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We are thrilled to announce
that we have located a copy of the rare and wonderful 1911 book, Nonsense Novels, by Stephen Leacock.
This Canadian author was one
of the most popular humorists of the early 20th century. His work amused and inspired many people,
including the great master of absurd comedy, Groucho Marx.
Nonsense Novels is a collection of Stephen Leacock’s parodies of ghost stories,
historical romances, and other literary genres. Here is an
excerpt from his famous satire of the adventures of Sherlock Holmes:
Maddened by Mystery: or, The Defective Detective
by Stephen Leacock
The great
detective sat in his office. He wore a long green gown and half a dozen secret
badges pinned to the outside of it.
Three or four pairs of false whiskers hung
on a whisker-stand beside him.
Goggles, blue spectacles and motor glasses
lay within easy reach.
He could completely disguise himself at a
second's notice.
His face was absolutely impenetrable.
A pile of cryptograms lay on the desk. The
Great Detective hastily tore them open one after the other, solved them, and
threw them down the cryptogram-shute at his side.
There was a rap at the door.
The Great Detective adjusted a pair of false
black whiskers and cried,"Come in."
His secretary entered.
"Ha," said the detective, "it
is you!" He laid aside his disguise.
"Sir," said the young man in
intense excitement, "a mystery has been committed!"
"Ha!" said the Great Detective,
his eye kindling, "is it such as to completely baffle the police of the
entire continent?"
"They are so completely baffled with
it," said the secretary, "that they are lying collapsed in heaps."
"So," said the detective,
"and is the mystery one that is absolutely unparalleled in the whole
recorded annals of the London
police?"
"It is."
"And it is connected, I presume, with
the highest diplomatic consequences, so that if we fail to solve it England will be
at war with the whole world in sixteen minutes?"
His secretary, still quivering with
excitement, again answered yes.
"And finally," said the Great
Detective, "I presume that it was committed in broad daylight, in some
such place as the entrance of the Bank of England, or in the cloak-room of the
House of Commons, and under the very eyes of the police?"
"Those," said the secretary,
"are the very conditions of the mystery."
"Good," said the Great Detective,
"now wrap yourself in this disguise, put on these brown whiskers and tell
me what it is."
The secretary whispered in the ear of the
Great Detective: "The Prince of Wurttemberg has been kidnapped."
The Great Detective bounded from his chair. A prince stolen! Evidently a Bourbon! The
scion of one of the oldest families in Europe
kidnapped. Here was a mystery indeed worthy of his analytical brain.
His mind began to move like lightning.
"Stop!" he said, "how do you
know this?"
The secretary handed him a telegram. It was
from the Prefect of Police of Paris. It read: "The Prince of Wurttemberg
stolen. Probably forwarded to London.
Must have him here for the opening day of Exhibition. 1,000 pounds
reward."
So! The Prince had been kidnapped out of Paris at the very time
when his appearance at the International Exposition would have been a political
event of the first magnitude.
With the Great Detective to think was to
act, and to act was to think.
Frequently he could do both together. "Wire to Paris for a description of the Prince."
The secretary bowed and left.
There was a loud rapping at the door.
There entered the Countess of Dashleigh. She
was all in furs.
She was the most beautiful woman in England. She
strode imperiously into the room. She seized a chair imperiously and seated
herself on it, imperial side up.
She took off her tiara of diamonds and put
it on the tiara-holder beside her and uncoiled her boa of pearls and put it on
the pearl-stand.
"You have come," said the Great
Detective, "about the Prince of
Wurttemberg."
"Wretched little pup!" said the
Countess of Dashleigh in disgust.
So! A further complication! The Countess denounced the young Bourbon as a
pup!
"You are interested in him, I
believe."
"Interested!" said the Countess.
"I should rather say so. Why,
I bred him! and I've got 10,000 pounds upon his chances, so no wonder I want
him back in Paris.”
The Countess resumed her tiara.
She left.
The secretary re-entered.
