The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

STRAND MAGAZINE "The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes"
A Collection of Original Short Stories Based on the Characters Created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle And Illustrated by Sidney Paget April 6, 2006
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The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

I. THE CASE OF A TRUE HEARTBREAKER
I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes the first Sunday of April in hopes of getting him out of his cramped apartment and out in the fresh air for a brisk walk. When I entered, I found my friend sitting in his velvet chair, quietly caressing his violin. His eyes were vacant and he appeared to be half asleep. He did not notice, or take the energy to acknowledge me, until I sat down beside him. Homes looked at me with a smirk and continued playing, yet with more vigor than when I first entered the room. It has been six days since I have been called upon for my skills, and six weeks since I have had a case that has involved any measure of excitement and intrigue Holmes declared. And yet, when I returned from a quick visit to Mycroft I found this lying on the stoop. He held up a leather change purse that containing a large wad of bills and a picture of a beautiful woman, with dark skin and darkest, most beautiful eyes you have ever seen. I examined the contents and the purse itself. What do you make of this Watson? he asked me while he tapped his long fingers beneath his chin. Im not sure Holmes. I suppose this leather purse belongs to the beautiful young woman in the picture. She has come to see you because she is very forgetful and has lost something valuable to her? I shrugged and handed the purse back to Holmes who was shaking his head. Watson my dear friend, Im afraid you have actually succeeded in making every wrong possible deduction. This is a mans purse. A tall man at that, for as you can see the imprint of his fingers around the edge are very large, denoting a statuesque man. This money is new money, newly gained, and if you look closely it is not pounds, but American dollars. Our man has been out of the country recently and has kept this picture of his wife, who he loves dearly, as a reminder of home. The purse itself is fairly new, a present to himself I do believe, after some luck at the workplace. He should be returning soon, as any man would after losing so much money. Before I had time to say anything, a knock was heard at the door and only a few seconds later a tall man walked into the parlor. He was over six feet tall and of great build, but what stuck out most was the look of anxiety on his face. Sherlock Holmes. Im glad to find you home. I cam by early and left my Change purse, Holmes interrupted, handing the man back his leather purse. Oh, I am more than obliged! Thank you good sir. But I really came by because I have heard of your great work. I have been warned that you are usually very busy Lucky for you, work is slow Holmes replied while taking in all he could from the sight of the man standing before him. Please, sit down. Thank you. My name is Harold Gullibus; I come to you from the next county over where I have lived in the Brustwell Estate with my wife Laura for the past year and a half. The beautiful young woman in the picture, I gather? inquired Holmes. Yes, yes! We will have been married for two years in August! That is beside the point. I have come off a simple feeling, a hunch if you will. I am not sure if I am simply being mistrustful or unreasonable, but I thought if anyone could help me figure it out, that somebody would be you Mr. Holmes. Do continue dear sir exclaimed Sherlock. He had a twinkle in his eye and I could tell he was trying to keep his excitement at the idea of a case hidden from Mr. Gullibus. I was about to get up and leave Sherlock to his work when I felt his hand on my shoulder. You don't mind if my dear friend Watson stays while you tell your story Mr. Gullibus? That is if you dont have any appointments keeping you Watson? No appointments today, I exclaimed as I sat back down in my chair and Sherlock motioned for Mr. Gullibus to continue. Laura and I married nearly two years ago, and have been very much in love ever since, but that is not to say we have had an easy go at it. Prior to our marriage I courted her for over two years. I know that she has always loved me, but she has hadIm sorry but these domestic issues are hard to talk about. As I was saying, Laura simply had some problems committing. It took me three times of proposing marriage for her to finally decide that she was ready. She really did play a mean game of hard to get! There were always other men after her, and although she always told me she cared not for them, and I know she was telling the truth I just think it was hard for her to settle down and commit to one man. But ever since the marriage everything has been wonderful. She has taken quite well to being a loyal wife, and I love her more everyday. It may seem trivial, or completely irrational to be coming here to talk to you about what I am about to tell you, but I suppose I can only ask you to bear with me. I was away in America last month for business, and when I returned I made it my priority to be sure and write a thank you note to the dear fellow I was lucky enough to stay with. I went to write this note at my desk when I found that all of my envelopes and stamps were gone, and at first I really thought nothing of it, thinking that perhaps Laura had taken my time away as time to catch up with old friends. After purchasing another box of envelopes, a
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to be safe, tell your housemaid that you have a very important piece of mail coming, and that you need her to bring you all parcels as soon as they arrive. Keep in contact with me, as I will be in all day tomorrow. Our new friend thanked Holmes repeatedly and shook both of our hands. He seemed to leave Baker Street a good deal less anxious than when he arrived. When I heard the front door close behind him, I looked over at Holmes, who resumed playing the violin. My dear Watson, I do believe there may be more to this case than at first glance. Do you see the name of the first man on that list? Holmes past me the list and I read the name out loud, Patrick Bathum Is this a name I should recognize? I asked my friend who was now lighting his pipe. If you had been keeping up with your local news, than yes, you should recognize that our friend Mr. Patrick Bathum was found dead outside his apartment last night. He walked over to the mantle, grabbed todays paper, turned to the second page and pointed excitedly to a small article entitled Man Found Dead Outside Apartment. Holmes, you never cease to amaze me. And I suspect you believe this man to be connected to Mr. Gullibuss case? I full heartedly believe that it is more than mere coincidence that a man comes to us with feelings of uneasiness about strange correspondences between what he believe to be his wife and some unidentified men, a list of six men which he believes to be written by his wife, and now this; one of the six found dead just yesterday. And you believe it is Mrs. Gullibus who has killed this man?? Not intentionally my dear Watson, not intentionally. Mrs. Gullibus is a special type of woman. Remind yourself of her favorite flowera lily. I have done my fair share of research in the field of botany and have found that there is in fact a relationship between flowers and the people who adore them. Lilies, my dear Watson, denote a strong need for love. The scent of a lily can attract bees for miles, and what we have on our hands is a lily of a woman, and like too much honey, she can be dangerous to a fellows heart. She had a strong power over these men, and I have a feeling, if my investigations into Mr. Gullibuss background prove correct, that these men are trying to take their revenge on Laura. But we shall hear from Mr. Gullibus tomorrow, so for now, let us get some sleep. Your room is available and the bed has been made if you wish to spend the night. I thanked him and accepted the offer seeing as my wife would be out of town until Tuesday. I went to bed and found myself thinking of my wife and her favorite flowers after all the talk of Laura. I awoke the next morning to find that Holmes was already awake. It was nearly noon and he had already dressed and eaten breakfast by the time I found him in the kitchen.
roll of stamps and writing my thank you note, I did not return to the desk for another week and a half. When I finally went into the drawer in my desk where I keep the envelopes and stamps, they were all gone; all twelve envelopes and stamps! It seemed a little peculiar, so I inquired with the housemaid. She said she had seen Laura at my desk quite frequently, reading and writing telegrams. At dinner that night I asked Laura who she had been writing to, thinking perhaps there was some news in her family I should know about. She looked at me with eyes of shock, paused and quickly told me that she had been doing no such thing. Now, as you can imagine, this response tossed me for a loop. I did not think our dear housemaid would lie to me about Laura, but I felt even stronger that Laura would not lie to my face. I was quite torn. I said nothing more of the matter at dinner that night, and have not since then. I believe that was a week ago today. As far as you can tell Mr. Gullibus, has Laura has ceased writing and receiving these telegraphs? said Holmes with some air of urgency. Well that was what I thought until yesterday when I came home early from work. I was going to surprise her with her favorite flower, lilies of course, with pink on the inside! I came to find her in front of the fireplace, throwing something into it. She had quite a start when she saw me standing in the doorway, and before saying anything threw the remaining papers into the fireplace. As you can imagine Mr. Holmes, Ive been a wreck ever since this incident. I want to trust my wife, I really want to, but she is making it very difficult. She denies any accusations of sending or receiving telegrams, and insists she was simply feeding the fire. I just have this feelingI dont know, like something is not quite right. Perhaps she may be in some sort of trouble. At this point Mr. Gullibus was terribly worked up. It was obvious that he had come to Holmes in the utmost seriousness, and it was also obvious that Holmes was taking his case quite seriously as well. He that vacant look covering his face which only comes out when he is deep in thought. Oh, one more thing, Mr. Gullibus interjected, Im not sure if there is any connection, but I found this list of names on a piece of paper that I had found crumpled up in one of the waste basket of my study, and it seems to have been written by my wife. I just thought it might be of some help. Holmes took the piece of paper and read the list of six mens names. He kept a straight face, but I could see that after reading one name in particular, something was sparked in the great mind of his. Mr. Gullibus, Holmes finally exclaimed, I want you to go home and get some rest. I have some ideas as to what may be going on with your wife, but I need you to be at home to keep a somewhat close watch over your house and your wife. Do not bring your suspicions up to her again. If you see any men around the estate that you do not recognize, I will need to know immediately. Also,
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Good morning Watson. Your coffee is on the stove waiting for you, and your spare clothes are in your bedroom, you had better get a move on, we are headed over to the Brustwell Estate to give Mr. Gullibus and Laura a visit. I received a telegram with this message on it: Come immediately, a strange man came to the house today. Could there be a connection? Urgently, Gullibus. So grab your coffee and your coat Watson, its going to be a good day. Holmes was quiet the whole ride. He carefully examined the ground outside of the Brustwell Estate when we arrived. Mr. Gullibus met us at the door with a look of anxiety on his face. He led us into the sitting room and told us to make ourselves comfortable. He finally began to explain what had happened earlier this morning. A strange man with a limp had been walking around the outskirts of their property earlier this morning and looked as if he was thinking of coming in the door. I know you told me to call if anything of this nature occurred. I asked Laura if she knew this man, but she did not answer. Instead she locked herself in a room upstairs and has been there ever since. After this explanation, Mr. Gullibus excused himself. I sat in a large, stiff arm chair while Holmes paced the room, looking all around and inspecting the carpet near the massive oak door through which we had entered. He had that vacant look in his eyes and was obviously putting something together in his head. Holmes suddenly looked up with a start and exclaimed, By golly Watson, hes still in the house! At that same instant a scream from above us made both myself and Holmes freeze. I sprang from my chair and we both ran into the hallway where we were met by Gullibus standing above the tray of tea he had dropped at the sound of the ghastly scream. His face was frozen in horror. Where is Laura? Holmes asked Gullibus in the calmest voice he could manage. Mr. Gullibus could not even speak; it took him a few seconds to finally open his mouth, point upward and whisper, eyes wide open, Up the stairs, third door on your right. With this, both Holmes and I sprang up the stairs, leaving Mr. Gullibus standing, immobilized by shock. When we finally reached the door behind which Laura was supposed to be, we found it locked just as Mr. Gullibus had told us. I called out to her, but to no avail. There was no answer. Watson, go get Gullibus and find the key to this room immediately. Im afraid we might be too late. Not knowing exactly what man Holmes spoke up, but hearing the sound of urgency in his voice, I charged downstairs to find Gullibus and found him in the same position as we had left him. Gullibus, the door is locked. We need to find the key. Laura is in trouble man, please, snap out of it!
Gullibus, with a quick jerk of his head, looked me in the eyes and ran to the kitchen where he retrieved the keys and motioned me to follow him up the stairs. When we got to the room, the door was already open and Holmes stood in the doorway, his small metal tool in hand. He turned towards us when he heard us behind him and looked directly at Mr. Gullibus. Laura is gone he exclaimed. But I have surveyed the room and I am fairly certain where we can find her. The ground is also quite soft because of the rain we had last night, which will work to our benefit. I am done here. Gullibus call the Scottland Yard and let them know there has been a kidnapping and that Sherlock Holmes requests Lestrade, and solely Lestrades presence at this here estate. I am going to go see what I can deduce from the footprints outside. The two escaped out that far window over there, and with the aid of a large white rope were able to traverse the wall. The man is a tall one; over six foot six with a slight limp of the right leg, and I believe one of the remaining five men on the list you found. Gullibus looked up at Holmes in amazement, as Holmes walked swiftly passed us and down the stairs. I followed him outside while Mr. Gullibus went to call Lestrade and watched him as he scaled the grounds, starting at first by walking to the front door, back to the gravel driveway, around the back of the house following the trace of the kidnapper. I tried to see these footsteps that were so obvious in the eyes of Holmes, but I could not. When Holmes had finally made it to the back of the estate, directly below the open window, he turned around and stopped. Just as I had expected. Our man has brought Laura through the woods. If my studies of the area around this estate are correct, then cutting directly through these woods leads to the next county over where all six of the men, including our deceased friend Patrick Bathrum live. How in heavens would you know that Holmes? Well my dear Watson, while you slept last night I caught up on my research. I knew that all six of the men on Lauras list were the men she had been corresponding with and that they most likely were looking in some way to bribe her or get revenge. I found through my research that in fact all six of them had been at some point involved romantically with Laura. Living in the same part of town, there was overlap in their courtships and they came to learn about each other. When Mr. Gullibus came into the picture, Laura cut all ties with the men, and in doing so left six jealous men with six broken hearts. I was fairly certain that all of the men were working together on some sort of a plan. When the announcement of Mr. Bathrums death was in the paper I felt quite certain that one of the remaining men would try to contact Laura, personally. Now that we know the man who made the personal visit was one of tall stature and a limp, Jack Brassle is as good as ours, that is one of the six men, and the only one with a bad leg; horse accident I was astonished.
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The back door was swinging open and from inside we could hear the faint cries of a young woman. It looks like our men have run off. One, two, threeand fouryes, and five different footprints. They have all made a run for it. Lestrade, I will give you the names of these men and I do not think you will have any trouble finding them. As he spoke, Lestrade and I followed Holmes in the back door. Just as expected, Laura sat in the corner of the deserted storage room bound and gagged in a chair, but virtually unharmed. I untied the scarf that had been around her mouth. She gasped for air and rubbed her beautiful red lips when she was finally free, threw her arms around me and began hysterically crying. Even in such a state I could understand completely the power she must have had over these men; I almost felt for them. All four of us walked outside, me with my arm supporting Laura, Holmes lighting his pipe and Lestrade looking extremely confused.
So you had this entire case almost entirely figured out before we even set foot on the Gullibuss estate? Holmes grinned and beckoned me towards the front of the house. Just as we came to the gravel drive, Lestrade pulled up. Ah, Lestrade, good to see you my fellow Holmes said with a hint of mockery in his voice. Lestrade smiled at Holmes and held his hand out for Holmes to shake. Another case and I suppose you think your simple guesses have provided you with the answers I am sure. Guesses by no means Lestrade. It is simply what remains, after simple deduction that leave me with the truth. A keen eye is all that is needed to decipher truth from falsity Holmes replied. And if you are so confident in your truths, why do you need me? The law Lestrade, I need you to help in the arrest of the four men responsible for the kidnapping of a Mrs. Laura Gullibus. As I am sure Mr. Gullibus has informed you by telephone, his wife was kidnapped less than half an hour ago. Her case is a singular one, and I am quite sure of where to find her. The six men corresponding with Laura have recently opened a business together in the next town over. Their mailing addresses are all different box numbers at the same establishment at 487 Wickham Street. Just as Holmes finished his last sentence Wiggins, a small street Arab came running up to us. He rushed over to Holmes and whispered something in his ear. Holmess face lit up and he handed the young boy a coin. Watson, go tell Gullibus that we will be back shortly with Laura. Lestrade, we are riding with you. We are headed to the Offices of Six and Sons, Wiggins has witnessed activity there just a few minutes ago. Were going to need you to step on it Lestrade. Holmes spoke sternly, so neither I nor Lestrade asked any questions. I ran to inform Mr. Gullibus of our departure and jumped in the police car just as Lestrade began to speed away. Once on our way, I looked over at Holmes who sat confidently looking straight ahead. I knew not to ask questions but rather wait until my friend felt it was time to fill me in on the details of the case or at least the course of action we were to take once we reached the believed location of Laura and her capturers. After nearly ten minutes of silence, Holmes began to speak. I do not think Laura is in any immediate trouble. These men were at one point far too in love with her to do anything to hurt her. They want something from her, exactly what I am not sure but we are soon to find out. Judging from Mr. Gullibuss fortunes, it could be simply monetary. With that said, the rest of the ride was silent until we pulled up to a large building, looking far from functional. The windows were boarded up and in parts the red bricks looked as if they were disintegrating. Lestrade parked across the street, and jumping out quickly Holmes walked towards the back of the house where he found a broken wristwatch with the engraving JB on it.
When Laura was finally able to pull herself together, Holmes put out his pipe and sat down beside her. Laura my dear, Lestrade is on his way to finding the five men that did this to you, and we know about Mr. Bathrum. There is one point as to which I am a little unclear, and that is what these men were after, besides some sort of revenge? Laura looked up at Holmes and then back at the ground. Before I met Harold, I had quite a few suitors; well, six to be exact. Not all at the same time, no nothing like that, but whenever it came to an end with any of them they just never could let go. I would tell them time and again that I had moved on but nothing ever changed.
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Once I finally agreed to marry Harold, I had to put a stop to it, so I wrote them all a final letter and told them never to contact me again. With some stroke of luck, all six of them complied. Until the announcement in the paper of your husbands fortune? chimed in Holmes. Laura looked at him in astonishment. You knew of that?! Well, yes. A week or so after the announcement, I received letters from each man, at least one a day. My husband was luckily out of town on business, so I decided to keep the letters from him. If he found out there had been six men in my life before him, he would have never looked at me the same again. During the weeks he was away, and even into the time of his return, I wrote and I wrote, trying to persuade these men to leave me alone. It was not until eight or nine days into the correspondence that I realized they were all in on it together. They were after the money and used the fact that I had broken their hearts as justification for the bribery. I had no idea what to do except agree to meet with them in person she stopped suddenly and a single tear began to fall down her cheek.
It was an accident Laura, you did not plan for Patrick to fall through the window interjected Holmes. I know, but it still hurts. He was the first on my list to visit and when I got there he kept screaming at me and at one point he put his hand on me and I pushed him off. He must have slippedI don't even know how it could have happened. But hes gone, and its my fault. They all just wanted money to get this business up and running. As you can see it is far from glamorous. Even after all theyve done, they justthey just have never been anything but sweet to me. She began to cry. I dont know what I am going to tell Harold Laura finally whispered. Between the four of us, they were six men who heard about your husbands fortune and decided to kidnap you as a means of getting to it. No past connections. Completely arbitrary Holmes said, looking from me to Lestrade. There is no point in upsetting Gullibus anymore than he already is. And so it was settled, Holmes with the satisfaction of understanding the case, Lestrade the publicity and I, with the vision of a beautiful woman in my head that I had a feeling would be very hard to shake.

II. - THE CASE OF THE MISSING FLAKES
It was precisely 6:30 when I stumbled upon the front steps of 221B Baker Street, amid a curious type of storm. I had aimed to traverse the blocks back to my own flat, and my dear wife, but on viewing the inviting glow that radiated from my trusted friends own window, a sharp draft began to bite at my neck and I found myself being drawn to his front door. Before I knew it, I was ringing the bell and being greeted by the housekeeper who I have come to know quite well. I must apologize, Dr. Watson, but Mr. Holmes is not in right now, she stated after she had invited me in. While it should be quite a time before he returns, I wouldnt dare suggest that you enter back into that dreadful squall. With that, the lady of the house led me into the chambers of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. As usual, they were full of chemicals and of criminal relics in the most unlikely of places. A parcel of what appeared to be letters were held securely against the mantle of the fireplace, as they seemed to have been aggressively stabbed there by Holmes own wooden handled carving knife. I had no doubt in my mind that they had been evidence of some sort in one of Holmes curious cases. As I settled into a plush sofa, the type of which had become synonymous in my mind with Holmes quarters, I observed the crookedly hanging sketches which littered the walls, intermittent with charts of all types. The only one I could decipher was what seemed to be a periodic table. Instead of elements, however, the boxes contained the names and details of different types of tobacco. I was instantly reminded of a case we had braved together, The Adventure of Black Peter. I continued to let my mind wander, reclining purposefully and sipping on the Earl tea which Mrs. Hudson had so generously supplied me. As my limbs finally began to thaw out from the bitter cold, my eyes fell upon a battered letter which lay upon the table at my left. In such a conspicuous place, I could not but allow myself to read the quickly jotted paragraph, dated from the preceding morning. Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I am very anxious to consult with you, as you have been recommended by an officer friend of mine, Mr. Lestrade of the Scotland yard.. I will call at half past seven tomorrow evening, if it shall not inconvenience you. Until then, Mr. Samuel Harker
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expected you to at least get this trivial piece of evidence, as it is he who the initials S.H. represent. But for the watch, it does indeed belong to a small woman. But the lady is none other than the wife of Mr. Harker. Mrs. Hudson relayed to me that he had been fondling it nervously when he arrived at Baker Street to drop off that letter. Apparently he left it on the table when he was drinking tea with her. But Holmes you yourself have told me, Data! Data! Data! You can not begin to deduce until you have gathered all the possible facts. Certainly you have left that evidence out, I conjectured angrily. Turning to me, he smiled and clasped his lengthy fingers together. Watson, I suppose we must look upon you as a man of directness. You know my method, it is founded upon the observation of trifles. You should have gathered much more from this piece. It is simple. This watch was made from the finest gold by the finest of craftsmen. It was obviously giving by a doting husband to his wife. Harkers wife, it is clear, does not love him in return. Holmes, surely you cannot assume.. My statement was in vain however, because Holmes continued despite my interjection. Is it not clear? You observed the many scuffs and scratches that have marred it, which led you to believe that it was not a high quality metal. You were incorrect. This watch must have cost many, many pounds. And yet the wife has not treasured this present. Instead, she has treated it roughly. Harker has showed her that he loves her by filing down all of the marks, and yet she continues to create them. Would any loving wife continue to deface a present that obviously meant a lot to her husband? I did not even have a chance to respond, for at that second, a knock sounded on the door. Holmes quickly positioned the extra chair in the room so that the occupant would be flooded in light. A man opened the door with an anxious look on his face, and at Holmes ushering, sat in the seat at question. Mr. Harker, I presume?, questioned Holmes, a twinkle in his eye. It was evident that he was ready for another mystery to shake up the monotony of his daily existence. I have received your note, and by that look on your face, Im sure you will be pleased to know that you left you wifes watch in my foyer as well. Though our guests features relaxed, the tension in his face were still evident in his features. I am Mr. Holmes, as you should already know, and this is my confidant Dr. Watson. I hope you have not minded that I have checked with Lestade and he assures me your problem will suit my whims. However, he did not have time to brief me on the matter. It is just as well, however, for I would like Watson here to hear the story as well. I am not a good teller of tales, I must say, but I shall do my best. And if you shall have any questions, simply stop me and I will help you in any way that I
Obviously, it was another harried individual who sought the detective services of my friend. The half hazard manner in which the letter had been written, without care for explaining the situation, appeared to suggest that the client had written it in a hurry, so much so that they had not taken the time to include the problem. I was still bent over the paper, when a quiet voice behind me calmly stated, Alas! My life is spent in one long effort to escape from the commonplaces of existence. Startled to hear Holmes voice, I jumped up in an attempt to conceal my actions. It had not even occurred to me that I might have been prying into Holmes business, though that had not been my intention. However, my effort must have been in vein, as Holmes continued, With any luck Mr. Harkers own little problems, which you seem to have learned of, will stir my imagination and help distract me from the tedium of this storm. With that sudden interjection, Holmes sauntered into the room and collapsed into the chair opposite myself, his long limbs draped at odd angles. Before I could speak a word of apology, however, Holmes pulled a watch from inside his breast pocket. What can you gather from this time piece, Watson? Fondling the piece, I tried to put myself in the owners position. It was a womans watch, made of a fine gold, gilded and embossed in the most delicate of fashions. However delicately embossed, I could not overlook the tiny scratches which covered the entire face of the timepiece. At first glance, it seemed as though the owner might have simply been careless with the piece. With a closer inspection, however, it became clear that the owner had tried to file down the scuffs in an attempt to hide them. Its band was made from a similar material. The key was oiled, and the time was accurate. It had the initials, S.H. on the inside. The watch itself, is not of the greatest quality. The owner does not seem to have taken good care of it, as is evident by these tiny scratches. It is owned by a tiny woman, for it would take a lady small indeed to slip her wrist between this band. But the initials, S.H.; did you give this to a woman? Holmes eyed me with a look that showed me the ludicry of my own statement. Is that the extent of your observations? Holmes looked at me with a disapproving eye. There is nothing more I could possibly deduct from such a minor piece of evidence. Surely there is nothing more? As the question came out, I could not help but laugh to myself. My experience with Holmes had taught me that there was always something more. The same old Watson! You never learn that the gravest issues may depend upon the smallest things. There is more that I can gather from this with one blink of my eye. If I am correct, I saw you looking at my own personal correspondence from Mr. Samuel Harker. I
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can., stated Mr. Harker. With that, he began his narrative. Carolyn has always been very dear to me. She has been my heart and my soul, for the two fine years that we have been married. We met by chance, you see I am a salesman and one night I got caught out in some questionable weather and had to stay overnight in an Inn. She was also staying at the Inn, as she had some personal business in the area. I took rather a liking to her, and decided to stay at the establishment for two more days, despite the fact that the weather was beautiful. The first day I was courting her, she seemed uninterested in me. I continued to talk to her though, and as I told her about myself and my life as a salesman I believe I caught her fancy. . Throughout the story, Holmes had been clasping and unclasping his fingers. And what were you selling at that point in time?, he questioned Harker. When I first met Carolyn I was selling rough metals to factories, but I told her how in the future I would be moving up to better things, including gold and other fineries. Holmes nodded, indicated Harker to continue. Eventually, she had to leave the hotel, but she lived not too far away in the countryside and we got married. Since then, we have had a fine life together. In the last months, however, queer things have begun to happen. I keep a storeroom in the cellar in which I store my excess goods before I can peddle them to the surrounding gold and metal smiths. I have always felt that they have been very secure there, as no one knows that they are there. As of late, things have begun to go missing. Now, Detective, I am a very forgetful man, as I sure you can conjure from me leaving this watch behind, but my work is a whole different situation. Because of the value of my goods, I am very vigilant. Here and there, I have noticed that tiny pieces have been splintered off of several of my gold blocks. There are the tiniest of fragments, and each has occurred within a span of several days, but the mystery has engulfed my mind. At the same time, a rift has begun to develop between me and my wife, Carolyn. We used to be a most united couple, but of late, things have changed. I gave her this watch for our two year anniversary, and already I have had to take it to the gold smith five times for repairs. That was why I was handling it when I first came to your flat, I must take it back to have these scuffs filed out, once again. It is as if she does not care. We have not been speaking, and she seems to be hiding things from me. Holmes, leaned forward in his seat, with a pained look upon his face. It troubles me to ask you this, sir, but is there any way your wife could have been involved in this treacherous deed? It embarrasses me to admit that I ever could have suspected my dear Carolyn, but as of late, I must share that it has crossed my mind. I never wanted to trouble Carolyn with the news of the thievery, I did not wish to
trouble her. Last week, however, I decided that I must bring the situation up to her, as an attempt to gauge if she had any involvement in the deed. When I had finished informing her of the missing flakes of gold, however, she ran into her own dressing room. After several minutes, she retreated from this sanctuary, however, with fresh tears rolling down the outside of her face. She had obviously been crying. She began to tell me that the news had greatly upset her and that she was afraid for both our lives and our livelihoods, if someone were to be creeping around in our basement and stealing our possessions. I know it is a curious number of events, but I cannot come up with a solution. Lestrade has told me that the amount of gold being stolen is so trifling that it cannot merit a police investigation. I implore you to help me. Holmes looked in silence at the desperate young man who sat in his quarters. After a moment of thought, he asked, You said she was crying? Yes, with large drops of tears? Down the outsides of her eyes? Yes, I thought that she did not care for me any longer because of the watch, but the tears must indicate that she loves me still. It is a very queer mystery at hand, replied Sherlock. It is also one that requires a nights worth of sleep before we begin. If you would, I will need you to return to my apartment. I will send you a telegram. Until then, keep an eye on your wife, you never know what kind of danger is at hand. With that, Mr. Samuel Harker shook both our hands enthusiastically and headed on his way. What do you make of our troubled friend Harker, Watson? He seemed an upstanding gentleman. Yes, certainly, but it is all in the details. What can you detect that our client did not care to mention? I can tell you no more. He was a man like many others, On the contrary, Watson, you can see everything. You fail, however, to reason from what you see. You are too timid in drawing your inferences. Always look at the hands first. Then the trousers, the knees, and perhaps the boots. But now it is time for rest and for me to muse upon the situation at hand. And look! The storm seems to be at bay. Quick, go, before the lady of your house has to call Lestrade herself! I will expect you here at eleven and we will get to the bottom of this peculiar situation, for I assure you, there is more to this than meets the eye. I arrived at Baker Street promptly at eleven as Holmes had instructed me, and was surprised to find him, dress coat in hand, on the front stoop of the apartment. Even from a distance, I could tell that his face was twisted in an expression of deep contemplation. Before I could question his mood, Holmes waved a telegram in my face and simultaneously whistled for a hansom cab. With a motion of his arm, he ushered me in and taking care to close the curtain, we were off.
