Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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“That would be about two o'clock?” “Yes. Then I became thoroughly alarmed and had the servants search for him, but they couldn't find him, so I came here. Oh, Mr. Wolmes, I don't know what may have happened to him!” “Yes, yes, I see,” mused Wolmes. “And you want me to find His Lord- ship?'' “By all means. I'll do anything—pay you any sum you mention, if only you will find him.” “Very well, we'll talk of payment later. But now to work. Did you dis- cover anything missing while you were hunting for your husband?” “Nothing but a complete suit of clothes that he was going to wear, but I presume he had it on at the time of his disappearance.” “H-m-m-m. Very interesting. Most interesting. I'd like to take a look at your surroundings, if I may. Let's see. It's now six o'clock. Could you trans- port us to your manor in half an hour's time?” “Certainly, my chaise is waiting for me.” “Then let's start at once. Come along, Hotson.” “I sye there, Wolmes,” I cried. “You're not thinking of going out in this blustry weather, are you? The wind howls so, it freezes my very bones to hear it.” “Nonsense, nonsense, Hotson. Freeze or no, it'll put a little color in your cheeks. Come along.” All the way to the manor Wolmes was silent, and, by common consent, Lady Simpkins and I kept to our own thoughts, for we knew Wolmes was pondering deeply over the situation. But when we reached our destination, he jumped out briskly and asked to be shown to the butler's quarters. The butler was a capital fellow of the London type, who at Wolmes's request, conducted us to the Duke's rooms up on the top landing. But Wolmes didn't didn’t seem deeply interested in his surroundings and kept walking back and forth, chin in hand, muttering to himself. “Maybe His Lordship took an earlier train,” I ventured. “Couldn't have,” Wolmes replied testily. “He left his baggage behind.” Then, turning to the butler, “Look here, my good fellow, are you sure you searched the whole place?” “Well, now, sir, we've searched 'is rooms, the library, study—” “Yes, yes, but did you search all the rooms?” “Well, now ,sir—that is—all except the wine cellar,—but 'e wouldn't be there, sir.” “No, I am inclined to agree with you there, but we might as well make sure. I suppose you wouldn’t know anything that might bear light on the case?” [Continued on page 16]

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THE MYSTERY OF THE LOST DUKE By Walter Sherriff ONE cold, bleak night in the winter of the year eighteen hundred thirty-three, as Wolmes and I were talking before the warm fire- place in his lodgings on Baker Street, we heard the front door bell tinkle. “Aha!” said Wolmes. “We have a visitor this evening.” “And a bad evening it is, too,” I said. “This is no night for any sane person to—” “Rubbish, rubbish, Hotson! It would do you good to get out in it and take some of that useless fat off your bones,—but let’s see who our guest is.” Just then Mrs. Hudson, Wolmes’s landlady, opened the door and said, “A visitor to see you, suh—a lydy, suh.” “Yes, yes,—show her right up,” he responded in his quick, nervous way; whereupon Mrs. Hudson ushered in a well- dressed woman of some forty years. She was tall, dark, prepossessing, and, judging from her bearing, of noble blood. Wolmes got up and stepping forward, said in his courteous way, “How d’you do. Won’t you step inside-er—” “Lady Simpkins of York,” answered the visitor in a rich, cultured voice. “Are you the famous Shamrock Wolmes?” “I am indeed he whom you mentioned, madam, but I am surprised that you have heard of me. This is my friend and colleague, Dr. Hotson. But won’t you sit down by our fire and warm yourself? It’s rather a bad evening without, and you must be rather chilly after your long ride.” “And pray, how did you know I rode?” “Obvious, madam. Very simple. Your boots aren’t very wet.” She uttered a nervous laugh. “Of course,” she said. “But I’ve come to see you about my husband. He’s gone—disappeared!” “There, there,” soothed Wolmes kindly. “Why don’t you sit still for a while and try to calm yoursself. You’re letting your nerves run quite away from you. There! That’s better. Now start at the beginning, and we’ll see what’s to be done.” “Oh, you’re such a help, Mr. Wolmes,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll find him for me. It’s just this. I don’t know where he is. He was supposed to go to London by the six o’clock, but he vanished this afternoon. I first be- came aware of this at five. He did not come down for tea and John the butler could not find him. Moreover, the valet hadn’t seen my husband since an hour after lunch.”

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20,000 LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA An Interview By Cliff Wilmath ATTERTHWAITE, McCarthy Co., Deep Sea Divers Extraordinary. We Dive Anywhere, Anytime, Anyhow.” If the cherished dreams of two Quincy High lads are realized, the above legend will one day adorn the business place of Norman Satterthwaite and Eugene McCarthy, intrepid pioneers of the deep. Today the boys are lauded for their ingenuity in producing the only homemade diving helmet ever fashioned hereabouts. But it was not always thus. Oh, No!—It was in a strange way that Quincy was first made cognizant of the existence of the embryo natators. After the custom of all interviewers from time immemorial, we shall now begin to take liberties. Our first one will be to turn back the clock until a July afternoon in the summer of 1933. We shall even take the liberty of entering a home which faces Avalon beach and of listening in on a 'phone call in progress. “Hello, Quincy Police Station? Well, please send an officer to Avalon beach at once! There's a boy with a boiler on his head jumping into the bay!” In fifteen minutes, the scene had changed and our hero was engaged in a tete-a-tete with a police official. The official claimed that Satterthwaite must procure a permit for the helmet, but there was no law covering the point. Let it be herein insribed that our hero, even in this moment of blackest disappointment and grief, showed his true mettle when he was heard to utter the few words which show the rugged philosophy of the lad. His speech was “They laughed at Columbus.” The efficiency of the Goldenrod was apparent at this point since in spite of many difficulties, an interview was procured. We know that this is the only actual interview given out by Mr. Satterthwaite and so we print it with a great deal of justifiable pride. “How did you happen to turn your talents toward the field of diving?” “We, that is, Gene McCarthy and I had been interested in diving for several years. I don't remember where we got the idea first, though.” “Will you tell me how the helmet was made?”