Volume 15
Volume 15
Volume 15
A Collection of o Origin nal Shor rt Storie es d on the Charac cters Cre eated by y Based Sir Arth hur Con nan Doy yle And d Illustr rated by Sidney Paget Volume V 15 Ap pri1 18, 2013
Well, I said, after examining the victims, Someone certainly wants us to believe this a suicide. However, observe these men: their fingers are broken, indicating they were both forcibly held in these chairs by at least two men while their wrists were cut. The indiscernible pattern of the footprints supports my theory that there was a scuffle involving several people, leading to the murder of these two men.
Excellent, Watson! Just as I had suspected: their terrified expressions hinted that they did not willingly end their lives, said Holmes as he found a trail of footprints leading to the nearby bushes and trees, That being said, take a gander behind this foliage. The five sets of unusually triangular footprints you see are those belonging to our murderers. They must have waited here silently until their victims arrived, taken them by surprise, and ultimately ended their lives. Why would they do such a thing? I demanded, And how are these two men connected? Questions that still require answering, he replied, I must speak with Mycroft at the Diogenes Club tonight. I fear the murderers may slip our grasp if we do not act with the utmost urgency. Lestrade, see what headway you can make on the case in my absence. Watson, return to Baker Street and await my return. I was dosing off in the living room when my companion returned, around midnight. He brought with him an air of urgent confidence; he smiled grimly as he saw my weary expression. We do not have much time, but I will impart some of the particulars of my talk with Mycroft to you. As you know, he is the only reason our nation has not openly been at war with much of the world for decades. His clandestine methods have saved Her Majesty from harm countless times. Now, if you would look into my index, you would find no information on Rosetta Stone. However this artifact is the center of our case; Mycroft has given me some very valuable facts about it.
And what of them? asked Holmes, are they not also soldiers? Are they not equally bound to their convictions and compatriots? His sense of duty was no less than yours. Do not be so quick to deal out death in judgment, for even the wisest cannot see all ends. Oh, of course Holmes, I meant no offenseuh right you are! replied Lestrade meekly. He took his leave quickly thereafter. Did you really mean everything you said, Holmes? I asked. His comments, though they antagonized the Crown, were very sophisticated and thought provoking. Every word, Watson. It is vanity to force ones ideals and values on others. Never make that mistake, for the world will return such inflicted wound tenfold. It is difficult for me to conclude the adventures of the Rosetta Stone so cryptically, but then again, perhaps some of the questions of our existence can never truly be answered. In any case, Holmess words impacted me greatly and I do hope that, one day, the Rosetta Stone shall bask once again under the Res golden light.
you are a man of honor and of extreme discretion. At this moment both, my companion and the inspector looked at me until I gave my word that I would maintain this case under the highest degree of secrecy possible until was solved and the client would have no repercussions. While I made my oath of secrecy to the inspector, I could see that Holmes had started to analyze the envelope which was handed to him by the inspector. Holmes then read the note aloud, which said: Mr. Sherlock Holmes, There has been a grave incident in which one of our own has been abducted from their home. Your reputation precedes you as one of the greatest detectives in all of England. I came to know about your hand in the case that the Grand Duke of Cassel- Felstein, now the King of Bohemia, came to you with. I also heard of your recovery of a very rare blue carbuncle stolen from my dearest friends hotel room, the Countess of Morcar. Therefore we are counting on your expertise or luck, whichever it may be to find our heir, For the reward may be the largest you have ever had, if you live up to the expectations. -E.I. After he read the note, my friend stood silent with a dazed look in his eyes as he proceeded to analyze every detail possible in that single note. While I was accustomed to being left in silence while he performed his routine analysis of an object, the Inspector looked at him in the weirdest of contemplations. Therefore I addressed him explaining that he was just analyzing the note, when the Inspector interrupted Dear Mr. Holmes, I pray that you delay no further for that note will not help you in any way possible. I beg to differ Inspector Lestrade, I need to know all I can about the client in order to be certain that I have not missed a single aspect for that may prove to be the downfall of the success of this case. After this remark, the inspector stated; My client does not wish to have her identity known Mr. Holmes, I would appreciate it if you did not inquire any further upon the subject and get straight to solving the case. It is not a subject you wish to inquire further for you may find yourself with detrimental consequences. As the inspector opened the door he stopped and told Holmes and I that he would bring us more information regarding the case in the morning after breakfast time and he would take us to the place of the abduction. We shall be waiting for you inspector said Holmes. Oh! And pray tell her majesty, Queen Victoria, that I shall make
Gentleman, if you would be so kind as to follow me in this landau, the client awaits us. And I must say she is very impatient because of this situation. I can only imagine Said Holmes as we boarded the landau and arrived at Sandringham House, summer retreat of the Prince of Wales. The house was very impressive as we approached it, surrounded by woods and very private. At the house we were greeted by his wife Alexandra whom seemed exasperated and torn because of the situation. The moment she caught eye of the landau pulling up to the entrance, she gleamed and appeared to have regained some hope. Mr. Holmes I am glad you responded so quickly in such short notice. It has been a very long night since my husband has gone missing. Maam has he gone missing or has he been kidnapped? The letter sent to me by her majesty stated that your husband had been abducted. I am not sure that he has been kidnapped or has gone missing. Why do you say that? Please Mr. Holmes do not mock me and tell me that you have not heard about my husbands mistresses. The empire in its entirety knows about it. Yes maam Im aware of those rumors. But I know of none that leave anywhere near Norfolk. Do you know of anyone he may be seeing here? No, I havent the slightest idea. For he always leaves on hunting trips on his own and comes back at night in time for dinner. But this time he never returned. Did he leave with anyone? Is there anyone he usually hunts with, a companion, a friend? No Mr. Holmes, he always leaves on his own, because this is our summer home we do not maintain relationships with our neighbors because of the lack of time so, no. Well seems that there is not much we can do but wait and see if he shall return. Until then Watson please go back to London and talk to Wiggins and see what he has figured out I was very confused as to his instructions but did not question them and proceeded to board the landau again when he reached my arm to say good bye and slipped me a piece of paper without anyone noticing while he directed Lestrades attention to the woods and asked his opinion on the case and what his conclusions were. On the way to the train station I read the note that left me very puzzled: Watson, Go to London and get the information from Wiggins, then you must get Toby. You know where to find him. And come back here tomorrow morning in the first train. I shall meet you outside the house so that we may begin our search. And give this note to Wiggins. Ps. I shall pay you back the money
At my arrival at the train station in London, I was surprised by Wiggins. He knew that I would be coming back and awaited my return. Wiggins, how is it you knew to be waiting for me? Mr. Holmes instructed me to be here at this time in order to give you the information I gathered. And that you would be paying for our services. This is when I knew what he meant by the money. So what is it you have gathered? There have been multiple kidnappings but only one coming from the Norfolk area. I heard this at a bar on 4th St. where three men were boasting about having gained a huge purse after taking someone for a ride. They were talking about their adventure and how they were in Norfolk the night before and had arrived to London that morning. Good job Wiggins, I shall let Holmes know your message and here is your payment as well as this note which is for you. I then headed out of the station to find Mr. Johnson waiting for me. When he saw me coming out he approached me and offered me a ride. As he did so, I said let me guess, Holmes told you to be here. Yes sir. Said Johson as he grinned. Where shall I take you Mr. Watson? To see Mr. Sherman, at No. 3 Pinchin Lane in Lambeth Very well sir said Johnson. As you may recall, Toby is the best tracking hound as considered by Holmes. He managed to be of great help in The Sign of the Four when he used his tracking nose to help solve the case. As we arrived at Mr. Shermans I requested Toby and he remembered that I came in place of Holmes. He gladly handed me the ugly long haired, lop-eared creature, half spaniel and half lurcher. I then headed back to the train station and managed to take the midnight train to Norfolk which would have me there by morning. Once I arrived at Norfolk I took the neared landau to the Sandringham House in order to meet Holmes there. As soon as I pulled on to the property Toby started barking and jumped off the landau to greet Holmes. Good boy, Toby said Holmes as I approached them. Inspector Lestrade and Holmes were on their way out. I asked where they were going and Holmes said we were headed to look for more tracks because after you departed last night we went out looking for the princes tracks but could not find any. But now that you have brought Toby we may have better luck. Alexandra, would you be so kind as to get me a piece of clothing that belongs to Prince Edward. What good will that do Mr. Holmes? Toby here, despite his appearance is the finest tracking dog in all of London. So if you may give me an article with the Princes scent, we shall find him in no time. Alexandra then sent one of her maids to fetch a shirt that belonged to the Prince and handed it to Holmes. Holmes then placed it in front of Toby and latched on his leash so that he may do his job. The dog smelled the shirt and then shot his nose up into the air and then started to walk towards the woods and began to pull on the leash that Holmes had been holding. At this moment we all began to follow Toby, including Alexandra who was eager to find her husband. After walking through the woods we found the rifle that belonged to the Prince, and
After Holmes knocked on the door, out came the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her name was Sarah Brubaker. We explained to her the reason behind our visit. She instantly broke down in tears and asked us if we had found Prince Edward. Have you found him Mr. Holmes? He left my house last night after coming to visit and she put her head down in shame. You have nothing to be ashamed of Ms. Sarah, we are only trying to find the prince and we need all the help we can get. Thank you Mr. Holmes. He came by last night as he does every summer. He comes here with the excuse of going hunting so that his wife does not question where he is going or gets suspicious that he is seeing someone else. But last night he told me that he was worried that this may be the last night he comes because his wife was beginning to act indifferent as if she knew something was going on. And then he left in order to make it back in time for dinner. That was the last I saw him. Thank you so much for your cooperation. I think we have caused you enough pain for the night. And rest assured that the Prince will be found without harm said Holmes as he winked at Ms. Sarah and we walked away from her house. Infuriated Alexandra demanded that Inspector Lestrade arrest her for adultery but Holmes prevented him
help. That boy they received the information from was none other than Wiggins himself. Job well done I must say. But how did he know to alert the authorities without your orders? Remember that second note you were told to give to Wiggins? Well everything was instructed on that simple piece of paper. I knew the Prince would have to be out of Norfolk and most likely in London where all the culprits culminate. I knew only the Baker Street irregulars could do the job, and so they did. What can you tell me about her Majesty? That note seemed pretty alarming for us to not have seen here at all, especially since it was a case dealing with the heir to the throne, dont you think? I am pretty sure that Queen Victoria did no write that note. She would have no reason to sign it with the initial E.I. because she sent an officer who would never disclose any information especially when it was a case of great importance. That is why I have my suspicions that her Majesty never knew what happened to Prince Edward until he was taken home this morning. Also, why did you summon Toby when you are a great tracker yourself? Well I knew that it would be very difficult to find Prince Edward for he is an experienced hunter and knew how to hide his tracks well in order to hide from his curious wife and time was of the essence. But I needed to know where the Prince had been and who he had seen in order to determine who the main culprit was. And after listening to Ms. Sarah give her account of the night, it was ever more clear to me that the jealousy of his wife Alexandra had become poisonous and she was the one who sent him off. Do you not remember her mentioning his affairs as soon as we stepped in her presence? That is what placed her as my main suspect. Well Holmes, you impress me every time, even after I have been with you for many years. Seems like Toby here has been of good help once again Holmes then stated: "Id rather have Toby's help than that of the whole detective force in London.
retrieved the mail where I noticed another note, with the same handwriting as the last one. This one was the same size and shape, a small white card of paper with no specific indications as to the author. The only unique feature of the card was a small indented arrow on the back of the card. The note simply read, The truth will prevail, act now or suffer the consequences. This is when I began to worry for I fear that John and consequently my daughter may be mixed up in something dangerous. I have asked my daughter to confide in me and let me help understand what is going on but she claims to know nothing. This is why I have come to you Mr. Holmes. When Mr. Witticker had finished explaining his case, Holmes leaned back in his chair and nodded his head. If what you have told me in true, I believe there have been more notes then the two you have seen. Do you have these notes with you?
Yes, I have the second note that I discovered yesterday. He removed a small white card from his pocket and passed it Holmes. Holmes shined it up to the light and delicately examined both the front and back of the card. This provides to be a most unusual case. I will follow up on some observations I have made tonight, and we will proceed with the case together in the morning, Holmes said while standing up and moving to the door with Mr. Witticker. Thank you for taking on my case Mr. Holmes, your help is much appreciated, Mr. Witticker replied letting out a sigh of relief.
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After we bid Mr. Witticker farewell, I turned to my companion and inquired, What do you make of this case? It reminds me of the case with the five orange seeds or that of the dancing men, seems to be some twisted form of blackmail. Very good Watson, I see that your wit is becoming better given over the time youve spent immersed in my cases. Yes I do believe this may be a case of blackmail of some sort, but I also believe there is much more to the story. Upon observing the card you will notice that it is exactly that, a card. Rather than simply a piece of paper it is of a thicker, higher quality material. The note was not written hastily, but with much purpose and meditation. The author made no effort to hide his personal handwriting, the penmanship is meticulous. In addition, the arrow on the back of the card is most clearly a message to Mr. Laymond, an inside secret of some kind. Providing Mr. Laymond knows his black mailer personally, the author wants him to know his identity. I would suggest that the author of this note is an old friend from some secret part of Mr. Laymonds past. He is looking for revenge and wants to strike fear into Mr. Laymond before he reveals how he will act. Our goal is to catch this culprit before he turns from threats to violence. With that Sherlock sat back in his favorite armchair and turned to watch the storm. The thunder and lightning had subsided leaving but a dull quite lull of the rain. I could see from Holmes demeanor that he was lost in thought, contemplating the different angles of his new case while thumbing the little white card. I bid Holmes goodnight and retired to bed, excited for what adventures the next day might hold. I awoke the next morning to Holmes hitting me with a cane, good morning old chap! It is no time for sleep when we have a case such as this on our hands, its time to greet the day and solve a mystery, he shouted as he exited the room and made his way to the kitchen. I rushed to get ready and when I went to meet him downstairs I was shocked to not see Holmes in his regular attire, but rather dressed as someone I didnt even recognize. He was dressed as a common street beggar, complete with soot covered face and rags for clothes. He was hunched over with a scraggly beard. What I had earlier mistaken for a cane was actually a large walking stick. He hobbled over to me with a cackling laugh at my bewildered expression. With a wink he said in raspy voice I would not have placed as his own, today were departing on a little adventure. I see that this is an adventure of reconnaissance, for there must be a reason for your change in appearance I said whilst examining his new look. Aye and you are right my dear Watson. Upon some research last night and a few early morning telegrams this morning, I have a few ideas as to the nature of the blackmail cards. In order to test these theories I need to gather some final information of which you will play a pivotal role. Were going to journey over to the house of Mr. Witticker, and you are to engage him into
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Ah, Dr. Watson you have come just on time! Please help me remove and calm Mr. Rhine. With pistol drawn if necessary, Holmes calmly said as he walked over to the fighting pair, prying the supposed Mr. Rhine from strangling Mr. Laymond. I jumped in to help constrain Mr. Rhine as he continued to try to swing at Mr. Laymond. What on earth is going on here Holmes? I demanded completely bewildered at this surprising change of events. This fellow here is Mr. Benjamin Rhine. His younger brother used to be Gregory Rhine who was shot after an attempted robbery gone wrong up in Nottingham about two years ago, Holmes began to explain. I looked at Mr. Rhine, whose face was flushed with anger and a fresh wound dripping blood down his face. His expression changed from pain to rage as he yelled at Mr. Laymond, You let Gregory take the fall! Its your fault hes dead, you should have died not him. You are to blame for my families ruin! I looked over at Mr. Laymond who had sunk against the wall and help his head in his hands. He looked up, face ashen white. As tears welled in his eyes he replied in a soft whisper, Im so sorry Ben, I wanted to. Greg was more than my best friend; he was like a brother to me. After that nightI
didnt know what to do but skip town, leave behind the pain and mistakes. We had it all planned out, the bank maps, the exact time the guard would be gone from his postI cant remember what went wrong. One moment everythings going according to plan and the next, Gregs been shot and Im running for my life. I fled to London and was going to telegram you and explain, but thats when I met Elizabeth. We fell in love. It was just so much easier to leave the past behind, leave my memories of a life lived as John Andrews die with Greg he trailed off as his head sunk back into his hands. We sat there in silence for a minute then Sherlock turned to me saying, To help with your confusion Watson, dear Mr. Rhine here sought after the old John Andrews. Upon discovering his change in identity to John Laymond, he began to send the threating cards. Ah I see, the story is starting to piece itself together. Now how do we proceed? I inquired. Well I see no reason to integrate Scotland Yard as to my knowledge Mr. Rhine here is under questioning for some robberies of his own back in Nottingham, Sherlock explained whilst giving Mr. Rhine a questioning look. He in turn shot Holmes a nasty glare before letting his expression fall neutral as he avoided eye contact. Holmes continued, So if these two gentlemen can work out their own personal troubles and grudges, I see no reason to contact Lestrage. With that Holmes released Mr. Rhine, crossed his arms and waited to see how the men would react. They stared at each other for a moment then Mr. Rhine extended an arm to help Mr. Laymond up. Sherlock gave them both a nod before saying, Come along Watson, we wont want to be late for supper, and proceeded down the road towards Baker Street. I jogged along to catch up with his brisk pace. How do we know that the moment we leave they wont kill each other? I anxiously asked. We dont, curtly replied Holmes. However from what I can deduce of Mr. Rhines character, he is full of anger but would never move to fatally harm Mr. Laymond. The cards were in order to scare Laymond, he only acted in violence is a fit of rage provoked by me, Sherlock explained. Provoked by you? Do tell how you discovered the story of the late Gregory Rhine and his connection to our case. The telltale sign was the arrow on the back of the card. Being able to deduce the cards were from some figure of Laymonds past made it easy for me to deduce his origin being Nottingham. Nottingham is the home of Robin Hood, where many local vigilantes use the arrow as there symbol in contacting one another. Upon doing some digging I discovered the death of Gregory Rhine followed by the disappearance of John Andrews. The robbery and consequent series of events aligned perfectly with the appearance of John Laymond here in London. Knowing that there must be another key player that was out for vengeance, the obvious conclusion was that of the older Rhine brother. The cards exposed Rhines passive nature but also his extreme resentment and feelings of betrayal. I
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thus could deduce that Rhine must be following Laymond in order to deposit the cards in such a variety of places. The best way I could think of to draw out Mr. Rhine was first to draw out Mr. Laymond. Consequently I sent you to distract Mr. Witticker and Elizabeth, leaving time for Laymond to exit the household. Dressed as a beggar, I was undetected as I followed Mr. Laymond about the city. When I knew that you would soon be on your way, I approached Mr. Laymond claiming to know his true identity and that he was a part of the burglary that killed the young Gregory Rhine. With this the elder Mr. Rhine could not hold himself back in the shadows, but burst
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impressed, raised my glass, and toasted to the health of is incredible mind. A pretty puzzle, but you always have a way of unraveling such trifles. Well, go ahead then; how did you do it? Holmes put down his glass, still half-smirking, and folded his hands behind his back, beginning to pace like a parent lecturing an ignorant child. The simplicity of it all is enough to stagnate the mind, my friend. This coat, of a thick but good-quality fabric is of a brand known as Gordons, which is preferred by both the upper and middling classes in the United States. This is of one of their more stylish lines, and is one of the few suit coats they make. The brand is only popular in the United States, since our noble island has more refined tastes. As to its origin in the southern country, there are distinct sweat marks on the armpit, and the neckline, and faint traces of red clay on the inside of the coat tails, a class of soil only found in the south eastern United States. Whoever this fellow is, he has spent enough of his time in America to have permanent dirt stains, and distinct sweat marks, despite repeated washings. As to his falling from a well-paying job, you can see distinctly in the pocket where he would have kept his wallet a particular wearing of the fabric that indicates a billfold bulging with money you also, no doubt detected the faint hint of sadlewood leather. However, the indentation is aged, indicating that his wallet has seen fatter days, and has been rather thin of late. But such a meticulous fellow could not have lost his job because of sloth or disorganization. The coat has unmistakable fold marks from routine and meticulous care, and there are indentations and pattern marks from the leather needlework on the wallet, and the damascene relief on his watch, which he invariably kept in his right and left jacket pockets, respectively. As to his retention of the position of clerk, youll notice his right cuff has been worn from continual writing, and the sleeve has faint ink marks youll notice this as another indication of his meticulous nature - a less careful man would leave the marks as they were, but he takes care to scrub them out. Also, these smell faintly of mint, indicating his peculiar but classy habit of scenting his hands. The penetrating scent of the jacket is of pine beams, which most of the ramshackle apartments in Camden town are constructed out of, but there is a subtle piscatorial scent, which I recognize as raw tilapia just north of the Thames in Westminster is a tilapia vendor who works adjacent to several small trade shops, each of which could accommodate a good clerk. As to his age and stress, I found no less than 10 long but perfectly mousebrown hairs in the rim of the collar, stems still attached. How else could he have lost these if not by stress-induced hair loss? If the man is losing this much hair in an hour, he will soon resemble our friend Mr. Thaddeus Sholto! So there you have it, my friend simplicity itself! He straightened up and downed the rest of the contents of his glass. Now, he began, If I am to learn anything about this fellow, and his tie to our beloved manuscript, I ought to meet him.