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your wifes personal effects. Her desk, her bedside table, anywhere she might keep important papers? Harker nodded his consent and the three of us followed Holmes upstairs, trying to match his brisk pace. Upon my return to the salesmans residence I saw that Holmes confidence had not been in vain. Instead he was sitting in the chair of what was obviously Mrs. Harkers desk. Watson, I asked Mr. Harker to wait outside while I conducted my investigation. But I fear it has not taken long. As I said, I did not want to theorize without all of the facts, but it seems that my preliminary idea was proven rather quickly by simply looking around Mrs. Harkers personal belongings. This here is a flyer from the steamship, Arcadia. I noted today in the morning paper that it is slated to leave this evening, for America. Gesturing to a bundle of letters, he continued, I only needed to read one of these letters here to confirm my suspicions. You see, apparently our salesmans wife has been keeping correspondence with a brother in America. Do tell me you can deduce the rest of the mystery my dear Watson? When it became clear that I could not, Holmes finished his narrative. I first became suspicious that something was not right in the marriage during Harkers recount of the interaction between him and his wife. Recall how he described her reaction to the theft of his gold. He said that after taking a moment in the powder room to compose herself, she came out crying with tears from the outsides of her eyes. But Holmes, I interjected, I dont understand what the ladies distress would have to do with her being the culprit. Ah, Watson, this is where you are wrong. The answer is in the details. Harker himself told us that the tears were coming from the outsides of her eyes. Humans release tears from their tear ducts, naturally, which are located not on the outsides, but on the insides of their eyes. Losing no speed with the obvious astonishment on my face, Holmes explained, This was where I first questioned the case. It was clear that Mrs. Harker had some motive to feign tears. When I became aware that she had departed without notice, my suspicions were confirmed. She must have been involved. With that, Holmes pulled a clipping from his coat pocket. The clip detailed a mysterious case where a vendor had been paid for a set of luggage with what appeared to be two solid gold coins. But upon further investigation, the gold coins turned out to be simply copper coins with a gold foil wrapped around them in imitation. You see Watson, it could be the only explanation. But still, I did not want to jump to conclusions, as Mr. Harker obviously loves his wife very much. Indeed, I sent Lestrade to the Arcadia, and told him to check which passengers had paid their passage in solid gold coins. It is
Why Holmes, you know I trust you unconditionally Before I could finish my statement, I was quickly cut off by my companion. Of course Watson, you must know what is afoot. I have just received news from Mr. Harker himself that his wife seems to have taken flight in the night! Indeed, the paper read: Come immediately, Mrs. Harker has gone. Your help required. The cab was wasted no time, and as though we needed more speed, Holmes tossed the cabbie another coin for his promise of haste. Within minutes, we had rounded the corner and stopped in front of a respectable house on Vermonda Lane. The door swung open in anticipation, just as we had mounted the steps. Mr. Harker greeted us with confusion in his eyes. Shes gone, he spoke dejectedly. Holmes at once took control of the situation. Harker, you must answer one question for me, have you checked the gold? Immediately it became evident that the poor fellow had not. The three of us turned, and with the client in the lead, raced in the direction of the cellar. From the urgency in Holmes voice, I was sure that Harker might have to cope with a huge depletion in his gold stock. Grabbing a lamp off of the wall, Holmes lit a match and flooded the cavern with light. To my surprise, however, it seemed as though the gold was all accounted for. Turning to Holmes, I realized that he did not seem startled. Instead, it seemed as though his suspicions had been confirmed. Nodding to himself, Homes questioned, Now look closely Mr. Harker, does any more gold appear to be missing? Looking as relieved as a man who had just lost his wife could, the salesman replied, There are just 3 more slivers missing. In total that makes the count 20 slivers of gold. Holmes, you must tell me where this gold has gone, and more importantly, what has happened to my dear Carolyn! Holmes, it seemed was lost in a deep concentration. Harker and I both waited for his analysis of the situation. After a moment, Holmes expression changed, and he looked as though he had come to come sort of conclusion. But instead of the answer to the mystery, Holmes said, It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts. Watson, I need you to send a telegram to Lestrade. Go to the street and whistle for a street arab. Tell him what I need and give him this coin Motioning for some paper, Holmes quickly jotted out a note which I accepted. As I turned to leave, Holmes, with the confidence which I had come to expect from him asked Harker, Would you mind if I took a look around
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obvious that Mrs. Harker has ceased to love her husband. Whatever her motivation, she has obviously taken flight and plans to board the ship Arcadia to meet her brother in America. She has made 20 counterfeit coins, two of which she spent on luggage, and the other 18 she has used for her passage. The telegram which I sent Lestrade warned him that there may be a woman paying in counterfeit gold coins. Before he could continue, there was a knock on the door. As Mr. Harker opened it, Holmes and I left the study and saw Lestrade and a woman standing in the front hall. From Harkers expression I was sure that it was her wife.
Turning to Holmes, Lestrade stated, This was the only woman who paid her passage in gold coins, Holmes. I trust this is the right one? With a nod, Holmes confirmed.
Carolyn! Where have you been? What are you with the police, ejaculated Mr. Harker. Holmes turned to Carolyn Harker, I trust that you will tell your husband what has happened, as it is your responsibility and your deceit. The woman looked so terrified that it was evident to both myself and Holmes that this time, she would not break her promise. Motioning to Lestrade and myself, we left the building, leaving husband and wife to themselves. Lestrade promptly excused himself to attend to other duties, but I could not resist questioning Holmes and his actions. Holmes, surely that was a matter of the law! The woman stole from her husband, she counterfeited and meant to fly to America without a single word to her husband. How could you just leave the matter so unraveled? My dear Watson, women are fickle creatures. Their motives are inscrutable. Their most trivial action may mean volumes, or their most extraordinary conduct may depend upon a mere whim. Yet, I trust a womans intuition. There has been no crime here, the gold, as his wife, was her property as well, and the sum was too trivial for police action. Now that she has returned the pair will have a chance to discuss their differences, whatever they may be. And those, my friend, are not a matter for us to try to deduct. We may find that Mrs. Harker will indeed leave for America yet. But this time, it will not be at the expense of her heartbroken husband. All that matters is that the case is solved. This may be some trifling intrigue but I cannot break my other important research for the sake of it. With that, he turned on his heels and continued down the street. I, still astonished at the amazing events of the day, followed him back to Baker Street.

III. - THE CASE OF THE JOURNAL
Sherlock Holmes and I had been out for about an hour when we finally rounded the corner and began to make our way down Baker Street. It had been an eventful afternoon. We were both asked to report to Scotland Yard and present our case to an official for the preparation of Mr. John Clays trial concerning the attempted robbery of City and Suburban Bank. I thought it would be an opportunity for Holmes to receive the recognition he deserved in solving the case, but Jones merely cited him as an advocate of the law. My friend did not seem to mind, but he remained quiet on our walk home. I presume, he was a bit disappointed to see the criminal mastermind, Clay, going behind bars. The villain proved to be quite the challenge for my companions mind, something he had always preferred when dealing with his clients misfortunes. Ah, my dear Watson, what have we here? Holmes asked as we made our way through the door and into the foyer. A brown, leather satchel sat on the floor against the wooden panel. It would appear we have a visitor. Indeed, whoever could it be? I asked. Well, my friend, why dont you tell me if you cant deduce the identity from the information present. I stood for a moment observing the bag. This would be an excellent opportunity for me to exhibit the methods of analysis I had developed under the guidance of Holmes.
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Thomass face progressed to a solemn expression as he was reminded of the purpose for his visit. I thought it would be wise and appropriate for me to retire to my room, but Holmes held my arm as he sat on the adjacent sofa. You dont mind that my friend, Dr. Watson, stays and hears your story? He has become my partner and has helped in many ways when I am dealing with my most difficult cases. I assure you, all that is said will be held in confidence, Holmes declared to the young man. No, I dont mind. I have heard of you, Dr. Watson, as well. You see, my friend William advised me to seek your opinion in a very personal matter, one that holds great importance in my life. William is the son of Mr. Merryweather, the banker from City and Suburban Bank, who you assisted a few months ago. Our fathers worked together at the bank, and we both attend Eton Hall. Last month, my father was discovered in his study, dead. There was a suicide note in his coat pocket, which I have brought. The pathologist pronounced he had slowly poisoned himself with a vegetable alkaloid. This was traumatizing for my mother, and I have had to take on the responsibilities of the house. She has taken to her bed and refuses to leave the chamber. After the funeral, I was advised to sort through my fathers belongings and dispose of anything without sentimental value, in an attempt to aid my mothers healing process. I rummaged through his wardrobe, study, and other material possessions. I only kept three things; his satchel, his journal, and his final letter. My own personal interest led me to reading his journal, which brings me to my reason for coming here. There is one entry in particular that I seek your opinion on. Perhaps I am overreacting or reading into it too deeply, but I had to inquire. I feel there are questions left unanswered. My father left my family in good financial standing, and I intend to pay you for your services. Here is both the letter and the journal. Thomas bent to the ground and picked up a leatherbound notebook with a crumpled paper on top, to give to Holmes. The letter was written on cheap paper, but in perfect penmanship. After quickly examining the piece, Holmes handed it to me to read aloud:
Judging by the type of bag, I must say it belongs to a man. The size and style suggests that he is of some affluence. Perhaps, he is a schoolteacher of some sort. The leathers texture seems to be quite old, and of the highest quality. The strap suggests that it could only be worn by a man as it wraps around the shoulder. I walked around the bag, maintaining my determination and scrutiny. My deductions were logical, thorough, and direct, but I was sure they were incomplete. What have you to say of my reasoning? All quite possible, Holmes replied, but one detail is missing. While I agree that the owner of this bag is a male, and wealthy at that, I must object to both his age and profession. Closer examination of the over-theshoulder strap would lead you to think otherwise. He brought his forefinger to his nose as a strong, pensive look came over his face. Stepping closer to the satchel, he continued his correction. The bag can belong to none other than a teenaged student. Had you investigated the strap, you would have seen it is quite tight in order to hold the bag close to a petit body. It would seem to me that the boy has received this as a gift from his father, or has inherited it, along with some type of sentimental value. The worn look suggests that it was passed down by a generation or two. Furthermore, the small opening allows us to view the contents, partially, without intruding on his privacy. As you can see, there is both a grammar book and an algebra book. The schoolteacher would have one or the other, not both. I can also clearly say that he is a right-handed male. The strap is more tattered on the right side meaning that he uses his right hand to put it over his left shoulder. You mustnt jump to conclusions before traveling down all roads of possibility and including every minute detail. He turned to me with a grin, having succeeded in patronizing me with his genius once again. Before I had the time to argue my dignity, Mrs. Hudson came through the sitting room door and informed us of our visitor. We entered the room to find a boy sitting at the table with a tray of cookies in front of him. Of course, Mrs. Hudson took the opportunity and liberty to feed our young visitor nice goodies in our absence. He could be no more than fourteen years of age, and was dressed in the proper slacks and tie for a day at a prestigious school. The boy immediately rose to greet us as we walked towards him. Please, keep your seat, my friend said as we approached, and he slumped back on to the sofa. No need to stand for us, young Thomas Whitman. How on Earth did you know my name?! My word, you truly are as brilliant as William told me, he exclaimed as he inched to the edge of his cushion with animation. It was simple, my dear boy. Your bag in the hall has a small card of identification. Nevertheless, now, it is my turn for the questions. Why do I find you in our sitting room and who is this William?
No one would have understood what an awful person I am, and the decisions I have made. This was my only choice. I am so very sorry.
I looked up to see Holmes with his eyes closed and his arms crossed. Strain and thought overtook his face. Thomas stared at the ground, not lifting his head. I hated to see the boy in such a tizzy. And now the journal entry, Holmes commanded. Thomas handed me the notebook. It was dark brown with a loose strap keeping it closed. The cover was embroidered with dark red, green, and blue threads. A
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silver medallion was centered in the middle with beautiful artistry. I slowly opened the heavy cover, hesitating to watch for Thomass approval. He nodded and I flipped to the section that he had marked for the entry:
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I fear my secret is to be revealed soon. She has threatened too many times without action. I worry she is not in sound mind. Should anything occur, all will be known in 24-03-1894
I closed the notebook and returned it to Thomas. We both waited as Holmes sat in silence. His eyes opened slowly. Well my dear boy, I feel I may be of some help to you in the matter of your fathers death. If you dont mind, I should like to keep both the letter and notebook for the time being. It is now Tuesday, I hope to have a solution for you by Thursday, if not sooner, my companion said confidently.
returned to the sitting room and found Holmes analyzing the objects with his magnifying glass. I say Holmes; have you any idea of the solution to the young boys inquiry? My dear Watson, I have but a few theories which need investigating. I must tend to some errands before the day is over. I wont be back for dinner. Holmes had left the house with that characteristic fire in his eyes, and I knew he would keep to his word. I was not worried when he had not returned by the time I was retiring to my chambers for the evening. It was not unusual for him to stay out all night and still have energy the next morning while working on a case. He seemed to feed off the mystery and adventure that always found us. When I woke at my normal hour, I dressed and headed for the kitchen. To my surprise, I found Holmes breakfasting with another plate set next to him. Please, Watson, sit and eat. We shall have a very busy day ahead of us; full of excitement, I am sure. I have all ready telegraphed for Gregson and the boy to meet us here in fifteen minutes. What? By jove, have you solved it, then? I stammered. Indeed, it proved to be much simpler than I had presumed. We are dealing with an amateur who is no match for my mind. In fact, I have all ready seen our culprit. Then, it was a murder? Quite so, but I shall save the story for our other two guests. I think this is them now, arriving earlier than expected. A soft tapping was heard at the front door, followed by the congenial welcoming by our own Mrs. Hudson. Within a moment, Gregson and Thomas were in our sitting room. Holmes and I entered through the side door to find them both seated on the long sofa. We all greeted one-another before Holmes unveiled his solution. Well Thomas, I must congratulate you for your own eye of detection. Had you not been suspicious of the peculiar note and extraordinary journal entry, I fear your family would have suffered another great loss. It appears to me, that your father was murdered, and it was meant to look like a suicide, Holmes lectured as he started to smoke out of his pipe. But who would have wanted to kill my father? asked the boy, quivering. Well, that is what I first asked myself when I examined the note and journal after you left. I became suspicious of the suicide after looking at the note. His penmanship was perfect; every T was crossed and every I was dotted. This struck me as odd. Should not a man who is about to take his own life be more nervous and careless when writing out his final words? Would you not think his hand would be shaking? Furthermore, would not a man of your fathers financial standing be able to afford more formal stationary? I then compared the handwriting on the note to that of the journal. I was able
Oh, absolutely, sir, I am most grateful for anything you may discover. I just dont feel comfortable with it, but I don't know what to make of it all. I can be reached at 106 Stanmore Place, and will come as soon as I hear from you, Thomas anxiously replied. Your feelings are much warranted, I presume, and quite wise for someone of your years. We shall be in touch shortly. We all stood and shook hands. I escorted Thomas to the foyer where he gathered his bag and made his leave. I
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fathers life before making the venture to England. I presume her plan included forging the suicide and then claiming all his fortune because he is still legally married to her. Unfortunately, British law decrees that your fathers marriage to your mother is not recognized as he already had a wife, and Miss King would have been the sole heir, had she not committed this murder. I can say, even without questioning her, that she approached your father one afternoon and made her presence in the country known. Hence, we observe his suspicions of her in the journal entry and his proper precautions for the valuable information in the bank account. Furthermore, I am sure that she is responsible for the vegetable alkaloid found by the city coroner. I presume they had a meeting where she was able to slip the slow-reacting chemical into his drink and plant the forged suicide note into his pocket. Had she not been as sloppy and had you not been as alert, she would have succeeded. Thanks to your detective work, Thomas, you may rest assured that your inheritance is safe and that you have avenged your fathers death. Outstanding, Holmes, you are truly a genius. I say that you have really outdone yourself with this case, I proclaimed with excitement and awe. Thank you Mr. Holmes, Im sure this will really help my mothers recovery. I appreciate everything you have done for my family. I would be pleased to pay you a stipend for your remarkable work, Thomas eagerly and graciously exclaimed. The boy seemed to have a large burden lifted off his small shoulders as Holmes concluded his story. He would never have his father back in his life again, but he did have closure to the untimely death. Any type of payment is absolutely not necessary, my boy. Simply dealing with the bizarre case is enough of an imbursement for me. Should you be in need of my assistance again, please do not hesitate to call on me, Holmes articulated in an uncharacteristic and surprising fatherly voice. I say Holmes; it appears that you and I have some work to finish over at Kensington Hotel. I, of course, would appreciate your company, Dr. Watson. It is always thrilling to capture a criminal with a great force. Perhaps you should carry with you a revolver, your Eleys No. 2, will suit us fine, Gregson declared. The three of us headed out to the hotel to detain the murderous woman. Holmes could not have been more accurate with his deductions. We burst into the room and found her consulting a lawyer on how to approach the legalities of seizing Mr. Whitmans fortune. Gregson quickly arrested her for the killing of the kind banker before she could escape from the room. Sherlock Holmes had once again put an end to a villainous plot, and protected a family from grave misfortune.
to read over other entries to understand the unique pattern your father used when writing. It became obvious to me that the person who wrote the suicide note was not the same person who wrote in this journal nearly every week. With this deduction, I decided it was a murder and made my next goal to determine the criminal, Holmes said as we stared at him in amazement for his ingenuity. I say Holmes; I would love to have you on the force. My own men did not even notice the notes apparent fraudulence. I say its a real pity you dont join, Gregson lamented. Well, having decided the suicide note was a fake, I read over the journal entry one more time. I observed an allusion to a woman, one whom your father had reason to fear and one whom could be considered dangerous. I also took special attention to the numbers at the end of the excerpt. Your father was an exceptional man, Thomas. He truly knew what he was doing when he penned this journal entry. To an inexperienced eye, the numbers would appear to be in the format of a date. However, the date mentioned has past and no more is known than before; therefore, it must mean something else. I played around with the numbers and if the hyphens that separate them are moved around, a bank account number at City and Suburban Bank is revealed. When I left the apartment yesterday afternoon, I immediately created a disguise and posed as the executor of your fathers will. I made my way over to the bank and demanded to have opened, in a private room, the safety deposit box associated with the bank account number 243-01-894. When I opened the box, I found several important documents that the murderer would have used against your family. In the box lay an old marriage license. It appears your father was married to a woman in America before he came to London to start in the banking business. To be specific, they lived in Pittsburgh together for only two years. His British citizenship document is also in the safety deposit box. I quickly packed up the box and placed it back in its place. I told the bank manager that no one was allowed to see it without my permission or in my presence, so it stays there in safety. My next move was to find out where this woman stayed. I looked up arrivals from America at the docks and searched for a hotel listing with the name Justine King, as I had found it on the certificate. When I located what I was looking for, I staked out the place. This, my dear Watson, is what occupied me last night. I stayed outside the Kensington Hotel and kept an eye on her room. It is true; she is quite out of her mind. I find that she consistently talks to herself and that the manager finds her very queer. She has been there for more than a month, and it is obvious that she had researched your
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IV. THE ADVENTURE OF THE KIDNAPPED WOMAN
Preposterous, Lestrade has managed to solve another case without my expertise, uttered Sherlock Holmes, pitching the Daily Telegraph across the coffee table, I suppose that he was bound to learn my technique after years of baffling him. He has always been a solid detective, but he lacks elite intuition. It has been eleven weeks today since our last mystery. Mrs. Hudson havent the need to howl at intruding visitors clamoring up our steps, I havent accompanied my roommate on a dangerous mission, but worst of all, Holmes has increased his cocaine and morphine dosages from three to six times per day. There was no use lecturing, he would rather kill himself than have an hour pass without his mind being exercised. After Holmes injected his poison, he asked, Watson, would you care to recount some of my earlier successes that I have never had the time to enjoy with you? Not today, Holmes, perhaps tomorrow. But, I feel that we should pick up walking again. He smiled at me but shook his head in disagreement. From that point on, there became unhealthy brevity with our conversations. No matter what was on my mind, there was a fear that I was just an annoyance. One would not expect this situation after all the years we coexisted in harmony. So I presumed it would be best to let him have his space until the cases picked up or Lestrade falters off his hot streak. For four days I walked every morning after Mrs. Hudson cooked breakfast. I made sure to make every journey as long as possible, for the fresh air was cleansing the mundane existence that I have recently begun to experience. However, on the fourth morning, Holmes unusually greeted me upon returning. Halloa! My dear Watson, I have the greatest news for you. He motioned with his right arm to the winter coat which was draped over the coffee table. What can you make of this? Where has it come from? I questioned. Ah yes, Wiggins dropped it off about forty minutes earlier. All he knew was that a fellow street Arab found it, after he heard a cry for help, abandoned on the corner of Dewey Street but when he approached the location only this remained. They concurred that I would be the rightful man to find its rightful owner and undoubtedly foresaw some considerable compensation if this situation blossomed into a mystery. Now, for the deduction. Alright, from looking at this worn parka, I can tell it is made of thick black wool. It most definitely belongs to a woman and that is all. Holmes, looking quite disappointed with my apathy, remarked, Come now, and placate me. Well, if I must, she is considerably shorter and very well off. How did you come to the conclusion that she is in good economic standing? It is surely a simple matter. If she is able to clumsily forget her coat, she shows little respect toward this valuable piece of clothing. I would not be surprised if she has half a dozen more at home. Ahh, he appeared to be pondering my deduction, entirely the opposite my friend. Granted the coat is made of wool and is black in color, but your higher level reasoning needs some tuning. Alright, let me hear the truth about this simple and innocent object? Sherlock Holmes sat in his arm chair puffing away on his tobacco pipe. For a few moments, I was not sure if he was ever going to dazzle me, but then he prepared to unload. On the surface, one can observe that this garment belongs to a red-headed woman, with a size five and a half shoe of which the sole is in dire need of replacement, and she has not had a decent meal in months, creating a borderline emaciated appearance. Looking deeper, I can construe that the coat belongs to a widow and of the most loyal type. She is attempting to balance two jobs, while still raising her two infants. I presume they are twins or of similar ages. She cares not for her appearance and is practical by nature; however, this article of clothing is of the utmost importance, which leads me to believe she is a sentimental young lady. This female would risk her life to save the coat and this fact confirms that it was undoubtedly a gift from her former husband. Surely you are joking! Not even a little bit, Watson. By now, if you did not see it for yourself, you should be able to understand where my conclusion has come from, my companion stated. I do apologize for my stupidity; nonetheless, I must request you take me step by step one more time. For instance, how were you able to calculate the owner had red hair simply from a black coat? If you had merely taken the time to flip up the collar you would have discovered the long reddish strands of hair that were caught by the flap. Understandable, but how did you speculate she had a five and a half shoe size? Speculate I did not! Holmes reassured me, She has that length precisely. If you had looked, you would have seen a footprint of that measurement on the lining of the coat. To save your next question, the sole has lost all its definition and created a bland footprint.
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My dear Watson, my nose is on this one greater than ever and I believe this will be the most publicized and astounding case we will ever encounter and far more shocking than The Hound of the Baskervilles. With all that said, we wait. Sherlock Holmes was fidgeting throughout the living quarters the entire night. I know the excitement of the case alone would have deterred my ability to sleep soundly, but his noise was unbearable. As I finally found it possible to drift off, I heard a scream of excitement and scurried downstairs. To my surprise, it was already morning and Holmes was raising the Daily Telegraph above his head as though it were his prize. Come now and read one of the most fulfilling headlines of my lifes entirety, Holmes said. I squinted to focus my sleep deprived eyes, but I was able to make out every word of the headline for it was the longest I have seen in a great time. Local Widow Kidnapped: Perpetrators Yet to Seek Ransom, No Witnesses. Fear Not Detective Lestrade Hot on Trail! That is peculiar, I vaguely commented in order to discover my companions thoughts on the case without utterly embarrassing myself. Watson, you have no idea. For the realm of crime we are about to enter is of new surroundings. The article ensues to confirm most of my assertions yesterday night, but has no idea of the missing coat. I believe we will solve this case from behind the scenes. But, I began. Holmes without delay interrupted, From this point on, we shall monitor the case through the papers and behind the scene, until the precise moment where our reserved nature will bring us fortune. This case, I have found, to be of the most perplexing nature from the kidnapped woman all the way through to my companions reactions. It was quite clear that his nose was onto the culprit in the same manner that the hound was on top of Sir Henrys worn boot. Nonetheless, he remained passive, so I felt it necessary to follow his lead. For the remainder of that morning I decided to read over a manuscript that one of my colleagues in Afghanistan sent to the apartment. I found the material rather dry, but still encompassed great knowledge on the field of medicine amongst the art of war. But as the clock struck noon, Holmes sprang to his feet. Im off good fellow. I shall return under the hour. At that moment, his thin figure dashed out the door. I then put aside the text and decided it was fit to catch up on my lack of sleep from the previous night. Wake up my good friend, I have excellent news. While I was squinting and struggling to regain consciousness, I noticed Holmes was hunched over the top of my body and he was a bit on the winded side. What is it? What information did you gather?
After this statement, I thought about educating Holmes on the basis that his mind would be held in higher regard had it just been more humble, but I proceeded in my inquiry. How were you able to determine her skinny appearance? The size medium suggests that she is of average build. Agreed, yet I have observed that the possessor of this coat has altered the buttons several times. The rationale behind this is she has lost a significant amount of weight since she first received this gift and by adjusting the placement of the buttons, she has created a snug fit. I am beginning to see the logic behind all of this, although how can you explain the deduction that this women is a widow with two children. I feel this answer, if I do say so myself, was keen. Notice where the coat is worn, there are two considerably large faded and battered spots on both sides of the hips. This tipped me off to say she has been carrying two children at the same time. If the woman had one child, the wear on the coat would be significantly less. For, mothers of infants rotate positions in which a child is held due to fatigue of specific body regions. Holmes then proceeded before I could alert him that he hadnt answered both aspects of my question, This coat was discovered between the hours of two and three a.m. This strongly suggests that she is working two jobs to amply provide for her children. This in essence, says that she has no husband or alternate source of income. Brilliant! You never cease to amaze me. Your ability to take an everyday object and analyze its life story is unparalleled by any man or woman. I am sorry good doctor, but I must correct you again. This is not a forgotten or misplaced garment, the lady whom this belongs to put up a fight for it. Notice in the right armpit of the sleeve there is a significant tear, which would have been stitched by this crafty woman. But, the rip occurred last night as she struggled to maintain possession. I know this because of the remarkable sewing done on the altered buttons. Had this tear transpired at a previous date, it would have been fixed immediately. But, do you actually believe there is a crime behind this? I am certain. She was indeed attacked last night and during this altercation the assailant pulled off the coat. She then attempted to salvage her gift from her late husband, by jerking on the sleeve. This proved futile, due to the fact that she accidentally stepped on top of it and ultimately left herself completely vulnerable for capture. Remarkable! I am now able to see your inference that she is sentimental. Also, you enlightened me with the reasoning of how a footprint was located on the lining. Now that we are back in business, where do we go from here? I could see it in his eyes that he was as eager and thrilled as me but his next comment was of the utmost surprise.
