Sherlock Holmes and the Engineer's Thumb 1 | Page 3

Alas, I had told Mr Rogers that my friend was unoccupied, but thankfully he didn’t
mention the fact that Holmes was very much the opposite.
Eventually, Holmes spoke. ‘We never did complete this case, Watson -’
‘Holmes,’ I interrupted. ‘Mr Rogers?’
‘Ah yes, of course,’ Holmes said, finally looking at our guest. ‘Sorry to keep you
waiting.’ He started to scan the man up and down, no doubt using his well-practiced
methods of deduction to glean as much information about the man as possible.
Rogers didn’t seem to notice.
‘So,’ I said, addressing Mr Rogers directly. ‘What brings you to 221B Baker Street
this evening?’
‘Well, I best start from the beginning,’ Rogers decided, his voice filling the room. ‘My
full name is Pete George Rogers. I’m an -’
‘Engineer,’ Holmes interrupted, now facing Rogers, his deductions evidently
complete. ‘Judging by the oil stains on your trousers. And that awful bruise on your
thumb.’
Rogers shifted uncomfortably in his seat, either because he was alarmed by how
much Holmes could tell from so little (in which case he wouldn’t be alone) or
because he had a number of bad memories associated with the wound on his
thumb.
‘Well, that is what I came here to talk about, as a matter of fact,’ Rogers admitted.
‘Your thumb or your profession?’ Holmes asked.
‘The former,’ Pete replied. ‘You see, I received this bruise under the most peculiar of
circumstances.’
Holmes sat forward in his seat, as if afraid he would miss out on some vital
information. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘Well, I work in a large workshop,’ Mr Rogers explained, gesturing with his strong
arms to emphasise the size of his workspace. ‘A lot of people work with me. But last
week, it was my turn to inspect the equipment after the long day’s work.’ Holmes
reached for his pipe that lay on the cluttered coffee table as Rogers spoke, struck a
match and lit the tobacco, before sticking the wooden tube in his mouth and starting
to smoke.
‘By now,’ Pete continued, eyeing the pipe enviously as if he were addicted to the
stuff himself, ‘all of my fellow colleagues had left work to go home and greet their
families, and so I was left alone to check the machinery in the workshop.’ Mr Rogers
massaged his thumb as he spoke. ‘Having inspected everything once and ensuring
that it was all in working order, I performed, as customary, a second check. But as I
was looking over the equipment in the metal forging section, one of the anvils that
we keep secured in place in a strong, steel shelving unit fell from its supposedly safe
perch and straight at me.’ Mr Rogers paused for a few seconds and stared into the
fire.
‘I presume,’ Holmes said impati ently, ‘that your thumb became trapped under the
anvil and was thus converted to the state we see it in now?’