsman of the Royal family.
"Apparently, he was reading 'Strand Magazine' while waiting for the owner of the shop to turn up," said I.
"Excellent, Watson! What is more, he was reading the very article your eyes are presently resting on; observe that his fingernails have bored into the right-hand page, where this very learned article, after having wended its long way across the opposite side, continues before as it were going around the corner to the next page again."
"He must have been he victim of a strong emotion," observed I.
Holmes smiled a bit sadly, as if his cold, strange intellect had for once been impressed by reflections of a more compassionate nature. "Indeed he was! How long is the article, Watson?"
I leafed through the magazine.
"It is eighteen pages long, more than all the other contributions together."
"Quite so! And what is the subject of the article?"
It had not occurred to me to consider that matter before. Now I looked.
"The article is called: 'Do Balrogs Have Wings, and Do They Flap?', but I really do not understand..." I fell silent as an icy emotion of terror permeated every inch of my body. I looked up at the pathetic, silent frame hanging from the ceiling. "He went out this morning, happy in his newly blackened boots. Coming into this shop, he meant to while away the time waiting for the proprietor by doing some reading, and then..."
Holmes nodded. "God help us!" he said. His face was pale, showing that even he felt some of the dread that the situation inevitably evoked.
Where Did the Stone Come From?
"Hum! So much for the police-court," said Holmes, thoughtfully tossing aside the paper. "The question for us now to solve is the sequence of events leading from a rifled jewel case at one end to the crop of a Balrog on Moria Court-road at the other. You see, Watson, our little deductions have suddenly assumed a much more important and less innocent aspect. Here is the Silmaril; the Silmaril came from the Balrog, and the Balrog was slaughtered by Gandalf, the gentleman with the tall pointed blue hat and all the other appurtenances implying that he is in possession of supernatural powers and great wisdom. So now we must set ourselves very seriously to finding this gentleman, and ascertaining what part he has played in this little mystery. To do this, we must try the simplest means first, and these lie undoubtedly in a advertisement in all the evening papers."
"What will you say?"
"Give me a pencil, and that slip of paper. Now, then: 'Found at the corner of Anfalas-street, a goose and a tall pointed blue hat. Mr Gandalf can have the same by applying at 6:30 this evening at 221B, Baker-street.' That is clear and concise."
"Very. But will he see it?"
"Oh, without a doubt. When he slaughtered that poor innocent Balrog and roasted it for his fiendish Hobbit friends, in his glee at preparing black soup out of its giblet he dropped his hat at the place of the murderous and cannibalistic feast. And he will be specially interested in retrieving this palladium for his head, Watson. There will be a most particular reason for it."
"What is that?"
"He forgot, in his gluttonous frenzy, that giblet soup can only be made out of birds, that is to say, out of winged creatures. Once his horrendous mistake has become manifest to him he will desire most fervently to retrieve at least something out of the debacle, such as his wizard's hat. I think you will agree that the poor man should be extended some kind of consolation, little though he deserves to be counted among the Wise after this."
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