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Ah yes, I made my way over to the corner of Edgerton and Dewey this afternoon, where the crime occurred and I managed to slip into the empty warehouses second floor. From this position, I could see the local authorities scribbling notes as Lestrade belted out the facts and his conclusions on the case. Watson, you should have seen the crowd that gathered to watch him parade and perform fancy detective ploys. But, I interrupted, that does not make any sense. If the crime occurred two mornings early, the Scotland Yard police force would have already analyzed the scene while the trail was still hot. That is a valid point, but can you rationalize this uncharacteristic delay? Nothing comes to mind, I answered. Alright then, I will tell you. There was no delay. This is the second time, in two days, that Detective Lestrade has been discussing his case on that corner. Why on earth would he waste his time doing such an act? Now, you are getting to the root. Lestrade is promoting his case and if I heard him correctly, he believes to have already solved the mystery. He stated early that the methods present in this widows case are identical to the abductions that have occurred over the past three months. I recall the cases and the suspected villain was none other than the infamous Jack the Ripper; however, the Ripper managed to elude arrest and is allegedly waiting for his name to clear to strike again. It appears that he has. That is the key Holmes. For once, Lestrade has pointed us in the right direction, and now this is our chance to find Jack before Scotland Yard lands him. Yes, Ive always respected the way your mind operated good Doctor and now it is time to embark on our adventure. You may wish to bring your revolver, though I hope it will not be of service. Sherlock hastily moved down the steps and into the cab he had waiting. It appears as though he has regained his lungs and achieved his past strength. Where to mate? asked the driver. 2201 Pulverton Rd and if you make it in under ten minutes I will make it worth your while. Holmes then turned to me and removed a small notebook and ink pen from his jacket and told me that I would need it shortly. He then removed this mornings issue of the Telegraph along with a pen and a larger pad. This is it mates. Ive done it in just over eight minutes. A fine job if do say so myself Here you are and a little something extra for the effort. Good day, said Holmes. Alright Watson, just follow my lead. He then knocked three times on the narrow green door and waited. The latch unhooked and a middle aged man with a rat like face peered out. Go away! Ive told you everything I know. Now get out on the streets and start doing your job, barked the man.
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As he began to slam to the door, Holmes reached out and negated the momentum. Sir, it is in the best interest of you and your family that you speak with us. We are not the same reporters as earlier. I am Nathan Hitchcock and this is my apprentice George Huffman. I can assure you we will help find the lady. Fine, but all you are getting is twenty minutes and that is not negotiable. We proceeded into the living room, where two young boys were situated. They both were seated on the couch, before the man motioned for them to hurry off into the other room. Uncle William, can we see mom now? Is time almost over? the slightly taller questioned the man as he paused before exiting the room. Leave now, this is adult talk. Ill be with you shortly, he then faced us and said, How can you help the police solve this crime?
Holmes started, First, I am going to need some background information. For example, what is the name of your sister and her occupation? Well her name is Dianne Thacker, but I don't want her name in the papers for family privacy reasons unless you can convince that you are some great reporter/detective Hitchcock. Also, she had two jobs. She worked at the Town Tailor in the morning and then worked over at the factory on Dewey St. for a night shift four days a week. Thank you, that is of much help. In addition, I am going to need a description of Miss. Thacker and also if you know of anyone that she might be seeing. Finally, what is your occupation, for loose end sakes? She didn't see anyone. I know that. Dianne was so torn after her husband died, the poor soul couldn't even bear to look at another guys. She is just over five feet tall, has dark red hair and has slimmed down considerably
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Holmes just held his hand straight up in attempt to tell me to stay put. At that moment, Lestrade and another man dressed in a large trench coat conversed at the end of the shadowy ally. For a second, I thought he may be a fellow police officer, but then he took off in a dead spring in our direction and Lestrade ran up into the Inn. Detective Jones, apprehend that man. Watson, come with me into the Inn. We sprinted across the road and right past the keeper of the inn. My companion went up the first flight of stairs and barged into the first room on the right. In the room was Detective Lestrade and a woman tied up and seated in a chair. Too late Holmes, I have solved this one perfectly. This is Dianne Thacker, the missing woman from Dewey Street, but Jack the Ripper has managed to evade arrest one more time. At least we saved this good woman from harm. You speak too soon. If you would Lestrade, look out this window behind me. The three of us stared out the window and the only two figures in the road were Detective Jones and the fleeing man in handcuffs. That is Jack the Ripper, Holmes exclaimed. As the detective slowly peeled his face away from the window, I noticed it had turned very pale. Well then, we shall share credit on this case. You can take recognition for capturing the villain and my praise will come from saving the innocent lady. Not exactly, I have solved more to this case then you have imagined. What do you know? I know that you are the real criminal in this case and I do not doubt you behind most of your other successes in recent months. Holmes, I am no criminal. But, you are right, I should have known that I would never get anything by you for too long. I did set up this mystery in the event that I could solve it and become the city hero. I want you to know that everyone one of these cases the victim has been returned home safely. Here is what I purpose to you: Detective Jones takes sole credit for solving this case, you play a less active role in Scotland Yard until your reputation diminishes, and finally, you never even think about setting up a fake felony to bolster your name. If all that is held true, I will never mention what I have unearthed, but if you fail me, I will be forced to go the papers. Holmes, you are truly compassionate and a man of your word. With that understood I will agree to your terms and go downstairs to award credit to Jones. Detective Lestrade exited the room and my companion began to untie the woman. He spoke to her, I feel my pity for your situation has dwindled. Mrs. Thacker, you compromised your innocence in this case when you created a life insurance policy shortly after Lestrade proposed this setup to you. In your situation, I must insist that you not follow through
since taking on these jobs. As for me, although I fail to see any relevance, I am at a transition in my career and taking care of her two sons of the ages four and five is a full time commitment. That is all. My partner and I need to get this to the press immediately and integrate your information with the stories of the Scotland Yard force and hopefully someone will come forward who has seen your sister. As we began to exit Holmes turned back towards the man and asked, One more thing, the signing of your sisters life insurance statement making you the sole beneficiary was ironically close a period in time to this disappearance. No? That is what you came here for you scoundrels. Leave my house at once before I call the police on you for trespassing. All those questions meant nothing. How dare you come here in a time of crisis like this. Out! Immediately! That is fine, said Holmes, we had no intention of offending you. This story and my lead will never reach the papers. We then escaped out the front door and into the cab, where Holmes directed the driver back to Baker Street. When we were finally in the comforts of our apartment, I decided to find out what the situation was. Holmes, was Diannes brother responsible for the kidnapping? I asked. I do not believe this to be true; however, I needed information from a direct source to continue on with this investigation. After dinner, we will need to find this Ripper and that shall break open the case. Mrs. Hudson prepared us a lavish meal that night, but the meal was shortly interrupted by none other than Detective Jones of the Scotland Yard. At first, I thought he brought news of the case, but then he began to speak. You sent for me Holmes, I hope you can bring fortune to my recent unsuccessful months, Jones said. Ah yes, thank you for coming. We shall be on our way now Watson. Sherlock Holmes grabbed his coat, tucked something under his arm which I could not make out, and the two of us followed him down into the carriage. In a few moments, we shall be situated at the Horsemens Inn and we will have to wait for our friend Lestrade who will be with us shortly. The cab pulled up a block away from the Inn and we all stepped out. He then motioned for us to follow him behind a building a building into a dark cove that had a clear sight path to the building. But Holmes, I am sure we will not need more help with this case, Jones persisted. Nevertheless, he is coming now. Look east, there is a Police coach coming down the road. Lestrade jumped out of the coach, but did not appear to be walking in our direction. He then slipped down the adjacent ally to the Inn. He is the wrong place Holmes. He may jeopardize to mission. Shall I go get him? I asked.
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with disappearing and attempting to claim that sum. I wish you return to your sons and be content with the money the detective paid you for the original kidnapping. That is most gracious of you Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I want you to know that I am not an evil woman. I just want to provide the very best for my family and I knew that if I went through with this act, I would be able to spend more time with my two boys and not work so much. It is not easy being a single mother. Oh, that reminds me. Holmes reached into his coat and handed over the Mrs. Thackers jacket that was found on the corner. Thank you for returning this item. It is very dear to me and I feared I had lost it forever. You are free to go maam. She exited the room and Holmes glanced over to me with a grin on his face. Another one in the books, he said. Holmes you have truly out done yourself this time. But, I must ask how you figured this all out. For example, how did you know where they were staying? That was the most expensive part of our case good Watson. I used my Baker Street Irregulars to search every
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Inn within a two block radius of Dewey Street and informed them to ask the keepers if a man and a woman had checked in between the hours of three and five a.m. How did you know what time to come here to catch Lestrade in the act? I knew he would come to the Inn under the mask of nightfall. I also knew he would not wait to long, for he would want to story to make the morning press. With those calculations, we also got lucky? Brillant! I have just one more inquiry for you. How did you know that Detective Lestrade was behind this entire crime? That was the easy part. I have worked with that man for years and although he is a good detective, he lacks that ability to solve difficult mysteries without someone steering him in the right direction. As I followed the cases he had recently solved, I knew there was some other factor behind the scenes. He made some deductions without any evidence behind them. I know when I saw that headline, combined with the fact that I was in possession of the coat, that this was a setup from the beginning. I had to only catch him when he slipped.

V. THE CASE OF THE RED DEVIL
Watson, do you believe in the devil? Or demons? Or ghosts, for that matter? Or in the everlasting flames of hell with eternal damnation- you know, all the things of a religious nature? These were the first words uttered on a peculiarly dreary June day by my esteemed companion Holmes. He, being a man of a truly scientific nature, caught me completely off guard with his words as I entered his den at 221 B Baker Street. The thought of the supernatural rarely came to my mind; after all, I was a man of the medical field. I never worried about the thoughts of the intangible, but instead focused on the tangible things I had to work with: the miracle of modern medicine and its visible effects on the human body. But why did Holmes speak of demons? My marriage to Miss Mary Morstan was quickly approaching, and my stomach was in constant knots, continually conscious of the thought of my days as a bachelor and my residency at 221 B coming to an end in less than two weeks. My practice had been light for the past few days, and I had decided to go into town to pick up my coat and tails for the big day that was coming up. On my way back, thinking to while away some time, I decided to stop in and check on my dear friend Holmes. Upon being let in and greeted by Mrs. Hudson, I saw Holmes in the den in his chair smoking his usual tobacco pipe, apparently in his normal state of deep thought as he sat staring down at what appeared to be a recent telegram. Without turning around, Holmes then asked me this eerie question. Upon contemplating the matter, I then asked Holmes What on earth are you talking about, Holmes? What are you getting at? Do you believe in demons? The workers of the devil that can harm you; the question is rather simple. I replied Well, I dont know; I have never seen one, which makes me doubt, but seeing how some things are in the world and the evil that we have encountered, I wouldnt totally discredit them. But what about you, Holmes- what do you think? Holmes then chuckled, and said Oh, Watson, you must remember that my methods and reasoning are above the average person. I would only resort to the supernatural when all other trails come to an end with a case; but they never do, Watson. That is where criminals come into play; they take advantage of the overwhelming majority of peoples beliefs in the supernatural to achieve their own ends without being caught. But one must look beyond the supernatural to the deceptive mind of evil: the evil that abides in the human mind, which when used causes the utmost destruction. That is why this case has
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followed behind by a man in a police uniform who I presumed to be Stanley Hopkins.
caught my attention, Watson. I received this telegram this morning from Stanley Hopkins, a new Scotland Yard Police inspector, who actually may appear quite promising in the field. Read this and tell me what you can make of it: Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, A most horrible tragedy took place at St. Bartholomews Church sometime yesterday evening. Sister Agnes, one of the most dear and respected nuns of the parish, passed away last night under mysterious circumstances. She was found in her room this morning with no apparent signs of struggle, save a most grotesque look of horror on her face. A peculiar note was also found on the floor next to her. There is no known motif for anyone to do harm to the sweet lady. The police are not taking the death of a simple nun very seriously, but Father Damien, the head of the church, is insisting that this be looked into, as Sister Agnes has been very disturbed lately with strange visions of the supernatural, and fears this may have played a factor in her death. I recommended you to the case, and he implores you to come down to the church as soon as possible to talk with him and investigate this tragedy. Its on St. Christophers Avenue, as Im sure you know. Please inform me if you cannot come. Cordially Yours, Stanley Hopkins How disturbing! I replied as I finished the letter. A nun? Who would want to kill a nun? And visions? What kind of visions? I was about to continue with my questions when Holmes abruptly rose from his seat. Watson, I must find out more about this peculiar case! If you are not busy today, would mind accompanying me on this excursion to St. Bartholomews Church? I jumped at the opportunity, and said There is nowhere else I would rather be! At this we grabbed our belongings and took a cab to the beautiful church of Saint Bartholomew, not knowing what horror awaited us. We arrived in less than thirty minutes, and as soon as the cab stopped we both ran up the smooth stone steps to the doors of the towering fortress, an immense slate structure which rose above us. My stomach tossed and churned at the thought of what horror might be inside this building of God. And what if the thing that killed this poor nun was indeed the arch nemesis of God himself? My mind then drifted back to reality as Holmes knocked on the great brass knobs that adorned the door. He had hardly dropped his hand when the door opened and we were met by an elderly gentleman dressed in a dark robe with a crucifix dangling from his waist,
Mr. Holmes, I presume? Holmes nodded. Im so glad youve come! I knew you would! Im Father Damien. Holmes then replied Father, so glad to meet you. I hope your trip to the childrens hospital this morning was a hopeful one, as treating children with Scarlet Fever can be rather trying. But I see how you are sympathetic and hold a special place in your heart for these children, as you had the disease when you were younger and are indeed an orphan yourself. Father Damien stared at Holmes with a bewildered look. How in the world did you know all of that? Holmes then chuckled, and replied Oh, Father, my specialty is in the science of deduction. It is rather simple to tell these things just by looking at you. You see, your shoes and the edge of your robe are caked with a rich red dirt, found only in a small portion of the city, near where the childrens hospital for the poor is located. Also, you smell of morphine, which just confirmed my analysis, as I know they use that to dull the pain for Scarlet fever; also I heard that there was a new outbreak on that side of the city, so I knew that you had to have gone there this morning. Also, your hands show the faint scarring left by the fever, but they are quite faint, so I knew that you had to have had it quite sometime ago, presumably as a child as most people do. As for you being an orphan, I can see on your crucifix and the medallion hanging from your neck that the image of Saint Jerome is depicted, a very famous man from the Renaissance you I believe is the
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patron saint of orphans. Seeing that he means so much to you with your adornments and the fact that you feel a inner connection with children, it only seemed logical that you felt this way because you understood and identified with the children due to the fact that you were an orphan yourself. See, my skills do not seem that spectacular now, do they? It is all rather logical. Well, now that you put it that way, it makes sense. My, Mr. Holmes, I have heard of your talents, but never expected to be as amazed as this. Holmes then introduced me to Father Damien and Stanley Hopkins, and after a few words said Now, why dont we go someplace where we can chat? Father Damien nodded for us to follow him. The sanctuary inside the church was indeed spectacular, with vaulted ceilings and marvelous murals etched in their eaves, and brilliant stained glass windows depicting famous scenes from the Gospels, the most stunning being an enormous depiction of The Last Supper that spread across the back of the church behind the pulpit. It was truly a breathtaking scene. Suddenly, I was brought back to reality when Holmes grabbed my arm and led me through a door off the left side of the sanctuary. Father Damien walked us down a hallway and led me, Holmes, and Hopkins into a small room with a desk and a chair and a few seats along the wall, along with a wooden crucifix on the wall above the desk; this appeared to be Father Damiens office. Father Damien sat behind the desk, and the rest of us sat in the seats along the wall. I took a deep breath. Sister Agness story is a blessed one, and a tragic one. Father Damien began. She was born around 1850 in the slums on the south side of London, actually near the Childrens hospital that you speak of. She had a twin sister, and her mother took care of them the best that she could by working at a sweatshop as a seamstress, but died when they were only ten. Living in extreme poverty, Agnes developed a crippling disease when she was around thirteen years old which made her lose the ability in her legs. She told me that she had lost all hope when a holy man, my predecessor, Father Nahum, visited her in the childrens home. She said that he just touched her hand in an effort to comfort her and that suddenly she felt the weight removed from her legs; she immediately got up and walked with Father Nahum out of the hospital. She was a subject of divine healing, and she said that from that moment on she knew her mission was to help others, and she used her experience to give others hope. She joined our convent at the age of fifteen, and set out to help others throughout London as much as she could, especially being devoted to her sister. She has been the essence of virtue throughout her time here, often being called a saint by all who have encountered her presence, giving everything she had to the poor. Everything seemed fine until about two weeks ago when Sister Agnes came to me one afternoon very distraught. She told me that for the past few nights that when she went to bed, at midnight every night she had been awakened by a horrible feeling.
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She said that she then turned to her side, and there before her stood none other than the devil himself, dressed in a black cape hiding his whole body save for his grotesque red face and bloodshot eyes, holding a pitchfork in his left hand. She said that he had told her that he knew what she had done, and that her life was a lie. She said that he then vanished in a puff of smoke. She was extremely disturbed by this encounter, but brushed it off as just her imagination, as she had no idea what the vision had been talking about. However, it occurred the next night, and the next. I could tell that this problem was working on her spirit. She had dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep, and she cried constantly throughout the day. She also lost much of her appetite. I kept telling her that the visions would stop, and that she must remain strong, but they didnt stop. I told her yesterday that perhaps I could send her to a sister convent in Ireland so that she could regain her strength, and she jumped at the idea. However, today as you know, she will never get to go on her trip, as the devil seems to have taken our beloved sister. At this, Father Damien began to weep. Oh, and then theres the note. Interjected Hopkins, who then produced it from his coat pocket and handed it to Holmes. On a simple piece of faded white paper were the words: I am a liar. My life is a lie. Now God will judge me. Holmes pondered over this note, and then said, May I keep this for my analysis, Hopkins? He replied Certainly; Im sure you can do more with it than we have. Holmes then turned to the distraught priest, and soothingly said Father, was there any other time in Sister Agness life that she seemed to be troubled or go into a state of depression? Father Damien wiped his tears and replied Well, come to think of it, she did go through a tough spout when her twin sister Amelia Hamilton died ten years ago. Amelia and her child had the diphtheria, and Sister Agnes could not save her, although she was able to save Amelias son from the disease. She was never the same after her death, but eventually she went on with her work, and brought joy to many more. Holmes nodded, and said That is all I need to know; now, could you take me to see Sister Agnes room? Father Damien took us out of his office and down a long corridor which had a door every few feet- a complete change of mood from the beautiful sanctuary, as this was dark and very somber, as if foreshadowing the horror that was to come. These are the nuns quarters, said the Father. At last we came to the end of the corridor. This is Sister Agness room. Hopkins opened the door that was before us, which creaked with vaulted weight. The room was simple enough, with a crucifix of unpolished bronze lying on a simple wooden table beside an oil lamp in the corner of the room. The room had a bland cream wash upon the walls, with a solitary window beside the bed with sunlight
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in horror. My stomach dropped at what I saw. Holmes, those arent footprints; they look like Claw marks. Precisely, Watson- they look like claw marks. The footprints of the devil. I sputtered But Holmes! What can this mean! Do you think a demon killed her! I thought you said that you didnt believe in demons! Watson, this is just another piece in this puzzle of a mystery. Oh, I do not believe this was a demon; do the supernatural leave visible traces in this earthly world? No, these were intentionally left here. They are deep and obvious. But, where they lead is the more important question. Holmes then stuck his nose very close to the ground and slowly walked around the side of the church, I close behind him. However, finally he came to an abrupt stop at the side of the building. Looking up, we saw a window. There you have it, Watson. This puzzle is solving itself as we speak. And I knew without having to ask that the window we stood under led right through to the bedroom of Sister Agnes. Having gone back into the cozy apartment, I at last broke the silence and said Holmes, what on earth do you think of the whole situation? Perhaps it really was the devil that killed her by scaring her to death! To this Holmes responded Oh, my dear Watson, Sister Agnes was indeed murdered, but the devil that killed her was no vision, it was real. However, this criminal is a very clever one. You should go home for now, for I must do some thinking and investigation on this matter, which will require me to go into my usual state of intense concentration. However, I firmly believe that justice will prevail and the culprit will be found. But, we have seen enough horror for the day. Meet me here tonight at six oclock, and rest assured, we will catch our red devil. Walking back to my small apartment, I continued to contemplate the matter at hand. Were even the children of God unprotected from the wrath of evil? I thought of Sister Agnes in her final moments- lying there, seeing the sinister face that would bring about her doom. What about the note? Could a supernatural being manifest something of tangible evidence? My gut instinct said no. Holmes had to be right- but who would want to hurt an innocent nun? These thoughts were swirling through my head when I finally reached my apartment. I tried to whim away the time, but the case kept coming back to my mind. However, around four oclock I received a telegram. It read this: Wear your coat and tails tonight. Bring the revolver. -Holmes This took me for surprise. What on earth did I need to dress up for? I could not figure it out. I finally settled on the fact that I would just have to wait and find out at
streaming through it, adorned with curtains of a simple crimson pattern. The bed was of a simple inexpensive wood, covered with white sheets and a rich navy wool blanket at the foot of the mattress. As I stood gazing around, Holmes got to work with his usual inspections. He went first to the table and inspected the oil lamp carefully, and having done this moved to the window, inspecting the panes and the scenery outside. He then took out his magnifying glass and got down on the floor, his nose being about an inch from the wood boards. Holmes raised an eyebrow, and from this expression I knew that he was on the hunt. However, having seemed satisfied, he got up from the floor, brushed himself off, and put the magnifying glass away. He then cleared his throat, and asked Father Damien, where is Sister Agnes body? Father Damien replied It is down the hall in a room on a stretcher ready for the coroner to pick up. You see, although we found her this morning, I insisted that they wait and take the body away until you had inspected it. Very well; take me to see her, replied Holmes. We were then led out of the eerie room down the hall a little further. However, we stopped before a door that seemed to give off a presence of evil. This is where the body is, gentlemen. Brace yourselves. When the door opened, a stretcher with a cloth was on the floor with an outline of a body under it. Then, Holmes slowly walked up to the body, and slowly removed the cloth. Then I saw it- the face. I truly have never seen a face of such sheer terror as the look that was in Sister Agness eyes. Her mouth lay open as if she had been screaming with all of the power of her lungs, and just the thought of that sound made me shiver. It was so horrible thinking that this poor woman had suffered so much in her last moments. Holmes then knelt down, and carefully inspected the body. He first looked at her limbs, and then moved to the face, looking deep into the womans eyes. However, finally seeming satisfied, he moved to Hopkins and said I am finished. You make take Sister Agness body away. Father Damien then led Holmes and me to the exit of the church. However, before we left, Holmes took Father Damiens hand, and said Father, I am sorry for your loss. However, clues lead me to definitely believe that Sister Agnes did not fall victim to the devil, but was indeed a victim of a murderer of this world, who took advantage of her undying faith. I will do my best to find who did this to her and bring this person to justice. Having both said goodbye, I was about to jump back in the cab, when I noticed Holmes go to the side of the church. What are you waiting for Holmes? What have you found? I asked. Look, Watson- look at these prints. Tell me what you observe. Taking a look at the caked tracks that could vaguely be made out between the dried patches of grass, I gasped
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six oclock, nervous at the anticipation of what we might find that night. Dressed in my suit and feeling quite like a dapper penguin, I headed toward Baker Street at the appointed time and arrived just prior to six at 221 B. After Mrs. Hudson let me in, I entered the den and saw Holmes, and I admit that I had to stifle a chuckle. Accustomed to seeing him in his usual dressing gown, I was taken aback at Holmes dressed to a tee in his black tuxedo, equipped with a bowtie and black top hat. With the hat Holmes almost appeared as a giant. Upon seeing that I arrived, Holmes turned and smiled. Well, Watson, you look rather dapper. I have a hansom waiting out front for us. Are you about ready to go? Where in the world are we going Holmes? What have you found out? He replied We have not the time to discuss it now. All will be revealed in due time. I have had my street Arabs hard at work today, and I hope that this whole case will be resolved by the end of the night. But for now, we are going to the theatre. The Royal Shakespeare Company is performing Hamlet tonight, and we have prime tickets to the main attraction. And I believe this will be a performance that we will not soon forget! Well, we do not want to be late, Watson. The play begins at 7 sharp, and we will want to be there for the whole thing! So, let us go! I was perplexed by this. Why on earth were we going to the theatre? A killer was on the loose! And Holmes was more interested in Shakespeare? I could not figure out his methods. However, I did not have time to ask questions, because before I could open my mouth Holmes had grabbed his coat and was out the door. We arrived at the theatre around 6:30, and the stage and auditorium were breathtaking. Red velvet curtains were draped in front of the stage, hiding the actors and props as they prepared for the production that had been famous for over 300 years. Statues of cherubs and angels adorned the entrances, plated with gold and ribbons. As a man of the military I was still not quite accustomed to the riches and the elaborated adornments of cultured society, and my jaw dropped at the sight of the theatre. However, I snapped out of my awe when Holmes took me by the arm and led us to our seats near the front of the theater. Waiting for the lights to dim and my gut racing with anticipation at what might become of this night, Holmes leaned in and whispered Watch the play, Watson; the play is essential. It could be the key to our case. With a look of puzzlement and surprise, I was about to ask Holmes what I should be looking for when suddenly the lights dimmed and the curtains were drawn back, and the play began. However, the moment the play began it seemed rather odd, as the first lines of the play spoke about ghosts and demons and the apparition that appeared to the guards in front of Elsinore castle, which was thought to be the ghost of the dead King Hamlet. Fog rolled about the stage, and I could not help but notice
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a slight smirk cross on Holmes face as he watched the entire scene unfold. I looked with awe, my mind turning as to how this connected with Sister Agnes murder. With these thoughts reeling in my head, suddenly Holmes squeezed my arm when Act I, Scene V came up, where Hamlet faced the apparition of his dead father. The ghost of King Hamlet appeared in a cloud of smoke, and told Hamlet to seek revenge on his uncle, for his brother Claudius had killed him by poisoning him in his ear while he slept. Then, the apparition vanished just as he had come, and the curtains closed for Act II. I did not know what to make of this whole situation. However, Holmes did not say a word, and we watched the rest of the play in silence, until finally the curtains closed on the end of Act V, with the pitiful and tragic death of Prince Hamlet and virtually everyone else that were main characters in the play. Immersed and puzzled by the drama of the production, when the lights came on and the audience began to bustle about, Holmes tapped me on the shoulder and said, Come, Watson; we havent a moment to lose! We have to get into position, or we shall lose him! Upon this announcement, Holmes and I scrambled through the leaving crowd and raced toward the side doors of the theatre that lead to the backstage area. No one saw us or hindered us as we entered backstage, and immediately we entered the main costume area where droves of dresses and princely robes hung on racks and in wardrobes. Holmes then led me to a rack of costumes by an enclosed dressing room which some of the main actors from the nights performance were entering, and stuffed
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believe this may have been your last performance. Now, why dont we discuss with Officer Hopkins here exactly how you plotted and killed Sister Agnes? Holmes then continued, I knew that Sister Agnes had been killed by a man that appeared using fake smoke, (as I saw traces of a faint dust left by it on the floor in her room), and that the man had access to a costume in which he dressed like a demon. But who would know what Sister Agnes ultimate fear was? Who would have something against her? Then the thought hit me- family. I first decided to try and trace the only living relative of Sister Agnes, the son of her dead twin sister, and I sent one of my street Arabs to the part of town that Sister Agnes had been from, and sought out a man by the name of Hamilton. However, one could not be found. Not sure where to turn, I then thought of where would one have access to a costume? And fake smoke? The answer then dawned on me: an actor. And what do actors use? Stage names. I then sent Wiggins to the first theater I could think of to look for a man that was from the south side of London and was an orphan. He returned very quickly and said that there was a young man in his early twenties who had been with the Royal Shakespearean Company for about six months that matched all of the descriptions I had mentioned, but that he went by the name of Andrew Hendricks. I learned that he was a troubled man, but that he took out all of his emotions and rage on the stage, and was a brilliant actor. He was performing the lead in the production that was being held this month: Hamlet. Then I finally figured out where he got his ideas from. The demon that appears to the victim that cannot escape his own fate; oh, and lets not forget the poison that was poured in the ear. I knew from the cloudiness that was in sister Agnes eyes that she had been subjected to poisoning, although the police found no trace of it; and the fake claws that you attacked to your feet that left those peculiar footprints indeed would have thrown the typical detective off track. Oh, and the note was quite a nice touch! That will be the nail on your coffin in front of the court, as I am sure that the handwriting on the note will match very well with your own. Holmes then walked over to the corner of the dressing room where a wardrobe stood labeled Hendricks on the top, and upon opening the doors dug in the back. Just as I thought, Watson! For here is our red devil! As soon as he uttered these words, Holmes pulled out from deep inside the closet a mask with a red face and horns, along with a cape and unusual shoes that appeared to look like the feet of eagles. Well, Hamilton, now that you are exposed, why dont you tell the whole story. What possessed you to kill your aunt in so debonair a re-enacting of the death of King Hamlet? Finally, the criminal, defeated and caught, sighed and began his story. Well, it seems Mr. Holmes that your reputation is indeed entirely accurate. So, you all think that I did such
us both behind them as we waited for the cast and the rest of the stage crew to clear out of the area. I then turned to Holmes and whispered What are we doing? Who are we looking for? Holmes then turned to me, and very quietly said Do you not see, Watson? The smoke! The smoke is the key! Sister Agnes said the devil disappeared in a puff of smoke. Where would the most logical place be to get fake smoke? Where would it be used? The theatre! The theatre! I was so blind to it at first, but the answer was right in front of me! Oh, but we must be silent! We have to be on watch, for our star attraction has a few fans that he must meet! We waited about 30 minutes, I turning my head from watching through the costumes to fondling my revolver which lay inside my coat. With anticipation at the ultimate max, Holmes suddenly grabbed my shoulder and jerked me out from behind the frills of dresses and Shakespearean velvet and pulled me into the adjoining dressing room. With a swift jerk of the wrist he then shut the door. Inside the large dressing room, along with mirrors along the wall and make-up strewn about, I saw a young man taking off a thick make-up sitting at the far end of the dressing room, still in his Shakespearean clothes of royal purple and velvet, with a white ruffled collar around his neck. The man jumped at the sound of the door shutting, and turned to see Holmes and myself. Holmes then said, Oh, excuse me, my dear fellow; you are Mr. Andrew Hendricks, I presume? The man replied Yes, sir, that would be me; is there anything I can do for you? Holmes then continued Well, sir, I am one of your biggest fans of your work. I saw you tonight as you portrayed the unfortunate Prince Hamlet. Your death scene was rather brilliant. But, I have been intrigued by your work for quite some time. Oh, excuse me, I didnt introduce my colleague. This is Watson, my trusted companion; and Watson this is the brilliant actor Alexander Hendricks. Oh, but you might better know him as Andrew Hamilton, deceiver extraordinare, and the murderer of Sister Agnes. At this, the man jumped up from his seat and raced towards Holmes, trying to get to the door and bolt to get away. However, Holmes was as quick as a jackrabbit, blocking the entrance and pouncing on the man, bringing him to the ground. I rushed to help Holmes with my revolver drawn, when suddenly Stanley Hopkins burst into the dressing room, and upon seeing the struggle rushed with his handcuffs. Finally, upon seeing the revolver and that he was up three to one, Andrew stopped fighting, and succumbed to the handcuffs that Hopkins produced. At last realizing that he had been caught, Hopkins sat him in a chair in a corner of the dressing room, where he struggled to catch his breath. Excellent timing, Hopkins, I must say. You followed my instructions very well. Holmes, upon regaining his composure, then said Well, Mr. Hamilton, I
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a horrible deed, eh? You think oh, shes a nun! What kind of person would do such a thing? Well, what you don't know is that her holy image is all false! She pretended to be so wonderful and loving, but she didnt even care enough to help save my poor mother! My father abused my mother and left her for another woman, and left us with nothing. But, she did her absolute best to take care of me. She worked in a sweat shop, and due to that wretched place she contracted the diphtheria, which I also caught from the slum we were living in. Agnes claimed that she did the best she could to save her. She did nothing! She was too busy trying to save the poor out on the street that she didnt even give the time of day to her own family! She could have given us more medicine, or taken us to the church and nursed us, or something! But no- she left us there in our slum of a home to rot. And did she care? No! Did she care about me? No! Ever since then I knew that her whole life was a lie; she really didnt care, she was just trying to make herself seem better than everyone else! I knew from then on that someday, somehow, she would pay for what she did, and the lie that she lived. Then, by luck, I got a job with the Royal Shakespearean Company, as my lifelong dream was to act and get myself out of the slum. Then, we began to work on Hamlet, and as soon as I read that play I saw what I needed to do. What would Agnes fear more than anything, since she was so convinced that God was on her side? A devilish apparition! But how could I kill her? I then looked toward the play, and how Claudius had killed King Hamlet. Poison in the ear- that was the solution! I knew of an underground shop where I could get this new undetectable poison, and nobody would expect it to be in her ear! I then decided that she would finally be brought to justice. I went by the church to scope things out, and after inquiring from one of the innkeepers where the nuns rooms were, I discovered which one was Agnes and that there was a window right outside her room, which could easily be opened with a crowbar from the outside. I then found a devilish mask and black robe with the unusual shoes from the costume
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closet at the theatre, and waited till about midnight to go through the window to Agnes room. At midnight, knowing that she would be in a deep sleep, I crept through the window into her room. I decided that I would torment her for a few weeks, to give her a feeling of the torment that my mother went through her whole life. I would then use some of the fake smoke from the theatre, which would cloud her vision and allow myself to get back through the window undetected. However, after a few weeks, I decided that enough was enough. This time, I took the poison with me in a little vial, and when I appeared to Agnes I spoke. I told her all of the evil that she had done, and how she deserved to be punished. Of course, she tried to deny the whole thing, but I saw right through her. I then knew that it was time for God to judge her. I then held her head down, and poured the poison into her ear, knowing that she would finally understand that she would be judged. She died quickly, leaving that despicable look on her face. I then decided that everyone should know that she was a fake, and I left a note that told who she really was. But you must now see that I wasnt committing a hateful crime; I was delivering justice! Justice! I dont care what you think, but I have satisfaction knowing that Agnes is in hell! With this comment, he started to cackle; not just a normal laugh, but a haunting, gasping screech that sounded like it came from the fires of hell itself. With that, Stanley Hopkins went and snatched him up, taking him away. Riding back in the hansom, Holmes and I were silent. Not knowing what to think, I then said to Holmes I know what your position is on the supernatural; but somehow, seeing this, maybe demons do exist. Holmes then broke his silence, and said Watson, I dont know about demons; but I know that if there are any, that man is about the closest that we will find. But I find satisfaction in the fact that the law will judge him. As for his final judgment, well, I am not sure if God will have mercy on his soul.