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I? I inquired, having recovered from the temporary pang of amusement at his meticulous way of solving cases, It seems that usually you prefer my company on such mysteries as this. And God knows I enjoy being in your service. Holmes long-stepped over to his coatrack, and took his hat and light overcoat from the pegs. As you may and so I do. But Americans, particularly out of their native land, are suspicious folk, and it might be best if I go to see him alone. The fact that he left his coat on the curb, as well as his loose hair in the collar proves him to be a frightful fellow, and a tense moment means a tenser tongue. An easy manner and a sharp wit can get you almost any information, provided you have the wherewithal to know how to use them. Ill pop in on you tomorrow in the afternoon and let you know how the case is progressing. But Holmes, I began, you know perfectly well that I have to tend to my rounds tomorrow. I won't be finished until 9:00 at the earliest. He gave me a sly sidelong glance as he made the final adjustments to his collar and cuff-buttons. Oh, he said, Im sure I can get you out of it. Ill find you around 5:00, wherever you are. And with a smart half-turn, and a quick smile, he stepped out with two long, loping steps, and slid the door behind him. By the next morning, I had forgotten the whole affair, and was making my rounds as was usual for Tuesdays. By a quarter past 5:00, I was walking along the base of Primrose Hill when I saw a commotion ahead of me at the edge of the stone wall on the southern rink. Rushing to the fray, I perceived a massively built fellow with long steel-colored hair and a tanned but heavily lined face lying on the sidewalk, a hand clutched to his side and a huge red stain of blood on the ground beside him. As he rocked, he moaned and made utterances that sounded Russian. When I asked what had happened, someone said he had fallen only moments earlier, and needed a doctor desperately. Rushing to a passing street arab, I produced a half-crown and told him to go to the local telegraph station and request a wire to the local hospitals with the information that Dr. Watson would be attending a seriously sick man and could not finish his rounds. Presently, I helped the huge fellow shuffle across the street to an inn, where I acquired a room to administer to his wounds. As we entered the humble space, and I shut the door, a familiar hearty laugh came from the man I had just lain down on the bed. I whirled around to see Holmes thin aquiline face emerging from behind the fake beard and toupee, perched atop a huge body not his own. My dear Watson, do my disguises still throw you? he laughed again as he undid the strings holding up his massive fake torso and became his old size as the cover slipped from under his shirt. I passed a hand over my face is despair. Holmes, you made me lose a patient, and if I get going, I might miss all the others!
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We stepped gingerly into the cabin and closed the latch behind us. 36 Steele Road Holmes barked, and we rattled off into the night at a clipper pace. Our destination is none other than the residence of Dr. James Edenton, Holmes Explained. As the museums curator, he lives in a house provided by the museum society, and tends to his studies there. Our examination should yield significant new light on our case, but we shall see what we shall see. And at this, he commenced to fill his pipe. As we sped along, my old companion sat back in his seat, hands folded in front of his chest, eyes gently closed, with his mouth partly open in an expression of concentration that belied an intense focus on his thin face. I still marvel at his ability to detach himself from the physical aspect of a situation and focus solely on the facts of a case. Knowing any attempt at conversation would be futile, I contented myself to looking out at the pervasive yet ephemeral gloom so characteristic of London Town. As I watched the silhouettes of my countrymen pass in the night, I contemplated on the injustice of the crime committed. To the casual reader, the robbing of an old Bible may seem like such a trivial and unimportant affair, but to me, the old manuscript was, at the time, an object of national pride. Those tattered leaves of parchment and weathered leather covers are more than just dusty relics; they were part of the historical fiber of our island. A thread of national history that holds the garb of pride together that all Britons carry in their hearts and minds. Or so I saw it at the time. My mind burned for the criminal who wished to take that away, but by heart brimmed with hope as I looked back at my friend still meditating in his peculiar manner on the solution to our complex puzzle. I knew that if anyone could, Holmes would see justice served. But before our adventure came to an end, I was to learn a lesson in pride more potent than any I had received before. We pulled down a long wide drive, and came to a halt at a squat brick post with tile markers that read Dr. James Edenton, 36 Steele Road. Having paid our cabby, we ambled down the private walk, and watched a respectable looking three-story brick house emerge from the gloom. A light was on in the second floor, and a man working at a desk was just perceptible through the dense fog. Just as I suspected, said Holmes. I was going to inquire what he meant by this, but we had soon reached the front door and I proceeded to ring the bronze doorbell. After about a minute, we heard a slow shuffling of feet approaching the door, which opened backward with a creak as a deep but tired-sounding voice form within said May I help you, gentlemen? At first, the relative darkness of the interior hall masked our peculiar resident, but as our eyes adjusted, we perceived our man more clearly. He was somewhat shorter than I expected, being just under six feet tall, but his gaunt body made him seem taller than he was. His black waist-coat and trousers were both quite worn, but had been well cared for and neatly brushed. His cuffs were rolled to the elbow, and despite
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the warmth of the day, he wore ink-stained fingerless gloves over his hands. His long black hair was tied back with a crude thread, revealing a face that was not long and sinister, as I was expecting, but round and kindly, with twinkling eyes, and a long black beard that reached to his waist. His skin was pale, but not unnatural, and though the bones showed through his hands and face, he carried himself with humble yet dignified manner that belied a well-educated, yet not over-impressed gentleman. Though the years of experience with my friend told me not to trust gut feeling without facts, I felt strongly that this man was not the criminal we were pursuing. Why, yes, replied Holmes, My name is Sherlock Holmes, and this is my friend and companion, Dr. John Watson. I was just wondering if you would object to us coming in to ask you a few questions regarding a recent loss of a particular manuscript at the museum. A shadow passed over the mans face, and his kindly eyes were downcast. I should have expected this, eventually, I heard him mumble as he admitted us into his dark hall. I apologize for the darkness of my home, he said, I prefer to keep the gas turned low so that I have more money to spend on my hobby the hunt for new documents and manuscripts or the museum. Its pence on the pound, but every bit counts, so they say. As he was speaking, he led us down the dim hall to a red carpeted stairwell which we ascended to a glimmering light where we perceived his office to be. We entered to find a large room with a single window next to a large oaken desk with very neatly stacked leather volumes of all kinds surrounding a swivel chair that sat adjacent to a large bookcase and a pair of identical leather easy chairs, one worn, and the other as pristine as if it had been purchased the day before. The musty smell of old paper and used books filled the room, invoking an atmosphere of academic propriety and studiousness. You can take a seat if you like, Mr. Edenton said and motioned to the pair of armchairs, as he took his ease in the swivel chair by the desk. Out of deference for Holmes, I moved for the worn chair, but Holmes stopped me, sliding into the battered leather slowly, and shifting around until he settled, I suspect to get a better feel for our interviewee. He noticed Mr. Edenton watching him quizzically, and replied in earnest, Forgive me, but rheumatism has deigned a specific taste in seating accommodations. Now, if I may, there are a few questions I have regarding the missing Guttenberg Bible. Mr. Edenton finished. He looked up from his folded hands and his formerly grave face had become even graver. Mr. Holmes, I have heard of your success in solving cases, such as the business with Mr. Jefferson Hope, and I know it is futile to attempt to hide the truth from your meticulous and thorough methods. All I ask is that if I tell you who stole the manuscript, you dont deliver him directly to the law. Please give him one more chance. Holmes leaned forward, his easy countenance suddenly serious. I am sorry, Mr. Edenton, but my life
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vengeance for those who have no voice, but to carry out his valiant crusade, he must break English law, and be brought to injustice by a system that clams a monopoly on justice. Once again the patriotic fire rose within me. Holmes, how could you! I ejaculated. Oh, open your eyes, Watson, he said. How is it that you think men of our class can live so highly? Subjugation by a stronger power has always been the norm, but as moral beings we have a duty do what we can to stop it, or at least scale down its ferocity. Patriotism is a mere excuse for violence and destruction. It is an impediment to reason, and a stumbling block to equitable governing. I admit that this fellow is in the wrong for stealing a national possession, but he is by no means wrong in rebelling against the powers of subjugation in this world. I only wish I could help him somehow. I was about to protest, but just then a cab pulled alongside us, and we hailed it. On our silent ride back to 221b Baker Street, I was at first appalled and angry at my friend for speaking out so brashly against his own homeland, and would have refused to speak to him, even if he had attempted a conversation. However, as I pondered over his words, I began to see the reason in his argument. I still did not agree that our criminal was in the right, but I began to see the injustice in the actions of my own country against the peoples of the nations we had conquered. As we rode back, I began to ask, what is it all for, but for pride? Indeed, what is pride, but an impediment to advancement, both personal and national? By the end of our ride, I had greatly changed my perspective. When we reached Baker Street, and Holmes disembarked, I had so much to ask and discuss with him, but only managed to inquire, Are you still going to pursue this fellow? Holmes paused for a moment, his hand still on the rail of the cab, the shadow cast by the dim streetlamp burning though the nocturnal London haze, covering his eyes, leaving the ghostly line of his mouth abandoned like a stern ribbon resting on his long chin. Yes, he said, but I have never been more conflicted about serving the law than I have in this case. Be here at 9:00 sharp tomorrow morning and we may yet have our man. Part 3 I arrived next morning to find my friend sitting in an armchair, chin in his left hand, newspaper in his right, staring intently out the window of our old living space with a grave and foreboding expression on his long face. I passed the neglected breakfast, and joined him by the window. I saw your ad in the paper, for the owner of a small Chinese manuscript to come by our apartment by 9:20 this morning. I said, trying to get some response out of him. If he is as attached to is as James led us to believe, I think well see him before long. Holmes took a deep breath, and let it out slowly and deliberately. Such a simple trap always works, my dear
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Watson. The simpler a scheme, the more effective. My question is what I will do with this noble rat then he has taken the bait and the net has fallen. You know I serve justice in the name of the law, and by that alone, this man has every right to be locked up. But he serves an ideal much higher than Lestrade, Gregson, or most of Scotland Yard and the British Judiciary System can imagine; the cause of freedom for his fellow man. If this man is put away, museums and private collections may be saved of financial calamity, but an idealist will be shut out and shut up. Its a sticky business at times, working for the law, but their constraints bear so little room for alteration that I have no choice but to turn this fellow in. He turned to face me, and I could see his eyes were weary and in want of sleep. The faintest hint of a smile appeared on his lips. Perhaps youre right perhaps overuse of cocaine has caught up with me at last, and interfering with my capacity to reason by superfluous emotion at last. He turned his eyes to the street again and the former grave expression appeared on his face. Still At once he straightened up. Here he comes. Said Holmes. I rose to get my revolver, but Holmes stopped me. Dont bother, Watson. Weve insulted this idealist enough by tricking him into come here. As anticipated, Alfred Edenton rang the bell and ascended the flight of stairs seconds after Holmes and I had spoken. When he rapped at our door, and was called to come in, the man who appeared was in almost every respect a copy of his brother. The same general worn yet well-cared for clothing, the same gaunt figure, long fingered, and thin-bodied strode into the room. Like his brother, he sported a long black beard, though his was somewhat more dirty and unkempt, his long hair pulled back behind the ears. Despite the similarity, however, Holmes and I knew this was our man by his eyes. Though his back was slightly bent, probably from years on the run, his brilliant green eyes shone with a deep inner passion reminiscent of the fiery wildness of the Amazon natives, but rather than sexual passion, these shone with a resolve shaped by persecution, and knowledge therein. They gave the impression of being honed by hardship, and made bright by courage. I was astonished by the effect of this contrast, and was jolted when Holmes coolly asked, Good morning, my good sir, I expect you are here to respond to my ad in the paper. The man stared directly at me, and then directly at Holmes, his brilliant eyes piercing our mask of wellpracticed civility. After a moment of silence, he bent his head, and shuffled his shoes. I know why you have called me here, and you are right in doing so for the constraints of the laws in this country. I have been to see my brother and he has convinced me to turn myself over. Otherwise, I would have been more cautious in my response to such a ploy to gain my company. Still, your reputation precedes you, Mr. Holmes and I know you always catch your man. But before you lock me up, let it be known that I never wished harm on any man or woman, and I only sought to deliver a sentimental
At this, my friend turned his head up slowly and looked directly into my eyes. The faintest hint of a smug grin played across his pale complexion and held for a mere five seconds. He then tucked into his meal with gusto. I do not claim to know what became of Mr. Edenton, nor Holmes connection to his escape, and conjuring assumptions therein can be a dangerous business. All I know is that since then, Holmes has received a parcel each March addressed from China containing a puzzle, a
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serve higher ideals than those represented by national law I laud his morality, if he has such a thing. For my part, I am contented that for a few evenings out of each year, my friend leaves the cocaine bottle for some eclectic oriental puzzle. In the least, that is something to take comfort in.
