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This parody appeared in the Saint Paul Globe in 1904. As far as I am aware it has not been republished since then.




Mrs Sherlock Holmes

I HAVE been somewhat surprised, says Father Time in a chapter on "The Unknown Wives of Great Men," to find how infrequently the memoirs of certain illustrious personages make mention of the wives of these individuals - women who in many instances give actual vertebrate qualities to their much heralded lords and masters.

Very little appears in print, for instance, concerning the Baroness Munchausen, a woman as viciously addicted to truth as her husband was supposed to be given to unveracity; nor from the beginning to end of his very entertaining memoirs have I found any allusion whatsoever to Mrs Sherlock Holmes nee Hawkshaw, a daughter of a once eminent detective who in his day was quite as much in the public eye as is Holmes at the present moment.

That this clever woman should have been kept in the background so persistently can be accounted for only on the assumption that her husband and his biographers have been afraid to exploit that very cleverness lest Holmes himself should be cast in the shade by it. Wonderful, indeed, as were the great detective's analysis of knotty problems, even more so were those of his wife.

In fact, I happen to know that this great ferret, who so easily outwitted others, was a mere child in her hands. I shall never forget one Sunday evening, when Holmes and I had returned from an automobile spin to the Star and Garter, at Richmond, for some reason or other the detective assured Mrs. Holmes that he had been to church at St Paul's Cathedral.

"Really," said she, as she fixed her eyes steadfastly upon him, "and who was the officiating chauffeur?"



"What do you mean?" demanded Holmes.

"Nothing, dear," she replied, sweetly, "but the slight odor of gasoline on your gloves, and the fact that you have forgotten to remove your goggles from your nose led me to believe that you yourself had conducted the service. Was the whitebait good?"

"Whitebait?" roared Holmes guiltily.

"Yes - my love," she replied. "When you kissed me I tasted the red pepper on your lips."

"You are a wizard, my dear," laughed Holmes.

"Maybe - but I never knew they had moved St Paul's to Richmond, even if I am," she replied.

"How in thunder" - began Holmes.

"Never mind, my darling," smiled the lady. "And the next time you go there be sure to leave the bill of fare of the Star and Garter in the pew where it belongs," she added, pointing to Holmes' otter skin overcoat pocket, out of the top of which one of the said menus projected far enough to prove the alibi.

"You see now," said Holmes to me confidentially over the whisky and soda that night, after Mrs Holmes had retired, "why I keep seven bachelor apartments in London under as many aliases."

I assured him that I did, and I do, although I must acknowledge that that is no reason why all mention of this keen witted lady should have been omitted from all accounts of Holmes' life hitherto published.

Saint Paul Globe, 29 May 1904

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