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VI. THE ADVENTURE OF VIVIAN GREY
Sherlock Holmes was one man who could never cease to amaze me. I was intrigued by his ability of solving cases with seemingly useless facts and evidence. However, when times were slow and his work became stagnant, Holmes revealed his human side. His major downfall was his usage of cocaine. Even though cocaine was legal, I, because of my medical profession, knew the harmful effects it had on the body. Holmes of course paid little attention to my wariness, seeing cocaine as the only substitute to the high he got from his work. Watson, he would always say. I suppose that its influence is physically a bad one. However, I find it so transcendently stimulating and clarifying to the mind that its secondary action is a matter of small moment. Fueled by his arrogance, Holmes would pay no heed to other peoples advice, so like most times, I just kept silent. It was at this moment that Mrs. Hudson entered the room followed by Detective Lestrade. Good morning to you dear Sherlock Holmes and to you Watson, Lestrade said while giving a polite bow to each of us. I hope I have not caught you at an inopportune time, but I have come across a case that is well suited for your help. Well we will judge that when we hear the facts, Holmes said with a nod. Lestrade took off his hat and coat and began explaining the case. Have you heard of Benjamin Disraeli, the most popular and also the most vicious man of the Assembly? Lestrade asked already knowing the answer. How could I have not heard about him? Holmes answered sardonically. Benjamin Disraeli was one man who was never spared from the London news, and it was impossible for Londoners to not know of this man. Well, Lestrade continued, Disraeli has been found dead last night by his wife, Mary Anne Disraeli. He was sitting in his chair, collapsed over onto his desk. Mary Anne told the police officers that she had left earlier that evening to attend a show with friends. When she left, Disraeli was in his office having a meeting with his political rival, William Gladstone. Gladstone had run against Disraeli in this past election and was just narrowly defeated. Gladstone had supposedly come to congratulate Disraeli for his win and continuation in the Assembly. However, Mary Anne said that when she left, Disraeli and Gladstone were having a heated argument in his office that was so loud she could hear them through the closed doors. Because of Disraelis fiery reputation, she believed that she had little concern to worry, especially since she was in a rush. When Mary Anne returned home, she found him dead in his office. Lestrade finished the story and took a deep breath. Well what was the cause of death? asked Holmes. Actually Im not quite sure. He had no outside or distinguishable marks or cuts on him. Disraelis wife at first thought he had had suffered a heart attack. Later she recalled the fight with Gladstone and I was brought in to determine if foul play was involved in Disraelis death, Lestrade answered. I know this is a pretty open and shut case. We have the culprit and his motive. We already interrogated Gladstone, and he claimed that he did have a quarrel with Disraeli, but he left soon after Mary Anne with Disraeli still alive. He said he went straight back to his house and that no one saw him, so he could easily be lying. However, when Gladstone heard of Disraelis death he seemed genuinely shocked, and we could find very little evidence to support a charge of murder. I was very much hoping I could enlist in your help to wrap up this case. I am on my way to Disraelis house. Would it be possible for you and Watson to join me? I looked over at Holmes to see his reaction to Lestrades story, which by Holmes expression was clearly that of intrigue. I usually have qualms about solving cases for political men because I find the public scrutiny intolerable, Holmes began, but there is something in the facts that doesnt sit well with me. Watson and I would be glad to join you. During the cab ride over, Holmes was silent, seemingly deep in thought. He was still withdrawn from Lestrade and me when we pulled up to 236 Tower Street, the address of Disraelis house. So do you think that this is an open and shut case? I asked Holmes, unable to stand the silence any longer. No data yet, he answered. It is a capital mistake to theorize before you have all the evidence. It biases the judgment. Upon getting out of the cab, Holmes immediately began studying the ground for footprints or other clues that could be pertinent to the case. However, nothing could be found along the walkway up to Disraelis house, thus Holmes and I abandoned the outside and followed Lestrade to the office of Disraeli. Lestrade, knowing exactly what Holmes was going to ask, said We left the room as we found it, trying not to upset any of the evidence. At first glance, the office was nothing like one would imagine the office of a wealthy politician appearing. The room was quite bare, and severely lacked any kind of decoration. The walls were a pale cream color, absent of any sort of art or pictures. Disraelis diploma from the prestigious Winchester College was the sole piece mounted on the wall opposite the bookcase, which was mostly just a technical character. The bookcase was the only piece of furniture found in the room, save for Disraelis office desk and chair. After several minutes of contemplation, Holmes headed straight to the single window in the office at the far end of the room. However, after observing the window for a few moments, Holmes realized that it had been painted shut. It looks like the only possible escape was
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through the front door, Holmes wearily pronounced, knowing that this was yet one more detail that strengthened the case against Gladstone. Holmes left the window and went immediately to Disraelis desk chair, which had a house coat folded across the back of it. Halloa! Being the coat of Disraeli, this should be quite helpful in uncovering details about his personality and most importantly about his past, said Holmes as he carefully examined every aspect of the coat. Ah, this is interesting, Holmes said after careful scrutiny. At first glance, it seemed to me to be nothing but an ordinary housecoat. Holmes turned and handed to me the coat while asking, Watson, what can you deduce from this? I carefully studied the coat searching for any clues that would help me in my deductions. Unfortunately, I was only able to determine that it was silk, which led me to believe that Disraeli was wealthy. However, this fact was already apparent by the known salary Disraeli received, being a man of the Assembly. Well, I believe Disraeli received this as a gift from his wife, I said without a hint of confidence in my voice. It was entirely a guess, but it seemed to be the most probable explanation and so the most practical one at that. My dear Watson, you started on the right path by determining that this coat was a gift at one point, said Holmes leading me to believe that I was for once correct. However, you have veered off the right path with the rest of your deductions. With this coat, you can see everything. You fail because you are too timid in drawing your inferences. Actually, Disraelis father is the one who received the coat as a present, most likely from Disraelis mother. Disraeli then inherited this coat from his father and kept it for sentimental value. The clues from the coat show that Disraeli in fact experienced a very troubled past. He had a detached relationship with his father. Because of their different personalities, they were always in disagreement with each other. Unlike his feelings towards his father, Disraeli experienced a close relationship with his mother. Disraeli, being right-handed, had a passion for writing. When he was really low, which occurred quite often, Disraeli used drugs to escape his pain. Although quite intelligent, Disraeli could be careless. Even though his reputation in London was that of an outspoken and passionate Assemblyman, he seems to have led a life of quiet despair. Holmes ended his conclusions with a sigh and a shake of his head. It is impossible that you have determined so much about this man from just his housecoat, Lestrade replied quite stunned by Holmes ambitious deductions. I was thinking the same exact thing, but knew better than to question Holmes. You overlook to quickly the minute details that wind up being the most important, said Holmes with a furtive smile. Its actually quite simple. Youll see once I have explained it to you. Look at the inside of the coat. See the monogram I. D. on the inside breast pocket. Its almost impossible to see because the stitches have been painstakingly removed. These obviously were the initials of Disraelis father. I imagine that this housecoat was passed to Disraeli when his father
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died. The removal of the monogram indicates to me that Disraeli wanted to have no sentimental connection with his father. They must have had a troubled relationship. With his enormous wealth, Disraeli could have easily purchased another expensive housecoat for himself, so he must have kept it for sentimental reasons. Since he was detached from his father, the only other person that this coat could have reminded him of would be his mother. Thus, he must have felt great affection for her. Now look here at the right sleeve of the coat. The underside is much more faded than the top of the right sleeve. This fading suggests that Disraeli spent much of his time writing. Inspect the housecoat closely and you will find tiny remnants of a substance that I have determined is cocaine. He did not use the drug daily but quite often, because there are several places on the coat that have markings of cocaine. If you look at the top of the desk, you can see some traces of the powder, meaning he must have used it recently. This coat is made of the finest silk. However, as seen with the burn marks and water stains that are evident on the coat, Disraeli is an irresponsible and careless man. Lestrade and I stood there in amazement. Holmes had done it again. From just an article of clothing, he was able to deduce so much about Disraeli. Just at this moment, Mary Anne entered the office. Well you seem to have uncovered quite a bit of information about my husband, Mr. Holmes, she said obviously quite shocked. You are correct. Benjamin hated his father because he was such a controlling figure. Benjamins relationship with his mother was quite different, and when she died ten years ago, Disraeli had a hard time getting over it. His only reason for saving his fathers housecoat was because it reminded him of his mother. She had given it to his father as a present, wanting it to be passed down to Benjamin. But how could this possibly help you to unravel the case of my husbands murder. Holmes seemed to have barely been listening, as he was too busy rummaging in the desk. What do we have here? he shouted as he pulled out what seemed to be a journal from one of the drawers. The brown leather covers that bound the pages together were well worn. Oh I believe that is my husbands journal, responded Mary Anne. He was always writing and was even considering publishing a novel. Holmes began perusing the pages, and soon found the last entry. June 21st 1892, Holmes said with excitement arising in his voice. That is yesterdays date. Disraeli must have written this shortly before his death. Folded in the crease of the page was a piece of paper which looked to be a letter. After quickly reading over the entry, Holmes set down the journal and unfolded the piece of paper. Disraeli must have received this letter recently. From the contents of the letter, it would seem that Disraeli was being blackmailed, said Holmes before he began reading the letter aloud. Benjamin, if you know what is best for you, you will meet my demand. You have until tomorrow, or I will come to the public with everything I know about Vivian
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the text of the journal. My mind was reeling with the recent events in the office, but I knew better than to trouble Holmes. As the cab pulled onto Baker Street, Holmes looked at me and said, This peculiar reoccurrence of Disraelis past lover appears to eliminate William Gladstone from the picture, unless he has some connection with this Vivian Grey. This journal entry is quite vague and not too useful. He mentions something weighing on his mind, but refers to no incident specifically. We have a good lead, but there are still many parts of the case to clear up. If you will excuse me Watson, I need some time to myself to thoroughly go over this case. Holmes then exited the cab, leaving me with no answers to my countless number of questions. I could hear the sounds of the violin from Holmes room beginning sometime early afternoon, but Holmes stayed in his room for another couple of hours and did not come out until it was time for dinner. I was sitting down at the table waiting for Holmes. However, he was in no mood to eat. Get your coat Watson, said Holmes while running out the door. I knew not to question Holmes so I grabbed my things and followed Holmes outside.
Grey. If you do not care about your reputation or downfall, think about your wifes. Vivian Grey? Mary Anne repeated with a sudden rise to her voice. She was trying to hold back her fear by gripping her hands to stop them from trembling. However, her transformation was clearly apparent because in only a couple of seconds, she had turned completely white. Do you know anything about this woman? asked Holmes suspiciously. Well no, Mary Anne replied with a much calmer tone. But Im sure that the letter is harmless and just coincidental. Benjamins journal meant everything to him so I would like to keep it as a reminder of him. Mary Anne reached to grab the manuscript from Holmes grip, but he was too quick. Im sorry, but I must hold on to the journal and this letter because I believe that there is a link between it and your husbands death. With that, Holmes abruptly said his good byes and left the house. Before we could step into the cab, the shout of a womans voice made us both turn around. Wait, Mr. Holmes, called Mary Anne as she ran down the front steps and the length of the walkway. Please let me explain myself. Holmes with a stern face said, Before you do, I must warn you to only speak the truth. I am not interested in anything else. Of course, said Mary Anne taking a deep breath. Vivian Greywell, she was a lover of my husband, really his first love. Im not quite sure of all of the details, but I know that her father hated Benjamin and forced her to marry another man. Vivian was part of my husbands past, but I dont believe that Benjamin ever recovered from his broken heart. I always knew he was thinking about Vivian, so I came to despise her, even though I had never met her. Here is the strangest part Mr. Holmes, and what caused my silly reaction. Vivian died a while ago on a boating accident. Her death occurred just weeks before our marriage. Are you positive that her death was an accident, Mary Anne? Holmes asked. It was obvious to see that a fresh, energized Holmes had replaced the haggard, stern one. Well, Im quite sure of that, responded Mary Anne. She and her husband drowned in the boating accident. The police never recovered their bodies, but days after the accident, the boat was found capsized. I must say this changes the whole outlook of your husbands death, said Holmes. Mary Anne, thank you for your time, and I will contact you again for any other questions. I will promise you that this case will not go unsolved. No, thank you Mr. Holmes and also Watson. I hope to hear from you soon, replied Mary Anne. Although her reply seemed heartfelt, I was unconvinced. Something in her voice and her expression led me to believe that her response was forced and insincere. Mary Anne headed back up to her house and Holmes turned to me and whispered, She was not telling the whole truth. Something about Mary Anne raises my suspicions. We must continue to keep a close eye on her. With that, Holmes stepped into the cab. On the cab ride home, he was again reluctant to have conversation with me as he was beginning to look over
When we settled into the cab, Holmes began pouring out newfound information he had discovered about the case. It seems that we cannot eliminate William Gladstone from the case, my dear Watson. While studying the letter, I noticed the paper was a different texture. Holmes pulled the letter from his pocket and set it on the seat. The top of this letter is not perfectly straight but has some jagged areas, so it has obviously been cut. This was to rid the paper of watermarks and other seals which are usually found at the top of a piece of paper, so the letter
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cannot be tracked. However, if you look really close Watson, you can see the bottom portion of a seal that the author must have accidentally missed while cutting the paper. After searching through all the watermarks of major corporations of London, I found that this one is actually the watermark of the Department of Transport. I looked up information about this department of the London government, and its head advisor is none other than William Gladstone. After losing in the Assembly election, he became named head of this department, a much less prestigious position. Holmes then pulled out the book containing the Department of Transports watermark and set it next to the letter. After a few seconds on inspection, I came to the same conclusions as Holmes for the bottoms halves were in fact identical. Holmes continued, This still doesnt mean that Gladstone murdered Disraeli, but I am confident in the fact that he was the one blackmailing him. Gladstone was arrested this morning by Lestrade and is being detained in the prison, so that is where we are headed. Upon arriving, we learned that Lestrade had already left for the day. Not having to endure Lestrades latest inklings about the case, Holmes and I were able to be seen immediately to Gladstones cell. Gladstone looked completely out of character. He was still dressed in his business attire, wearing what seemed to be a very expensive black suit. From the outside, Gladstone looked to be put together, however, you could see in his weary and tired expression that he was in fact out of his element. Good evening, Mr. Gladstone, said Holmes walking into the cell. My partner Watson and I would like to have a word with you. As you wish, Gladstone responded listlessly. Holmes with a stern voice began, Now we are going to skip the part where you claim you have nothing to do with Disraelis death because I have this letter that can be traced to you, so I know you were the one blackmailing him. Gladstone was silent and the droop of his head was his only reaction. We came here to uncover the truth of Disraelis death. Gladstone, did you kill him? asked Holmes. No sir, I swear to you I did not murder Disraeli, responded Gladstone. Well unfortunately we have a motive, incriminating evidence, and you at the scene of the crime, which all points to you as the murderer. You better do an astounding job of convincing me to believe otherwise, finished Holmes with a hard stare. Pray Mr. Holmes, let me explain myself, Gladstone said urgently. I admit to writing the letter. During the election, a colleague had brought to my attention the scandal about Disraeli and his so called past lover Vivian Grey. At a party, I decided to bring her up, assuming Disraeli would just be embarrassed. However, when I referred to Vivian Grey, Disraelis reaction was that of complete shock. He pulled me aside telling me to never mention her name again. I decided to not use her in my campaign against Disraeli and ended up losing the election. After a couple of weeks as the head of the dreadful Department of Transport, I became obsessed
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with becoming an Assemblyman. My only chance to attain my goal was for Disraeli to step down as I would have been next in line to replace him. That is when I remembered Vivian Grey and the incident with Disraeli and came up with the idea of blackmailing him. I told Disraeli that if he did not resign, I would come to the public with all I knew about Vivian Grey. I figured it was far-fetched that he would give up his career to conceal this part of his past. All I had heard was that he was picked over another man not because he didnt have his lovers affection but because of her father. This was the purpose of our meeting that night. He pleaded with me to stop the blackmailing, but I stayed firm with my proposition. I ended up leaving after telling him that he had until tomorrow to make his decision. The next thing I knew I was being arrested for his murder. Mr. Holmes, I know that I am a despicable person, but I swear to you I did not kill Disraeli. Gladstone ended with a rise in his voice, showing the first signs of any type of emotion. So that is all you know about Vivian Grey, and you left the home of Disraeli with him still alive, is that correct? asked Holmes. Yes, Mr. Holmes. I know it looks bad for me, but do you really think I would kill him, knowing that all the evidence would point to me. I am a smart man, and the police said Disraeli had no distinguishable wounds on him, meaning that he was probably poisoned. If I had gone in there with the premeditated thought of killing him, wouldnt you think I would have made myself a little less noticeable? Gladstone replied. Well, I think those are all the questions I have for now, said Holmes getting up to leave. Thank you for your time. If youre telling the truth, I hope to be able to save your reputation of being a cold-blooded murderer to just being a disgraceful person. With that, Holmes exited the cell. On the way back to Baker Street, Holmes confided in me his suspicions about the case. Watson, even with the facts, I truly believe that Gladstone did not murder Disraeli. I mean he is right. He would never leave himself so capable of being caught. I am beginning to think that Disraeli was not killed after all, but committed suicide. There were remnants of cocaine on his office desk, so it was quite possible that he was taking it that night and overdosed on it. But my question is why. Why would he kill himself over the possible exposure of a past love? I think that was all that Gladstone knew, but I am positive that there is more to this story. The facts just do not add up. Before I can go further with this case, I must find out more about Vivian Grey and her connection with Disraeli. Holmes finished and then turned his back to me. I didnt hear from him for the rest of the night. When I arose the next morning, Holmes was already awake. I sat down at the table across from Holmes to await my breakfast from Mrs. Hudson, but more importantly to hear about Holmes new discoveries. He was reading the newspaper, so casually I asked if I could have it after he was finished. Of course, he replied, and although being in the middle of the paper he immediately
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reading this newspaper, began Holmes. I saw Vivians picture, and something struck me about it, but it wasnt her striking features. She looked so familiar and at the time I could not put my finger on it. It was not until I drifted off to sleep that I realized who she reminded me of because you know that is the time when you get your best ideas; well of course there are definitely better artificial ways, but that is beside the point. Look here at her picture; she was quite handsome. Now, in this picture on your wedding day, I must say you look equally as beautiful, wouldnt you say? Wellwell, stammered Mary Anne. I wouldnt say that. In this picture you have short, dark brown hair, whereas Vivians is long and blond. But hair aside, what do you notice about the faces of both of these two ladies, Mary Anne? asked Holmes almost sarcastically. They are identical, stammered Mary Anne with the look of defeat evident on her expression.
handed it to me. Well, thank you Holmes, I said pleasantly surprised at his graciousness. Turning to the front page, I began reading. April 17, 1858! I said, completely shocked at the date at the top of the page. Why are you reading a newspaper from thirty-four years ago? Watson, this is the date of Vivian Greys supposed death, and this newspaper has articles referring to her mysterious disappearance. Look here, said Holmes carefully folding the paper to the next page. This is a picture of her. In the picture was a beautiful woman looking to have long blond hair. She was quite petite and just barely came up to the chin of the man she was standing next to, who I assumed to have been her husband. Hurry Watson and finish your breakfast. We are going to start the day by solving this case, said Holmes while grabbing the newspaper. The cab ride seemed to have lasted an eternity. When the cab finally stopped, I realized that we were outside the house of Disraeli. Mary Anne was the one who answered the door with a look of surprise. Mr. Holmes and Watson please come in, said Mary Anne motioning us inside. I hope you bring news about my husbands death. We do, said Holmes staring at a picture framed on the table in the entryway. Oh, is this the picture of you and Disraeli on your wedding day? asked Holmes picking up the picture. Yes it is. This has always been my favorite picture of the two of us! responded Mary Anne seeming to lose herself in the picture. She then focused back on the reason for our visit and said, Lestrade informed me that all the new evidence points to Gladstone as the murderer, which is such a horrible thought, but I suppose it is a comfort to finally know the truth. Yes, we are all here to learn the truth, said Holmes humorlessly. And the truth is that no one murdered your husband. He killed himself. No, you cannot be serious. Benjamin would have never taken his own life, replied Mary Anne. Im sorry to say but the facts point to that as being the truth. I believe that you were unaware that Disraeli was being blackmailed, is that correct? asked Holmes. What? I had no idea that someone was blackmailing my husband, responded Mary Anne. Yes, if he did not agree to give up his career, his relationship with Vivian Grey would come to light. He became desperate after his meeting with Gladstone, and to relieve his anxiety, he turned to cocaine. While under the drugs influence, he began to see death as the easiest way out. With the publics questions about his resignation and with the possibility of others learning about Vivian, your husband felt unable to live with the guilt and must have decided to kill himself to save his reputation and also yours, Mary Anne. After discovering this, I began looking further into Vivian Grey. If his connection to her caused him to kill himself, then she was not just a first love and so there was more to the story. Holmes interrupted his thoughts by pulling out the newspaper he had shown me earlier. Mary Anne, this is the newspaper from the day that Vivians boating accident occurred. Last night, while
Yes you are right, Mr. Holmes. I am Vivian Grey. She did not die from a boating accident. I constructed my death, so that I could be with Benjamin. I was young and irrational, and I despised my former husband. He put up a perfect act for my father, but in truth he was horrible to me. I knew my father would not let me leave him, but it became so unbearable that I planned his death. I enlisted Benjamins help, who would never abandon me. My husband, who was unaware of his demise, agreed to the outing on the boat. While out to sea, I shot my husband with the gun I had hidden and pushed him overboard. Benjamin had followed us in another boat and after I had killed my husband, he met up with me. We capsized the boat to seem as if my husband and I had drowned, and then Benjamin and I left on his boat. Immediately after, I
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changed my name and my appearance to bring no suspicion on the two of us. I can not believe Benjamin killed himself to save my reputation. I killed my former husband, I am the guilty one, and I am the one who should suffer! At this point in her story, Mary Anne burst into tears. I went over and wrapped my arms around her trying to console her and calm her down. It was easy to see that she had matured since the death of her former husband, but still did not regret it. However, the guilt from her current husbands death on the other hand was something that I believed she could never get over. After a couple of minutes, Mary Annes sobs turned into quiet whimpers and she continued. I am so very sorry Mr. Holmes for not telling you the truth at the beginning. I just did not want to face the fact that all of this was my fault. This guilt is unbearable. I would rather die than have people learn how terrible I am, but arrest me if you must. I cannot have Gladstone falsely accused for my husbands death. Mary Anne looked at us with as much courage as she could muster. I dont think that will be necessary, said Holmes obviously influenced by Mary Annes emotion. Your
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guilt will stay with you the rest of your life, which is enough payment. I believe I will be able to prove Gladstones innocence, by showing your husbands death was a suicide by an accidental overdose of cocaine. Please take care Mary Anne, and if you need any assistance in the future, both Watson and I will do our best to help, said Holmes sincerely. Oh Mr. Holmes, thank you, responded Mary Anne. Thank you! I believe that is all I can say to show my gratitude. If there is ever anything I could do to repay you for all of your help, please let me know, for I am forever indebted to you. Holmes nodded his acceptance and turned to leave. Strolling down the walkway, Holmes looked at me and said, There is nothing better than beginning the day solving a case. The corners of his mouth turned up into a smile. You know Watson, I cannot remember the last time I had a meal. Mrs. Hudson had better kept warm the food she cooked for breakfast, for I am famished. Holmes had just turned from his genius detective side back into his normal human side, where the constraints of hunger came to affect him once again.