The woman looked surprised at my friends knowledge, shifted her weight forward, and replied, My name is Adelaide Darlington, and I came to you immediately Mr. Holmes, for my second cousin, Violet Hunter, referred me to you with highest regard. Holmes replied, I quite clearly remember the unusual predicament of your cousin, Mrs. Darlington. Please tell my associate Watson and me what it is that so troubles
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you Mrs. Darlington. I hope that you have not become entangled in such a strange group of people as your cousin found herself. Mrs. Darlington started, As a matter of fact I believe it is a very cunning group of people from my past that has come back to haunt me. Let me begin by telling you what has just occurred this morning. I am intrigued Mrs. Darlington. Do give me your full account, replied Holmes. I awoke to an empty house as usual, for my husband leaves for work at the bank each day long before the sun has risen. When I was on my way to read by the fireplace in the main room, I was pleasantly surprised, for on the table in the foyer was a small box. I was filled with happiness, for I believed that my husband had left me a small token of his affection for me on Valentines Day. I opened the box to find a beautiful set of four exquisite chocolates. Without a second thought, I took a bite of one of the chocolates, and that is the last thing I remember! I woke up almost a full hour later on the floor of my bedroom, close to the door. When I stood up, I felt disoriented, but I rushed to the main room, for I keep my most valuable and treasured possession, a headband, behind one of the thickest books at the top of the bookshelf. Some of the books on the lower cases had been removed, and my headband was missing! I knew my husband would not return from work until the evening, and after calling Violet for your information, I came straight to you. I looked over at Holmes, and knew that he had easily taken in each of the details of the story, which reminded me very much of the Scandal in Bohemia, when Irene Adler frantically rushed to retrieve her hidden photograph and save it from being destroyed in a fire. Do you have this box of chocolates with you? It would be extremely helpful to me if I could examine it. She reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out a small white rectangle, with a heart impression on the front. He reached over to the lady and gently took the small box from her, gazing at it intently for a moment before opening up its lid, smelling the outside and inside of the box and delicately touching the chocolates. After about a minute of examination, he replaced the lid and politely prompted her, saying, Tell me more about this headband of yours and the crafty people you have previously alluded to. Three years ago, I had a very different life. I was not married, and I had a very exciting and fast-paced career, for I was the only tightrope walker in a traveling circus. I always had an interest in tightrope walking ever since attending the circus with my father as a young girl. I took up the hobby at the tender age of thirteen, never believing it would become the center of my existence. Years of practice caught the attention of Zippos Circus; the very one I attended as a child. Upon joining, my skills caught the attention of the other performers and the ringmaster, and by the end of my first year, my act became the center of the show. I was blessed to be physically agile, and mentally prepared. At one time I could walk a rope that was fifty feet above the ground in a fashion that seemed effortless. The rope became the center feature of the tent,
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begins each day. Please put on the suit that you wear when you make rounds to your patients homes. I groggily rolled out of my bed, wondering all the while how my friend could spend long periods of time without sleep during his most puzzling cases. We stepped through the front door onto Baker Street into the cool morning air. Holmes easily hailed a cabby, whom he directed to exit London upon the main Avenue. Throughout the ride, Holmes puffed constantly on his pipe, while we sat in silence. He only broke the quiet once to inform me of his plan for our mission. We will be posing as health inspectors today Watson, he said. This allows us to be where the general public is not allowed. Specifically, we will be allowed to see the back-stage areas of circus, while appearing harmless to the circus folk, quite suspicious people as I have come to understand. I decided this was the best alternative to going as ourselves, which would most certainly put them on alert. Ah, here we are now. Our hansom had just cleared a stretch of tall oaks, and before us was a vast expanse of grass, still wet with the dew of the morning. Straight-ahead and taking up the widest portion in the middle of the green was an enormous rainbow-colored tent, with various flags billowing softly in the breeze. We pulled up next to the tent and stepped down into the bustling atmosphere. All around were people making preparations for the day ahead. A group of women, wearing sparkling leotards and holding colorful batons was chatting. A man with a long beard strolled by, carrying a small boy playing a harpsichord on his shoulders. After only moments, a small, round man with peppered hair and a jovial bounce in his step approached. Reaching out and pumping each of our hands heartily, he said, Inspector Cooper I presume? Mr. Mitchell, head of the London Department of Health, notified me that you were coming. I am Mr. Abner Anderson, Assistant Director of Entertainment of this spectacular show. Pleased to meet you, responded Holmes. This is Mr. Watson, he will be accompanying me today as part of his training. We are pleased to have you, responded Anderson enthusiastically. He led us into the largest part of the tent through an enormous opening in the tarp. A large sign overhead displayed the name Zippos in giant red and yellow blinking lights. This is the main arena, where the magic happens! exclaimed Anderson, smiling proudly. Facing a large expanse of aromatic mulch was a towering set of wooden bleachers. The emptiness of the tent was complete, sparing a young teenage boy who was sweeping debris from the bleachers. It was eerily silent except for the sound of the wind beating the outside of the canvass tent. The season is in full swing, and this afternoon will be a spectacular show! Perhaps you would like to stay. I can promise you will not be disappointed in our spectacular displays. Yes, indeed, I think we will, replied Holmes, as he walked throughout the rows of bleachers, scribbling notes in his leather notepad. He seemed to be surveying the scene, playing the role of inspector convincingly by occasionally wiping his finger
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on a bench or nodding his head. As Anderson chatted on about his pride in the circus, I thought about Holmes and knew that he was reviewing the details of the case in his mind. After making our rounds, Holmes shut his notepad and Anderson cheerily offered, Shall we move on to the animal crates? He led us outside to a long row of covered cages varying in size. The air was thick with the smell of dung. In the first cage was an old, tired-looking orangutan, sitting hunched over with his back to us. He was holding an apple in front of his white chest, and chewing slowly. He stopped to glance at us as we walked by. As we passed from cage to cage, we witnessed an array of creatures, including a pair of giraffes and an ambling elephant accompanied by her small, wrinkled baby. We had come to the end of the row, when the clunk of hooves announced the presence of a beautiful, white stallion, being led by a young woman. The woman and the horse were adorned with matching headdresses, with one long, baby pink feather. The legs of the horse and the wrists of the woman were entwined in gleaming silver bands. Only when they were next to us did I realize that the woman was half the height of the horse. What a nice surprise! exclaimed Anderson, Inspector Cooper, Mr. Watson, we have gotten lucky enough to meet the star of our show, the fantastic Phoebe Rider. Her almond shaped eyes were dark, yet kind, and she smiled broadly saying, Its a pleasure to meet you. Duchess and I are on the way to the practice field. She patted the horse affectionately on the forehead. If you will excuse us, we have a few tricks to work on prior to show time. We have been in Canada for a show this past week, and Duchess has not had nearly as much practice as she normally does. She half curtsied, before clicking her tongue and setting off with her partner. She is the pride of our circus. Her performance is absolutely marvelous! said Anderson. Now if you are satisfied with your inspection thus far, I will escort you to our last stop before the show, the dressing room. Holmes adjusted his glasses, smiled and said, Yes, I think that will be fine, but in my friends eyes I could see that he was brimming with anticipation. A short walk across the bright field brought us to a long chain of smaller white tents. It was now a short time until the show would begin, and the area was humming with anticipation, as performers of all shapes and sizes walked briskly about. Bordering the interior of the tents were around 50 identical wooden dressing tables, each with its own large mirror. We passed an unusually tall man wearing a white suit. He stood next to a wooden stool on which a smaller man stood, securing a small black hat to his curly hair. The helper was an extremely thin, middle aged man who could not be more than four feet tall, and his appearance was particularly peculiar due to the fact that his wrinkled face was painted white, while his eyes were lined with black. It was a curious and exhilarating scene like none I have ever seen before or since. As the preoccupied Mr. Anderson explained that this was the area where all performers don and change
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The matter really was not very complex. I simply began with the facts that we already had, strung them together, and then was able to come up with a reasonable and testable hypothesis. The fact that we had a clear picture of our thief from the story Mrs. Darlington told us was very helpful, and I used it as my starting point. It was most probable that the thief was petite, because I determined that the culprit had extraordinarily small, delicate hands. I believed it to be a woman who was responsible because of the strong scent of perfume on the box. It was most reasonable to think that this woman was a part of the circus, as this would account for the motive, and give the thief a reason to resent Mrs. Darlingtons success. When we arrived here, it was by chance that we came across Ms. Rider. I had done my research on acts in the circus, and she was the only performer who fit the profile. I knew that the only place the performers keep their personal belongings are their dressing tables. I was sure it would not be difficult to create a distraction, and I knew it was her dressing table when I saw the initials P.R. engraved on the drawer. I was ever so pleased with your discreet investigation, and without your efforts we would not have solved this crime. Impressed by his logical deductions, I replied, Holmes, your logical deduction never fails to amaze me! I thought that Ms. Rider fit the description as well, so I
am not entirely surprised that she was the culprit after all. Drawing a pipe from his pocket, Holmes smiled, saying There is one crucial piece of information that you seem to have overlooked, which makes it apparent that Ms. Rider was not the thief at all, Watson, but rather has been framed by the actual culprit. Ah, there is the wily man himself! I looked to the middle of the arena, to find a clown-like group of people dressed in dark garments. Holmes pointed to a small man standing amongst them. I recognized that he was the peculiar, petite man we had seen in the dressing room with a white face and blacklined eyes. He was smashing a pie into the face of the orangutan we had seen in the cage earlier that afternoon. The crowd was wildly laughing and clapping at the circus opening act. But how can you possibly know that this man is our thief? What evidence is there that indicates this man perpetrated this crime, when all the facts you have told me seem to point to Ms. Rider? Removing his glasses, and placing them in his pocket, Holmes responded thoughtfully, I have to admit, Watson, that I believed her to be the primary suspect, until I learned of her whereabouts this week. When she told me that she was in Canada at a horse show, I knew that she could not possibly have carried out this crime. I began to think of other possibilities, and that was when something so obvious occurred to me. The person who committed the crime must be another member of the circus, who was resentful of the fame and fortune of Mrs. Darlington, and who might also be resentful of Ms. Rider. In order to have revenge on both of these women simultaneously, he crafted the clever plan of stealing Mrs. Darlingtons gemstone, while framing Ms. Rider. Another seemingly trivial piece of evidence helped me come to a conclusion about who this schemer could be. The white hair that we found on the box of the chocolates is a perfect match to the hair from the chest of the orangutan, who happens to be the companion of that small clown. The clown has petite hands and a strange, perfume-like odor matching that found on the box of chocolates, which I observed as we passed him in the dressing room. All of this seems quite logical indeed, now that you have explained it to me, I replied, although I fail to understand how you filled in each gap so perfectly. It is really no occasion for great congratulation, Watson. That being said, I do greatly appreciate your role in the matter today, which was so crucial. But please do not miss this most-exciting act. I returned my attention to the clown show, and several moments later, a bright spotlight beamed up towards the top of the tent. Framed in the circle of light was a small figure poised gracefully atop a thin rope. At closer inspection I could clearly see the gleaming of a red stone upon the figures forehead. I frantically reached into my pocket to find that the stone was in fact gone. It was then that I knew that the heart of the circus had been restored to its rightful owner, and the brave beauty atop the wire was Mrs. Darlington herself! I looked to my companion to find that he was beaming in pride. I should
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not have been so surprised at this clever solution, as Holmes never passed up the opportunity to create a theatrical ending. I thought it wise to send a telegram to Mrs. Darlington yesterday, asking if she was up for one last performance. She traveled here shortly after we arrived this morning. I took the headband from your pocket shortly after my asthma attack, and I was able to transfer it to her as she passed on our way back here. This surely is one of the most spectacular finales I have ever experienced! I exclaimed. It surely was quite the ending! Holmes replied in agreement. And what is
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Mrs. Harris, I am terribly sorry for your loss, I am very glad that you have come to me in the matter, please take a seat. Why thank you Mr. Holmes. From your introduction it is obvious that you know why I am here then. You have indeed heard of my husbands murder? Yes madam I have. Very well then. Mr. Holmes, I know how you work so let me just start from the beginning of my story back in when I was a child. I was born in Cambridge, England, and was very privileged growing up. My grandfather moved to Cambridge from America and had very little to his name. He worked hard to earn what he has now and because of his dedication, my family is well to do and my father, having inherited my grandfathers business, is quite successful. In Cambridge, my family lives very close to the University and that is where I met Joseph. My family and I were in town for lunch one day during the school year and Joseph happened to be in the same caf, it was love at first sight. We sat and talked for hours in the little caf on the side of the road and we ended up getting married within the next couple of months. Joseph, of course, was still enrolled at the University to become a lawyer and had to finish out his schooling but after he graduated with a degree in law, we moved in together in a house nearby in Cambridge. With the help and influence of my father, Joseph was able to obtain a job at one of the local law firms and within the year we were blessed with our first child,
Ethan. Things were steady over the next couple years and we had our second child, Violet. We remained in our first home for around ten years where we were a quite comfortable and happy family but then I noticed that something was bothering Joseph. He seemed constantly distracted and within the month he landed his dream job, that of the company owner of a major law firm in downtown London, Barlow Lyde & Gilbert. I was ecstatic and so were the children but something was definitely still occupying my husbands attention. After a couple of years at his new job, we were fortunate enough to be able to move into a spacious new house in Buckinghamshire, England out in the country where we had more room and infinitely more privacy. In all truthfulness, I have never been happier in my life. I absolutely loved our new house and I believed that it really suited our family perfectly. Joseph eventually calmed down and for the past year, everything has been going quite smoothly. Since moving to Buckinghamshire, Joseph and I have gotten into a routine after he returned from a long day at the office. He would typically return home around 8 in the evening and he would immediately retire to the library and sit in front of the fire for thirty minutes to an hour and have a cup of tea to relax and relieve some stress. He would do this every night after he came home from work, and so I could see him more often, I would take the tea from the maid and bring it up to him myself and sit and talk to him about his day. From there we would come downstairs and he would eat dinner and by then it would be time for everyone to head off to bed for it would be quite late. Last week on Wednesday, my husband came home at his usual time and followed his same routine. He took off his coat and hat and went upstairs to the library to sit in front of the fire. I acquired the tea from the maid and had just given it to Joseph when I realized I had forgotten that I wanted to show him something from that mornings newspaper. I got up and left the library, closing the door behind me, and descended the stairs back down to the sitting room where I had left the morning paper. I was gone from the room for five, maybe ten minutes, and when I came back upstairs he was still sitting in his chair but he was covered in his own blood, motionless. I immediately started screaming for help, dropped my newspaper and ran over to him to see if I could do anything even though I knew it was too late to save him. I really have no clue how it happened Mr. Holmes; there is only one entrance to the library and that is the door that I left from. In order for anyone in the house to get to the library, they would have passed me going down the stairs. The police were notified right away and they were at my house within the hour. It has been two days Mr. Holmes and yet, no one seems to be finding any answers so I have come to you. Please will you help me find whoever murdered my husband? Mrs. Harris finished her question in a sob as her strong appearance slowly crumbled, beneath her confident
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physique the grieving widow who had just recently lost the love of her life was coming through. I looked at Sherlock Holmes and could tell that he was already contemplating over the evidence and there was no doubt that he was going to take the case. I walked over and offered Mrs. Harris my handkerchief which she gladly took to dry off her face. When she had composed herself she glanced in the direction of Holmes to see if he had an answer to her final question. Of course myself and Watson will look into your husbands murder, Mrs. Harris, thank you for coming and sharing your story. Please, return home before it gets too late and I will wire you in the morning. As soon as she left Holmes turned to me, Watson, I know you have had a long day but I would greatly appreciate it if you were to join me tomorrow in my trip to Buckinghamshire, it would be a considerable service to me if you were to help in this case. Why Holmes, you know how it excites me to accompany you in your adventures, I would be delighted to join. Well then, Watson be ready to go in the morning, I have a feeling that we will have an eventful day tomorrow. The next day I woke up around 8 in the morning, when I usually rise for work, to find that Holmes hadnt moved from his position in which I left him last night. The room was thick with smoke and upon entering the sitting room, I immediately found it difficult to breathe. Holmes had apparently been awake all night, contemplating the details that Mrs. Sidney Elaine Harris had given us so suddenly the night before.
