The Sabotaging Swede

This brandy tastes a bit funny, pour us another one my dear fellow…

I say, have a look at this, says here the Wright brothers will have a machine capable of powered flight before the year is out. Ha! What rot. Zeppelins are the way forward. Trust me, in ten years’ time, they will be all over the skies of Europe.

Oh whats this? Eugen Sandow will be hosting the third annual Great Competition at the Royal Albert hall, including wrestling – Cumberland style, fencing and a display of army gymnastics. This will be followed by the main competition, where strongmen from all over Europe will be judged according to  the “Grecian Ideal”.  – I will have to give my friend Hans a telegram.

Good God, has it been three years already? You know, the first one didn’t nearly happen. Did I ever tell you of the Sabotaging Swede?

Well, better bring that whole decanter of brandy over, and pull up a seat. I’m sure the manager won’t mind.

It was the eve of the day the 1st competion was due to be held, and I was invited by Lady Watson to attend a small pre-competition soirée. I was reluctant to go at first, as I found out that one of the judges was none other than Arthur Conan Doyle.  I think its pretty well known in London circles that I do not like the fellow. Did I ever tell you the time I got caught up in a Murder in Mullingar? Well, I told Mr Conan Doyle and three months later, he has taken my tale, placed it in Dartmoor and published under the name Hounds of the Baskerville! To this day he has refused to acknowledge the fact that he stole my idea – but I digress.

The soirée itself, was taking place in the Arena foyer of the Albert Hall. It was a hive of activity, as in the background the staff were setting up for the competition.  There was also a fellow in the corner tinkling the ivories with some of those delightful ragtime tunes.  I was enjoying a conversation with Sir Charles Lawes, one of the other judges, when there was an almighty crash.

A large banner depicting Atlas had come crashing down. Thankfully no one was hurt but it was to mark the start of a series of strange events.

The competitors had now joined the party, and it was Lady Watson who pointed out the fact, that the star of the proceedings was no where to be seen…

One of these chaps was an Austrian called Alois, who I have to say was a bit of the small side – i don’t think those austrians are going to amount to much in this body sculpturing, truth be told. He ofered to come with me as I took it on myself to find Mr Sandow.

It didn’t take much looking at all, for we found him in his dressing room, the door having been jammed with a chair. It was a good job Alois had came along as it had been jammed with some force. With Mr Sandow free, we proceeded to make our way back to the party.

No sooner had we got halfway than there was another almighty crash. As the other two went back to the party, I went to investigate.  Several plinths had been erected in the auditorium for the competition and the crashing had come from one of them tumbling over. Speaking to the head joiner, there had been a catalogue of mishaps.  Someone had also stolen his favourite saw.

Before returning to the mingling, I took a look at the flagpole of the original banner that had come down. It had been sawn…

I went straight over to the pianist and asked him, as delightful as his playing was, would he mind awfully if I asked him to stop as I needed everyone’s attention.

“Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, there is a saboteur in our midst and I know who it is,” I bellowed. I also noticed Mr Conan Doyle get his notebook out – I gave him a stern look before continuing. “We all witnessed the banner falling down earlier this evening, and I am sure some of you are now aware of why Mr Eugen Sandow was late for his own party. For those of you who don’t, he was trapped in his dressing room! I spoke with the chief joiner who tells me there has been a string of mishaps and that his favourite saw is missing. This is all down to that man there – ” I pointed to the Swedish competitor Magnus. As a gasp went round the room, he shouted  something quite profane and several stepped to his defence. Including Lady Watson, who asked me to explain the accusation. I continued:

“Well Lady Watson, it’s quite elementary. You see, my suspicions were first raised when you pointed out that Mr Eugen was missing. I hope you don’t mind me saying that your voice, ah, carries somewhat, and several people overheard. The reaction of the people who overhead was that of a slightly raised eyebrow, except for one… When Alois and I went to move the chair that had been blocking Mr Sandow’s door, the force with which it had been applied was considerable. It would have taken a person with some build to put it there. But it was upon reentering this room and noticing the sawn flagpole that I had my proof and I knew Magnus to be the saboteur for he is somewhat in flagrante delicto.  For you see, if you look behind the pedestal he has been standing next to, you will find the chief joiner’s saw. I know it to be there because I saw the daft Swede put it there the moment he came into the room. Also look – you can see he still has sawdust on his shoes!

As two large Poles escorted Magnus to the nearest police station, the pianist resumed and played a most delightful ditty which I later found to be called “Peacherine Rag”; the party got back into full swing.  A right hoot! And when no one was looking, I swiped Arthur Conan Doyle’s notebook.