VII. - THE MYSTERY OF THE SECRET AFFAIR
One crisp and clear, September morning, Sherlock Holmes and I were taking a leisurely walk around our London neighborhood after our usual breakfast from Mrs. Hudson. The sun was shining and the streets were bustling full of merchants, already busy with the days business. We had taken many morning strolls lately to occupy our time, and of course because the exercise was exhilarating. I had begun to enjoy them more, particularly for their ability to organize my thoughts before the days commencement. The weather had just begun to change from warm to cool and, together, my friend and I silently noticed the seasons changing more and more with each successive morning. Upon the approach of Baker Street, I decided to be the first to break the comfortable silence of our walk. What will it be to-day, Holmes? Chemicals? Violin? Alkaloids? Well, my dear Watson, I should like to continue to work on an experiment Ive begun. I have some chemicals boiling as we speak and I should like to spend a few hours dedicated to the results, replied Holmes. I would have enjoyed a nap to his violin playing, as he often practiced after our strolls. Upon our arrival back to 221B, we heard a familiar mans voice coming from our apartment and conversing with Mrs. Hudson. They will be back after their morning walk, sir. Can I interest you in a chair or something to drink while you wait? inquired Mrs. Hudson politely. Thank you, madame, came the loud, deep voice as we heard the sound of a heavy body sinking into one of our chairs. We found Athelney Jones in the presence of our sitting room as we ascended the stairs. Ah, Jones, what can I do for you? greeted Holmes. I have brought you this fine specimen and a case of murder. Athelney Jones removed a glove from his coat pocket and laid it on the table in front of Holmes. What do you make of this glove? Before taking it in his hand, Holmes said, Well this object is quite singular. Watson, what can you make of this? You know my methods. Apply them. I grasped the glove, looking it over carefully. I cannot make much of it except that it is a womans glove. I can see that it has been put to use because of the lines in the leather. Otherwise, I don't find anything peculiar. Holmes grasped the glove gently and turned it over and around. He ran his index finger carefully along the lines in the leather that were clearly due to grasping and holding objects. He picked up his magnifying glass and examined one specific spot on the forefinger of the glove.
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unmarried since he had no ring, and the neighbor, after confirming his martial status, said that she had not seen him with a woman recently at the apartment. She told us his name was Jeffrey Westfield and that he has been living there as long as she has been in the next apartmentabout 20 years. From the looks of the place it appeared to be a classic bachelors dwelling. I just dont know what to make of this glove, but I think that it is clearly of importance since we found it near the body, and even more so since you say there is blood in its seam. What do you make of it, Holmes? Holmes paused for a moment, puffing on his cigar while contemplating the events that had just been presented. It is rather odd that there seems to be no evidence as to why this man has a womans white glove considering the fact that he has not been seen with a woman recently. Im not sure that this glove alone will give us much clue as to where to look next. We will start by finding its owner. I will place an ad in the evening papers for a lost white glove and will send you a wire when there are further developments. Thank you, Holmes. Good-bye, Athelney Jones put down his roach, put on his felt hat, and descended the stairs. Do you think the owner will come herself tonight? I inquired. A woman may be foolish enough to do such a thing. She may not have known where she left the glove and will most likely be grateful to have it returned to her, said my companion. Write down this advertisement, Watson, and we will have it printed in all of the evening papers. I wrote the following advertisement from Holmes dictation as follows: FOUND Womans white glove. Initials M.L. inside. Come to 221B Baker Street at 6 oclock tonight. That evening, Holmes and I sat together while I read the evening paper and he played his violin. It was a colder evening and there was a fire in the fireplace. As Holmes practiced, he eyed the clock as it was already quarter past the hour and our glove owner had not called. I think I hear her now on the stair, Watson. Sure enough there came a knock on the door and a delicate, blond woman entered. Hello, gentlemen. My name is Mary Lestrade. Did you happen to find a white glove? I have been missing mine for almost a week and cannot find the left one. Ive been very worried since they are my only pair and I wear them almost every day. Is this your glove, madame? asked Holmes while extending the glove towards her.
Once satisfied with its outward appearance, Holmes looked inside the glove and halfway turned it inside-out. He fingered some sort of emblem on the inside lining. This is the glove of a woman who wears it frequently, he began, I should not be surprised if she has worn it almost daily for a couple of years. She is a fashionable woman and her habits are very neat and cleanly. She is roughly 35-40 and not too poor in her finances. She has the initials M.L., and, finally, the wearer of this glove must have, no doubt, been involved in this murder that you speak of, Jones. How do you know that, Holmes? asked Athelney Jones with a look of shock. You have overlooked this minute blood stain in the seam of the forefinger. It is difficult to notice, but when you examine it closely, you can see that the seam is slightly darker in this one region where blood has seeped into its crevices. I can detect a light red hue to the seam where the blood has dyed it. There are just a couple microscopic specks of blue where the blood has been absorbed. Thus, the wearer of this glove must have been involved in this murder of which you speak. Holmes paused before continuing. She is a fashionable woman for this type of glove is very common among women today. Her habits are very neat and cleanly; I can tell by just looking at how white this glove still remains. Id say from the style that she her age is roughly 35-40. Her initials are clearly stitched on the inside lining. Jones seemed satisfied with this explanation. Yes, well, I suppose that about confirms it then. Im sure you'd like the details of the case. Let us have a smoke while we listen to the events, suggested Holmes. He disappeared into his room. I heard him turn off the burning beakers, and he returned with three cigars. Together we lit our matches as Athenley Jones began to tell the details of the mysterious events that had occurred. It began when we received a call early this morning from a woman who lives in an apartment on Wordsworth Road. She kept screaming about blood coming from under the door of the next apartment. We went down immediately to investigate since we could not get any more information from her because of her hysterics. We had barely ascended the stairs before we knew why she had been so hysterical. We found a long trail of blood trickling out of a single apartment. Most of it had dried by this point, so it was clear that someone had been bleeding and was probably dead the time we arrived. Finding the door unlocked, we entered and saw that a man was lying dead in front of the door with his back to the ground. He had a small, cooking knife sticking out from his throat. He had clearly bled to death. He appeared to be about forty years old and an Englishman. He had brown, chestnut hair, which he had begun to lose in one spot on the top of his head. He wore common clothes and strong shoes on his feet. We examined the scene and found little out of the ordinary except for this womans glove. The man was
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Oh, yes, it is! Thank you so much for returning it to me. She smiled and turned to go, but Holmes stopped her. Did you say that your name is Lestrade? Yes, my husband is Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard. Do you know him? My name is Sherlock Holmes and this is my friend and colleague Dr. Watson. Weve handled many cases together with the Inspector. Holmes seemed surprised at the glove owners identity and I was equally baffled. Oh, how wonderful! Its great to meet you both. My husband has told me much about you and the help that you have given the force in the past. She paused momentarily. We are having a small dinner party tomorrow night. I would be honored if you would join us. We would love to join you, wouldn't we, Watson? Of course, I smiled. Lovely. Dinner will be served at 6 oclock sharp. The other guests will include my sister, her husband, and our friends, Mr. Joseph White and his wife Amelia. Thanks again for my glove, Mr. Holmes. Good-bye. She left a slight scent of her perfume lingering in the air of our apartment. Lestrades wife was a beautiful woman full of spirit. What do you make of it, Holmes? Do you think she murdered Westfield? I inquired. Well, I have my theories, but, Watson, I assure you that this dinner party will put much more light on the case. And, at that, Holmes, grasping his bow with his right hand and placing his violin on his left shoulder, recommenced playing.
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The next afternoon I waited for Holmes to return from some mysterious business that had kept him from the apartment all day. I awoke around half past the hour. He must have returned sometime around 4 oclock for when I found him reading in his chair and puffing on a pipe, I noticed the remains of two other pipes in the ashtray. I sat waiting for him to break the silence. I could plainly see that he was deep in thought and did not wish to disturb him. Finally he said, What a chilly day it was to-day, Watson. I should not wonder if all of summer has faded and we are truly in the presence of the autumn season. Holmes paused as he glanced out the windows, which were now closed due to the outer temperature. Ive been out on business all day and regret that I did not leave a note. Id like to arrive at Lestrades house around 5 oclock if you don't mind. Id like to find out what I can about the other guests before dinner is served. Holmes put out his last pipe. Of course. We had better leave now if we want to get there on time. Lestrade lives about a 20 minute hansom ride from here. As Holmes rose and stepped into his bedroom, I gathered my hat and changed into more suitable clothes. The ride to Lestrades was a quiet one. Holmes sat in contemplation, most likely over his days events. I was eager to meet the other guests and wondered what Holmes thought that they could bring to the case. We arrived just outside the city at a little, two-story cottage. It was yellow with black shutters. The door was matching black and lit with one bright light on either side. They would have seemed brighter had it been later in the evening. We were greeted by Mrs. Lestrade at the door. Good evening, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson. Im so glad you could join us. Please take a seat in the parlor. My sister and brother-in-law are already there. My husband should be home shortly. Please help yourself to some tea. She showed us the same spirit as our first meeting with her. Mrs. Lestrade was a very hospitably woman. We found a man and a woman in the parlor. She had smooth, chestnut brown hair and fair skin. She sat with perfect posture sipping her tea with her pinky in the air. He seemed uninterested in the tea and was enjoying a cigar, careful to puff the smoke away from the woman. Hello, sir and madame. My name is Sherlock Holmes and this is my friend Dr. Watson. I assume you are Mrs. Lestrades sister and brother-in-law, Holmes introduced us to the couple and put out his hand for each of theirs. As the gentleman shook Holmes hand he replied, Good to meet you both. Im Terrence Spewack and this is my wife, Lily. How do you do, she cooed as Holmes kissed her hand. I nodded politely in her direction. How unlike Holmes to kiss a ladys hand, but I did not show my surprise. They were a quiet pair except for Mrs. Spewacks blatant cooing at Holmes.
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Jones at the scene of a murder, where you left it, Mrs. Spewack. Holmes had stunned the entire table of guests and everyone stared from him to Mrs. Spewack, who sat shocked and staring at no one but straight ahead at my companion. What is he talking about, Lily? asked Mr. Spewack. She did not answer, but only shut her jaw, which had been frozen open. What is this about, Holmes? Lily? questioned Lestrade as he got up slowing from his chair to get his handcuffs. Its okay. Could I explain in privacy to you, Mr. Holmes, I do not wish this business to be discussed at the dinner table, Mrs. Spewack pleaded. Of course, Mrs. Spewack, assured Holmes. You can explain on the way back into London. Im sure that will give you enough time to tell the details of the events. We said a quick good-bye to the other guests, who we left with questioning expressions on their faces. We thanked Mrs. Lestrade for dinner and her hospitality, and apologized for having to leave so suddenly and in such a state. A hansom was waiting outside for us and we began the trip back into the city. Well, I guess I better begin explaining, sighed Mrs. Spewack. Please do, Lestrade said hotly. He did not seem pleased that his own sister-in-law was accused of murder, never mind that he had to be the one to arrest her. Well, I did not wish to explain in front of my husband because I had been having an affair for about six months when I ended it about two weeks ago. It did not end well. I realized that I should not be cheating on Terranceoh, my poor Terranceno matter how badly he gets on my nerves. Jeffrey and I had planned that I would get a divorce and marry him, but I could not go through with it. I told him that I could not continue like this. He was just upset at first, but then he would seek me out while I was doing my errands about the city. Then, he started to come by our house. He had not tried to enter yet. Jeffrey threatened to tell my poor husband about the affair, hoping that he would leave me. I could not bear that thought. By the way, Mr. Holmes, dont bother looking into the matter that Terrance presented. Im sure that it was Jeffrey who he saw outside. The other day I told him I would come by his apartment to talk things through. He seemed to calm down a bit. I went early in the morning, but we just ended up in an argument again. I tried to explain that I did have feelings for him but that I love my husband and could not do such a thing to him any longer. He did not understand and kept threatening to tell Terrance. He wanted to ruin my marriage as revenge for my hurting him.
My sister did not mention to me that she was expecting six guests tonight. How do you know her and my brother-in-law? asked Mrs. Spewack. Well I am a consulting detective, and my colleague and I have worked on many cases with Lestrade. How interesting, added Mr. Spewack. Any intriguing cases lately? Well, none presented by Lestrade lately. I wonder if you could look into a matter for me if you have the time, asked Spewack. Id be glad to. What can I do for you? A man has been lingering outside our home recently at night. He did not come last night but for about a week now Ive seen him out there. Turning to his wife he added, I did not want to tell you, Lily. I did not want you to worry. Her faced seemed shocked and somewhat nervous. I, uh, I hadnt noticed any man outside, dear. Maybe he has gone. He did not appear last night. What do you think, Mr. Holmes? Im sure I could shed some light on the matter. Send me a wire if he appears again. The other two guests arrived with Lestrade and we were all introduced. Mrs. Lestrade then showed us all into the dining room. It was a long table set for eight with wine glasses and two dinner plates at each place setting. I sat to the right of Holmes who sat to the right of Mrs. White. At the head sat Lestrade and at the other, his wife. Across from me sat Mr. Spewack, who sat to the left of his wife. Mr. White sat across from his wife. Dinner was served in two courses and then dessert. While enjoying our warm, blueberry pie, Lestrade thanked each guest for dining with them that night. Then Mrs. Lestrade rose from her seat. Everyone please join me in a toast. Its kind of a tradition at all of our dinner parties. Fill your glasses and raise them to everyones good health and wellbeing in the next year. When all glasses were filled, everyone clinked theirs together and took a sip. Mr. Holmes, I would just like to thank you again for returning my glove. Youre welcome, Mrs. Lestrade. Your white glove, Mary? inquired her sister with interest. Why, yes. I had been looking for my gloves for a week. I finally found one yesterday, but could not seem to find the other. Then I saw an advertisement in the evening papers and found my glove with Mr. Holmes. Oh, Im sorry. I had borrowed them for a few days. I could not find mine and did not think you would mind. I should have asked your permission, apologized Mrs. Spewack. I could have sworn I returned them both, but I must have lost one on the way over. You must have. How exactly did you come upon my glove, Mr. Holmes? asked Mrs. Lestrade. While answering that, I must ask your husband to arrest your sister for she has committed the murder of Mr. Jeffrey Westfield. The glove was found by Athelney
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I was desperate. I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and stabbed him in the throat. When I realized what I had done, I got so frightened that I ran out, shutting the door behind me and hoping that no one would notice for a while. I suppose in all my confusion I left my sisters glove in his apartment. I understand what Ive done and Im so sorry! Please don't tell Terrance. Im not sure he will be able to handle the truth. When Mrs. Spewack had finished telling her story, Holmes paused before saying, Well, Mrs. Spewack, you have no doubt committed a terrible crime and will be punished for it. I will not say a word to your husband, but I can only speak for myself and not for Lestrade or the papers. She nodded and turned to Lestrade. He said, It is better that he hears this from me don't you agree? Would you want him to find out in the papers, Lily?
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She shook her head. The last few minutes of our trip were silent. We stopped by Scotland Yard to let Mrs. Spewack and Lestrade out before proceeding to Baker Street. It was a solemn good-bye. I did not want to arrest her in front of her family, Watson. I did not see another way to do it though, said Holmes. I nodded in agreement. The short drive to our rooms was fairing quiet. When we arrived, we retired to bed for the night. I sat awake for a while pondering the result of the case. As often as they occur these days, affairs are not often spoken of or discovered. It is a rare case in which they end happily or mutually. But it is an even more singular case in which an affair ends in murder.

VIII. - THE ADVENTURE OF THE THREE OCLOCK CRIMINAL
In the years that I have known Holmes, he has always had the unique ability of observing all that is around him. I began to write about him so I could demonstrate this skill which Holmes posses. There have been many instances in which he has noticed facts looked over by others. In the Man with the Twisted Lip, Holmes revealed a prisoner to be concealing his identity though Holmes had never seen the prisoner before. The police could not recognize him, even after he had been in custody for several days. The detective was baffled to see that the prisoner was simply wearing makeup. It is hard to explain to the world the effect that Holmes has on others just after discoveries like this, but I believe that our adventure of the Three Oclock criminal is one of the best depictions of Holmess talents. The story begins in late August of 1981. I was returning to the apartment from a walk when I first heard that Holmes had a visitor. Holmes was conversing with a man as I walked up the stairway of our apartment. I opened the door to find Holmes with a tall, average looking man in discussion. Holmes was sunk in his chair with a newly lit pipe, as he usually was when deep in thought. To a stranger he seemed perplexed, but I could tell that he was hiding a certain excitement that always came with mental challenges. Watson, come sit. This is Robert Morton, a cobbler here in town. Mr. Morton suddenly had a look of awe on his face. I never told you that I mend shoes for a living. Holmes replied, But you are a cobbler from head to toe. Watson, what do you think about our visitor? I did not understand how this man looked like a cobbler. The man seemed quite an average Londoner. He was probably 25 years of age. He wore a hat that did not seem peculiar in any way. It was black with a dirtied white band around the lower half of it. Mr. Morton was also adorned with a worn grey suit that seemed to resemble the other million grey suits that are worn everyday by the men of London. His shoes were dark brown leather boots, ones worn on a rainy day such as this one. I was curious to see how Holmes was going to explain this assumption. Of all the trades in London, what made this man uniquely a cobbler? It seems that our visitor is from the middle-class, based on his worn in suit and dirtied hat. But that is all I can make of this man. What gave you the impression that this man is a shoe mender? Watson, as Ive told you, once you eliminate all other factors, the one remaining is the correct choice. When I first met this man I could tell by his hand shake that he performs labor that is hand-intensive. His rough palm and fingers eliminated all but labor oriented occupations. He is dressed in a tattered grey suit, but wears well taken care of boots. The boots are by no means expensive, but are stitched perfectly. They are well oiled, yet worn to the point that they cannot be new. The person who owns them must obviously know how to mend shoes.
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The next day I paid careful attention to the wheat field. Sure enough I saw something moving in the crop around 3 oclock in the afternoon. I slowly approached the field but the movement stopped by the time I made it to the edge of the wheat. I had to go to London for work the following day, so I decided to take my father to the neighboring farm for the day to keep him from worrying. In the afternoon I went to get my dad and carefully checked the house upon our return to it. Nothing was out of place and no one was in it. That night I made sure to lock all the windows and the front door. The following morning I went up to my fathers room to wake him up and he was dead. I immediately sent for officials and checked the house. No windows or doors were damaged or unlocked. When the detective came, he said that he must have died from natural causes since there were no signs of abuse upon his body. I told them about the preceding days but they could not find any entrance that a criminal would have taken in the middle of the night. What was in your fathers room when you found him dead in the morning? Holmes asked. What was more interesting was what was missing. My father hung a medallion that he received for his service in the military next to his bed. This has been there ever since he moved into the farmhouse. Besides that everything was in place: the book he had been reading before going to bed was on his night stand along with an empty glass of water. His rocking chair, windows, and closet had not been disturbed. What made me telegram you was the person I saw this afternoon. I was sitting in my fathers room on the second floor with the detectives when I saw more movement in the field. I hurried downstairs, where I grabbed the hunting gun and ran toward the wheat. I saw a person turn and run. I am positive it was a person and not simply an animal or the wind blowing the wheat. By the time I was to the field I had fired several shots but the man was gone. The police thought I was simply being emotional, but I saw someone in the field, and I think that my father was murdered. If you would have seen the look in his eyes, you would have known that he knew something was wrong. Will you help me with the mystery behind my fathers death? Has anyone moved anything in your fathers room? Holmes questioned. Not besides my fathers body. They removed him this morning to take him to the county morgue. Who is the detective on the case? Detective Jones, but he seems positive that there has been no foul play in this situation. Will you take the case Holmes? I asked with curiosity. I have time and would and would like a trip to the country. Yes. I believe that I might be able to answer some of the questions behind your fathers death.
I follow your argument, but could he simply not be meticulous with his shoe care? Well assuming that he is a cobbler with that information alone would be a mere guess. It was the discoloration of the brim of his hat that gave me the final clue. The stains on the white stripe are in the shape of finger prints, and were left because of the dark oil on Mortons gloves while he was working. He would take off his hat when he became too hot and in the process, ended up leaving several boot-oil finger prints on the brim. This information allowed me to verify that he was a cobbler. But enough about the obvious, Mr. Morton came here to discuss interesting circumstances that recently occurred. He sent this telegram to me earlier this afternoon and came to talk to me in person about half an hour ago. I have had an unusual occurrence of events, and would like to meet with you this afternoon. My train gets in at 5:00. I hope to see you then. Mr. Morton, Watson has accompanied me in many cases and I think he would be an asset in helping with your situation. I know you just told me the details of the last week, but would you please repeat what you had to say so that Watson can be caught up. Also, hearing the details again would help me to rethink the case. Certainly. I will try to not leave out any details, no matter how trivial they seem, because Mr. Holmes told me that every bit of information helps. My father, James Morton, was a military medical doctor in India during his youth. While in India he met my mother at a medical base there and soon married her. When they were still young they moved back to London. My father worked in London for many years as a doctor but lost interest in his profession and decided to live a quieter life. He retired to a farm near Winchester about 10 years ago when my mother died, and has not had a hard day of work since. He has some livestock and a field of wheat that needs to be taken care of twice a year. During planting and harvesting season he hires help to do most of the grunt work. He lived a very calm life until a week ago. A few days ago, he sent me a telegram requesting that I come to see him. I work in London, but I caught a train out to Winchester and was with him by midafternoon. I told you that my father was a military doctor early in his career. Well he always kept the traits of a military man. He was careful, kept to himself, always looked over his shoulder yet seemed to be scared of little. This was the first time I had ever seen my dad with a face of worry. He told me that over the last few days he saw movements in the wheat field around 3:00 oclock. I asked him if any animals were out and he said that he checked the first day but all the livestock was accounted for. If it wasnt for the fear I saw in my dads eyes, I would have waved this tale off, but I decided to stay to comfort him.
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Thank you very much! I am going back to my fathers farm in Winchester on the next train. It leaves in half an hour. Well we shall surely accompany you to find out more about this situation. Go wait downstairs. Watson and I will meet you outside momentarily. Mr. Morton shook Holmes hand and left the room. I asked Holmes what he thought of the case. Making guesses before enough information is gathered can only lead down wrong paths. But I have several trains of thought that seem to fit the evidence. Shall we go and see the house now Watson? After you, my good friend. We arrived in Winchester shortly after seven. Holmes was completely silent on the trip which seemed to make Mr. Morton uneasy. I tried to talk with him but all conversation seemed useless until we arrived at the house.
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When the carriage pulled up to the farm, Holmes asked to be let out several hundred yards away from the house. He followed the path to the house meticulously but quickly because he realized that he was losing daylight. When Holmes finally reached the house he asked Mr. Morton to show him to the place in the wheat field where he saw the man. When we walked there Holmes became very interested. I tried to make out individual prints but the dirt seemed to all look the same except for a large set of footprints pointing away from the house. Mr. Morton said that these were his prints when he ran after the criminal earlier that day. How often did your dad water his crop? Holmes asked. Never, replied Morton. He let the rain do the irrigation. Well then when was the last time it rained here? Wednesday night I believe. Yes it was Wednesday night. Interesting, today is Saturday. So that was three days ago? Holmes replied. At this point Mr. Morton seemed to be confused by this simple question that Holmes posed.
Yes since today is Saturday, three days have passed since it last rained. Well lets make our way to the house then Watson. Surely more can be found out there. Holmes requested that we go to the late James Mortons room. As we entered his room on the second floor, all seemed to be in place. The room was simple with a bed on the far left side, a nightstand beside the bed and a rocking chair against one of the walls. A small closet was situated on the right side of the room along with a door that led to a bathroom. Along the back wall, two large windows overlooked the Mortons field. Holmes began by examining the main room. You said that the medallion hung here beside his bed, Mr. Morton. That is correct Mr. Holmes. Mr. Morton replied. Holmes then quickly moved to the closet and asked the son if any of his fathers belongs were moved or gone. Mr. Morton said that everything was in place just as he told him before. I noticed a look of frustration upon Holmes face. Does anything seem out of the ordinary Holmes? I asked curiously, seeing that Holmes was done with the bedroom. Unfortunately not Watson, but the whole house is not yet examined. Holmes decided to look in the fathers bathroom next. Shortly after we entered Holmes seemed to get a new burst of energy. What has been removed from the wall, Mr. Morton? Holmes asked. Nothing I believe wait. You are right. My mothers locket hung there near the window. My dad hung it there to remind him of her. How did you know that had been removed? The area behind the locket was not discolored by the sun like the area around the locket was. Was this there before your father died? I believe so; there is no reason he would have taken it down. Holmes then continued to search the room and very quickly had another discovery. You said your fathers name was James correct? Yes I did Did your mothers name start with a W? Holmes then asked. No, her name was Mary, why do you ask? Well it is curious that your father would have a metal tin with the letters WDM engraved in it. Holmes then picked up the tin and carefully examined it. He opened it, smelled it, and even licked it as he tried to gather any information he could from it. That is unusual Holmes. Do you think that this has something to do with my fathers death? Mr. Morton, I think it could have everything to do with your fathers death. Come Watson, it is getting dark; lets go into town to stay at the hotel. I believe that another day in Winchester might do us good. Mr.
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Once again Holmes you will find out soon enough. I saw that Holmes didnt want to be bothered during this time so I decided to walk through the city of Winchester. The city was only a few shops and buildings surrounded by wheat fields. After some lunch and a long stroll I found that it was time to return to the hotel. I returned to find Mr. Morton, Holmes, and Detective Jones in our room. Sorry to give you so short notice Watson, but we are leaving on the 5 oclock train so I believe you should pack quickly. Mr. Morton quickly looked at Holmes in surprise. Are you no longer going to help me with my dads death? Of course I am. That is once Watson packs to leave I hope that I am here for a reason and not simply on one of your queer adventures Holmes. Detective Jones remarked. Detective, shortly you will have James Mortons murderer. Hearing this I became eager and quickly packed. Soon after the four of us left the hotel and began to walk toward the train station, Dont you love the smell of freshly baked bread? Holmes asked. After this comment I was sure that Mr. Morton believed Holmes was quite out of his mind. Its shortly after four, lets stop by the town bakery and get a loaf before we leave Watson. Cant this wait? Detective Jones crudely remarked. It will just take a second, Holmes replied as we entered the store. An elderly man walked to the front of the store and Holmes ordered a fresh loaf of bread. As the cashier attempted to accept Holmes money, Holmes slapped handcuffs on the cashiers wrists. William Morrison, you are under arrest for the murder of James Morton. The mans mouth dropped and the prisoner was speechless. You must be kidding us Holmes. Jones remarked. I am not. Ask the man yourselves. He is correct. I have no reason to hide it now that I am caught. My life is nearly over anyways and I have fulfilled a goal that has haunted be for nearly thirty years. You are aware that anything you say will be recorded and can be used against you sir? Jones interrupted. I understand detective, but if I am caught I should at least let the truth of the story be known. James Morton and I went to India together as medical doctors in our youth. While we were stationed there we both became friends with the Generals daughter, Rebecca. Although the three of us were good friends, I was sure that Rebecca had taken a liking to me.