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immersed in the knife that Lestrade had handed him upon entering the kitchen. Holmes had turned over the blade multiple times taking in every detail and memorizing every scratch and design. Lestrade was about to continue when Holmes interrupted , Lestrade what do you make of the initials here on the pommel of the knife? E.S.A. Holmes those are surely not relevant to the case, why would I care about the initials on the butt of a knife? Besides, they show no connection to Mrs. Sidney Elaine Harris at all, trust me, they are of no importance. I think they will prove to be much less trivial than you claim them to be, however, it is late, both Watson and I have had a long day full of travelling, I think that it time we retire to the inn down the street. The inn that we were staying at was within walking distance from the Harris mansion and it took Holmes and I 10 minutes to reach on foot. After checking in, Holmes and I ate a quick dinner and then retired into our respective rooms. I tried to fall asleep but the pieces of information about this case kept me awake. I couldnt help from going back to Lestrades theory that Mrs. Harris had indeed murdered her own husband and the more that I thought about it, the facts seemed to pile up against her. However, what Holmes had said about the initials on the knife and their importance made me think that he had another theory that would soon be revealed. I woke up the next day to find a note slipped under my door from Holmes. It read as such: Watson, please have a lovely day and enjoy the country side, I should be back around three in the afternoon. Holmes. This was typical of Holmes, going off on his own in search of more information. With all of this free time, I was unsure of what I was going to do so I decided to take a walk. It was a lovely spring morning, the countryside was filled with wild flowers of all different colors. There were patches of periwinkles, lavenders, yellows, oranges, and reds dotting the open spaces throughout the forest. The birds were in full activity, hustling around trying to find food for the small chirps that were coming from the tops of the trees. It seemed as if everything was in harmony and I lost myself in the beauty of it all. After a while, I realized that I had been outside for a while because the position of the sun had changed drastically so I decided to head back to the inn to see if Sherlock had returned from his day of adventures. Fortunately, I didnt have to wait very long. Holmes arrived back at the inn within the next hour however, when he walked in, I at first did not recognize him. He was in a fine suit, clean shaven, and his hair was even slicked back. This is the nicest that I had ever seen him dress and its probably the cleanest hes ever been. I knew not to ask him about his days movements, if he wanted me to know then he would tell me and because, I assume,
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they pertain to the case at hand, they will soon be shared. He dressed back into his normal attire, however it was nice that he still seemed clean. Watson, we should soon make our way back to the Harris mansion if we are to stop Lestrade before he foolishly arrests Mrs. Harris for the murder of her own husband. With this statement it was confirmed to me that whatever knowledge Holmes had gained from his adventures today was enough to close this case. We hurriedly walked back to the house of Mrs. Harris and found Lestrade. Lestrade, I would be much obliged if you could help me to carry out a theory that I have about this case. Could you have all of your men pretend to leave the house around 5 and have them wait hidden, off of the property? Lestrade knew that when Holmes had a theory, he was usually correct although it also usually meant that he himself was on the wrong track. He told all of his men the plan and they carried it through. Holmes then brought Lestrade, Mrs. Harris, and I up to the library and we stood in the far corner of the room so that we were in the shadows and could barely be seen from the armchair or the front of the room. Lestrade was just about to comment on how ridiculous this seemed but then we all heard a noise; a small noise, but a very distinguishable noise. It was that of footsteps and they sounded as if they were coming closer. Lestrade, Mrs. Harris, and I all seemed utterly confused because we were unsure of where the footsteps were coming from and to whom they belonged. I stole a glance at my companion and the light in his eyes let me know that this was what he was expecting to happen. All of a sudden, the bookshelf directly behind the arm chair swung outwards and from behind there came a short, stout man whose air was that of an upper classman. He was dressed in a fairly nice suit, leather shoes, and was tiptoeing around the room, apparently looking for something. Less than a minute had gone by, Lestrade, Mrs. Harris, and myself unmovable due to shock, then we came to our senses. Lestrade immediately strode from the corner and while our new acquaintance tried to escape the way that he had so stealthily come, Lestrade grabbed him before he was able to reach the bookshelf. Monsieur Lestrade, let me introduce you to Sir Edward Seamus Adlam, the murderer of Sir Joseph Robert Harris. With this, he walked out of the library and I followed him. By the end of the night, we were comfortably back at home on Baker St. relaxing in the main room. I was still in awe over how Holmes was able to solve this case, even though the evidence seemed so few. Holmes recognized my curiousness and remarked, Watson, I do believe some sort of explanation is in order. I guess I shall begin with the library itself. From here I was able to obtain three main clues that led my theory. The first was the water stain that was also present on the floor right behind the vase of flowers, this suggested that
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jealousy and hatred for having his house and kicking him out of his job. With that he rose from his upholstered armchair where he was lounging while the story played out in my head and announced that he was going to try to get some sleep. Watson I suggest that you do the same because we dont know what tomorrow will bring.
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It is a case of much importance, he replied. The residents have been much disturbed by the situation. Many believe that the grotesque scene was the doing of a group of pagans, intended as an offering to the gods, and they fear that the event may repeat itself. The body was that of Samuel Cromwell, a wealthy man who had made his money in banking and died only a few weeks ago. He was liked well enough so that we cannot seem to find any enemies that may have wished to mutilate his body in this way. As he was a widower and had no children, there are few which knew him. He lived only with his caretaker, Benjamin Hughes, the caretakers wife, and a few servants. As Im sure you have read in the newspaper, the grave was surrounded with curious shapes carved into the damp ground. Around the grave where the body had been unearthed, there was a circle of blood. Furthermore, scattered around the grave, there were small bones, which we believe to be of a chicken or some type of small animal. Other than these obvious observations from the crime scene, we have yet to find any clue which may direct us to the person, or perhaps group of people, which have been the source of so much fear in the community. I think it is best that we go observe the scene directly now if you have no more details to share with us at present. Very well, Mr. Holmes, I have a cab waiting for us just downstairs. We walked down the stairs onto the foggy street with Inspector Lestrade hurriedly leading the way, stepped into a hansom cab, and were on our way to the graveyard. We rattled down the misty streets quickly, but the ride was still a rather long one. In approximately an hours time, we had arrived. Stepping out of the cab, my feet squished into the moist ground which was still quite muddy from the recent rain. A low layer of fog covered the ground, creating an eerie atmosphere. From a distance, we could see the piles of fresh over turned earth around the grave were the body had been exhumed. Walking up to the grave, Holmes questioned the inspector, How many people have been allowed to walk about the grave? I have been the only one to directly approach the hole itself, and an officer has made sure to guard the site in my absence. We thought it best to preserve the scene, and obtain your expertise before tampering with any evidence that may be of use to you. Pleased by the slight compliment, Holmes gave a quick smile and gave a muttered Very well, as he began to closely observe the grave. As the newspaper had reported, small symbols had been inscribed in the muddy earth. One was a star surrounded by a circle. Another appeared to be two double ended forks, crossed in the shape of an X. Around the entire grave, small bones were scattered, and a large ring of blood soaked into the earth around the recently made hole. Holmes paced about the grave quickly, every so often dropping to the ground to observe some small detail, and
The man is approximately five feet and ten inches tall, and smokes Griname brand tobacco. He is relatively poor, but was once not bad off. He has a small amount of medical knowledge. At this point, Watson and I will go back to Baker Street. If you would be so kind as to call around 6 in the evening tomorrow, I believe I will be able to sort this matter out for you. Without giving the inspector time to respond, he walked hurriedly away toward the hansom cab that was waiting for us, and I quickened my pace to catch up with him. We rode back to Baker Street in silence. Although I was curious about the reasoning behind his deductions, I knew better than to disrupt him as he sat quietly thinking with his eyes closed, weighing the probabilities of his varying theories. I waited patiently until he was ready to discuss his results. In the last ten minutes of the cab ride, his eyes suddenly opened and he turned toward me. I appreciate your waiting, Watson. I noticed, by your habit of pressing your thumbs together as your hands are clasped, you were quite anxious to understand my deductions. Well Watson, as you also observed the graveyard, what do you believe to be my reasoning for the deductions I made today? Well, as for the height of the man, I imagine you merely used the length of his stride to calculate his height. I assume the brand of the tobacco was deduced from some ashes you found in the mud which you were able to identify from your extensive research on the subject. However, I will admit that your deductions about his medical ability and economic situation are a bit unclear to me. Very good, Watson! You are quite correct about the first two deductions. As for my deduction about his recent
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he stopped at one window for an extensive amount of time, studying the room thoroughly from the outside. Glancing in the window, I saw a room with several bookshelves. Before I could observe much more, Holmes retreated from the window back towards the hansom as he quietly muttered, As I had expected.
Climbing back into the cab, he rattled off a different address to the driver and closed his eyes. I silently questioned where this address had come from, but was then struck with the obvious conclusion that it must have been somehow obtained through the group of street Arabs which often helped him in his cases. With his eyes still closed, he asked me, Watson, are you still carrying your service weapon? Yes, I am, I responded. I do not anticipate us needing it, but it is best that we are prepared. We traveled the remainder of the ride in silence, and after another half of an hour, we arrived at a small apartment. The neighborhood appeared to be a poorer one. Children ran about in the streets, much as the street Arabs that ran around Baker Street. We approached the faded red painted door to the apartment, and Holmes knocked on it strongly. The door was swiftly opened by a medium height man. He was a slender man, with a straggly beard and many wrinkles. His eyes darted around slightly in suspicion and his brows gathered together slightly in a mixture of what seemed to be fear and confusion. Good morning, Mr. Hughes. My name is Sherlock Holmes, and this here is my good friend, Dr. Watson. We were hoping we could have a word with you in private about your recently deceased employer, Mr. Cromwell.
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The mans eyes widened slightly for a moment before he smiled and invited us into the small apartment. He motioned to the seats as we walked into the living room; however, Holmes remained standing. As you know, Holmes began, the people of Nussex Hills have recently been upset by what many believe to be some sort of pagan ritual with the body of Mr. Cromwell. You were, Mr. Hughes, his caretaker for many years, correct? Mr. Hughes gave a small nod and returned his gaze to the floor. During the years that you cared for him, you and your wife were well cared for in return. However, when he died, you were put out of work, and as you were not left anything from his will, you fell on rather hard times. As the man gave a sad nod, Holmes continued, You needed money and knowing that the man had been wealthy, turned to the idea of grave robbing. Using Mr. Cromwells extensive library, you searched for a way in which you could cover up your true motive. Falling upon some books about the pagan rituals of some old tribes of America, you found a plausible cover up. You waited a few weeks in hopes it would not be associated with his recent death but be seen as a pagan ritual instead. Then, you came to the graveyard, waited for the last worker to leave, and approached his grave. Knowing your employer was a wealthy man, you knew he would have likely been buried with something valuable. The slender cuts made by the scalpel were the first clue that the crime was not any type of pagan ritual. Using a scalpel, you removed something valuable from him and made cuts in the rest of his body which would fit your cover up story. You then recreated the pagan markings that you had seen in the books in Mr. Cromwells library and scattered small animal bones and animal blood to complete the effect. Mr. Hughes shook with fear and suddenly, he jumped up and exclaimed, I did it for my wife. I did not want to hurt Mr. Cromwell in any way. He was very good to me and my wife, but she is very sick, and I needed money to get her real medical help. When I could not find a job, I did not know what else to do. Dropping his head into his hands, the man sobbed quietly with his entire body trembling. Lifting his head back up and regaining his composition, he pleaded with Holmes, I will tell you the entire story. You can take me to jail. I only wish to help my wife. Holmes responded, I am clear on much of the story but I would like for you to fill in just a few details. The man nodded, regaining his calmness. As you know, I cared for Mr. Cromwell for many years. He was sick for some time, and his death came as no surprise. Before his passing, he asked me to carry out one last task. He wished to be buried with a precious jewel that had been passed down through his family. Since he had no remaining family, he instructed me to bury it with him. He was a very suspicious man and instructed me to put in his mouth so that if someone merely dug up the casket,
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desperate actions to help another. Dont you agree, Watson? The question required no response, for his eyes had already closed.
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stroked the edges of the boat looking for some sort of evidence. The vessel, itself, was very long and thin. It seemed to float effortlessly across the rough waters. A couple of scratches parallel to the dock were visible as it tilted with the wake. The widest part, the center, was only around one and a half feet. There were two shiny, metal riggers protruding from the middle most point next to a seat that seemed to roll back and forth with minimal effort. As we waited for Sherlocks inferences, Mr. St. Clair seemed quite fidgety for the results. Sherlock began, Watson, after reviewing the boat, what would you make of this situation? I looked around trying to get a handle on the evidence that presented itself. I noticed that there were a few scratches down the left side of the vessel. If I must say, I would guess that Barneys boat hit the dock a couple of times which would explain the damage. May be he was tired from the work out and had great difficultly lifted the boat out of the water and went to find some assistance I inferred. It was hard to catch the miniscule details I knew that Holmes already discovered, however, I did my best to describe the scene.
My dear Watson, excellent work. That would be quite possible, if the scratches were perpendicular to the dock. You see, he said motioning towards the indents along the boat and the dock, he would have scraped the vessel against the wooden panels with an upwards pulling motion. Holmes announced this correcting me in a gentle, but firm manner. I would say instead that Barney was sculling, or using two ores, at the time. When he was in the middle of finishing his preparations of putting the shell away, when someone of great physical strength, most likely a fellow rower, not only startled him, but also demonstrated physical aggression in the form on rendering Barney unconscious, while, kidnapping him. Holmes, how were these accusations gathered? I asked suddenly. Once again shocked by his ability to see
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remained silent throughout the ride, opposite Sherlock. He appeared very enthralled in his thoughts as his gaze was directed at the distinctive lines of his rough hands. Do you think Rory is the kidnapper? I simply stated as we were about five minutes away from where the competitor lived on Hosmer Street. I had no idea who was the culprit at this point in our adventure. I am not sure as to whom the instigator is as of yet; however, I am reluctant to say that Rory is to blame for most athletes of this magnitude like competing, not just winning. Sherlock remarked excited to find closure for this case with so many piled up at Baker Street which also needed his attention. The cab slowly wheel up to the apartment 308 on Hosmer Street. As the carriage jerked forwards to a stop, my gloves fell on to the floor becoming dirtied by mud from the riverside. The cab driver came around opening the latched door for us to slide out. We stepped up the solid wooden steps on to the porch of the gray painted apartment with Mr. St. Clair following directly behind us. Above us was a large window with the most spectacular view of the harbor. After only a few seconds of gentle knocking at the front door, a very tall, lean, muscular fellow stood before the entrance. Mr. Rory Festibles welcomed us graciously into his home still in a unitard suite from the middays work out. The navy blue fabric appeared to stretch across his body forming straps over his shoulder and stopping just above his knees. He had strong cheek bones that overwhelmed his face and complimented his long brown hair that whisked across his brow. He was quite cheery for the weather which was becoming more dark and eerie as the day progressed. Good afternoon! You must be Mr. St. Clair, Barneys father, Rory directly spoke to St. Clair. I have seen you at the regattas. Your son is a very excellent rower, though you dont need me to tell you that! And who are you two? he announced enthusiastically pointing to Sherlock and I centered at the foot of the newly red-coated door. The cars passed with great speed on the street behind us. I am Sherlock Holmes, a consulting detective, and this is my partner Dr. John Watson. We are here because, as you most likely are aware, Barney St. Clair has been missing for three days now. As Holmes replied, Rory seemed quite interested and confident. He kept consistent eye contact and genuinely looked sympathetic to the case, not as a criminal would present himself. Yes, anything I can do to help you. He directed us into his sitting parlor comprised of two soft violet couches and a lit fireplace. The heat helped to thaw our fingers which frozen while we were by the harbor. There were a set of newspapers lined up along a glass coffee table along with some freshly baked chocolate chip cookies whose smell dispersed in to the air filling the room with great comfort. I have been rowing for most of my life and I have never heard about crime in the sport. Crew is such a prestigious, honest sport; it is horrible that someone would try to enhance their chances of winning
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by taking out a top competitor. To me, rowing is something I do for myself and I feel so good when I win a fair race. I find that Barney was my biggest competition in the Head of the Thames. I am quite frustrated and concerned that he has been given this great disadvantage. For months I have been training for this race to see my progress in comparison to him. Mr. Festibles eyes tightening and began to shake his head. One could truly see the pain on his face as he is as much depressed as Barney is in not racing. Do you live alone? Sherlock asked the rower while rubbing his fingers along the embroidered edge of the seat. Rory answered, straightening his back, I live with my mother. She is usually in the house for most of the day, however, for the last two days, I havent seen much of her. I have been relying on our housekeeper for most of my cooked meals. My stomach has been quite unsatisfied with the maids small portions as my mother usually brings large quantities of delicious food to every dinner. And as for my father, well, he has been absent for the past few months and so I assume my mother is currently in her room still in mourning. It seems to be difficult for he to accept his leaving. Just as Rory stood up from his red, suede-covered sofa, an older, grey- haired woman clad in a bright orange pea coat and gold jewels entered the room. As she strutted into the parlor, her face showed a prestigious, assertive look. Sherlock watched as Mr. St. Clair stared intensely at the womens fore arm. Attached to her wrist was a very distinct gold watch with S. C. engraved into the side of the chain band. Holmes developed a subtle smirk at the sight informing me that the case was soon to be solved. What do you have on your wrist madam? Mr. St. Clair forcefully voiced like a hot lion ready to pounce. Bring it here. His voice boomed, startling the room as he is usually a quieter man. Oh, uh, this old thing, belonged to my grandfather who passed years ago, the women spat with cheeks beginning to turn the color of a rose. She quickly cupped the watch, trying to cover up the evidence. Unless your grandfather shared my age, initials, and love for rare watches Id say that the watch belongs to me. In addition, I would also add that the piece of gold was handed down to my son Barney and he was wearing it the day he disappeared, Mr. St. Clair senior snarled at the now guilty Mrs. Festibles. The cases details seemed to unravel quiet rapidly. Holmes grabbed the womans arm, gently pulled up the orange coat sleeve, and unlatched the precious jewelry from her arm. He examined the ridges of the linked chain with a magnifying lens directly matching it to the scratch marks made on the dock where the crime was committed. Suddenly, the truth was released. Rorys mother sat down among the group of men, on the opposite side of the sofa in which we were seated, telling all of what had transpired. She explained how since Mr. Festibles senior
With her hands pressed up against her face and tears flowing from her eyes, Mrs. Festibles unlocked the kidnapping details. At the Saturday market, I had recently run in to a former rower, Michael Daure, earlier in the month of February and we were discussing the race. He confided in me that he had ripped his Achilles tendon and could not perform that the regatta. Michael also described how the injury was made during a race against Barney in which they were neck and neck for most of the first thousand meters until he tore the muscle on a powerful stroke meant to push him ahead of the usual winner. That race, he announced, brought up a lot of desires of revenge against the rower since he can never be entered in such an important regatta again. I took this opportunity to employ the lad. I would pay him fifteen pounds if he kidnapped Mr. St. Clair a few days prior to racing. Although the money was unnecessary, Michael Daure accepted the proposal ready for retaliation. The shameful woman offered the location of the kidnapped man claiming that he is in Daures very sizeable residence on the other side of the harbor. I planned on releasing the young man after the Head of the Thames and taking off to the South American country of Brazil until the press and police announced the case as closed Mrs. Festibles admitted. Rory, ashamed of his desperate mother, looked into his mothers eyes with a solemn glare. His cheeks began to turn a furious magenta as he publicized his withdrawal
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replacement of punishments with an abundance of gratitude. By the next morning, the weather had reset itself to a beautiful regatta day. The flowers filled the air with a light perfume scent and the sea green pollen wisped around with the gently breeze. Sherlock and I once again found ourselves seated at the kitchen table enjoying local pastries and coffee brought up by Mrs. Hudson. The newspaper that lay in the center of the counter was entitled The Found Starboard Ready for Race Day. I suppose Barney is still up for a row today I remarked as Sherlock peeked up from his copy of the London Times. Raising his brows Holmes replied, Watson, I think I will be attending today, care to join?
