I went to 221B Baker Street to call on my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Mr. Holmes rents a three-room flat from Mrs. Hudson. The study, as Holmes liked to call the large sitting room, was always a bit disorderly. When I arrived, I saw that he was talking with a stout, red-faced gentleman with fiery red hair. "So sorry to bother you," I said.
"No bother," said Holmes. "I don't think you could have come at a better time. Mr. Wilson, here, was explaining the circumstances surrounding a most unusual part-time job. Mr. Wilson, this is Dr. Watson. He has been my helper and partner in many of my most successful cases."
Mr. Wilson and I greeted each other, and I took a seat near Holmes. Holmes was sitting with his fingertips together, which is his habit when considering a matter of importance.
"My dear Watson," began Holmes, "I know you share my love of bizarre events, and that you like to retell the stories of my adventures in exciting ways. I think you will find Mr. Wilson's story quite stimulating."
I was indeed intrigued, and I answered, "Your cases are always interesting to me, my dear Holmes."
"Mr. Wilson was telling me his story," continued Holmes, "and, if he would be so kind, I would like him to begin again—first, to introduce you to the case, and second, so that I may better understand the details. What I have heard so far suggests that this case may be my most extraordinary one yet."
The stout man puffed with obvious pride at Holmes' words and he pulled from his pocket a dirty, wrinkled newspaper clipping. As he did this, I took the opportunity to examine the man, in the way I imagined Holmes had already examined him. I didn't gain much from my survey.
To my eye, Mr. Wilson seemed quite commonplace. He was overweight, and from his attire, I could tell he was a tradesman. His clothing was slightly worn, and an ornamental gold chain suggested he carried a watch. Other than his fiery red hair, I observed nothing remarkable. Holmes, however, stated, "I can deduce nothing beyond the obvious facts that he has at some time done manual labor, has been to China, and has done a considerable amount of writing lately."
Mr. Wilson gaped at Holmes in amazement and said, "How in the world did you know all that? It's true when I was younger, I did manual labor. I was a ship's carpenter."
"I knew from your hands. Your right hand is slightly larger than your left," explained Holmes.
"And China?" asked Mr. Wilson.
"Well, the tattoo on your right wrist could only have been done in China, and you also have a Chinese coin hanging from your watch chain," answered Holmes.
"What about the writing?" asked Mr. Wilson.
"The right cuff of your coat is worn smooth, but the left cuff is not. There is a patch over the elbow of your left sleeve, but no patch on your right sleeve. The combination of these facts leads me to believe that you have done a lot of writing lately," explained Holmes.
"Quite so!" exclaimed Mr. Wilson, impressed.
"I believe you were about to show us a newspaper advertisement," said Holmes.
"Yes, yes," said Mr. Wilson. "Here it is." Below is what Holmes and I read:
TO ALL RED-HEADED MEN:
The late Mr. Hopkins has left his fortune to help all red-headed men. A
vacancy has opened in the League. Members can earn a salary of four
pounds a week. All red-headed men 21 years old or older are eligible.
Apply in person on Monday at eleven o'clock to Duncan Ross at the
League's office, 7 Pope's Court.
I read it again and exclaimed, "What on earth does this mean?"
Holmes chuckled and said, "Yes, my dear Watson, it's a little off the beaten track, isn't it?" Holmes then turned to Mr. Wilson and said, "Please, tell us about your household, your occupation, and the effect this advertisement has had on your life."
"Well, this whole affair began about two months ago," began Mr. Wilson. "As I told you, I own a small pawnshop in Coburg Square. It provides me enough to live on, but nothing more. I have recently hired a new assistant who agreed to work for half wages so that he could learn the business."
"What is the name of this kind youth?" asked Holmes.
"His name is Vincent Spaulding, although he's not much of a youth," answered Mr. Wilson. "But I couldn't ask for a smarter assistant. He could easily earn twice what I pay him, but since he is satisfied, there is no sense in putting ideas into his head."
"Yes," said Holmes in agreement. "You seem most fortunate. It's hard to get good employees these days, and you have found one for half price. I think your assistant is almost as interesting as your position at the Red-Headed League."
"Oh, he has his faults," professed Mr. Wilson.
"Really?" said Holmes curiously.
"Oh yes. He is crazy about photography. He is always taking pictures and then running down to the cellar to develop them, but besides that he is an excellent worker."
"Is he still with you?" asked Holmes.
"Yes, he is, and I also have a young girl who does the cooking and cleaning for me. There's just the three of us."
"Do you often read the advertisements in the newspaper, Mr. Wilson?" asked Holmes.
"No, sir," said Mr. Wilson. "I usually have no need."
"Then may I ask how you learned about this one?"
"My assistant brought it to my attention eight weeks ago. He came running out of his office saying, 'I wish I were a red-headed man. There's a vacancy in the League!'"
"So Mr. Spaulding informed you of the opening?" asked Holmes.
"Yes, exactly," said Mr. Wilson, "and I looked at Mr. Spaulding and said, 'What's this nonsense?' and he replied, 'If I had red hair like you, Mr. Wilson, I could have a part-time job that earns me four pounds a week.' 'Ridiculous,' I said. 'Haven't you heard of the Red-Headed League?' he asked. 'You, yourself, are eligible,' he said. Now, Mr. Holmes, my business isn't doing well, so I was interested in earning a little extra money, but the idea of getting a job because my hair is red seemed absurd."
"You were skeptical about the advertisement, then?" asked Holmes.
"Oh yes," replied Mr. Wilson. "But Mr. Spaulding convinced me. He seemed quite certain that I would get the job. He even went with me to the League's office the next day."