Morton, I need a night to think about everything we have seen today. Could we plan on meeting you tomorrow sometime? Ill send a boy from the hotel when I find a good time to meet. I hope that we will have more answers for you then. That sounds good. I hope that you have learned something from today because I am only more confused. Well then well see you tomorrow. Holmes and I then left on a carriage into town. Holmes was silent on the way into town and went directly to send a telegram after we arrived in Winchester. Once we were settled into our room I decided to see what Holmes thought of the case. What do you make of what we saw today? You seemed very particular about the fact that it had last rained Wednesday. Im assuming you were trying to find out how many days footprints could have been accumulating. That is correct Watson. What was interesting is that I found that six trips had been made through that point in the field since Wednesday. The large footprints on top were from Mr. Morton earlier today, but there were many small footprints under these. The person had been near the house five times since Wednesday. We know that the person came everyday at three oclock since Wednesday, but that means the person must have visited another trip each day. Well what does that mean Holmes? It means that the person was interested in the late James Mortons behaviors. I believe the murderer was trying to learn Mr. Mortons actions. So you believe that Mr. Morton was murdered? I asked. Yes, I just havent put everything together yet. Hopefully we will know more in the morning. Until then I am going to light my pipe and think about todays events. I will discuss with you more about the case tomorrow. I knew that Holmes tired of talking about the case so I decided not to bother him with more questions tonight. I woke in the morning and to the sound of a door. I saw Holmes near the door way and asked if he was planning on leaving. On the contrary Watson, I just got back. Back? Back from where Holmes? Where have you been so early? I went to see if I had a response from the telegram I sent last night. Well, did you have a response? I did, Holmes answered as he sat in a chair and lit his pipe. And what did it say, who was it from? I asked since Holmes seemed like he wasnt going to tell me voluntarily. You will find out soon enough. I also sent a note with a hotel boy to Mr. Morton telling him to meet use at the hotel this afternoon at 4 oclock. Why 4 oclock Holmes and not sooner?
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Unfortunately, her father seemed to like James more because of his potential in medicine. One day James and I were out when we came upon an injured friend. I tried to help the man as James ran for help. When James returned with others, James told the group that I had a vendetta against the man and tried to kill him. Jamess higher ranking, and his support from the general was enough to put me in jail for murder. After I was put in prison, Rebecca married James and the two of them quickly returned to England. I have been a captive in India until a year ago when my term ended. I worked there until I raised enough money to come to England. I found out James Morton was in Winchester and decided to do what I wanted to do for decades. I came and worked in the bakery and spied on Jamess house every chance I could. I traveled there twice a day: once during the time the bread was baking and again after work. After a week I learned Jamess habits and decided to make a move. Friday I noticed that James was not at his house so I decided to sneak in. I entered the house at 3 oclock and poisoned his glass of water that he took every night before going to bed. While I was in the house, I saw the locket that Rebecca used to wear. Unfortunately, I decided to take it with me. Latter on Friday I realized that I left the pill box, that I carried the poison in, when I was grabbing the locket. I returned Saturday to try to get my pill box, but the police were already there. I was also seen and nearly shot as I tried to leave. I know that I have committed murder, but I am not ashamed of what I did. James Morton ruined my life and I had to end his if I ever wanted to be at ease with myself. As I looked around Detective Jones was still shocked at the fact that this was the murdered. Mr. Morton looked confused at what to feel: he was angry but also ashamed of his fathers actions. I believe Ill take it from here Holmes Detective Jones said as he took the criminal with him.
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Thank you for your help Mr. Holmes. Mr. Morton replied, still overwhelmed by the story he just heard. Well it looks like we should be going Watson. We better hurry or well miss the train. On the train I began to get over the shock of Mr. Morrisons story and started to wonder how Holmes captured him. How were you sure that that man killed Mr. Morton, Holmes? It will seem simple after I tell you my train of thought. The first large clue was that a man was visiting the farm consistently at 3 oclock. Mr. Morton also told us about the missing military medallion. Seeing the pill box and locket missing led me to think that there was foul play involved. I believed that the medallion was taken out of spite. The locket belonged to his late wife, which seems to hint at vengeance. Remembering that the Mr. Morton met his wife in India and then soon moved to England led me to think that this was a lead. I sent a telegram to my friend Sergeant Daniels and asked him if anyone with the initials WDM worked with a James Morton in India nearly thirty years ago. Last night I thought about the facts of the case and remembered the wheat fields that surround the town of Winchester. I came to the conclusion that a bakery worker most likely did it. Bakerys do there cooking in the heat of the day from 2-4 to conserve energy. This was just enough time to let our man travel from the city to the farm and observe Morton everyday. The man would then once again go to the farm wither before or after his work. When I received a telegram this morning from Sergeant Daniels telling me that a William Douglas Morrison worked with Mr. Morton, was imprisoned for murder, and was recently let out, I was sure Mr. Morrison was the murderer. Upon entering the bakery today, I saw that the cashier had unusually small feet. The same small feet that made the imprints in the wheat field on the Mortons farm. Amazing Holmes! No simply the only possible explanation Watson. Holmes replied as we pulled into the Baker Street Station.
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IX. - THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK RING
My deep interest within the world of crime has been brought out through the eclectic happenings that pass through Baker Street on a regular basis. I have been able to account these strange and assorted crimes that London has been engrossed in, but now for a number of months they have been held in check. During this time period, London has flourished more than it has seen in previous years and for a time, I had put my tales that had taken the city hostage aside to focus on other more pressing matters. Fortunately, this did not last for very long. It was not until a cold, mundane day in the dead of winter that I came across an article in The Morning Chronicle that described the outlandish and well-versed murder of the very prominent Walter Dean Patterson. I rounded the corner of Melcombe, only to the realization of finding myself, yet again, on the threshold of Baker Street. I had risen early, to be met with the tranquility seen in a mid-Februarys fallen snow and the sharp coolness of winters air. Yet, while I knew there was no way that my dear friend Sherlock Holmes had possibly risen. I knew that he had certainly on more than one occasion proven me wrong. It was through this motive that I passed the familiar snow-covered buildings and courtyards in hope of seeing him and forgetting the woes of my practice. What I did not expect to see was the half-covered footprints of a man who clearly had already been to see my friend before I had the chance. Ah, my dear Watson, I see that the snow has only slowed you down just a bit, remarked Holmes, with an air of confidence. You are a bit later than I had expected, but I am nonetheless delighted that you are here. Your visit prompts that you have already seen for yourself that there is much work to be done on such a magnificent day. I hardly had time to adjust to the warmth of the fire when the crisp smell of Mrs. Hudsons cooking seeped into the room. Holmes had apparently been awake for quite some time dwelling over what the newspapers exclaimed A tragic accident. As I walked into the room the sign of my friends unique personality became vivid, reflected through his daily experiments and the uncharacteristic disorder associated with such an organized person. His daily mannerisms have grown restless, structured in a rhythmic routine where there is no surprise in his life anymore. It has just occurred to me that I have not seen you in such a time my friend. In what means are you going to continue with the ventures concerning your practice? Said he in such a matter-of-fact manner. I have been in deep thought about this over the past few weeks, but I do not understand how you could have possibly known this. Surely you have heard it from some other source Holmes, for it is not plausible to figure it out on ones own accord. Ah, my dear Watson, you have underestimated the power that a little deductive reasoning can bring. You will think the explanation all too simple after I tell you how I got it. You have deduced it then? Of course. From what? The shifting of weight in your footsteps has given me all that I needed to know. It can be easily seen within the untouched snow. A man with such a heavy burden on his mind will subconsciously walk in this fashion. The fact that I have not seen you for some weeks leads me to infer that you have been in great strain over something of importance, perhaps a trade. Finally, your need to show up so early and after such a case is presented in the Chronicle leads me to believe that you need a break from the tension that is your practice. It is very elementary business. Like much of Holmess answers, the matter indeed did seem simple enough once he had reasoned it out. He smiled pretentiously, seeing that all his convictions were as true as he said. When I had finally stepped into the living room, it had occurred to me that the organized mess that was so commonplace for Holmes to have, had not changed a bit. The room was littered with much of the same chemistry set-ups that had become routine in his daily schedule. The fire always seemed to radiate with the same mellow blaze, lighting up the lackluster array of furniture that was very much composed of his stale taste in rustic English furnishings. Though there were a few random items, the room was fairly plain. It did not consist of any extraordinary paintings, lamps, or furniture. Nor did it make one feel at home, but rather it was a type of laboratory elaborated with Bunsen burners, beakers, and various solutions. There was however an item, which was not consistent with Holmes nor the rest of the room. Ah my dear Watson, you have seen the cane, said Holmes in a very inquisitive manner, It is very perceptive of you to even have noticed it. I believe that you should already know whose it is? The man whose tracks I noticed earlier? Precisely! And what can you gather of this person from this old, decrepit cane? You know my methods Watson, apply them. I placed the large, outlandish cane erect next to the chair and began to observe the unique qualities which consumed this item. It was unique in feature in that it had a peculiar look to it: rustic in a very old-fashioned sense, seasoned in look but minimally worn down, and a
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mahogany color to it. The cane was very formidable in both stature and girth, and was clearly built to last through many ominous days ahead. The indentations throughout the shaft caused shaved pieces of wood to be missing and it gave the cane a battered appearance. At the handle, a gold plate had been forged onto it with the initials J.P.L. inscribed in large letters. The legitimacy of its size was confirmed when I had accidentally knocked it over, and an overbearing thud came forth. I must confess Holmes that I cannot make anything of it. Though a little larger than usual, it does not seem as unique an item that you give it credit for. On the contrary Watson, you can see everything from this object. If you observe certain characteristics closely, it soon becomes easily apparent at the type of person who would possess such a unique item. Then, pray enlighten me. What is perhaps the most unique and visually obvious attribute is the size of the cane. While one could infer that it was probably used for a larger man, this is not the case. This man is a very fit youth, perhaps aged around thirty-five and well under six feet tall. This man also is a very conservative and defensive person by nature. He is constantly held in fear and is extremely cautious as to his company. Yet, while the fact that he is conservative remains true, he often takes risks in his life and that can be attributed to the fact why he has a gold engraving. His cane also serves as a very sentimental object and though that may be the case, he has no reserves as also using it as a weapon. It can also be inferred that this man is very forgetful and absent-minded and that the initials on the handle of the cane are those not of the owner, but of an older relative. How have you come at these results? The canes size alone leads to the fact that the person would be tall and have a large weight to support him, I asked in a questioning tone. You see, it is a very straightforward explanation Watson. Those footprints that you had seen outside, very similar to yours, had a stride that paralleled those of a man similar in height to you. In terms of his weight, this mans footsteps yet again were able to give it away. The impressions of his boots should have sunk farther into the snow. Yet, they did not. His small boot-size and the fact that the snow filled in quickly allowed me to deduce that he was well fit and average in size. And how would you explain that he is thirty-five years old? A man of his size could not possibly hold such a cane without some youth and vitality behind him. At the same time, his appreciation for the rustic look of a cane like this also implied that he is old enough to appreciate the old age of England. And the fact that he is conservative and defensive by nature? Surely, you cannot say that you have deduced this, I implored with skepticism. On the contrary Watson, I have indeed reasoned effortlessly these characteristics. There is no question that
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he is conservative and defensive if he were to carry around a cane of this size with him all day. This explanation can also explain why this man lived in fear and was extremely cautious throughout his life. If you recall, there were no markings in the snow that could have been from a cane. Thus, rather than using it as a walking guide he would use it for other means, a more protective means. This man has many demons that haunt him and he uses this cane as a means of protection. No one would have come here so early unless fearful for something later in the day. That is also why he would have left before meeting with me in order to get home safely. Finally, as I see that you are still skeptical in my other deductions; the man is forgetful and absent-minded because he forgot an item which he clearly values greatly here. This particular type of cane was used in the older days, and from this fact I deduced that it had been handed down from an older generation. The initials J.P.L. are from a father figure of an affluent type. He would have typically been more prone to give his son his own name in order to carry on a heritage. As always you have not failed to miss even the smallest detail. It is all very ingenious, I remarked truthfully. With the look of satisfaction on his face, Holmes had directed his attention towards his chamber door in the expectancy of our guest returning. When the man appeared at the threshold of the room, it was obvious that he had been in his mid-thirties, and was average height but a rather robust man. It was not until he took his coat off that it became obvious his size was contributed to his very large attire. He looked about the room frantically until his eyes met with that of his cane. I am so sorry to interrupt you gentlemen, but I have been clumsy enough to have left my cane here earlier. Please excuse me as I have been very troubled lately and I did not know where to turn. I was in such haste earlier that I forgot to leave a note as to why I had come and what my name is, Jonathan Patrick Lewis. Not a problem at all, remarked Holmes. I had half expected you to return around this time anyway. Pray sit down and share with us the urgency of your message in which you had hoped to confess earlier. As the man sat down he took from his pocket the article that had appeared in The Morning Chronicle a few hours prior. It is the business regarding the death of my dear friend. I am sure you are aware of it. I have read the article earlier, but I hoped that you could read it again so that any small detail could be filled in there afterwards. It would do a great justice to both me and my friend to hear it from you. I will most certainly do this and include every detail whether I regard relevant or not in order to assist you: Walter Dean Patterson, 37, was found to be dead in his house in East Lundshire County. Patterson, who comes from a very prominent English family, had been found with no signs of
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of the information that he had come there that night to tell me. Instead, he repetitively warned me to get my family out of town and to keep them safe. He had said something about those in black feared that I had known too much. He was far too scared to elaborate on any other details. I had tried to get in contact with him on numerous occasions, only to be thwarted by the fact that no one would answer. The next thing I knew, I was reading of his death in the newspaper. Since that point, I have carried around this cane as a means of what little self-defense that I can provide myself. I am prepared to avenge my friend. When he had finished his account, Holmes sat their in obvious appreciation of the conundrum that had presented itself in his chamber. The fierce snow-storm that had once been going in the streets soon came to a stop and the commotion of people in the streets filtered into the room. This is indeed a mystery, I remarked. What do you imagine that it means? I dare not theorise before I have any other information. What then, Mr. Holmes, should I do? questioned Lewis. There is nothing to worry. I think that it would be best if you were to get home and rest for the day. I will send a telegram for you tomorrow to meet me in Devonshire. It will be here that our investigation will begin. For now, I believe that the time of day will provide sufficient protection for your journey home. Good day Mr. Lewis.
violence nor appeared to have struggled at all. He was discovered at the base of his stairs yesterday, not the result of a fall but of some unexpected happening that had taken his life. Witnesses had said that they saw a faint light within the house at a very strange time of the night but had not suspected anything abnormal about it. While the prospect of murder had been considered by some of the best at Scotland Yard, it seems as though that there is no evidence to lead toward this. There appeared to be no signs of burglary or any other foul play that could have been a motivation. Patterson is only survived by his wife Elizabeth and those servants who knew him within the house. As for now the Scotland Yard is on the case, but has not made any headway in being able to classify the case as accidental or foul play. Brad Ehreiser Holmes seemed to take in every detail of the story with the utmost interest and sat in his seat in deep reflection. Knowing Holmes for as long as I did, I could see that he was already theorizing the possibilities of what happened that night through the limited information that he had been given in the article. I believe the question for us now is to see what kind of foul-play we have here, Holmes finally remarked after he broke from thought. Pray tell me everything you can on the matter. Well, it started many years ago when I first met my dear friend Mr. Patterson. At the time, he was a very light-hearted, jovial, and enthusiastic young man who appeared to have every quality that any person would be envious of. His wife Elizabeth had actually introduced me to my own wife, and thus our two families became very close with one another. We soon became the dearest of friends, and confided everything with one another rather than with our wives. Secrecy with each other became something which we both would never reveal to anyone else. As time went on, I had soon noticed that the pressures of being from such a prominent family started to weigh on him. He soon became more isolated within his own house, and more importantly we started to confide not in each other for secrecy but rather with no one. As I saw him less and less, I soon began to wonder what he had been devoting all of his time to during the weeks on end in which I would not hear from him. One night I decided to go over to his house and make sure he was still well. When I was there, I found myself looking into the window to see a group of men all dressed in black who seemed to be questioning Walter about various things. However, when I had questioned Walter, he pretended as if the whole ordeal had never happened. It was not until late last week when I found him at my doorstep. He seemed too scared to actually tell me any
Holmes had risen early the next morning, and when I had arrived at 221B Baker Street his breakfast was nearly done. He had clearly risen early and now was consumed in the morning paper. You will excuse me for not waiting for you, said he I have a very trying day ahead in looking into Mr. Lewiss case. I hoped you would be so kind as to join me today Watson? Certainly Holmes. I could not think of a better way to spend my day.
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Capital! We shall make way to the City, where I believe threads of the case shall be started there. You should tell your wife that you will be gone for a few days for I expect to head to East Lundshire County following. The brief hiatus that had caused the sun to shine was yet again engrossed in a wild snowstorm. While it seemed to me as though only the foolish would venture out into the white abyss, Holmes seemed to find some relish and extra excitement about it. I stepped outdoors, hardly able to see my way in front of me and I tried to flag down a cab when Holmes appeared at my side. That is not necessary my dear Watson, remarked Holmes in a most matter of fact manner. You cannot mean, Holmes, that we should walk? Clearly, you have performed one to many cocaine experiments to say that we do not need a cab in this weather. The weather should clear up any moment now and a walk should do us both some good with such a day approaching us. Trusting the judgment of my friend, we began to walk against the strong winds and blinding snow. I had begun to place some doubt and indignation at my friends theory when both began to let up. Life on the streets soon began to start up once again and my annoyance with my decision to walk was soon overshadowed with the excitement that the crisp cool air was able to bring. Before I had the chance to question Holmes, he said My dear Watson, you look incredulous? It is one of my hobbies to have a very formidable knowledge in meteorology. I find it very useful to be able to understand weather patterns in my line of work. The clues were set in place and one only needed to follows its trail to the conclusion. I did not question any of his judgments because I was content when a short walk later, Holmes and I found ourselves in the heart of London. It seemed as though the threads of the case that he had so mysteriously alluded to before, were as hidden to me as they had been back in Baker Street. I could not possibly think why it was that we needed to be in London, when the crime had taken place so much farther away. We walked only a block further, when Holmes stopped. Yes. This is definitely the place, Watson. Pray, come in and we shall be received quite well. I had helped the man who resides here in another case, and I have no doubt that he will be most accommodating of our visit. This is the house of Barrett Patterson, the brother of the late Walter Dean Patterson. As we entered the sitting room, we were greeted by a stout man, who had undoubtedly been very surprised to see Holmes. His face seemed flustered, and he was nervous to speak of anything. The vast collection of rare books which encompassed much of the room was undoubtedly one of the best in London. While his intelligence was apparent, there was certainly something critical in his behavior. His occasional stutter, nervous twitch, and even the surroundings gave a mysterious aura
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to Holmes unknown thread. Holmes had finished surveying him when something of an introduction was finally spoken. I hope we are not intruding Barrett. Business has yet again brought me to your doorstep. I dare say that you know my associate Watson, as he was invaluable in my success of your case. Mr. Holmes, I am truly gracious for everything you have done for me. Your reputation in London does not exceed your talents. However, I know that the weather has not driven a man of your character into these parts of town for no reason. What can I do for you? Barrett remarked through a nervous stutter. I have a few questions to ask you of your brother, remarked Holmes in a cold yet confident voice. When was the last time that you were in contact with him? Mr. Holmes I only ask that we conduct this interview in the dark. My eyes have been very strained recently and the light harms them. As for your questions I have not seen nor heard from my brother for quite some time. As you know, my family and I have not been on good terms. I can assure you that the difficulty of my present case is not made easier with lies, Mr. Patterson. Pray, when did you last see your brother and the connection that he may have with these men in black? Barretts eyes lit up at the mention of this. Holmes had apparently known that his question would have evoked such an impulsive reaction, for he calmly sat in his seat waiting for his answer. After several moments our host gathered his words. Mr. Holmes, said Barrett, I shall tell you all that I know, but I want to assure you that I did not mean to mislead you. I only meant to protect what could potentially look like a guilty act of murder on my part. I can assure you that while I had differences with my brother, I would never go as far as any extreme act of violence. My brother was a man who was honest in his dealings. But more than that, he was a man concerned of public perception. He would have gone to any length to continue the tradition of the Patterson legacy. The time which you had alluded to, one of the few times that I did go to visit him, was the night of his death. I had been at my brothers house a few months back to warn him of these very events, and I had tried in vain to do so again. Many years ago, I served as a naval officer for England during the war and one night, our ship was attacked by a group of pirates. A group of men, whose movements appeared ghostly, spared my life in return for the wealth of my familys treasure. Clearly the trouble with that lay in the fact that almost all of it was with my brother. Up until now, I have been able to get away with sending my own wealth in portions. When finally, I had tried to talk to my brother, he simply rushed me out and took every precaution as to hide our family treasure. When I no longer could send in any money, I sent a telegram to these men saying my brother had all the
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Mr. Lewis, did any person have any motivation for killing Walter Patterson. He was a very wealthy man Dr. Watson. I am sure that any man would have much to gain from his demise. As for myself, I hope you would not think negatively on the fact that some of his will was to his brother, as well as me. I just wish for the facts as to know everything there is for the case. If you could tell me the direction of your house, I hoped to know the direction that you came from on the night of the murder, said I. To the southwest. It is just through the woods that encompass the whole of the southern grounds. Ahh, I supposed it would have been. I only wished to see the scene of the crime before calling it a day. Stepping into the oversized mansion, there was something eerie and mysterious about the whole scene. There was little light, and if there had not been the few candles, the house would have been completely engulfed in darkness. Looking over the crime scene, there seemed to be no obvious physical signs of struggle or that of anyone breaking in. With the amount of time that had elapsed between the death and my arrival, the body had already been moved. Yet, the one fact that I did ascertain is that it had apparently been found on the last step of the winding stairwell, and that the face had an expression of horror on it. While going over the many theories that had developed in my head, I could not help but think that the occurrence in London with the black ring had to play some part in the matter. Holding the ring in front of me, I closely observed the small artifact in my hand. I had some strange feeling however, that I had seen this ring somewhere before. It was not until I looked on the inside of the ring when I noticed that some of the black had begun to wear off. It seemed as though it had been painted on. I needed some concrete evidence for it to hold up. When I thought what Holmes would do, I remembered the case of Charles Augustus Milverton. Despite the repercussions of being on the other side of the law, I knew that tonight I would have to break into Jonathan Smalls house. Later that night, when all had been asleep, I dressed in a black cloak as to not be seen and found my way to the southwest corner of the house. From there I made my way through the woods and to the house of Jonathon Lewis. I was armed with my revolver in case of any unfortunate circumstances. I slowly made my way to one of the windows, climbed through and was well within the house within no time at all. The house was pitch black and in making my way through the house, I realized that I was the only one in their. I searched the house for a time but could not find anything. As I was about to leave the house the door flew open. I was fortunate enough as to my candle being put out by the wind from outside, and I sank into a dark corner. The men who came in stood for a few moments and conversed with one another.
wealth in my family. It was not until last night that I realized the danger that my brother was in. When I had gone to visit him, I had simply done so to warn him of the ensuing danger. Needless to say, he would not listen. He kicked me out of his house, and despite my efforts, I returned home. As all of this was being told, Holmes listened intently with his eyes closed and completely engrossed in the story. Pray, how do you communicate with this group? Do you have an address? Mr. Holmes, it is most peculiar. The man who comes to my house calls himself Jonathon Lewis. Yet the Jonathon Lewis that I am sure that you are familiar with is not this man. I leave it outside my door every morning, but I have never seen his face. These are much deeper waters than I had thought, said Holmes as we walked outside. What do you make of it? I dare not say yet. All the cards are at present against us. However, if it would suit you Watson to go to East Lundshire without me, I believe there are a few things that I need to call upon in London first. I shall have you observe all that you can and in great detail let me know of everything. Do not leave out any detail that you may think irrelevant. I believe that the thread has begun to unwind. I will go, with pleasure, Holmes. Capital! I will see you in East Lundshire when business here is taken care of. As I was walking toward the train station, a man ran into me and knocked me off my feet. However, when I gathered my composure and looked around, there was no distinguishable figure in the crowd. The only thing I could find was a black ring sitting next to me visible against the white snow. When I had finally stepped foot on the Patterson Estate, the Scotland Yard had already been there for a considerable time. Any relevant information that could have been used was almost negligible through the footprints and new snow that was seen throughout the grounds. As I was approaching the house, I was greeted with the familiar voice of Jonathon Lewis. Ah, Dr. Watson, I hope that your presence here means that Sherlock Holmes is not too far behind? He is currently following a lead in London, but will soon be here to shed some light on the case. I have instructions from him to do what I can before his arrival. I can only hope so, said Lewis. I have to take that warning on my life as something that is impending and it has been taking a toll on my health. In the midst of the conversation, I could not help but think of what Pattersons brother had alluded to. He did in fact seem very tired, yet the possibility that he has been acting against the investigation seemed plausible. Through the mindset of Holmes, I knew that I dare not theorize before I had any of the facts.