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Shell be back in a week; she asked me to accompany her, but I had to work. Do you have a case to fill my time until she returns? It seemed you just had a revelation when I walked in, I inquired. Holmes stood up and walked across the room. When he reached the bookshelf, he picked up a long, black and white feather. Do you have any idea what this is? He handed me the feather. I examined the plume. It was about ten centimeters in length, very soft, and mostly white with brown and black streaks. It had not been used as a pen as there was no ink on the tip. Beyond these basic observations, I knew I would have to rely on Holmess unique wisdom. All I can gather is it is the feather of a large bird. But I could not tell you which bird. Why do you have it? I asked. A client dropped it off this morning and told Ms. Hudson that he would return after lunch. The client said he found it in his roommates bedroom. He stated that the roommate has been acting odd and nervous. He should be here any minute; Ill let him fill you in about his case. Holmes gazed out the window, but did not observe his visitors arrival. Watson, what do you know about owls? he inquired. Not much. I know they are nocturnal and native to almost all parts of the world, I replied. But do you know what they symbolize? Holmes continued to examine the feather. All I could imagine was the wise owl with large, allknowing eyes. After thinking about it for a minute, I answered, Well, they are often associated with wisdom and the night. Holmes chuckled. Watson, you are correct to some degree. I believe this is an owl feather. In the modern day, owls represent wisdom. But in ancient times, owls were associated with death, especially to the ancient Aztec and Mayan civilizations.
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staircase. Holmes knocked on the door twice before it swung open. Aberley stood in the entrance, visibly shaken. Come in, the police are on their way. Holmes and I entered quickly and shut the door behind us. I attempted to comfort the young man. I am so sorry for your loss. Could you expand on what happened to your friend? He came home around six in the evening, and immediately retired to his room. It was apparent that he did not feel well. I tried to assist him, but he refused any help. I decided to let him be and speak with him in the morning. My plans were changed when I heard a bloodcurdling scream emerging from his room three hours later. I rushed up the stairs and stormed into McNairs bedroom. What I saw will haunt me for the rest of my life. His throat was cut and blood was pouring out onto the bed. In his right hand lay the bloody knife. Blood was also smeared across his face like war paint. It was truly horrifying. Aberley finished as he sank the ground, head in his hands. Holmes replied, I would like to see the room, if you dont mind. I assume nothing has been touched.
Aberley nodded his head and showed us upstairs. The scene was much like he described. McNair lay on his bed in a pool of blood. The knife was in his hand, and the bloody stripes had been painted under his eyes were now dry and a deep red. Holmes first approached the body and leaned over the neck, closely examining the wound. He then circled the body to examine the knife and McNairs hands. Holmes finally made his way to the open window and peered out. At that moment, the door burst open and Lestrade barged into the room. Holmes! What are you doing here? the inspector inquired.
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Theodore Aberley is a client of mine. Im here to investigate the circumstances around his roommates death. Lestrade replied, What circumstances? After a minute in the room, it is apparent that this was an act of suicide. The knife is in his bloody hand. I regret to inform you that you are wrong. This man has been murdered. The culprit placed the knife in his hand to make it look like a suicide. But if you look at the wound, it is deeper on the right side, which indicates the knife started the gash on this side. As the knife is in his right hand, it is unlikely McNair inflicted this fatal injury on himself. If it had been an act of suicide and McNair used his right hand, the cut would have started on the left side of his neck. Next, the bloody stripes on his cheeks. It is true that his thumbs are bloody, but they were just dipped in the blood- it is not smeared as it would be if he streaked blood across his face. Finally, Lestrade, if youll come to the window with me, you will see a bloody thumbprint on the window ledge. I believe it is apparent that McNair was murdered. Lestrade was silent at first, and his face became red from a combination of anger and embarrassment. Well, Holmes, I suppose youre right. Scotland Yard will begin our investigation immediately. I must ask you to leave so we may begin our examination of the scene. If you require my assistance, you know where to find me. Holmes turned and exited the room. I followed as he descended the stairs and walked through the door. I called out to Holmes as he rounded the corner of the building. He ignored me and continued walking until he stood in the alley underneath the window of McNairs room. Watson, look! Under the window! A large, flattened bush was beneath the window. Wedged in between the branches of the plant was another feather. Holmes picked up the feather, held it up to the light to examine it, and tucked it into his coat pocket. Exercise caution, Watson. I believe the murderer is still nearby. He wants to ensure McNair is dead. I opened my mouth to respond but was interrupted by the crash of a rubbish bin behind us. Holmes and I pivoted just in time to see a man take off towards the street. He was average height, his skin was dark, and his hair was grown to past his shoulders. Holmes and I chased after him, and saw him climb into a trap. Homes flagged down a cab and instructed the driver to follow the mystery man. Holmes, what has gotten into you? I believe that to be our murderer. While you were at your practice last night, I referred to my encyclopedia on the history of the Aztec civilization. Human sacrifice was commonly used during religious practices. The ancient civilization believed that the spilling of human blood was essential for the continuation of the universe. While the Aztecs were almost completely eradicated by the invading
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Readers, this is one of the cases that will stick with me for the rest of my days. The crazy gleam in the eyes of the Aztec and the moment of his jump will haunt me for the rest of my days.
I began, It is dark brown, old, and rather worn. It has two straps and appears to be extremely common place. No man of fashion would dare to be seen with such a thing. Its owner probably belongs to the working class; I would say hes most likely a store clerk. I said the last with much uncertainty because I had no great record of success when being so liberal with my deductions. It did not surprise me in the least when Holmes assumed his didactic air which so often unnerved me. My dear Watson, once again, you see but fail to deduce properly. This bag was stolen this afternoon from an elderly postman. Holmes! How the deuce can you tell? I exclaimed. Really, Watson, it still astonishes me that upon receiving the answer you cannot see the steps. Notice the discoloration of the leather on the side of the bag that would rest against the body when being worn. The side nearest the body looks much newer while the side that
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faces the world is scratched, lightened, and has the unmistakable look of leather repeatedly wetted. This discoloration indicates that this satchels owner has exposed it to the elements a great deal while wearing it and has often carried it in the London rain. What store clerk do you know who would ever need to carry his satchel out of doors except upon relocating from his cab to the comfort of his office? As you correctly stated, this item could not have belonged to a gentleman. We seek a man who carries his satchel a great deal, and is constantly forced to brave the elements. Does not the stalwart London postman present himself as the most probable option? We can further deduce that this particular postman must have been elderly because the two-strap style went out of fashion in favor of the one-strap style around twenty years ago, and two strap satchels cannot be readily found today. The young postmen, such as the one who delivers to our very own door, all carry the one-strap. As we have seen this street arab, whom I did not recognize as one of the Baker Street division, fleeing our doorstep, the bag was not dropped off by its owner and has, therefore, been stolen by someone. If you will notice, the edges of the bag are still slightly moist showing that the true owner must have made his rounds in the midst of this mornings treacherous storm, and the bag has been stolen since. Because the storm stopped around noon so we can narrow down the time of the theft with some certainty. I had to admit that I could find no flaw in his reasoning. Indeed, it seemed so simple when he explained it. But, Watson, he said, we have failed to see what our parcel contains. Surely this will shed some light on the matter. With those words he opened the satchel, remarking on the G.P.O. tag inside that confirmed his theory, and he pulled out a small grey sheet of paper on which was typewritten: The dangerous game begins Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Those youve endeavored to assist will find themselves in need of assistance. Sherlock Holmes handed me the card and commenced to light his pipe. He said, This may be merely an empty threat from one of my countless enemies, Watson, but, still, I will put my methods to work. With this he took the note back from me, retrieved his magnifying lens from the bureau, and sat down in his large high-backed chair examining every detail of the card. After several minutes of contemplative study, a cloud came over his face and he suddenly jumped to his feet. Great Scott, Watson! This is far more serious than I had imagined. We are working with a high intellect here. His face showed an odd mixture of delight at a challenge mixed with something akin to fear. I was shocked by his sudden reaction; I had been unable to read
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recognized the typewriter of Mr. James Windibank, the scoundrel who had so treacherously posed as the suitor, Mr. Hosmer Angel. I also connected the violet ink as similar to, although not exactly the same, as the ink with witch Ms. Sutherland had stained her glove the morning she came to see us. However, I realized immediately that our current mystery could not have been the work of Mr. Windibank; he would have no reasonable desire to contact us again and would most certainly not dare threaten a clearly superior intellect. The inscription indicated some design upon my clients, so I immediately knew that Ms. Mary Sutherland must be in immediate danger and that the parcel had been sent to me purely to put me on the trace as a sort of test of my intellect. Sadly, it was not until speaking with Winidbank that I realized the significance of the postal workers bag, which indicates the post office where letters were left by Ms. Sutherland for Mr. Hosmer Angel. I knew the very same post office has been under construction this entire week past, making it the perfect place for a crime. We are up against a dangerous criminal, gentleman, and one who acts not out of any desire for personal gain but purely with designs to humiliate me in my profession. That he procured the typewriter some months ago shows planning and determination. I just hope its not too late for Ms. Sutherland. A cold chill ran through the inside of the carriage as Lestrade and I both realized the gravity of the situation. We were also filled with awe at Holmes deductive genius; even Lestrade could not conceal the feeling of inferiority that was so requisite when dealing with such an agile mind. We shortly pulled up to the Leadenhall street post office. As we alighted from the hansom, Holmes made a quick inspection of the area surrounding the front door, looking at the ground for traces, but he appeared unsatisfied. The post office was clearly under construction, but it showed no sign of forced entry. As Lestrade and I followed Holmes forward, we were surprised when, instead of heading for the front door of the small establishment, he made a sharp right muttering, No forced entry. The post office was a corner building situated right next to a small alley just wide enough to fit a carriage. As we rounded the corner, Holmes gave a yelp of joy. We may not be too late, she has not been here more than five hours! he exclaimed as he ran forward glancing at the ground. I was astonished at the audacity of his statement but held my tongue considering the pressing nature of our circumstance. Towards the back of the building was a shabby small door that looked as if it had not been used in years, and it was towards this door that Holmes bounded. Notice the discolouration on the door, Watson! This door is usually padlocked and so the lock must have been removed recently! He flung open the door which was indeed, unlocked. We entered a small windowless chamber which had, no doubt, once held the packages.
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There, lying prostrate on a barren metal table lay Ms. Sutherland, bound and gagged. She whimpered with fright upon our entering, but fear turned to joy when she perceived the stark avian countenance of my companion. As we untied her, a second gray note fluttered from her bindings. My heart sank as I realized that this wouldnt be the last of our involvement in this dark business. I felt as if events beyond our control were in motion and were sweeping us toward even more terrible future events. We lit the lamps which thankfully still had oil in them. Homes preferred to have the necessary interview instantly at Leadenhall due to the possibility of impending danger. He stooped and picked up the gray slip which read: Assault follows kidnapping. The hierarchy of crime. Holmes tucked the note inside his pocket, and after we all made sure that Ms. Sutherland had not been hurt, Holmes proceeded with the interview. Pray, tell us as quickly as possible, Ms. Sutherland, how this unfortunate series of events came to pass. Anothers safety may hang in the balance. After wiping away several tears, Ms. Sutherlands vacuous face assumed a look of determination that I had never expected, and she launched into her quick narrative. This morning, as usual, I collected the post. My heart gave a leap to see that one of the letters was addressed to me. Of course, my mind immediately jumped to poor Hosmer, so I stole away to my room to read the letter. Well, among renewals of the vows we had taken together and rather personal declarations that his feelings had not changed, the jist of the remainder of the letter was that my dear Hosmer had gotten mixed up in some dreadful business that had taken several years to clear up. He was, however, ready for me now and had his affairs in order for our union. He indicated that he still had the most tenacious enemies and that the entire affair must therefore be conducted in the utmost secret. I was to pack my most needed things and leave the house without saying anything to anyone. Of course, my heart leapt with joy as I had feared my poor Hosmer dead all this time I must interrupt here to offer a short note to my readers. Leading a quiet, retired life and due to the oppressive influence of her stepfather, quite obviously, the lady had never happened across my chronicle of her peculiar incidence. As Ms. Mary Sutherland is, of course, an alias, there was no reason for her to have ever known that she was the subject of the chronicle unless she had read it in full. This explains her enduring love for Mr. Hosmer Angel, even though the man doesnt really exist. I was to go to 223 Baker St. and there would be a large black landau waiting for me. My, Mr. Holmes, I didnt even realize I was so close to your lodgings until I think about it now. Anyhow, I did as was instructed and arranged all as was specified. When I opened the door of
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Mr. Neville St. Clair! I exclaimed, proud of following Holmes logic. Mr. Neville St. Clair was a fellow we had come across many years before who, while living in Lee with a respectable family and estate, earned his living as one of the craftiest beggars to ever work the streets of London. When Mr. St. Clair was thought to have disappeared, a scraggly ruffian with a twisted lip was taken into custody as the primary subject, and no one but my friend landed on the truth that the rascal in jail was none other than St. Clair himself. After uncovering the incredible disguise, we agreed to let the whole issue slide on the condition that Mr. St. Clair renounce his wayward profession in lieu of a more respectable and legal one. The events of that rare case came flooding back to me as Holmes and I rattled along toward Lee. We found the St. Clair home had just risen for the day, but was already in a state of anxious disorder, as the head of the household was nowhere to be found. Mrs. St. Clair met us at the door both thankful for and surprised at our appearance. Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson! she exclaimed, Thank goodness you are here! But how?...How could you know already? I havent even wired the police yet. We just found he was missing. Her face clouded and it was clear that she did not believe our presence to be a good omen for her husbands safety. She ushered us in, and Holmes asked to see Nevilles bedroom. We were shown up to a small bedroom decorated plainly with a lone bed, a highbacked chair and plain desk, and a chest of drawers. Holmes was immediately like a dog on a scent; he sniffed around the room examining every detail before finally standing up looking satisfied.
