Judge, 1930-07-19 · page 12 of 36
Judge — July 19, 1930 — page 12: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# "Master Sleuth Unmasked at Last!" - Judge Magazine Satire This is S.J. Perelman's humorous short story mocking the Sherlock Holmes literary phenomenon. The premise: fans are shocked to discover that Holmes—the famous detective—is actually a woman. The satire targets the obsessive devotion of Holmes fanatics, who allegedly flood newspapers and stock exchanges with inquiries about this "revelation." The accompanying cartoons appear unrelated to the main story, featuring crude jokes about women's appearance and bodily functions (hair length, beard grooming, etc.)—typical lowbrow humor of the era. The satire's point: mocking both the intense cult following around fictional characters and, implicitly, the absurdity of gender-based mystery-solving abilities. The "French investigator" Pierre de la Matzos serves as the exposer of Holmes's "true identity"—a jab at sensationalized detective fiction.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
JUDGE Master Sleuth Unmasked at Last! By S.J. Perelman Att Sherlock Holmes fans sat up in bed with a start last Tuesday and rubbed their eyes in am they scanned ‘the morning papers. After their excitement had abated, they awoke whomever else was in bed 1 four promptly telephoned the office. From the Battery and the Harlem River Ship Canal, from Follinsbee Road and Pratt Street, from the Boulevard St. Germain, the Fried- richstrasse, and Paddington Heath, haggard-eyed inquiries. poured in. Tight-lipped traders on ‘Change halt- ed their fevered barter to tensely dis- cuss the astounding revelations. All day long wan operators in the offices of Jupce heard the same trembling question drift over the wire: “Is Sherlock Holmes rea ee The climax of y Pierre de la M zement as lly a wom, f research by ad at last borne fruit. The immortal detective stood “Oh, I say, madame—did you see my glasses any place around here?” forth unmasked at last as a member of the perfumed sex (woman). this tempest in a tea-pot, sat calmly — erstein and found him quietly reading Meanwhile, in the midst of all this in the Hotel Hubbub in New York. I _ in his shirt sleeves. hubbub, Pierre de la Matzos, the pushed my way past his horde of sec- “Ah, Professor Moriarty, I French investigator who had raised — retaries named Beaumont and Fletch- pected you,” he greeted, looking up \ ama "ny \ SY I'VE JUST SF N HOUR IN THE SERF! SNICKERED THE SURGEON Don’t try to tell me those footprints on the dashboard were made by the horse, you momzer. “When I let my hair down it falls to my knees,” boasted Finishing-School Fanny. “Yeh,” grated Bor-Factory Bertha, “And if you didn’t catch it, it’d fall to the floor!” Hey, auctioneer, you mean to tell me ten dollars is all you can get for the hunting rights in Jeff Machamer’s beard? w comicbooks.com