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My dear Watson, I do not believe that you need to hide in that corner any longer. I will be able to explain everything that is happening once you find your feet. Mr. Patterson here had been shrewd enough to disguise his own death, but his capture is near. I had not the faintest idea as to what Holmes had been alluding to. Clearly, Patterson was dead. The police had already seen his body. Holmes, this ring, I was knocked down by a man who dropped it. I believe it holds some weight in this case. Capital Watson! That is the missing piece that I needed. I am confident that we will have our man in no time at all. We will have to wait here for a little bit, but I find that our man will return to this scene when they realize of his blunder. Hum! I will give you a true account of how I was able to solve the mystery, said Holmes. While at times the scent of the crime had not been strong, there were several points that were able to lead me where I am standing here now. I came over the records of a Mr. Ehreiser. He is a man who served in the war in Afghanistan, and in doing so he rose to the ranks of Lieutenant Colonel. His days in the war, however, had been disgraced with the rumors of his and his soldiers ruthless tactics in achieving their success. It is during this time that their group took shape and the symbolism of their black dress took particular form. It is under personal record that a British ship was placed under siege by an unknown ship. During this siege only one man was able to come back to give the events that had occurred on that night. Naturally, that man was Walter Patterson. Yet, there was no information of any Brad Ehreiser ever returning. All of this information had been true enough found merely through personal records. Though I had known much of this information already, there were still many loose ends in which my investigation could not go further. Yet, it was by chance that I had happened to come across a name in the reports, that through my keen sense of observation I had come across before. That is, the name Mr. Brad Ehreiser. Watson, if you can recall, the author of Pattersons article was Brad Ehreiser. Perhaps a coincidence, but it was this thread in which my case was built on. While the records had noted that their were no other survivors on the attack, this man happened to be registered on that ship. While it was one of the few mistakes that had been made, it was none the less of vital importance. When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. So you went to The Morning Chronicle? Exactly. Yet, when I had got there was no person who knew of this man. I was convinced that he had been working under an alias name. While it seems that this trail would have led me to another end, it did just the opposite. Instead, it gave an important insight into the case. This man cared so much as to the police and quite possibly
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myself and Watson, that he would take a job at The Morning Chronicle for this one article. While the deceased Mr. Patterson was able to deceive much of England with his alleged death, he had too many trails following him to stay underground for too long. It was at the bank, that I was able to find out that his will had been changed merely a week before his death. Instead of all of his wealth going to his brother and his friend, it was all converted to Jonathon Lewis. Yet, in spite of this I do not believe that Lewis had any part in any of the plans. Walter Patterson, despite his incredible wealth, owed a lot of money to many people. His debts were so immense, that their was no real way out without giving his family wealth up, and public disgrace upon him. When his brother had warned him of those men in black many years ago, it was the exact thing he needed to hatch his plan. When the police had arrived they did not find the body of Patterson, but rather of Jonathon Lewis. The man known as Ehreiser had been posing as a Scotland Yard officer for some time now, and I believe it was him who ran into you on the street. He used his position as a journalist and an officer to deceive those who have been working on the case. As a detective I balance probabilities and choose the most likely. It is the scientific use of the imagination. Alas, the supposed death of Mr. Patterson has been the result of false identity, greed, and vengeance. Just before you had been here, I believe that Walter Patterson had been in wait of you. Of me Holmes? I do not understand? You have something of his, Watson. Something he had lost that day in London. The Ring! Exactly! You had heard from his brother that he was a man who was very conscience of public opinion and his familys legacy. It also would have been a very formidable object as to the discovery that he was alive. He would not have stopped until his fathers ring was in his possession, even if it meant the death of you Watson. That ring had proved my theory and was the last link that I needed to prove that Patterson was still alive. He had tried to lure you to his house, and in effect did so with much success. I believe he is coming now. We need to be very quiet, for we are spies in an enemy's country. I need you to stand in the open and when he comes in, we shall subdue him. When the door had opened up, the man who stood in the doorway was a man I had never seen before. He had started to walk toward me when Holmes and Lestrade jumped forward and tackled him to the ground. They wrestled for a few minutes until the man realized that his efforts were unpromising. Holmes days as a championship boxer had clearly given him the athletic form that has been invaluable to him today. Lestrade and Watson, I introduce you to a master of disguises; here in front of you is Lieutenant Colonel Brad Ehreiser and Barrett Patterson. You both may know him
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who still remain at large, this man will no longer be a threat. Mr. Holmes I cannot thank you for the light that you have placed on this case. I will make sure to show you in a most favorable light in the write up, said Lestrade. That is not necessary; my only compensation is being able to work on the case itself. I wish no recognition. And thus this is the singular case of the Black Ring. Quis unus vir imitabilis reperio, alius imitabilis expiscor.
better as Walter Dean Patterson, the leader of the Black Ring. Holmes held up the candle to the mans face and brushed off the disguise that he had been living under for quite some time. Lestrade, I believe you will find his brother Barrett downstairs in the basement. I congratulate you on a case well done. For your reports, you can add that he had used his brother and Jonathon Lewis merely as pawns to achieve a greater goal. He had used the black ring as a means to strike fear into others. While there are many
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X. - THE ADVENTURE AT HERSHIRE MANSION
When I had arisen that morning, Holmes had already been nestled into his chair in his corner of the room with his tall, thin body hunched over the table, peering over his chemicals that he was experimenting with. His long inkblotted and stained hands grabbed one of his many instruments and added a small amount of his red solution to a separate green one. He hovered over the mixture, but to no avail, nothing occurred. With an indication of frustration on his alert face, Holmes gazed out the window, observing the beautiful, bright, sunny day. Putting down the morning newspaper that I was recently engaged in, I grabbed Holmes attention: Holmes lets not stay cooped up inside on this remarkable day. Let us eat some breakfast and then we shall walk throughout the city today. Yes, I do need to clear my mind, he replied. And I am very hungry. Concentrating on my experiments I completely forgot the hunger that lies within my stomach. We moved down the bustling streets on our way through the city, as Holmes would examine every person that would walk by. Minutes later we sat down on a bench in Rawlings Park that had trees lining the path way surrounded the large section of grass in the middle. Children ran around while their parents watched nervously on the side hoping that their own would not hurt themselves. Holmes and I, while taking in the first rays of sunlight, dove into conversation about the recent murder arrest of Mr. Thomas James, who was handcuffed only two days later by young Stanley Hopkins. He confessed to the murder while in custody, and was ready to plead guilty. Why on earth, Watson, do you believe they did not include me on this investigation of a murder by a man who was clearly still dangerous and might not have finished with his plan? They didnt believe they needed you. But with all the cases that I have shown light on where there was only darkness, how could they not think to call me into action? In the attempt to arrest James, Hopkins successfully put innocent bi-standards into immense danger as James opened fire into a crowd of people. Luckily only three were hurt and no one was killed, but the police should have been smarter and thought their plan out more. They have lost my respect therefore I will not be connected with that police force anymore. I will not serve any more cases for them, but only answer to the pleas of civilians in need of advice and, if possible, help. We made our way back, meandering between streets and lodges on our way back to 221-B Baker Street. While admiring the different shops and stores lining the streets, I noticed a young boy running down the street with an easily noticeable smirk on his face. Holmes put out his arm and stopped the boy dead in his tracks on the sidewalk and, as I glanced at him, I realized he was Wiggins, the leader of his dirty little gang that he uses to gain inside information for certain cases. Well, Wiggins, what a pleasant surprise to run into you, said Holmes. Out of breath and tying to answer Holmes inquiry, Wiggins kept peering behind himself and putting his hands into the pockets of his coat as if to search for something. OK Wiggins, what have you stolen now? Holmes attacked. Nothing, just this wallet that I snagged and this stupid pen I stole last week that dont write. So go return the wallet to the rightful owner and Ill take this pen to send out a wire to find its owner. Very well, go on and stay out of trouble. I followed Holmes after he sent out an advertisement for the findings of a brown pen with the initials C R on them. As we went into the house, he placed the pen down on the counter and studied it very closely as if it was about to change color and form. I sat down, checking the paper for something unusual, but found nothing. Several minutes later Holmes popped his head and looked over to my side of the room. Well Watson, take a glance at this pen for awhile. What can you figure about the man that owns this pen? Besides the fact that he enjoys writing since there is no ink for it to write with anymore, I can deduce simply nothing. Dear Watson, even in that aspect you are not fully accurate. This man is left-handed, writes an immense amount, is tall, is wealthy, is a very deep thinker, has connections with people in America, has the initials C R, and can be considered very dangerous. Thats absurd Holmes, how did you conjecture those thoughts? It will be all very simple once I reveal my train of thought. This man is left-handed since there are two marks on the left side of the pen for the index and middle finger and only one mark of the right side for the thumb. He writes a lot due to the immense wear on the pen down where the thumb, middle, and index finger would reside. Very clear, but how do you know he is a tall man? Its all a matter of measurements my friend. Hold the pen in your hand and check the distance between the tip of fingers and the spot where the inside of your hand touches the pen. Now compare that to distance between the actual marks on the pen from his fingertips and from the inside of his hand. Do you see how his is much larger
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rather through marriage to the daughter of an affluent gold minor from America. Her name was Mrs. Charlotte Williams. They married three years ago when she visited Europe for a long summer stay. They lived happily together for the 2 years. I was with them until an obscure sequence of events occurred only one year ago. Williams went on a business trip for a few days only to return to his wife missing. The room was the same condition as the night before. She went to sleep at her usual time and was not found there the next day. For the next twelve months Williams lived in depression and loneliness as his only love seemed to have perished. Williams expressed to me multiple times that he did not believe his wife ran away from him, which many people were telling him. What were the circumstances of the room that Mrs. Rawlings slept in? Holmes butted in. The door and windows were locked the night that she went missing. It was not noticed that she was missing whole next day until when Mr. Rawlings arrived back from his trip and never found her. The man is now more miserable than ever. He has grown pale and skinny and I fear that something more trivial is disturbing him now. You must come to the house today and aid Mr. Rawlings. That is a very interesting sequence of events, I replied. You must go back to your house and make sure nothing is tampered with. Watson and I will grab a cab over to your house tomorrow and look at the scene. The man left the room with quickly and Holmes and I sat there in silence. I could see Holmes already circulating ideas in his mind. What do you make of all of this? Holmes asked. I can not see much. I do not see how going to the Hershire mansion now will help us gather any evidence in a death which occurred a year ago. Well we shall find out. Holmes sat back down to his experiment as I went to attend some patients of mine. Tomorrow we would head to Hershire. It was quarter past ten when called a cab to the train station to get on a train to Hershire. I had noticed that the penknife was no where to be found. We searched for it briefly but Holmes simply thought Mrs. Hudson has moved it while tidying up. The thunderstorm the night before had put the roads in terrible shape and delayed our travel a half hour. We got off the train and immediately could see the towering white mansion above the trees that surrounded it. The house was planted directly in the middle of Hershire forest. A relatively new house, only being built 3 years ago, it has 3 acres of cleared land in front of it. A small path winds its way through the forest until it reaches the beginning of this clearing and the takes a direct course to the front of the house. The house itself had four large Greek columns side by side and between the middle too we found two large wooden doors to enter
than yours? This information calculates to him having a large hand and therefore being tall. I dont know why I could not see these simple characteristics of the pen. Please, tell me how you deduced that this man is wealthy and a deep thinker It is very straightforward you see. This pen is extremely expensive and for one person to waste this amount of money on a pen simply has too much money to start off with. The reason why this man is a deep thinker originates from the small bite marks found at the top of the pen. He must have a habit of biting the very end of the pen while thinking of ideas to write down. It is quite a common trait for people to do this. Very simple, but how could you conclude that he has acquaintances in America? See the texture and color of the pen. Look at the point of the pen. This brown, smooth material is a certain metal that is melted down over a long process to form this shape. Now look at the rest of the pen. Do you see the fur that lines the pen? This yellow fleece that encompasses the rest of the pen comes from the fur of a northeastern American fox. This specific pen is only made in America, specifically New York City. See I have written a paper on the different makes of pens and this one is a very expensive pen that is only made in New York City. This pen is only for sale to Americans due to the large demand for it, so therefore, this man must have some contacts in America. But Watson, there is one major thing you missed altogether. This pen is not just for writing. Holmes grabbed then pen and gave it a severe twist and pulled a small dagger from inside the pen. Gleaming in the light of the lantern, I could read the same initials that were carved into the pen itself. The man obviously had more uses to the pen then just to write with. We shall see if this man does turn up over time. Until then, I am headed back to my experimentation. I also headed off to get some work done while Holmes returned to his experiment from which he was taking a hiatus. I returned hours later to find Holmes in a deep conversation with a man unknown to me. Ah, my friend Watson, come here quickly. This young man is dealing with very interesting circumstances and he wishes that I could give him advice. I know I have heard the details Mr. Peter Smith, pray inform my partner here with what you are dealing with. Also, do not leave out any information you think irrelevant, because everything is important to this case. This tall skinny man sat down. He was very pale and had a troubled look on his face. His hands, nervously shaking, grabbed the sides of the chair as he sat there. A look of sorrow covered his face as one could tell his mind was thinking of something else. He gathered himself and began to speak. First, Dr. Watson you must understand the history of the man I work for, Mr. Jonathon Rawlings. He is a wealthy man not due to inheritance or an occupation, but
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the house. This four-story mansion was one of the most impressive houses I have ever seen. Mr. Williams came rushing out of the house as he saw us come down the driveway. Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, please come quickly, Mr. Rawlings is missing. I came back yesterday to find him sitting is his lounge chair as usual so I went back to my room. We ate dinner then went to sleep. Mr. Williams usually retires to his room at eleven oclock. I have not seen him yet today. His room is empty now and I can find no trace of him. Did he seem more distraught than usual when you came home last night? Holmes asked. Not in particular, Mr. Holmes. He went along his nightly habits and then went to his room. It does come to my mind that for a significant amount of time he stood by the window just staring outside. I am not sure why. Very interesting, said Holmes let us take a glance at his room. We walked into the room and Holmes moved methodically throughout the room, focusing on a small door in the wall. Holmes opened the door to find a shoot leading down to somewhere. He then noticed the small drops of blood that were on the wall directly next to the door to the shoot. He followed them to where they stopped then turned and looked at us. We must head to the basement, there is no more from here that which we can gather information. We headed down to the basement and found a large garbage dumpster, which would usually be filled with that weeks trash but the garbage was emptied earlier today. Holmes hopped inside to take a closer look. He took his lantern and observed every inch of the area. Watson, what do you gather from the traces of blood upstairs and down here in this dumpster? Obviously something wound happened but I do not know for sure.
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We must now make our way to find our next source of evidence. All the clues point to our next step. Mr. Smith, you stay here while Watson and I grab a cab to the nearest landfill. We caught a cab to the landfill, which was a half hour away. We stepped out walked up to these dark green rolling hills. We found the large valley holding a few hundred tons of garbage. Across the way, workers were unloading garbage from their last rounds of the day. We ventured over there. Sir, where could we find the trash brought from the Hershire mansion? Holmes asked. The man replied, Down there where the small fence runs into the left side of the hill. We made our way down the hill to the specified section and starting grazing through some trash. We found all sorts of trash, from furniture to food to newspaper. Suddenly covered by large trash bags that were hiding its identity we found the body severely disfigured. The most interesting feature about the body was its face. It had the look of a most intense fear. Horror seemed to have destroyed this man from the inside. He then only met his biggest fear, this man who has murdered him. Look at this Holmes, as I picked up the same penknife we discovered only days ago, it is the same knife we found. Let us take it back to Baker Street. There is nothing more for us here. I must go out to do some business when we get back. We left the landfill and caught a cab back to the train station and reached Baker Street by four in the afternoon. I retired to my room for an afternoon nap while Holmes ran out. I woke up a few hours later to find him sitting in his chair playing some melodies on his violin. He stared off into the distant with his mind at work. We must go back to Hershire mansion and interview the housemaid and butler again. There are a few key points that are unfavorable to my theory. At the moment we do not have enough evidence that will hold up in court. Holmes ejaculated. The next day we departed for Hershire again in hopes of meeting with the housemaid and butler. We found ourselves in front of the large columns at a quarter past ten. The sky was cloudy and a fog was rolling in, coming from the east rolling over the green hills into the forest. We walked inside and found the butler in the kitchen. On the night before Mrs. Rawlings was determined missing, what were the conditions? Holmes interrogated. Let me think back, the butler replied, oh yes, I remember now. It was a stormy summer night like the ones we have had recently. The doors and windows were all locked the next day and nothing else seemed out of the ordinary. Just as I expected, Holmes intervened. And the maid, does she have the same story?
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I would restrain to tell you this, but since my revenge on these two people is complete, I have nothing else to live for. It all started because of this conniving man, Rawlings, who married my sister, Charlotte, just for his money. We were on vacation here in London and throughout different parts of Europe when we stopped in Switzerland. There at the same hotel, was Mr. Rawlings on a business trip. He instantly wanted to marry Charlotte after he discovered who are family was. Two days before we left to go back to America, Charlotte was gone. She ran off with Rawlings and those two got married. The next day we found a letter left by her with her whereabouts. She was going to stay in Europe while we were going back to New York City. I was livid at this because our father had always stated that if my older sister married she would receive all of the company. If she married in America, than I would have made a case that I was most prepared for taking of the company and I would be to live off her. But now that she was living in Europe I had nothing. So, then, Mr. Williams why did you kill your sister and not her husband? Holmes asked. Well my train of thought was all very clear. I was first going to try to get her to leave her husband and come back to America, but she refused repeatedly. So then one night I came into the house and got into her bedroom and was able to force her down the garbage shoot and into the dumpster. No one noticed that she was missing for a day, so I had the chance to clean up and get her to the landfill. With her dead I thought that I would instantly receive the inheritance of the family, but it stayed out here in England. I waited about a year and then came back out to Hershire mansion to finally clear the path for my legacy. This time I was not able to clean up the murder and now here we are face to face. Holmes added, Well the murder of Mr. Rawlings led me to believe us also killed his wife. First off there was scratch mark on the wall next to the door for the shoot This means that the one who was stabbed was not the one who fell. The man holding the knife fell through the shoot and attempted to stop himself. The killer then was stabbed and while escaping, covered up his wound with some cloth to stop the bleeding. You then took the body along with his penknife, which we actually had in our own apartment only days ago to the landfill. We went back to Hershire mansion the next day and seeing that all the doors and windows were locked, it only left the garbage shoot for entrance and exit. Watson, do you remember when I appeared in the room? Yes I am still unclear as how you did it Well, it is very easy once you think about it. How else would you climb up a vertical shoot? Suction cups are the answer. As I was moving up the shoot I saw the suction marks that Mr. Williams obviously left when entering the room only days before. And for removing the sound of a loud thud of a body hitting the dumpster, it was simple. The lightning and thunder could easily hide that from the housemaid and butler. During these summer
Yes, Mr. Holmes. She lives closest to the bedroom. She said she heard nothing throughout the night that awoken her except for the sporadic lightning and thunder. Ok good. Let me run down to the basement, I need to verify one more thing. You two stay up here, I will be right back Holmes said. We stood there, the butler and I, discussing the events that had happened and wondering if we would be able to find out who the murderer is. We took a stroll through the kitchen and around back through the bedroom, admiring the wonderful craftsmanship that went into making the countertop and table. We moved back in the bedroom and both sat down on the chairs by the end table. We turned around and found Holmes standing on the other side of the bed. How the devil did you get back into this room? I stammered. The same way the murdered did. But now we must go and head back to Baker Street for I believe we have enough information now to catch the murderer. Tomorrow at half past eleven, Mr. Smith, meet us down at the dock and we shall find him. We left the mansion and caught a cab and then the train back to our apartment. We grabbed some dinner that Mrs. Hudson prepared for us and then I went to my room to sleep. Holmes stayed out, sitting in his chair going back to his experiment. The next day we traveled down to the dock and met with Mr. Smith at eleven in the late morning and sat down for some lunch. Holmes, who is the murdered and how did u come about this? the butler asked You will discover it all in due time. Just be patient and we will find the murder in a short amount of time. We finished eating and walked over to pier 14 where two large ships were headed loading up, preparing to sail to America. Passengers began to get on the ship as departure time was creeping up on them. We were standing under a tall wooden pole, painted white, marking the middle of the pier. The minutes went by and then suddenly a small man walked up to us and introduced himself to Sherlock Holmes as Mr. Christopher Williams from New York City. I can tell you received my message looking for a fuel source from America Holmes said. Yes, Mr. Holmes, I am leaving today to head back to New York City but the price that you offered was something that I could not turn down. When shall we finalize the deal? There is one thing I must do first Mr. Williams, and that is to arrest you for the murder of Mr. and Mrs. Rawlings. Holmes handcuffed Mr. Williams as he showed no sign of resisting. Please sir, tell us the details of these recent events. Holmes demanded.
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nights we find these storms move through almost every night. You were under the same conditions when you killed your sister.
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Thank you so much, Mr. Holmes. Oh what can I repay for this? Mr. Smith asked. Nothing from you is needed. As long as this man ends up behind bars I will be just fine.

XI. - THE ADVENTURE OF THE LONDON RAIL ROBBERY
Sherlock Holmes returned to Baker Street slightly before noon to find me sealing a letter to send off to Miss Mary Morstan. Another affectionate note for Miss Morstan I presume? asked Holmes as he walked towards his room. I just cannot keep her out of my head, I responded, Do you think I should ask her to dine with us this evening? I truly do enjoy her company. Receiving no response I turned around from my desk to see if my companion was still in the room. At current he was slunk over examining the carpet with a large magnifying glass. What could have possibly caught your interest in that old carpet? I asked, certain that nothing of any worth could be laying on our living room rug. Watson, Holmes said, looking up from his lens, do you mean to tell me you have been here all morning and have yet to notice these footprints of coal all throughout the room? Of course I have noticed them, Holmes. They were the first thing I saw when I walked out of my room this morning. I have already asked for Mrs. Hudson to come and clean them up. I had called for a chimney sweep to come today and it appears that he arrived before I had risen. I must say, however, that I am not by any means impressed by the remnants of soot that his shoes have left in our parlor. I would think a chimney sweep to be more courteous and aware of the mess he might make. That reminds me, I believe he left the bill over there on the table, I responded. Looking entirely unsatisfied with my response Holmes walked over and picked up the piece of paper, folded and laying on our large oak table. I watched my old friend as closely as ever, just waiting to see his facial expression when he realized that I was correct and there was no further mystery to uncover. But, to my dismay, a clever grin appeared on his face. My dear fellow, there is more to these footprints than meets your eyes, said Holmes as he motioned for me to come read the bill. He handed me the piece of parchment and to my surprise it was a hastily written note. It read: Mr. Sherlock Holmes- I have an issue of the utmost importance to speak to you about. Will return as soon as possible, but please stay in your apartment. I have little time and cannot afford to miss you again. Lewis Hollingsworth Roth P.S.-Ive left my watch as assurance I shall return promptly. Well I dont see how this dispels the possibility of this being left by the chimney sweep, even if it is not a bill, I responded confidently, Perhaps there is an urgent problem with our chimney which must be addressed immediately. Come Watson, have a closer look at these clues that are all around you, said Holmes as he picked up the golden pocket watch lying on the table, come examine this old time piece here. I walked over towards the door and picked up the chimney sweeps pocket watch. It was very nice. It had a long gold chain, and the watch was engraved on the back with the initials L.R. and directly below it the numbers 4586. At the end of the watch chain was a small dull letter opener, which was somewhat damaged. All in all it was a very attractive watch, and the engraved design was quite beautiful. Well I dont find anything overly extraordinary about this. The L.R. on the watch clearly stands for Lewis Roth, and the number 4586 is likely a date of great importance to Mr. Roth. Perhaps that date is his anniversary. I would surmise that he received it as a gift, likely from a parent or perhaps his wife. Ah, a gift is it? Responded my companion, Well, it is certainly a reasonable guess I suppose. And furthermore, said I, it is clear that this man uses his watch quite frequently. Id venture to say he checks it many times an hour. When I couple this watch with the soot footprints on our carpet and the fact that a chimney sweep was due here today I would say that this note was most definitely left by a very prompt chimney sweep.
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Quickly responding our guest said, Thank you Mr. Holmes but there is simply no time to lose, you must help me! I am all ears, replied Holmes, and lest I forget my manners I must introduce my friend Dr. Watson, I do hope you dont mind if he stays to hear your issue- his advice can be, at times, quite valuable. I took a seat near the man and was anxious to hear what adventure we were about to be led on. Holmes lay down on our sofa in his normal sprawled out fashion and continued to examine the mans watch, though very attentive to what Mr. Roth was about to say. That is fine sir, but please allow me to begin by explaining why I have darkened your doorway this morning. My name is Lewis Roth and I am an engineer for the London Railway. Ive been working the lines for thirty years now, and have just recently started working the eastern line, which runs from London all the way to Edinburgh. I had been working the line for about three weeks when the company decided to start using my train to transport items of the utmost value. The London Railway is the primary transport for the Central Bank of London, and with the banks new depository located in Edinburgh my train has begun to transport not only passengers- but invaluable jewels, stacks of gold, and the finest silver in the world. Last night, however, was a peculiar circumstance- we were to transport a vault of the queens most valuable jewels from Edinburgh, where they had been cleaned and appraised, back to London. Yes, I had read of that in the morning papers. I understand that her majesty is quite excited to have her precious stones back in her possession, interrupted Holmes. That only adds to the urgency that is involved in this matter. You see, the jewels were loaded last night after dark, at 11 P.M. I believe. Under heavy guard they were taken to the first car behind the coal car, which is the third behind the locomotive. They were secured in a compartment and then the doors were tightly secured and locked. After that, we quickly left for London- not leaving anytime for unauthorized passengers or thieves to board. There were two guards assigned at the doors to the train car, and members of the queens staff were in other compartments in the car with the jewels. However, when we arrived in London this morning the jewels were gone! By Jove! I exclaimed, The queens most precious jewels stolen? I tell you Mr. Holmes this is a most sorry state of affairs and not wanting to attract undue attention we have yet to tell the London police or her majesty. If word gets would likely lose my job and all that I have. Remaining as professional as ever, my companion responded, You neednt worry Mr. Roth, I shall organize my thoughts here and Dr. Watson and I shall meet you at the London rail yard in one hour. And before I forget here is your watch, I have taken it upon myself to fix it, in its owners absence
Looking at Holmes for approval I found that there was no such expression to be given. Well done Watson! Certainly plausible, however, your deduction falls short of being accurate. I cannot possibly imagine you have a better explanation, but I implore you to tell me your findings, I responded, doubtful that any better one existed. With that I handed him the watch and waited for his response. For one, my dear friend, this watch was not a gift and secondly it is not the property of Lewis Roth. The insignia is that of the London Railway and it is for that corporation that the L.R. engraved on the back of this watch stands for. As for the number 4586, that is Mr. Roths conductor or engineer number. But I am most certain he is not a conductor. What is strikingly odd about this timepiece is it appears to no longer be in working order A bit perplexed I asked, How can you be so certain of the particular part of the train this man works on, if he does indeed work on a train? I cannot only tell you where this man worked on the train; I can tell you which train line he works on. You see, upon further examination you may see that these footprints, which have been so thoughtfully left on our oriental rug, were not made from the soot of a fireplace, they came the remnants of coal. If these prints were the product of this fireplace here they would not be as fine and as soft. When wood burns it leaves very soft ash and soft soot. The by product of coal, however, is very hard. One need only feel a pinch of these tracks to know that it is coal. Only an engineer would work near the coal furnaces of the train. By the unique design of the footprint I know that they are an engineers boot prints, for their tough working environments require them to have shoes with great traction. Lastly, I can be certain that this Mr. Roth works on the Eastern line that goes north to Edinburgh. That is the last train line which still uses coal from the Doyle Quarry; all of the other lines have switched to importing their coal from other countries. The Doyle quarry coal is quite unique from imported coal. I have written quite a lot on analyzing coal samples, as you know, and thus it was really very simple to deduce it all. Shocked and somewhat hesitant to believe the lengthy deduction I replied, I suppose we will just have to wait until Mr. Roths return. And you shant have to wait long, Holmes responded, I believe that is him on the stairs now. The apartment door opened and in walked a large man, clad in overalls covered in a black dust, and wearing large brown boots whose soles were as black as night. The man bore a very nervous and anxious expression on his face Mr. Roth come in, please have a seat, invited Holmes, we have been expecting you.
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As Holmes opened the door for our guest, and returned his watch, Mr. Roth seemed to be a bit startled and said, Ohyes, well thank youthank you very much Mr. Holmes it must have broken when I dropped it rushing into your apartment this morning. I must be more careful in the future. But, so far as the issue at hand is concerned I was told you were the best man to see and I know you shant let us down. With that the door shut and Mr. Roth quickly departed. Oh! A mystery is it?1 I exclaimed. A mystery indeed, responded Holmes as he walked over towards the sofa and lay out in a pensive state, What is your take on all of this, Watson? I believe it is a clear cut case of robbery and, once we arrive on the scene, it shall only be a few hours before this mystery is behind us. Besides, Mr. Roth seems like a very competent client to have. A client is to me a mere unit, a factor in a problem2 said Holmes in response, But I have a strong feeling there is much more to this mystery that weve yet to findor hear. With that Mrs. Hudson opened the door and announced there was a man at the door, A chimney sweep is here for you, Mr. Watson. Hell be here in a moment after he gathers his things. I looked at Holmes to see a large grin on his face. Your chimney sweep has at last arrived, my friend, he said, and with the smile giving way to a serious expression, Now let us be quick to organize ourselves and be off to the rail yard. I shall call a four wheeler to pick us up in twenty minutes.