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I think we can be sure that Mr. St. Clair was being blackmailed and that he left this house to meet his blackmailer, said Sherlock confidently. What makes you think so, Holmes? I was at a loss to figure out how he came to such a conclusion, but, after my experiences with Sherlock Holmes, I was sure he had some clear train of logic. Notice several suggestive points, Watson. His bed has been made, but hurriedly and without much care. This shows us that he roused himself in the night to go out. What criminal, when abducting a victim, would then make the bed afterwards? Also, note that he has folded his nightclothes and laid them here on the chair showing that he has dressed himself and must have had every intention of leaving the house. The final suggestive point centers on that candle stick and why it has been removed from that desk. Can you not finish my deduction now, Watson? He indicated a bare candle stick resting on the windowsill that I had not even noticed previously. It had, as Holmes had said, clearly come from the empty candle holder on the desk. Being one of those old fashioned desks with the brass candle holders built into the desk itself, the candle stick must have been removed from the holder. Wanting to impress my friend, I racked my brains for a reason that Neville St. Clair would have removed that candle stick. Was he reading before turning in? I ventured. No, dear Watson. What book do you see that would support that conclusion? We must consider the facts. From the note we found on Ms. Sutherlands person and from the tin cup we received at Baker Street this morning, we know that someone wanted to harm Mr. St. Clair. This villain, it is clear, succeeded in persuading Mr. St. Clair to leave his house of his own accord. Mr. St. Clair must have been using this candle to signal to this scoundrel from his window. The only foreseeable conclusion is that he was being blackmailed, and that this meeting was prearranged to settle the affair. Here, Holmes and I exchanged a meaningful glance: we both knew that his past occupation would give a blackmailer who knew his secret the perfect opportunity. Holmes continued pensively I would wager that our Mr. St. Clair is still on the property then, though in what state I cannot say. After a quick glance out the window, he pivoted and raced back down the stairs, and I followed behind him. We walked briskly down the path to the back of the country house in the direction of the barn. Holmes was walking with purpose, and I suspected that he had an idea of where we might find Mr. Neville St. Clair. Holmes threw open the huge barn doors with the considerable vigor which was characteristic of him in his states of activity. What we found inside that barn affected me greatly despite my military and medical experience. Sprawled amidst the hay was the prostrate figure of Mr. St. Clair with a pool of blood surrounding his head and another grey note pinned to his back. After running to
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tomorrow will be to make sure that the wedding goes off smoothly without harm to anyone save the criminal. Hes requested our presence for added support. I stopped here hoping that he would fill me in on his pursuits. Instead, he simply stated, Oh, yes, we will have to go, Watson. I was perturbed that he had remained silent, but decided not to press him, knowing that he rarely withheld information without reason. He unwrapped the brown parcel, and I was astonished to see that he had bought a revolver. Dear me, Holmes. Why on Earth did you buy a revolver when you could just borrow mine? You may very well need yours too, my friend. We are dealing with one of the most dangerous men in London. I fail to see how it could be so dangerous with half the police force by our side. Holmes responded with a penetrating look and only said, You will forgive me Watson if I dont elaborate. We will have to wait for tomorrow. With these words he resumed reading and smoking, and I knew the conversation was over. I went back to my own reading and after a couple of hours, I decided to turn in. I was sure I heard the whining of Holmes violin late into the night, and I knew that he would be up for many more hours contemplating the morrow. The Wedding I spent most of the next day at my practice and engaged in various house calls, but I arrived back at Baker St. promptly at six oclock. I found Holmes reading the afternoon paper and smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. Holmes glanced up when I entered. Well, it looks as if we are on the right scent; there were no murders discovered last night. This fits with our hypothesis that Bruner is going to make his move tonight. Youre just in time for supper, Watson. Ive wired and asked Lestrade to join us. Ah, I believe thats his step on the stair now. The door opened and the housekeeper let Lestrade in, and Mrs. Hudson had the food on the table shortly thereafter. We did not speak of the important case at hand and had the chance to rediscover, as we had on previous occasions, that Lestrade proved truly pleasant company when he wasnt trying to evidence himself a better detective than Holmes. Lestrade had ridden over in his Scotland Yard hansom, and it was in that vehicle in which we drove to the de Merville wedding reception. The lavish Buckner Hall was the site of the fabulous reception. As could be expected from that upper echelon of society, the decorations were grandiose and the bride was stunning. All of the names synonymous with London society were in attendance along with a great deal of incognito constables and Scotland Yarders. There were uniformed constables at every entrance, and I was at a loss as to how Baron Gruner would go about forcing entry. Almost as
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soon as we arrived, Sherlock came up from behind me and grabbed my elbow directing me toward the kitchen. This way, Watson, said he. I let him direct me until we were quite close to the kitchen doors. When near enough, we simply followed one of the wait staff on his way back in the kitchen, and Holmes let go of my arm. Once in the kitchen I knew to follow his lead. He made his was to the very back of the kitchen and, before I could even protest, we were standing on the edge of the busy street on the opposite side of the street from the entrance to Buckner Hall. Holmes proceeded to a cab parked next to the street, and hopped in. I followed, asking, Holmes! Where in the world are we going? He whistled, leaned back in his seat, and we were off into the maturing evening, leaving the wedding behind us. My dear Watson, it is as you say. How much more protection could Ms. de Merville need with half the police force attending to her. No, Watson, we are not needed, but rather we have work to do. With this mysterious statement, his eyes assumed their pensive stare, and I knew that he would say no more. Looking out of the window I noticed that we were steadily making our way into one of Londons more fashionable districts. Holmes had the cabbie pull over at one of the intersections in this neighborhood, and we alighted swiftly from the cab. We walked down a lamp lit street, Holmes leading. We turned into the yard of a large brick home and made our way to the far corner of the fenced in yard. Well, Watson, well see how good your climbing skills are. Follow me over this fence, good man, whispered Holmes. I watched carefully as he nimbly scaled the fence, once again showing his great capability for energy when stimulated. I followed him, attempting to mirror his movements. The fence behind us, we made our way to the back boundary of the yard of the brick house and moved along the back fence Homes feeling the fence as we went. Finally, he halted and pulled a long old-fashioned key from his coat and appeared to stick it directly into the fence in front of him. A moment later, I heard a sharp click as Holmes opened a doorway in the fence that I hadnt been able to distinguish before. Stepping through the door, we found ourselves in the opposite yard. The house was a huge and palatial white house that was far bigger than the one from whose yard we had just come. I followed Holmes as he approached a ground floor patio, hopped over the banister and walked to the door. He turned to me and whispered, Were going to have to wait for quite a while I assume. Using the very same key, he unlocked the door, and we were inside the house. Once inside, Holmes quietly relocked the patio door. I could tell we were in a grand bedroom, though I couldn't make out much due to the darkness of the room. Holmes motioned for me to hide behind the curtains on one side of the glass patio door while he stood behind those on the other. Upon looking at the bed, I was astounded to see that there was someone sleeping in it. Amazed that the person hadnt heard our entry, I immediately became
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him in bed. The Baron had figured some way to slip something in Sir James food or drink while he was at the Carlton, and that something caused Sir James to go home with a high fever and stomach illness. That afternoon I drove to the residence of Sir James, and crept about to the glass door on the patio because I feared, correctly, that the Baron must have a confederate working inside the house. After knocking, the sick Sir James came to the door to the patio and let me in because he recognized me immediately. I explained the situation to him, and he was most eager to help assist us in our capture of the villain. We settled on Sir James hiding in the closet while we built a replica of a sleeping person upon whom the Baron could discharge his shots as planned. We needed a way to prove he had intended to murder, and, if the shots were discharged, it would be practically impossible to prove him innocent. Sir James gave me his garden and patio key and explained how I could enter the house stealthily from his neighbors home behind him. It was absolutely necessary that we appear to attend the wedding reception, as he would either watch us or have a confederate watch us. I ordered a cab to wait on the other side of Buckner Hall where we would slip out. Once we were here in Sir James room successfully, we only needed to wait for the murderer to fall directly into our hands. After settling on a plan, I went and bought a new revolver and handcuffs because I feared we might need them to capture the Baron. Even Lestrade couldnt suppress his enthusiasm, Well, Holmes, youve really done the force a great service. Ill say that this is one of the most spectacular of your cases that Ive seen so far. Of course, I dont approve of how youve kept the whole thing a mystery to us, but even if one doesnt like the methods, he cant argue with results. Well, Lestrade, you know I require no credit. It can be your name in the papers and mine can stay completely out of it. Its been doing more harm than good having the public exposed to my cases lately, with this last Sherlock shot me a sharp glance. I became painfully aware that if it had not been for me and my chronicling of his adventurous, the Baron wouldnt have had nearly as much fodder to put his plans into action. Lestrade took his leave, and returned with the Baron to Scotland Yard. After biding Sir James goodbye, Holmes and I headed back to Baker St. Thus, Holmes had solved one of his most formidable cases and had saved the life of one of the capitals most popular aristocrats.
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How dare you blame my fianc of such a thing! said he, puffing out his chest like a threatened frigate. The rage Mr. Hallinan was feeling over took what control he had on his body. He fell backwards into a chair with a catatonic expression on his face. It was clear to me he was trying to come up with an explanation for Holmes accusation, but couldnt. I am sorry if my companion has upset you, Mr. Hallinan, said I as I attempted to console him. No need to speak for me Watson, I am only making my observations. Mr. Hallinan, This is how I will find your fianc, and it is the only chance we have. I must make observations and deduce a meaning from what little I have. Although your story is captivating, I have not found a strong lead. Through multiple boundless, elongated breaths, Mr. Hallinan relaxed and his rigid facial expression melted away. When he became more alert, Holmes continued. Every piece of evidence is important. Ah Yes! See here, on the edge just above the corner tassel, there is some sort of red residue. Holmes glided to the middle, left drawer of his desk on the right side of the room. He rarely touches anything from there because of the collection of fallen journal towers that reside there similar to garbage in a junk yard. The task in navigating the notebook graveyard took countless determination and bravery. Carefully opening the drawer, my friend spent minutes searching and digging. He then pulled out a medium-sized glass beaker, filled three-quarters of the way with a transparent solution.
Immediately, I recognized the experiment my companion was about to perform; I witnessed this very
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solution before. On the very first day we encountered each other, he was in the science laboratory working on a mixture to prove the presence of blood. Holmes poured a small amount of solution on a piece of torn cotton whose fibers soaked it up instantaneously. He lightly dabbed the practically invisible red dot on the scarf, then flipped the cotton over apprehensively. Positive, said he, positive for blood. Mr. Hallinans face captured a ghostly shade of white with only some traces of color in his puffy red eyes and flushed cheeks. His eyes slowly glossed over with salty tears as he stared blankly with no life at the wall. We shall rejoin this meeting later today, around two, to inspect the residence of your missing fianc. I desire to see the abandoned home of Margarets that you described earlier. My friend and I will take the twelve thirty train to Harlaxton and shall expect to see you at the station awaiting our arrival. Thank you Mr. Holmes. I will certainly be there no later than two oclock, said he sluggishly dragging his feet toward the door with a detached tone in his voice, I look forward to meeting you later. Harlaxton was a beautiful city: the houses all structured with red brick, the cherry blossoms in magnificent bloom, the streets made of cobblestone, and the manor, majestically sitting atop the highest hill. It was clear to me now how Mr. Hallinans business was doing so well. Holmes and I departed the train to find our client waiting in a hansom. After joining him, we drove in complete silence to the house of Peter and Margaret Goldstein on Daybrook Close. The only similarity between this house and the others was the outside structure. The Goldstein residence had no curtains hanging in the window, the flowers and plants in the front were shriveled and brown, and most striking, and the house seemed unconscious emitting no evidence of life. We walked up the steps to find an unlocked door, just as Mr. Hallinan had described. We entered to find a sad interior: no color, furniture, or spirit. Holmes started to explore like a hunting hound dog following the trail of a fresh scent. Mr. Hallinan pointed Holmes in the direction of the room where he found the lonely furniture the day before and then shortly returned to me bringing an anxious environment with him. Holmes continued to scavenge while Mr. Hallinan and I did our own investigation in the kitchen. Watson! yelled Holmes from the other room, interrupting my thought, Come quickly! I ran to him urgently to find a dark-haired woman upon the floor soaking up the puddle of blood in which she was immersed. Mr. Hallinan followed closely behind and collapsed to the floor after barely making it thought the door frame of the bathroom. I immediately checked for a pulse to find none. I brought Mr. Hallinan away from her body while Holmes performed what investigation he could.
Mr. Hallinan messaged for the police after he reassumed the ability to form meaningful sentences. When Detective ODell arrived, the local head of the department, Holmes had just finished collecting his information. He returned form the bathroom carrying a picture frame that he immediately gave to Mr. Hallinan. The body of Mrs. Goldstein was taken away, leaving the four of us in the house alone. The detective questioned us and our client for some time only to discover nothing of importance of the deceased woman. I appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Hallinan, and I am sorry for your loss. Please understand an investigation will be started immediately and we will do our best to find your fiancs killer. No need for that Detective ODell. No murder has taken place today, interrupted my companion confidently. Excuse me sir, pray tell me your name. inquired the detective mocking Holmes bold statement. I am Sherlock Holmes, the one and only consulting detective from London. Mr. Hallinan came to me this morning seeking my help in solving the case of his lost fianc, whom we have now found, said he. And what possible theory do you have about what has happened here? It looks to me like any other murder I have seen. What I will propose is no theory, detective. It is fact. Detective ODell seemed shocked by my companions overwhelming assurance, and sat down, already amused and waiting for what he thought would be a silly, worthless conjecture.
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completely separate from the other until Peter found the letter you sent to her while hunting for the perfect house in Paris. Peter sensed her strong connection to you so they packed up things of value to sell, leaving the unnecessary, opulent things behind. With no intentions of coming back, and after dying her hair dark brown for disguise, Ms. Goldstein left with her husband to return to Manhattan. After leaving the photograph in the bedroom, she had sadly regretted it; she returned to retrieve it. She, having fallen in love with you, could not return to her husband or the gang, but also knew the danger she would put you and herself in if she tried to find you. She resulted to taking her own life, freeing herself from a life of crime and saving you from harms way. The knife lying next to her had fingerprints of a dried, dark brown substance which I suspect is the dye she used on her hair. There was one print missing on the knife, right her pointer finger shouldve left one. I examined her hands to find her right pointer finger wrapped in a bandage now soaked red with blood. The bandage explains the void on the knife. She must have cut herself when emptying out our house earlier in the day and covered the wound after dying her hair. Upon leaving, she grabbed her scarf off with her right hand, leaving the red stain on the corner I determined was blood earlier. The cologne radiating from the article was Peters; I experienced a similar smell while searching the cupboards in the bathroom. Detective Sliving, Mr. Hallinan, and I were astonished at the description of the crime my companion gave us. It was outrageous; but all his accusations were supported by evidence. The detective, dumfounded, believed his story and left in the absence of a murder. He did however, mention to us that someone in charge of robberies would be in immediate contact with Mr. Hallinan. Thank you for your help, Mr. Holmes. You are truly remarkable, said he as he handed over his payment. Holmes took the money and we left our client to his thoughts to catch the 7:10 train back to London.
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"You have done a fairly good job, Watson, but you failed to mention several important, singular facts. I was quite disappointed when Holmes said this, but I have grown accustomed to missing things he makes look so simple and obvious. The writer is clearly left handed as the writing is a little smeared to the right, which occurs when the hand is dragged across the paper. In addition, the lines of writing appear to slope slightly downward implying the purposefulness of the writer. It is difficult to judge the gender of the writer, but it appears to me that they were trying to disguise their handwriting as there are some spots of ink that suggest a pause in the writing. Also, if you take my glass, you will see there is a bit of red there in the corner. It appears to be a waxy substance, but I will need to do some tests before concluding what it is. For now, I think this is all we can deduce Watson. You should get some rest as tomorrow will be a full day as I think we will be able to solve the case." "How can you already be so sure with such little information?" "I have my provisional theory and I shall be surprised if it does not hold true after collecting more clues tomorrow. Now get some rest Watson." Holmes and I woke early as we had a long day ahead of us. The weather had finally cleared and the sky was a crisp, clear blue, and I could hear the birds chirping outside our window. Holmes began to read the morning paper, as he does every morning, and I ate my warm breakfast and drank the fresh coffee we had been served. After we had finished, Holmes and I decided we would walk to Mrs. Eagans home as the warm sun was almost begging us to fully enjoy the outdoors, and she only lived a 30 minute walk from our Baker Street apartment.
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Dont you just love this change in weather? I asked Holmes as we casually walked towards Mrs. Eagans house. Its just such a wonderful change and I think the weather has affected my mood and I feel youthful and energetic! Holmes laughed at me, Now Watson, dont get too excited, this is London and you know the weather has a mind of its own and we never seem to go more than a fortnight without rain. But you are right, the warm sun and clear skies are most certainly a nice change from the cold dreary days weve been experiencing. I agreed with Holmes but wished he wouldnt be so cynical sometimes. After walking in a comfortable silence for about five minutes, just enjoying the birds singing, we arrived at Mrs. Eagans home. The house was situated on a corner lot, allowing for a much larger yard than the surrounding houses. The house was of a deep red brick with a small front porch and cream colored shutters, and on one side there was a large garden and I could see some of the flowers were starting to bloom; it almost appeared as if it was from a fairy tale. Holmes and I walked up to the front door and were greeted by Mrs. Eagan who was dressed similarly as the evening before, but her dress was a rich lavender color and she looked as if she couldve blended in with garden. Thank you so much for coming Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson, is there anything I can get you? I gave the maid the day off and have tried not to move anything so you can see everything as it was last night. Holmes looked pleased, That will be of the utmost help to us Mrs. Eagan, thank you. The inside of the house had floors of mahogany and they looked recently polished. Mrs. Eagan showed us to the kitchen and Holmes told Mrs. Eagan he would call for her when he was done, and with that she left us to our work. I noticed the window above the sink looked out on the garden and Holmes must have too for he suggested we go out the back door and look below the window for any clues. The garden had a sweet flowery smell and the ground was still wet from the previous days of rain. I watched as Holmes closely examined the ground beneath the window. It is quite curious that there are no footprints Watson, as we are leaving footprints as we walk through the garden. And the window appears to be about six feet off the ground so I would assume most men would have to stand on their tip toes to reach into the window so there should be some deeper impressions in the ground. I looked at the ground near Holmes and agreed, That is quite strange, perhaps they raked over the mulch after they had taken the ring? I thought of that possibility, but there is no rake to be found and the shed is locked with a padlock and I doubt any thief would think to bring a rake with him. Let us go back to the kitchen and see if we can find anything there.
With that, Holmes took Mrs. Eagans hand kissed it, and we turned to leave. We showed ourselves out and headed back to our Baker Street apartment. The sky was still clear and then sun shown warmly on our backs. We walked slowly and quietly, as Holmes appeared deep in thought. I just dont understand why she would lie about her ring being stolen, and why she would go through all that trouble to write a note Watson. You mean to say she has had the ring the whole time?