"I have three telegrams from Paris," he said,
"they are completely baffling."
He handed over the first telegram.
It read:
"The Prince of Wurttemberg has a long,
wet snout, broad ears, very long body, and short hind legs."
The Great Detective looked puzzled.
He read the second telegram.
"The Prince of Wurttemberg is easily
recognised by his deep bark."
And then the third.
"The Prince of Wurttemberg can be
recognised by a patch of white hair across the centre of his back."
The two men looked at one another. The
mystery was maddening, impenetrable.
The Great Detective rose.
He wrapped himself in a long black cloak
with white whiskers and blue spectacles attached.
Completely disguised, he issued forth.
For four days he visited every corner of London. The search proved
fruitless.
Two young men were arrested under suspicion
of being the Prince, only to be released.
The identification was incomplete in each
case.
One had a long wet snout but no hair on his
back.
The other had hair on his back but couldn't
bark.
Neither of them was the young Bourbon.
Still undismayed, the Great Detective made
his way into the home of the Countess of Dashleigh. Then at last a clue came
which gave him a solution of the mystery.
On the wall of the Countess's boudoir was a
large framed engraving.
It was a portrait.
Under it was a printed legend:
THE PRINCE OF WURTTEMBERG
The portrait was that of a Dachshund.
The long body, the broad ears, the unclipped
tail, the short hind legs—all was there.
In a fraction of a second the lightning mind
of the Great Detective had penetrated the whole mystery.
THE PRINCE WAS A DOG!!!!
He summoned a passing hansom, and in a few
moments was at his house.
"I have it," he gasped to his
secretary. "The mystery is solved.
I have pieced it together. By sheer analysis I have reasoned it out.
Listen—hind legs, hair on back, wet snout, pup – eh, what? Does that
suggest nothing to you?"
"Nothing," said the secretary;
"it seems perfectly hopeless."
The Great Detective, now recovered from his
excitement, smiled faintly.
"It means simply this, my dear fellow.
The Prince of Wurttemberg is a dog, a prize Dachshund. The Countess of
Dashleigh bred him, and he is worth some 25,000 pounds in addition to the prize
of 10,000 pounds offered at the Paris
dog show. Can you wonder that——"
At that moment the Great Detective was
interrupted by the scream of a woman.
The Countess of Dashleigh dashed into the
room.
Her face was wild.
Her tiara was in disorder.
Her pearls were dripping all over the place.
She wrung her hands and moaned.
"They have cut his tail," she
gasped, "and taken all the hair off his back. What can I do? I am
undone!!"
"Madame," said the Great
Detective, calm as bronze, "I can save you yet."
"You!"
"Me!"
"How?"
"Listen. This is how. The Prince was to
have been shown at Paris."
The Countess nodded.
"Your fortune was staked on him?"
The Countess nodded again.
"The dog was stolen, carried to London, his tail cut and
his marks disfigured."
Amazed at the quiet penetration of the Great
Detective, the Countess kept on nodding and nodding.
"And you are ruined?"
"I am," she gasped, and sank to
the floor in a heap of pearls.
"Madame," said the Great
Detective, "all is not lost."
He straightened himself up to his full
height. A look of inflinchable unflexibility flickered over his features.
The honour of England,
the fortune of the most beautiful woman in
England
was at stake.
"I will do it," he murmured.
"Rise dear lady," he continued.
"Fear nothing. I WILL IMPERSONATE
THE DOG!!!"
That night the Great Detective might have
been seen on the deck of the Calais
packet boat with his secretary. He was on his hands and knees in a long black
cloak, and his secretary had him on a short chain.
He barked at the waves exultingly and licked
the secretary's hand.
"What a beautiful dog," said the
passengers.
The disguise was absolutely complete.
The Great Detective had been coated over
with dog hairs. The markings on his back were perfect.
Next day he was exhibited in the Dachshund
class at the
International show.
He won all hearts.
The Great Detective took the first prize!
The fortune of the Countess was saved.