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On the wall, written in blood, was Revenge is sweet. Holmes stood in silence for a minute and then said, Are you certain it was blood? Lestrade looked confused, Well what else would it be Holmes? I have a theory. Let us go to Mr. Lennons house immediately and I think we can have this case, and our own Watson, completely sorted out. Frank Lennons house was only a mile away so we walked. I was glad to be outside again as the apartment was quite stuffy from Holmes persistent smoking. In about 20 minutes we had arrived and were shown into the small white house and into Lennons study where he had been stabbed. Holmes immediately went to inspect the wall with the writing on it. Just as I suspected! This in not blood Lestrade, this is red lipstick. See how has a waxy appearance? Why yes Holmes, you appear to be right, but what does that mean? It means that Shannon Eagan is a murderer. I was shocked at Holmes quick conclusion and he could tell. But before he explained everything, we left to arrest Mrs. Shannon Eagan. When we arrived and had Mrs. Eagan in custody, Holmes began to explain what had happened. Mrs. Eagan, correct me if I am wrong, but I believe I know exactly what happened to Frank Lennon and to your ring. Mrs. Eagan was hoping to set up Frank Lennon, her ex-husband, so that he would be arrested. I looked into their marriage and found that Lennon had discovered Mrs. Eagan was having an affair, and therefore wanted a divorce. Henry Eagan of course had agreed to help Shannon by convincing Lennon that he should divorce his wife, but what Henry was unaware of was that Shannon was in fact having an affair with another man. Lennon had just recently learned that Henry had helped Shannon but was unaware of the truth and he had confronted Shannon and told her he was going to tell Henry next week at Thursday night poker. Shannon of course begged Lennon not to say anything and said she would do anything for him. She offered to give him her engagement ring so the he could sell it for money, but he said he did not want her money, he wanted his old friend Henry to know the truth. Furious Mrs. Eagan began to plot a way to get Lennon arrested and decided that she could easily convince someone that he was jealous of her new marriage and wanted revenge. However, when she realized that she had not done as good of a job setting up the crime as she thought, she took to more extreme measures. She knew that I had not fallen for her tricks because even after she suggested who had stolen the ring, I was not able to come up with evidence against him. She then took measures into her own hands and walked to Frank Lennons home, which was only a mile from her own. He of course let her in, assuming she wanted to discuss the matter again, but when they reached his study and he turned his back to her, she stabbed him with the
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knife she had brought from her kitchen. Satisfied with her revenge she wrote one final note on the wall, in her red lipstick, the one thing that had given her away before. My only question for you Mrs. Eagan, is why did you kill Frank Lennon if you knew that I had already figured out it was you who wrote the note?
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After only a few moments, Holmes finally addressed the situation: Well, it looks like we have a new case on our hands, Watson. I just knew that something would come up today. At least we have something to occupy ourselves on this rather depressing day that lies ahead. That is true, old chap, I replied. And with a nod of his head, as if he were confirming his own thoughts, Holmes opened the door to the rooms and sat down, deep in thought. As if on cue, Mrs. Hudson entered with some hot tea and biscuits. Mmm, nothing like hot tea and cookies to revive a man as he is presented with another case. Thank you Mrs. Hudson, Homes noted. It is always a pleasure, replied Mrs. Hudson. Mr. Holmes, I do hope that you saw the note your visitor left you. I also believe that this person dropped this strange looking key as they were departing from the door. I will give it to you so you can return it to whoever it may be. I will make sure to do so, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you. Holmes continued to eat his biscuits and sip on his tea, deep in thought. I watched as his eyes gazed out the window and crumbs from the biscuit fell haphazardly from his lips, as I knew he was making deductions about our current case. Then, surprisingly, he turned to me and asked my thoughts. Well, Holmes. I believe that Patrick Doyle appears to have a strong connection to the art museum and is desperately looking to us for assistance. The museum has probably been run within his family for many generations and he wants to solve the crime as soon as time permits. This can be concluded from the fact that he came to our door and also sent out an ad in the local paper. There isnt much else that can be deduced from the little known facts that we have so far. I replied. What do you make of the key, Watson? I believe the man dropped his key. He probably dropped the note or the ad and when he bent over to pick it up, it must have fallen out without him noticing. The key is probably to his house so I suppose he will be back within the hour, for he probably left our place and did some errands before he would return, I hypothesized.
Well, you still have a long ways to go in learning about the art of deduction, was all Holmes had to say. With that response, I knew Holmes had a differing and more detailed deduction. So, I asked him what he could make of the situation. Well, Watson, you did not analyze the note, as I thought you most definitely would. So I will start there. First, this neatly scripted penmanship shows that Patrick Doyle works in a very prestigious position at the museum. He most likely makes the titles and descriptions that hang near the paintings. This job is very important and one must have excellent handwriting in order to do so. Additionally, he appears to be a respectful man, based on the fact that he referred to me as Mr. Sherlock Holmes. However, I believe he tried too hard and had precontemplated how he would phrase his message. Anyone in a hurry and deep concern would not have had as neat of handwriting and included as much detail. Therefore, this leads me to be slightly suspicious of this Patrick Doyle character. Also, the attached excerpt from the paper makes him appear a little too eager. He strategically had this note written and will be running errands long enough for us to return and he will come back within an hour. What do you think about the key, then, Holmes? I further questioned. I was intrigued by his deductions thus far and encouraged my dear friend to continue. The key, well, this is an interesting twist. As you can see here, the key is very old. It is rusting along the edges and not made of steel, like most keys are nowadays. I believe this key has been passed down among generations. The key was, like you correctly deduced, most likely kept in his pocket at all times. This key opens something very important and possibly very secretive. The unusual shape of the mouth of the key implies that it most likely doesnt open an ordinary lock, either. The thin composition of the key makes me believe that the lock isnt one of high caliber, Watson, and is therefore, hidden from the common eye. I think Patrick Doyle has something he is hiding, such as being the comrade in this case. Before my dear friend could conclude his deduction, and within the hour, we heard a knock at the door. Mrs. Hudson opened it and expectedly, Patrick Doyle was at our doorstep. He was dressed in trousers and a jacket, completed with a tie. Holmes was, of course, correct. He does appear to be a man of high standards and of high status. Good evening, Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. I hope my presence isnt interrupting anything too important. I am just in need of your infamous detective skills, said Patrick Doyle. Good evening Mr. Doyle. Watson and I are always available to put forth our efforts, although I do not make any promises. Why dont you come in and explain more of the case to us? replied Holmes. Patrick Doyle made himself at home and sat down at the table adjacent to Holmes. He reached for a biscuit and then soon began to tell his story.
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Well, my night guard, Matthau, was on duty the other night. His routine has always been consistent and he has always been one of my best guards. He does laps around the museum with his flashlight every 10 minutes. For some peculiar reason, he claimed he had dozed off because he had to work two night shifts in a row. He said it was around 2 AM 4 AM. Between those two hours, someone had managed to come in and remove two of our most prized paintings. When Matthau awoke from his slumber and immediately took a lap, he realized what had happened and sent for me immediately. And what did you do when you heard the news? Well, of course I was in shock and rushed to the museum as soon as the cabbie could take me. I observed what happened and realized we werent dealing with an amateur here. I had always wanted the museum to be more popular and attract more attention, but I never intended for this to be the cause of the attraction. Oh, my. Was anyone else in the museum at night that would have been another set of eyes to see something unusual happening? No, Mr. Holmes. I only have the master key and Matthau. No one else has access. Can you personally confirm Matthaus character? Oh, yes. I would not even consider him an offender in this case. He is my best employee and I know that he cares just as much about the museum as I do. Interesting... Well, this case seems like one Watson and I will be able to involve ourselves in and put our skills to use. Is there any way we could stop by the museum tomorrow and speak to Matthau? Of course. That will not be an issue. You are certainly welcome. I have meetings with the press in the morning. Shall we say to meet around noon tomorrow? That shall be fine. We will plan on meeting you at the museum tomorrow. Please have any blueprints of the museum and the master set of keys with you at that time as well. I will be sure to do that. Thank you for your assistance with this important matter. But of course. Have a good evening Mr. Doyle. I look forward to further communications with you tomorrow. Good evening Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. After Patrick Doyle had left 221-B Baker Street, Holmes turned to me and stated, Well, there are certain aspects of this case that do not exactly coincide with each other. Tomorrows meeting shall be very interesting. And with that, I knew Sherlock Holmes was already onto something and I could not wait until tomorrow to see what would await us. I knew Holmes was already prepared for the day when I awoke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and toast. Holmes never failed to keep anyone waiting. I
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questionable. The entire situation seemed so perfectly executed and planned that I couldnt help but deem the culprit to be someone close to the museum with a hidden agenda. Patrick Doyle mentioned that he wanted more publicity for the museum. It has been kept up by his family for generations. The lack of visitors and funds put the survival of the museum in jeopardy. By stealing the paintings, the museums popularity would be revived and attract the attention of the locals. But how would he manage to steal them? What would account for the noises Matthau heard? You see, Watson. Creativity goes a long way. He used a clear rod to attach the paintings together and hooked them behind the wall. In doing this, he could move them both at the same time. The area behind the wall is hollow and the wall does not reach the ceiling. When we went in to question Matthau, I noticed that there was space between that wall and the ceiling, which isnt found anywhere else in the museum layout. The key we found opens the door that leads to the room behind it and the paintings were hung from. By going into the room, he could use the hook and support to pull the paintings up and bring them into the back room, where they would disappear from the museum and be stolen. The noise Matthau heard could have either been the door being opened and Patrick Doyle stationing him or the paintings being taken away. It took me a few moments to process all that Holmes had deduced in such a short time with what appeared to me to be such little evidence. And then I remembered his request to dress in black and I further questioned him about that. Paintings that are very old must be kept up on a daily basis by being dusted and sprayed to keep the color vibrant. Patrick Doyle is going to have to go in at some point tonight to upkeep the paintings because if they are as precious as he makes them to be, he wouldnt want to actually destroy them. We will sneak in before the museum closes, and hide in the bathroom. Once the museum shuts down, we will await Patrick Doyles arrival and catch him in the act. And something else is telling me that Patrick Doyle is hiding something else from us Later in the day, Holmes and I, dressed in our appropriate gear, went back to the museum. With all the commotion going on around the museum and the different presses still interviewing Patrick Doyle, we were able to sneak into the museum without being seen or heard. What seemed like hours later, we heard the museum being closed for the night and the lights being turned off. A little while later, we heard the sound of a door opening and with that signal, we crept out of the bathroom and into the main show room of the hotel where the paintings were stolen. As we peered around the wall, we faintly saw the outline of the door that led to the room behind it. Holmes confidently rapped at the door and we could hear Patrick Doyles shriek, as we caught him red handed. He had no choice but to open the door. When he opened it all the
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way, a guilty look was spread wide across his face and his jaw was dropped, speechless. It took him a few moments to catch his breath and realize what had happened in just a few seconds.
I, I, I can explain Patrick Doyle began. Holmes was silent as he waited for him to continue. I had no choice but to create an event to get the museums attention again. It was going to go out of business and the townies fail to realize how important the museum is to our history. I didnt mean to cause any trouble. I planned on mysteriously returning the paintings in a few days, after we had gotten the most attention from the event as possible.
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This bloody weather! I ejaculated, Naturally, the first time in weeks that we have had a break from work, the weather seems to occupy my time with this constant shuffling back and forth to light the fireplace. I stood up mechanically and began to head over to the fireplace before the cold from outside overtook the warmth in the room. Please, leave it, Watson, Holmes said, Rest assured, by the time those new flames manage to mature to the point of being capable of blanketing our bodies with warmth, I shall be fast asleep in my bed. I smiled, giving into Holmes logic. Well then, Holmes, if you put it that way, I suppose sleep is beginning to overtake me. I closed the matchbox and aimed to set them down on the table in front of me, though I nearly dropped them after I heard the loud rapping on the door. Holmes stood up and headed to the door, turning the knob with the fist still banging against the door on the other side. There stood Inspector Lestrade clenching his raincoat with his fists, drenched from head to toe, and fighting to stand up against the hurdling wind. Please, make your way inside from out of those extremities, Inspector! Holmes offered, stepping aside to let Lestrade into the room.
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We stepped outside of the carriage only to be met by a storm of reporters and policemen. Coming through, coming through! Lestrade yelled, pushing through the crowd and making way for both Holmes and I. The level of noise and chatter was almost unbearable, as it seemed that all of London had transplanted themselves to the police headquarters. The environment changed as we entered the building, and a solemn silence overtook our surroundings. No reporters could be seen, and a handful of police officers were littered throughout the building guarding key points. Lestrade cleared Holmes and I with the guards and made our way to the door of the Commissioners office. As Lestrade opened the door, an officer burst out and vomited uncontrollably on the floor of the lobby, only inches away from Lestrades feet. I-I-I-Im sorry, Sir, the officer began to say as Holmes handed a handkerchief to the officer. Lestrade opened the door to the office and beckoned us in, and it was then that I understood why the young officer was sick to the stomach. I shall never forget the scene that laid before me. Cunningham laid spread eagle in the center of the room on top of a pentagram drawn out of his own blood, multiple deep stab wounds in his back, and five candles surrounding his body. Cunninghams wife lay off to the side of the room and appeared to have only a slit in her arm. The window behind Cunninghams desk stood open, with the cold wind blowing into the room. I stood at the front of the doorway, unable to move or speak until Holmes retorted, You have a grand gift for silence, Watson. It makes you quite invaluable as a companion! Holmes moved into the room, bending next to Cunninghams body and observing his wounds, paying particular attention to his neck and wounds on his back. After a few moments, Holmes got up, walking around the body and observing the pentagram. After spending a few moments looking at Mary, Holmes returned to me and asked, So then, Watson, what do you make of this scene? I myself had been perusing the crime scene as Holmes made his round, and so I offered, Well Holmes, it seems as if Lestrade is right. Though I did not come across any Satanists in my profession, it appears that this is a textbook case ritual of some sort of sacrifice? To the untrained eye, perhaps that is what it may seem like, Watson. But to the one who has the powers of deduction, this crime is anything but, Holmes said as he bent down next to Cunninghams body once more. Tell me, Watson, is the pentagram not a standard symbol that any Satanists worth his grain of salt knows how to draw? asked Holmes, as he pointed to the pentagram under Cunninghams body. Why yes, Holmes, I do imagine that it would be some sort of requirement for entry into the life style, I quipped back. Then, explain to me Watson, why our alleged Satanists struggled with drawing this pentagram, Holmes
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into the woods and I grew suspicious after he had not returned for sometime. I grabbed a lantern and made my way into the woods where Clive had entered. Not far from the entrance, I saw the outline of Clives body and at least three people kneeling around him. It was only a moment later that they noticed my presence and broke with a run after me. I immediately ran back into the house and almost did not make it inside the house. I locked the door and immediately grabbed Clives hunting rifle, though I must admit I had no the faintest idea on how to use it. The three men came to the window at the front of the house and punched into it, but I pointed the gun at them and then they ran off. Did you get a look at their faces? Holmes asked. Why yes, I did. They seemed as if they were Indian, though I did not recognize them. They had a strange light yellow cloth that clung to their hair that somewhat obscured their faces, she said. Was it this same cloth, Alexandria? Holmes asked, presenting her with the piece of cloth that was stuck at the window. Yes, thats it! Alexandria exclaimed. One of the men wrapped it around his hand to punch through the window, I said, peering at the drops of blood on the cloth. Right you are, Watson, my sentiments exactly, Holmes said, What exactly did your husband do in India, Alexandria? Charles was assigned to British India to quell the underground organized crime rings that had erupted in recent years, and he requested that Clive be sent down to provide him with military support while he trained the police force. After a year, they both agreed that force and their typical methods were not working successfully. It was a special band of criminals that were causing major disruptions I believe they were called thuggees she said. Thuggees? The organized band of professional assassins in British India? Lestrade interjected. Yes, thats them, Alexandria replied. It was then that Charles decided something had to be down at the policy level to eradicate these murderers. With Clives help, Charles helped draft the Criminal Tribes Act and gave police the tools needed to bring the criminals down. How did the Criminal Tribes Act work, Alexandria? I asked, my curiosity piqued at the policy term. Clive had created a network of informants that informed him on thuggee movements. But, because the thuggees themselves traveled in packs with their family, they typically turned on their own family members to save themselves, Alexandria replied. Would they have worn or carried these yellow cloths? Holmes asked, now focusing intently on Alexandria. Yes, in fact, now that you mention it they were known for them, Alexandria said.
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Tell me, Alexandria, was there anyone else that your husband and Charles worked with? Holmes asked. Why, yes. There was one other person: Deputy Arthur Rowling. Clive had planted him at the forefront of the police force and was his right hand and in combatting the thuggees. He recently came back from India and lives no more than a few miles away from here, Alexandria replied. Holmes stood up at once and exclaimed, Quickly! We must make haste to catch these criminals at once! We thanked Alexandria and bid her good night, and then followed Lestrade into the waiting carriage to the home of Rowling. I believe these men are playing a game of revenge, Holmes said as the carriage took off. What ever do you mean? I asked Holmes, pondering on what had occurred in the home. These men appear to be seeking revenge for the work that the Cunninghams and Rowling did in British India. Given the proximity of Rowlings location to the crime scene, I imagine that they will strike next at his home. We must wait in the shadows and catch these elusive murderers in the act! Holmes said. A few moments later, the carriage arrived near the home. Driver, let us off here, just before the house, Holmes said.
We walked off the carriage and made our way to the trees by the home, being careful not to make much noise. We perched behind a group of trees, hiding ourselves from view. Lestrade and I drew our guns when we heard a crash and a scream inside the home. The three of us ran up to the home with Lestrade pushing the door open. There stood five men around who appeared to be Rowling, with one man strangling him with a long, light yellow cloth. Upon seeing us, the men raised knives and began to rush towards us. We each fired our weapons into the men, being careful not to hit Rowling. Four of the five men slumped to the ground, apparently dead from the gunshots. One man stood still behind Rowling, having dropped the cloth he was using to strangle him. Please, do not shoot me! the main exclaimed in an Indian accent. Hold it right there, you, Lestrade said, coming up behind the man and handcuffing him. Holmes looked at the man and said, Explain yourself at once, guy. The man gulped and began in very slow, yet clear English,, My name is Khan. I had five brothers before Charles and Clive Cunningham, and Rowling, destroyed our bond and turned one of us against the rest of us. My brother gave us up and then committed suicide in prison from the shame. I and the rest of my brothers were just released from prison, and we promised to make our way to Britain to exact revenge on those that had wronged our family. I am part of the thuggees, a band of assassins that is known for our ritualistic murders. We decided to create a Satanic display to throw the police off of our trails. Holmes nodded and looked at both Lestrade and I. Well Watson, perhaps it is time we both head back home, shall we? I agreed, following alongside Holmes to the carriage that had been with us the whole night. It is sad, isnt it, Holmes? The case? I said. Yes, Watson, it certainly is, but that is the life they chose, Holmes said. And, with that, we boarded the carriage and left the scene.
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Ah, come in and have a seat, Holmes began, perhaps you could help us shed a little light onto this little footballing dispute that has caught the fancy of the London papers these days. It is not often one of the principal actors in such a high-profile story deigns to grace us with their presence. The client gave a start. How did you know that I was one of the footballers involved in the dispute? I have yet to offer you any information on myself or my problem. It was quite an elementary deduction. As one can clearly see, the tan line on your calves is quite unique; it is only usually observed in those who wear long socks. In
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your case, its quite obvious because of your gender and age that the most likely conclusion would be that you are a football player. Furthermore, the fact that your legs are quite a bit more muscular than your arms is quite suggestive; I have found that comparing the body parts of a person in proportion can provide very helpful information as to the nature of their activities. In your case, the favoring of the development of the legs implies that you make your livelihood with your legs; as such, the conclusion that you are a football player is further supported. Also working in this conclusion is the efficiency of your movements, which is indicative of an athlete that seeks economy of motion in order to gain a competitive edge. As for the conclusion that you are one of the footballers from the story, it was quite easy to see from your lined brow that you have had many years of experience playing football; when coupled with your authoritative carriage, it is also quite easy to conclude that you have been placed in a position of responsibility and power, in this case, the captainship of the English football team I see, said the football player, when you put it that way, it does appear quite obvious that I do ply my trade as a footballer. Obvious indeed to those trained to see things as I am. Perhaps you could illuminate further for us. Very well, the client began, I guess I shall begin. My name is indeed Vivian Woodard, and I am graced with the honor of being named the captain for our nations football team. I came here to seek guidance in terms of something that has troubled our team. Are you familiar with the reports of unrest between myself and Roger Chapman? I have heard of it, Holmes replied, although I am altogether uncertain of the details. He then reached from his armchair where he perpetually resided and picked up the newspaper. After quickly scanning the article, he stated, I see that the press is yet again long on sensational reporting and short on the facts. It is of no fault of their own, Vivian replied, Roger and I have been at odds for a while over how the teams preparation for the Olympic Games should proceed. Coming from different clubs, the dispute was foreseen, and is of no real consequence for either of us or the team. Then it so seems that dispute the papers are promoting is not the real problem at all, Holmes said. Correct. Ive come to you with a problem of a different nature; a few days ago, I discovered Roger on the training ground in the morning. I suspect that he was assaulted, but am unsure as to who was responsible for the wrongdoing. Because the tournament starts very soon, I made the quick decision to hide him at the house of our athletic trainer in hopes of hiding the news from the press so that news of his injuries would not reach the press and subsequently our opposition. After a few days, I decided to finally seek your help, as going to the police would
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behind me. I think that the bloody tossers had snuck up on me as I was fetching a ball. All I remember was a blow to my arm and then a great big whack on the top of my head, and coming to the next morning when I was discovered by Vivian and our athletic trainer, Steven. Vivian quickly decided that I my injury was to be kept hidden from the world, and thus Steven quickly treated my wounds and took me to his house. Vivian interrupted, We thought it would be best for our team morale if we kept the incident a secret from them as well; the only people that know about this incident are Roger, Steven, and myself.
Holmes sat down upon a chair and lit his pipe, puffing away in silence; the smoke curled upwards and lingered in the air as the scent of tobacco slowly permeated the room. Seeing him stare off into the distance, I chose to step in and ask some questions of my own. Well, I started, can you think of any enemies you might have that might have been responsible for this attack? Surely if you have a possible suspect, then it would be easy to track him down and see if he is responsible. Roger shook his head. I can think of people that have a bad view of me, but I hardly think that they would go as far as to attack me physically; theyre mostly competitors and people related to football. While Vivian gave me the names of some of his less friendly acquaintances, Holmes interjected. I suppose
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you could go and see if any of his known enemies are somehow involved, but I doubt it. Do you have any ideas as to who did it? asked Vivian, Im familiar with who dislikes Roger in the realm of sports, and I would tend to agree with what Watson thinks about this situation. I have several theories about who has perpetrated this crime, but I think that I will require more information in order to narrow down my hypotheses and come to the correct conclusion. He turned to Vivian, Would it be possible for me to come and investigate the training ground where the attack occurred tomorrow? It is my hope that we may discover some useful information upon which to shed light on this case of ours. Of course, of course, Vivian assured us, but you must come only after the team has finished training for the day; otherwise, your presence there might cause some to wonder why Englands greatest detective is paying our football team a visit. Certainly, that would be no problem, Holmes responded, and I will also need to interview this athletic trainer as well. It may be that he holds some clues as to the nature of this crime. I can arrange for that as well. Can I expect you gentlemen at the training grounds tomorrow afternoon at 7 oclock? 7 oclock it is then, Holmes replied, pipe still smoking in his hand as he rose out of the chair, Im afraid I must take my leave of you gentlemen now, as the day is only beginning and there are many other cases that are pressing for attention. I shall see you all tomorrow afternoon then. He bowed his head, and then swept out of the room quickly, with the pipe smoke lazily trailing behind. I guess that I should be going as well then, I said as I rose, I shall check up on the list of names you have given me Roger while there is still time today; it is my hope that this lead which Holmes has ignored may prove useful. I then spent the rest of my day traveling around London and following up on the names that Roger had given me, but was disappointed to find no information of real consequence. Exhausted by the fierce summer heat, I returned to Baker Street in the early evening covered in sweat and dirt picked up during my exhausting exertions. Holmes had already retired for the evening, with the heavy odor of burning tobacco coming from behind his locked, wooden door. I likewise settled in for the evening, looking forward to a busy day tomorrow. The sun had just begun to set as we arrived at the training ground, and the oppressive heat cooled off as the sky changed slowly to a dusty pink. The city surrounding the park likewise slowly wound down as people returned to their homes for the evening; As Holmes and I disembarked from our cab, we stepped in front of the gate to the training ground as it cast a lengthening shadow across the street.
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head, trying to find something in what we had observed that could help us solve the case. When the day of the first match came around, I decided to go and watch the match. After our fruitless visit to the training ground, Vivian had requested that Holmes and I attend the first match in the event that the culprit tried to cause any more problems. When I asked Holmes if he was going, he chuckled to himself. As much as I would like to wile away my afternoon watching the frivolous play of adults, other pressing matters call for my attention. The match was thrilling, with a large crowd assembled in the blazing summer heat to cheer on their national team with patriotic pride. The game itself was thrilling; led by Vivian, the English team controlled the ball with ease and dominated the flow of the game; they passed the ball back and forth, and Vivian did touch the ball on offense, he nimbly danced around the Swedish defense as if the ball was glued to his foot. As the game went on, everyone was well in the spirit of the Olympic Games and heartily cheer for their countrys success. As I excitedly watched the game, my view was suddenly blocked by a drunken lout. He was dressed in the clothes of a working-class man who had been given the day off to attend the Olympics and take in the spectacle. It was obvious to me and the spectators around us that he had also taken the opportunity to partake in some strong drink; he was rowdy and acted with overexaggerated movements. After attempting to lead a chant in a very loud voice, it was apparent that he was greatly annoying the surrounding crowd. In an attempt to spare the people around me from further rowdy behavior, I approached him and strongly grabbed his shoulder in an attempt to calm him down. Sir, I said, would you please calm down? You are causing a great amount of stress and difficulty for the people around us. He laughed loudly at my request. Now Watson, why would you try to berate me when all I am trying to do is solve the crime? I performed a double-take. Before my eyes, the drunken workman suddenly transformed into my friend Sherlock, who laughed again. Watson, I once again seem to have fooled you with my knack for disguises. As you can clearly see, actually believe that we have the real opportunity to end the case today; I have been doing some work behind the scenes, and believe that we will finally bring the culprit to justice today. I just ask that you keep an eye on the game so that we can ensure the team remains safe. Holmes then disappeared into the crowd, blending in. Moments later, I could hear the loud, rowdy shouting of Holmes as he once again resumed his disguise. Returning my attention to the game, I realized that the game had reached halftime. The crowd, taking advantage of the break in the game, chose to sit down and fan themselves in hope of escaping the hot summer air. As I looked at the field, I noticed a hooded figure
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approach the bench. I found it very suspicious that someone would wear a hood on such a hot day, and watched as he made his way to the English bench. I carefully approached the bench as well, and was horrified to see that the figure was tampering with the English teams cleats. Giving a cry, I leapt onto the figure, trying to stop him from his wrongdoing. He threw off my grip and dashed away, quickly scattering into the crowd. I quickly took up pursuit, and we soon made our way away from the field. Despite my best exertions, he was slowly pulling away. I began to despair of ever catching him when suddenly, a figure stumbled out of the crowd and knocked him down. When I caught up the pair, I saw that it was Holmes in his disguise as he wrestled the culprit to the ground. As I approached, Holmes pulled the hood off of the culprit. I gasped in surprise. But Holmes, I proclaimed, this is Steven! It cannot be! Ah, Holmes said, but it can only be him. All clues point to Steven as the only possible culprit for the crime. I dont understand. Why would he be the one responsible? He works for the team! Well Watson, he said, tying up the perpetrator, while I was initially reluctant to take this case on, the interesting point of the case being a locked-room mystery caught my attention. Because it was such a crime, and as the grounds were secure, it means that no one else but Roger had left the crime scene. When we verified that the training facility was indeed secured from outsiders, it became a logical assumption to assume that it was an inside job. Assuming that no one else asked for the key for after-hours access, and that Vivian would not be responsible for such a crime, it was simple to assume that the only party would be the one with access to the key, Steven. The blow to the left side of Rogers head and arm suggests that someone who had snuck up behind had have to have been left handed to strike the left side, so Steven,
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took a deep breath and continued, it said that you are the best of the best when it comes to solving murders, and that is exactly what I need you to do for me. She paused once again to take another sip of brandy and steadily rubbed the back of her head, she winced when she found the gold ball knot that I had uncovered earlier. I had realized what Holmes had meant when he said she was shy and unconfident, it seemed as if each sip of brandy was slowly helping her get the courage to talk to Holmes. I glanced over at Holmes who had not taken her eyes off of her, I could tell he had sympathy for her pain but she had already captured his mind with the possibility of another mystery in his grasp. I noticed the tear drops forming in the corner of her eyes as she continued to tell her story. I have been married to my husband, Scott Walker, for 5 years. We fought often and I couldnt escape the unhappiness, I would do whatever he asks and I have been so miserable. My closest friend, Mary, knew about my unhappiness, but thats it. I was woken up this morning with a loud bang, I rushed downstairs and found my husband laying on the floor dead with a gunshot wound to his head. I was so shocked that I almost missed the note tucked into my husbands front shirt pocket. The note read, TO A NIGHT THAT ILL NEVER FORGET. Right after I found the note, I called the police and ran here as quick as I could to come find you. Bethany lifted her shaky right hand, reached into the side pocket of her dress, and pulled out a small white sheet of paper that was folded in half and slowly handed it to Holmes.
Holmes carefully took the paper from her frail hands and unfolded it to study the message written inside. I peeked over Holmes shoulder to see the note, written in all caps without a signature. The man who wrote it is presumably well to do, I remarked to Holmes, trying to imitate my companions reasoning. The penmanship is superb, he took into consideration every detail in each letter, which could only
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mean he had a finer education where he learned to write like this. Quite so Watson! But you have missed much on this peculiar note, look closer my dear friend. I looked closer at the note and noticed a set of initials in the corner of the paper labeled D.W. What do you suppose this initials mean? I asked Holmes. The man who wrote this note is wealthy indeed, for that is his own personalized paper that he writes all of his messages on. Because of this, he owns his own company, started it up himself. His penmanship is very precise, as you said Watson, as well as all of his letters slant to the right. This shows that he writes with his left hand and is extremely confident in himself. He knows you quite well Mrs. Walker, this note was meant for you to find. I glanced over at Mrs. Walker and saw her eyes widen with curiosity, I could only wonder what was going through her head at that moment listening to Holmes speak. I am clueless as to who of acquaintances would ever murder my husband and this night they are referring to in the note, I just dont understand it. Mrs. Walker cried. It must have been quite a night, Holmes remarked. Could you take us to your house? he asked her. She nodded quickly and Holmes led her out the door while I was trailing right behind them. We called a cab as Mrs. Walker directed us to her house on the other side of town. I could see Holmes out of the corner of my eye, I could tell that his mind was racing and he was ready to get to the scene of the crime. The ground was still moist with pure snow and the sky was a hazy gray, every now and then the sun would peak through the clouds. We pulled up to her house and she slowly stepped out of the cab, we followed her into the doorway and stepped into the hall. The house caught my attention for the walls were painted with bright and vibrant colors and the furniture old and mystic. It was an odd combination that seemed to fit Mrs. Walker. She led us into her husbands office where the murder took place, I figured that it was the only room in the house without any color. The walls were a dark brown with mahogany furnishing throughout. The police were still investigating the house and were examining Mr. Walker who was lying in the middle of the floor with a single bullet through his head. They all looked up as we stepped through the door and nodded at Holmes, all of the officers around our area were extremely familiar with Holmes and his work. The floorboards creaked as Holmes approached and studied the body, he checked every pocket on the mans body, as if he knew Mrs. Walker or the police would miss something. He searched behind the desk, curtains, and bookshelf for evidence. I myself examined the room and tried to uncover some clue that I could input of my own. Holmes turned to Mrs. Walker and told her, I need to go home and process the information Ive gathered
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too stunned to do anything before the murderer shot him point blank. And as I was walking around the room I noticed a picture of you and him on his desktop, it was at a formal ball and he had his arm around you. However, the peculiar thing about the picture that would go unseen to the normal eye was that there was man right behind you, glaring at you as a couple, dressed exactly like your husband. When I found out about the William Ledge school for orphaned children I was intrigued. When I found the last name Walker in the old files at the school, I immediately pulled it, he was from the same region and abandoned by his mother and father. On the file it said that he has been giving thousands of pounds to the school every year and I also saw a letter written personally to the school on the same paper written to Mrs. Walker. Holmes paused for a moment to look up at Mrs. Walker. Mrs. Walker, do you remember that night at the ball with your husband? Why of course, it was a wonderful night, there was a particular moment where my husband pulled me off to the side and told me how beautiful I was, he had never done that before. After that we shared the most passionate kiss, he hadnt kissed me like that in years.... She stopped and I could see by the way her face dropped that she remembered exactly what Holmes was thinking.
She spoke once again and saidAfter the kiss, he said to me, I will never forget this night. Precisely what I thought! Don has been following you and your husband for years, after he left William
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Ledge he started his own company which supplied him with enough money to track you both where ever you went. Your husband would have never known about his twin, for parents back in that time believed that if they born twins the youngest one was an evil doppelganger of the first born. Don got lucky in a foster home and was sent to a finer school, rather than an usual run down one. Parents do not ever speak of the doppelganger to the other sibling, but Don took it personal that his brother never reached out to him. While tracking you and your husbands life, his jealously burned against his brother almost as much as his love for you. That night at the ball, while watching your husband ignore your existence, he swept in hoping to win you over. When he realized you couldnt tell the difference between him and his brother, it was clear that he decided to take matters into his own hands. Once I found his file in the drawer, I knew he would be back for you tonight.