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1 2
A Study in Scarlet p.10 The Sign of Four p.135
When we when arrived at the London Railways yard in the southwest portion of the city, just west of Harpers circus, Mr. Roth spotted us and immediately came running in our direction. Thank heavens you have arrived! Some fool has gone and notified the police! I am sure to be ruined now! This job is all I have, if word spreads to the press about this matter I will most certainly lose my job! exclaimed the nervous engineer. I give you my word to do all that is possible to solve this crime, Mr. Roth, responded Holmes with a reassuring look, now let us see this train. The engineer led us towards the eastern line train. It was a grand looking train, with twenty one cars and a massive black locomotive leading the front. After a short walk we arrived to the car where the robbery had occurred and were about to board the train when Inspector Lestrade began walking down the stairs. Ah, Holmes! Good to see youve made it, he confidently exclaimed, and Dr. Watson, it is always a pleasure to see you. I am, however, afraid you gentlemen are too late, for the detectives of Scotland Yard have already solved this case. Well then, surely you wouldnt mind if Watson and I were to survey the scene, if nothing more than for my own peace of mind? asked Holmes, seemingly unconvinced. But of course not, said Lestrade as he motioned for us to climb the stairs into the train car, follow me. There were five compartments in the car, and the compartment in the middle, compartment C, had been the one in which the jewel safe had been secured. There was nothing particularly unique about the compartments of the car, save for the fact that they all were windowless and had dual locks on each door. Inspector Lestrade, what seems to be the meaning of these windowless compartments, and several locks on each door? I asked, It seems a bit inappropriate for a passenger train. As you may know, answered Lestrade, this train has begun carrying valuable shipments. Therefore several cars were recently remodeled to meet the necessary security standards. There are no windows in the compartments, in order that no one may know what is in each one and several locks to ensure added protection. Compartment C is particularly designed for security and thus typically carries the most valuable items. And, for added security, Royal police were patrolling the corridors of this car last night. Quite a mystery then, observed a skeptical Holmes, how is it, may I ask, that you so quickly caught the deviant who conceived and executed this seemingly insurmountable task? Ah, I thought you might ask. Upon close inspection of this cars undercarriage we found a hidden door that enters compartment C, if one possesses the key to open it. It was a genius plan, as the door was hidden behind one of the electrical units, which had been especially designed to
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consider the facts of the case alone, I decided to retire to bed. I awoke the next morning to find that Holmes had already departed. I hadnt been awake long, however, when there came a knock at the apartment door. Come in, I said, and in walked Detective Lestrade. Ah, good morning detective, what brings you to Baker Street today? Ive just received an urgent telegram from Holmes requesting my presence here at once, responded Lestrade. With that there was suddenly a racket on the stairs and Holmes stormed into the living room. Gather your things gentlemen! he exclaimed, There is not a moment to lose! What is the meaning of this? asked a confused Lestrade Ive spent much of last night and all of this morning researching more information about yesterdays rail robbery. You saw Wiggins here last night, Watson, and it was no coincidence. He has since found me invaluable information and we must act at once. Follow me! But Holmes, where are we going? I exclaimed, as he was already walking down the stairs To the London rail yard! he responded. When we arrived at the yard we made immediately for the train and before long the three of us were standing outside of the locomotive. I opened my mouth to ask what the devil was going on, but Holmes motioned for us to be quiet. There seemed to be someone making noise inside the locomotive. With that Holmes exclaimed, Gentlemen, I give you the true London railway robber! and threw open the locomotive door. There, kneeling next to a pile of coal, was Engineer number 4586, Lewis Hollingsworth Roth. Holmes what is the meaning of all this! exclaimed Lestrade, You are most well aware that we have already captured the London Railway robber! I assure you gentlemen, Holmes responded, Everything shall be explained. I havent the slightest idea what youre talking about Mr. Holmes, responded the squeamish engineer, still kneeling next to the pile of coal. Well then perhaps this may remind you, said Holmes picking up a piece of coal, Now tell me Watson, what is it that Im holding in my hand? Why, a piece of coal of course. I responded. Ah, so it would seem to the naked eye. But observe closely, at that he dropped the coal on the metal floor and it at once broke apart. And there, lying in the center of what seemingly used to be a piece of coal was a green emerald. You see, Watson, upon closer examination of the prints which were left on our carpet yesterday, I found that it was Doyle Quarry coal; however, it had been mixed with a substance I came to identify as plaster. Damn you! ejaculated the engineer, shaking his fists in the air, Youve ruined me, Sherlock Holmes!
slide in and out of place, in order to hide it. We searched all passenger and train staff on the train and, upon doing so, found that the conductor, a gentleman by the name of Rowland Walt, had not only a few of the missing jewels in his pockets, but the key to match the door as well. We presume that he threw the remaining jewels overboard once an alarm was raised. Well gentlemen, I leave you now. I must go check on the interrogation of Mr. Walt, as he is being awfully difficult. To think he might claim his innocence in the face of such certain evidence! Good day. With that, Lestrade departed and Holmes began examining compartment C. The safe had been positioned in the center of the room and Holmes was carefully examining the now empty vault with a magnifying glass. This lock was most certainly picked. noted Holmes, Come help me find this secret compartment, Watson. We exited the train car and began searching the undercarriage for the secret door. Quick Watson! Holmes exclaimed, Look here, the lock on this door is most peculiar in nature, responded Holmes I crawled under the car and closely examined the lock, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. What do you mean Holmes, it appears in order to me, I said Perhaps, but look what occurs when I use a simple army knife to try and pick it. With that, Holmes stuck a knife in the lock and the door immediately flew open. Good gracious! Holmes, what possible use is a lock that doesnt work? A very astute question indeed, Watson, and I have many things to consider about this case. But, for now, let us return to Baker Street. We were almost out of the train yard when Holmes suddenly stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. Watson, he said, look closely at the train. I turned and looked at the train, and it did not take much effort to notice that the first two cars, the coal car and the car which had held the jewels, were raised much higher from the tracks than their counterparts. Why it appears those two cars are most undeniably higher than all the rest, I responded, but what does that mean? I have a theory Watson, but I must piece a few more items together first. It was treacherously cold outside by the time our hansom arrived back at Baker Street. Yet, despite the weather, Wiggins, a member of the Baker Street irregulars, was standing outside. Go on ahead, Watson, said Holmes, I only have to speak with Wiggins for a moment. I returned to the apartment and began to read the evening newspaper. Not more than five or so minutes later Holmes entered the apartment, proceeded immediately to his room and slammed the door. Realizing that he was likely desirous of some time to
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I must say I am still quite perplexed, added Lestrade, I demand an explanation as to what is going on here. You see, my friend, I at first became suspicious when I asked Wiggins to inquire as to who had notified the police of the railway robbery. At the time I had done it out of sympathy for my then client Mr. Roth, who now sits helpless on this steel floor. Mr. Roth, and you should remember Watson, was extremely upset that someone had notified the police when his intentions had been that they not know. However, as Wiggins discovered, it was Mr. Roth himself who had notified the police. But why? I interjected That was my initial question as well, Watson, and my first clue that all was not as it seemed. For why would a man, so concerned about his reputation wish to draw undue attention before absolutely necessary? Why, he must have been certain the police would get the wrong man of course! Well I still dont see how this makes him guilty, interrupted an agitated Lestrade It also seemed peculiar that this conductor, Mr. Walt, would have made the foolish blunder of leaving jewels and the key to the trap door on his person. A criminal mastermind as was needed for this offense seems unlikely make such a simple error. "Then there was lock that appeared to have been designed to be picked by a knife rather than for the use of a key, responded a confident Holmes, A knife, or perhaps a letter opener! And Mr. Roth if you would be so kind as to lend me your watch that I repaired for you yesterday, I think we should all know what tool was used to open that lock. By Jove! I exclaimed, Now it all makes sense! Indeed, my dear Watson. And, as Mr. Roth here is the lead engineer, when he wishes to rest, he may return to his cabin in the rear of this locomotive while his assistant engineer takes his place. As for how he got to the trap door underneath compartment C, he was able to crawl along the undercarriage of the train, due to the fact that the cars had been lifted higher from the tracks. All very good in theory, Holmes, interjected Lestrade, but how could one man possibly make the
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necessary alterations to these train cars in order to execute this crime? Ah, I was just getting to that. I believe you mentioned that the cars had been recently renovated. And by whom, I discovered this morning: Hampton Roth Mechanical Engineering, located at 39 NW. Does that name ring a bell Mr. Roth? It may, sneered the infuriated engineer. It should, for Hampton Roth is none other than this mans brother. Brilliant! I ejaculated It merely took a bit of inquiring and investigating, and a visit to the Roth Engineering Shop, to deduce what had happened here. Mr. Roth and his brother had been in this together all along! The poor conductor whom you have in custody is innocent, Lestrade, a mere pawn in this mans game. But then again, so was I! Your attempt in throwing off my scent has failed Mr. Roth! But how did you know I would come back to get the jewels now? asked the engineer Simple, the train was sequestered all through the night, and I knew you would return at the first available moment to retrieve the coal you had so cleverly hidden these stolen jewels in. Mr. Roth, I asked, dont you think yourself a fool for trying to involve Sherlock Holmes in your charades? If you must know, Dr. Watson, it was a method of security. Surely if Sherlock Holmes, the most famous detective in all of London, had agreed with the police that Conductor Walt was guilty, there would be no question that his cries of innocence were false and I in turn would be richer than the Queen! And thus is the story of the London Railway robbery. Mr. Walt was freed that same day, with sincere apologies from Scotland Yard. Mr. Roth was punished for his crimes; however, his brother managed to escape before the authorities could apprehend him. It was rumored some years later that he had fled to India where he worked as a prison guard, but most unfortunately had his head smashed in by a wooden leg when an inmate escaped one night. It was one of the most unique adventures I can recall, save for perhaps The Red Headed League, and never again did a criminal try to fool Sherlock Holmes by enlisting his assistance.
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XII. - THE ADVENTURE OF THE SILVER CHARM
It was a dreary January day on Baker Street, complete with low-hanging clouds and gray skies. Sherlock Holmess temperament matched the weather, as did mine. Our lives had been rather dull for some time, and my companion, having a passion for the eccentric, was painfully jaded. The case of the Sholto brothers had been the last case of interest that we had dealt with, and it had been quite a while since that adventure as well. Since then, Holmes and I had spent most of our time on rather trivial civil cases that, while important in their own way, lack the special thrill that so many of Holmess other cases have given us. Therefore, to occupy his time and mind, Holmes was engaging in a scientific experiment, which he often did in times such as these. My dear friend Watson, do you wish to hear what I am working on? he asked. Surely, I replied. Well, it is an analysis of different soils, from each main section of the city. But Holmes, you already know what each type of soil is and can pinpoint its origin exactly, why are you studying them again? I inquired. I must do something to engage my mind, because I cannot bear for it to be in a state of dormancy for so long! But there is more to it than that. As you just said, I was under the impression that I could distinguish between each of them, however, after taking a morning stroll down to Westchester I discovered there was an entire type of soil that I had never seen before, which I found right by the lake, Holmes continued. How did you know for sure that you had never seen it before? I asked. It was of a rather curious and unique texture, and I knew right away it was unlike any of that I have seen or studied before. This was incredibly fascinating yet perturbing to me, as I thought I was certain that I already knew what each soil type was and where each came from. Therefore, I decided to set to work right away and reanalyze all of the different soils in the city, just to be sure I have the right information which could prove to be vital in solving a case. I found this somewhat interesting, because normally Holmes is correct on matters such as these and I found it unusual that he could have been unaware of an entire type. I suppose, however, that not everyone can be correct one hundred percent of the time. However, before I could convey my thoughts to Holmes, a scene outside on the street below caught our attention. A woman of perhaps 40 years, with light brown wavy hair was darting her eyes to the left and right, seemingly very eager to cross the street. She seemed incredibly flustered and was attempting to catch her breath. My companion and I watched as the woman, clutching a large purse and wearing a look of fright and panic on her face hurried across the street toward our lodgings. Ah, Watson, I have a feeling in my bones that this will bring an end to our draught! he exclaimed excitedly. Before I could reply, the doorbell rang and the woman rushed in, quite frazzled, cheeks flushed from running, with tears in her eyes. I am desperately in need of your assistance Mr. Holmes! she said as she pulled out a handkerchief to wipe her eyes. Mrs. Smith, please calm down and relate your story to my friend Dr. Watson and I. At this, the woman jumped back and immediately asked how he could possibly know her last name when they had not yet introduced themselves. My dear woman, I know much more than that already, but do not be alarmed. I presume that your name is Sarah Smith, you are of the middle-class, and a mother of perhaps two or three children, who works very hard to maintain her household, as your husband is often away on business. Furthermore you have come to obtain my assistance on a matter that involves a missing person. I am willing to guess that this person if one of your children. Am I right on all of these inferences? As the woman listened to Holmess deductions, her face had grown increasingly astonished. Why yes! You are correct in every aspect! But how on earth did you know all of those details about me?! It was not nearly as complicated as it seems at the moment, said Holmes, smiling understandingly at the woman. I simply discerned your name from your bag, which is clearly embroidered. I knew you were a mother of at least two or three children mainly because of this same handbag, which is rather large for a woman who is not caring for a family, as a mother needs many items at her disposable if one of her children becomes sick or hurt, for instance. I further deduced that you are a hard-working housewife after observing your calloused and dry-skinned hands, and the circles underneath your eyes, which show that you spend many hours in the kitchen and around the house working and that you are tired, as I am sure any mother would be, especially if her husband is often not there to assist you. I came to the realization of the latter because I figure that your husband is out of town right now, otherwise he would be here with you in this time of panic and confusion. Also, I see you have a bruise on your left thumb, which looks like the type that could only have been from a hammer. I presumed that you have recently constructed something using a hammer and nails,
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which undoubtedly your husband would do instead of you if he were available. I assumed that you are of the middle-class simply because you are well-off enough to have your handbag embroidered, yet you do not have a cook or nanny to help you with your children. If you did, you would not be nearly as tired and your hands would not be so rough, which I assume is from washing dishes with hot water. Finally, as I have been in this business many years and have been approached with cases of the greatest variety, I have come to develop a sense of what the client may be troubled by even from the first impression. While it was more of an educated guess, rather than a certain deduction, from your tears and your panic I unfortunately presumed that someone close to you is missing or has been taken. Mrs. Smith had been engrossed in Holmess explanation, and after hearing this last part referring to the reason she was there, she collapsed in a fit of sobs. Regaining her composure, she raised her head from her hands, and said, Remarkable. The only thing I can hope and pray for is that if you are able to know all of this after knowing me a few short minutes, you will be able to help me as I am in a most desperate situation. Dr. Watson and I will do anything and everything in our power to help you, please tell us your story from the beginning. The woman gathered herself to begin her narrative. I have come to appeal to you for help on two matters; I think you will discover that it is quite an unusual predicament I find myself in. My 14 year old daughter has been kidnapped, and is being held for ransom! At this, the womans voice broke and she turned her head to the side, as she struggled to continue. I found this note on the windowsill outside my kitchen yesterday morning. I rushed to my daughters bedroom only to find her bed unmade but empty, which led me to believe she had been taken during the night. May I see the note please? Holmes asked eagerly. The woman handed over a small piece of paper with the following message written upon it: I have your daughter, and the key to all that is important to you and generations past and future. What do you think of this Watson? Holmes asked, handing me the note. It seems rather serious, but I honestly do not know what to make of it. What does this person mean by the latter part of this note? I asked. Yes I was wondering the same, is the key referred to literal or metaphorical? Holmes asked the woman. At this, Mrs. Smiths face clouded over with anxiety. For my daughters 13th birthday we gave her a silver necklace, the charm of which is the key to the vault of our familys entire fortune, she replied.
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No offense intended, my dear woman, but why on earth would you leave such a valuable item in the hands of a teenage girl?! Holmes asked, very surprised. She doesnt know that her necklace is the key! She doesnt even know of the existence of such a vault, she merely thinks that it is a special gift from her parents that she can wear every day. That is why we gave it to her; we thought that it would be a safe hiding place as it would always be around her neck. It certainly seems risky to me. I said. I know it seems unrealistic that it would work, but the key has been hidden in this manner for generations. It is a family tradition that has been quite successful until now, because very few people at any given time know of the keys existence and hiding place. In fact, my husband and I thought that at the moment we were the only two people who know this information, because both of our parents are deceased. Little did we know how wrong we were, replied Mrs. Smith. I see, and there has not been any more evidence or notes referring to the kidnapping? Holmes asked. None. Please help me kind gentlemen! You were right earlier in assuming that my husband is currently away. I am completely and utterly alone in this nasty business! she exclaimed. Of course we will help you, what you must do is leave this note with me and return home, and immediately inform me of any other notes or evidence you come across. In the meantime, I will deduce what I can from this note, and report back to you promptly, Holmes said reassuringly. Oh thank you very much; I will do whatever you need. Anything that will help me get my poor child back. I hope to hear from you soon!
As soon as the woman left Holmes quickly sat down in his armchair and brought the letter very close to his eyes. He examined it for a moment, and then handed it to me asking again, What do you make of this Watson? I took the paper in my hands, and observed the note that had instilled so much fear in its recipient. It was somewhat crumpled and had a few smudges, which I assumed to be from the ink.
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I hurried over, eager to see what the source of this outburst was. I put my eye to the lens, unsure of what I was supposed to be seeing. I was looking at the fibers and what I presumed to be the alcohol stains on the paper, when I decided nothing seemed different than what we had already concluded. Fingerprints, Watson! Fingerprints! Well, at least part of one, but I am sure that it is a Loop. Whether it is a Radial Loop or Ulnar Loop I cannot be sure, for our kidnapper only left the top part of his thumbprint on the paper. He must have not known that it was there because it was not visible without the microscope. But there is more! I am certain that the alcohol is a specific type of rum, Irish rum to be exact, said Holmes. How can you be so certain? I asked. Just as I can distinguish between samples of soils, I can distinguish between samples of different types of alcohol. This is a fairly rare type, especially for London, but I will contact Wiggins and ask him to find which particular bars in the city sell it. What do you plan to do about the thumb print? I asked. I am going to see Mrs. Smith right now; do you wish to accompany me? I most certainly would! I answered. Good. I will inform her of my new discoveries and she will perhaps be able to shed some light on who this thumbprint might belong to. With that, we took up our hats and walked out onto Baker Street, hailed a hansom, and set off in the direction of the Smith household, which was on the outskirts of London in an area that looked somewhat like the countryside. We stopped briefly, and Holmes jumped out of the hansom and went down a side street to speak with Wiggins, but returned promptly and we continued our journey. My companion was in deep thought the entire ride. Upon arriving, he stood outside the hansom for a few minutes, taking in his surroundings. I waited patiently, knowing he was trying to see if there was any indication of the crime in the area around the house. He proceeded to walk around the lawn and at one point dropped to the ground, inspecting it very closely. Suddenly he stood, nodded briskly and turned to me saying, I am ready now Watson.
It is a very strange message; fairly cryptic if you ask me. The person who wrote this must have either held it tightly or had it in a small compartment which caused the smudges and crinkles. Other than that, I do not know. Come now, Watson. You must see more than that! I assure you, I see nothing else. But I am sure you will tell me what I have missed, I answered. Not only what you have missed, my friend, but what you are wrong about. To begin, you were right in deducing that the person had the note in a compartment, most likely his or her pocket. However you were wrong in deducing that these marks are ink smudges. They are actually remnants of alcohol, which leads me to believe that we are dealing with an alcoholic, stated Holmes. Holmes surely you cannot assume this person is an alcoholic from a few drops you found on the note, I countered. On the contrary, Watson, I can. Someone who writes a note of great importance such as this and does it either while drinking or while at a bar must be an alcoholic. Furthermore, I deduce that our kidnapper is a careless man who is involved in manual labor, is not very wealthy and knows the Smith family fairly well. How on Earth did you come up with all of that from this piece of paper? I asked. That is only from looking at it with the naked eye, I will hopefully deduce more after I inspect it under a microscope. But all of these deductions were not hard to come by, I assure you. Our kidnapper is a man judging from the fact that he is involved in manual labor, which I deduced from these indentations I observed. These indentations were most certainly made by tools that were in the pant or coat pocket in which he held this note. The fact that he held a note that is important to his scheming in a place where it could become damaged or lost shows that he is careless. The untidiness of the handwriting also led me to deduce that he is careless, as well as that he was most likely in a hurry. I deduced that he is not very wealthy from the sole fact that he is trying to rob this family of their fortune. I deduced that it is someone who knows the family well from the familiarity of the language. The words, to you and generations past and future cause me to believe that this individual is someone who is in close enough contact with the family to know of their family history, the tradition of the key hiding, and to know of the existence of a family vault. I understand now! It seems to me everything you have said makes sense, I said. Again, I shall hopefully know more once I look at the note under a microscope. Holmes replied. At this, he sat down at his desk and turned on the light, slipping the note under the lens. I know better than to disturb Holmes while he is examining evidence, so I sat down with the newspaper on the couch and waited for him to finish. Some time later Holmes sprang from his chair with a cry. Watson! Come look!
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We rang the bell, and the door flung open, revealing a still frantic Mrs. Smith. Oh thank God you have come! Please tell me you have more of an idea of where my child may be or who took her?! Fortunately madam, I do, answered Holmes. But before I begin, have there been any new developments? Not at all, I have been pacing the house, unable to think of anything else. I almost wish something would happen and that this horrible person would contact me again in some way, instead of leaving me to wait around here helplessly unable to do a single thing! she exclaimed. But please tell me what you have found out. Holmes proceeded to tell her his findings of the Irish rum and part of a fingerprint as well as the rest of his deductions, and asked her who is in regular close proximity with herself and her family. We have many friends and neighbors, I cant think of who is around us enough to have overheard my husband and I speak of the vault, because we are usually very careful when talking about that. Also, I cannot imagine any of our good friends could do such a thing as to kidnap our child. Do you have any type of staff that was here near the time of the kidnapping? Holmes asked. Well, you know already that we do not keep a maid, but our gardener comes on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and I suppose the only other person who is here regularly would be the mailman. Besides that, my girlfriends and I have tea together every Monday afternoon at four oclock, she said. And you are sure that you have received no other contact from this individual other than the first note that you found on the outside of the windowsill? Absolutely sure, Mr. Holmes, I have been eagerly waiting for instructions on how to get my daughter back, even if it means losing our entire family fortune, she replied. Yes, it is very singular that the kidnapper has not asked yet for a trade. I suspect he is trying to manipulate you and make you more vulnerable by keeping you wondering longer, and therefore more willing to let him get away with the fortune, said Holmes. Please give me the names and addresses of all of the people you have mentioned as well as any neighbors or other close friends you or your husband are in contact with. Also, give me the name and address of both your gardener and your mailman, Holmes instructed. But Holmes, you told us the person who wrote this note was a man. Why are you going to waste your time interviewing all of Mrs. Smiths friends that are women? I interjected. My dear Watson, I did say that the kidnapper is a man and I still believe that. However, one must examine every bit of evidence before forming conclusions, and use ones imagination if he or she has any intention to solve a case, he answered.
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Mrs. Smith wrote down all the information he had requested and Holmes instructed me to wait with Mrs. Smith in case anything happened while he went and interviewed all of these potential suspects and spoke with Wiggins. I agreed to do so, and after assuring Mrs. Smith that he did not suspect that her daughter was in any immediate danger, and that the kidnapper was only interested in obtaining the money, he left. We waited for quite some time for Holmes, several hours in fact, and for the most part these were spent trying to keep Mrs. Smith calm and reassure her that Holmes is the best at what he does. But in all honesty, it was a very difficult task as there is rarely anyone harder to comfort than a loving mother who is missing a child. Fortunately, upon Holmess return, he had good news. Hello! I have been to see all of the people whose names you wrote on the list, and I have even been so far as Kingsbury Street, he informed us. Kingsbury Street? What on Earth could have brought you there? Mrs. Smith asked, confused. An informant of mine enlightened me to the fact that the very alcohol that the kidnapper was drinking is sold at one bar and one bar only in London, which is OGradys Pub, found on Kingsbury Street, he answered. So naturally, I planned to go to this bar after hearing this information to inspect the premises and to inquire whether or not the bartender had served anyone that would be of interest to me. But in order to do that, I had to conduct my interviews first. So I made my way from residence to residence, obtained the information I needed, and then proceeded to OGradys Pub. I am pleased to inform you that I know who our culprit is! he exclaimed triumphantly. Thank God! Pray tell me who it is and where my poor child is being kept! Mrs. Smith exclaimed. Im sorry madam, there is no time and it would only complicate matters. Right now I need you to call inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard and stay with him in the house until we return. Please let Dr. Watson and I take care of the situation, and I assure you we will do everything we can to bring your daughter, her locket, and the criminal to you. At this Mrs. Smith became very defensive, and I helped in calming her and explaining to her that Holmes always has his clients best interest in mind and that the only thing she could do right now to help her daughter is to follow Holmess instructions. Having spent many hours with me that day, she had come to trust me and listened to what I had to say, finally telling us she would do what he asked. Good, we havent a moment to lose! Come Watson, and make sure you have your revolver at hand. Without any more explanation, we hurried from the house in the direction of the woods around the back. This forest was comprised of large, lush green trees and I could already tell it was going to be impossible to see once we entered them, as it was nighttime. Where are we going? I asked my companion.
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Why would I ever give it to you? Because you are smart enough to realize that it is over; your plan has failed. You have been caught, and I know everything so you might as well give me the locket and come with us back to the Smith residence. The man, who was of a moderate build, and had a beard and a tanned face, seemed to think for a few moments and finally dropped his head to his chest in resignation. Fine, I will go with you. There is no use in fighting anymore, he answered, pulling a small charm out of his inner pocket and handing it to Holmes. No more than twenty minutes later the four of us were back in the living room of Mrs. Smith, who was overjoyed at seeing her daughter and wept for several minutes, clinging to her. She eventually let go and turned to her childs kidnapper and, if it were not for Holmes, Lestrade and I, she would have attacked him. How could you do this, Arthur?! We trusted you for years! she screamed while being held back. Madam, you must calm down and let us question Mr. Spear or I will have to ask you to leave the room. I want you to be able to hear why this has happened to you, so please sit down, said Lestrade. The woman sat down on the couch behind all of us and glared with fiery eyes at the handcuffed man. Holmes, who is this man? I couldnt help asking. None other than Arthur Spear, the Smiths gardener, he replied. Holmes, would you please explain to us how you came to solve this case and find the young girl? asked Lestrade. Certainly. When I first arrived at the house I examined the yard and the surrounding area, and I found footprints that had not only mud, but sewage mixed in them. I have already told Mrs. Smith and Watson that I went to see each of the names on a list of friends and acquaintances of the family, and conducted investigations on each person. When I went to speak with Mr. Spear, he was not there but I spoke with his wife, and while she was out of the room getting tea, I found thumbprints on the furniture that matched the part of a thumbprint I found on the note, an Ulnar Loop. I also observed marks on the floor from dirty shoes, which matched perfectly with those I had found in the Smiths yard leading to the woods. Furthermore, Mrs. Spear responded in the affirmative when I asked if her husband had a drinking problem. I knew I had found my man, but to be certain, I went to the bar at which I believed our culprit to have written the note and questioned the bar tender. He could indeed attest to the fact of having seen a man who matched Mr. Spears description a few days earlier, writing a note at the very bar that I was sitting at, and that the man is a regular at the pub. At this point the case was nearly complete. I needed only to figure out where the young girl was being kept. Therefore I returned to the house, and before going inside I examined the yard again, and discovered that the ground
Just follow me, and you will see. Your presence is most invaluable to me in this situation, as I most likely would not be able to secure the girl without a trusty ally. Here, take this, he said handing me a flashlight from his coat, while taking one out for himself. We plunged deeper and deeper into the woods, hearing all kinds of noises around us. There was no telling what kind of creatures could be roaming the woods at night, and I was quite eager to arrive at our destination, although I did not have any idea where that might be. I followed Holmes as he hurried in a somewhat straight path, until he abruptly made a sharp right turn and went down a slight slope. He bent over and lifted what looked like a round flat stone from the ground. Looking closer and shining my flashlight on it, I realized it was the entrance to a sewer! How did you know this was here? I asked very surprised. I cannot explain yet, just follow me closely and try to be as quiet as possible. He cannot know we are approaching or else he may take her further into the maze. This did not make much sense to me at the time, but I have often been in the dark until the very end when involved in adventures with Holmes, so I did as he said and tried my best not to make any noise. We lowered ourselves into the sewer system by the ladder and dropped into a puddle of what must have been the dirtiest water I have ever come in contact with. The cool, dank air and the intense stench took me by surprise, but I recovered quickly and followed Holmes through the pipes. We weaved our way through for about ten minutes. Every once in a while rats would scurry past our feet but we trudged on. Finally, Holmes stopped and turned to me whispering, You need to have your rifle ready and help me charge at him. Shoot only if absolutely necessary and only if the child is well out of the way. I asked no questions, and prepared myself for what we were about to do. Holmes crept slowly around the corner, which, to my surprise, revealed a type of door with a handle that resembled a steering wheel. Holmes turned the wheel and thrust it open, rushing in and throwing his arms around a man that was just inside the chamber. I ran to help him and after a bit of a struggle we managed to secure the man in a chair with my revolver pointed at him. It was only at this point that I was able to look around and take in my surroundings. I was astonished to find that I was standing in a chamber that had a bed, an oil lamp, and a table with a tray of food, with a young, terrified looking girl cowering in the corner. Whoever this man was had been planning this for some time if he had all of this set up. Do not be afraid, we have come to help you, I said to the girl. She slowly rose, but stayed as far away from all of us as possible. She stared in bewilderment at the entire scene, speechless. Where is the locket Mr. Spear? Holmes asked.
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was not completely solid, but soft, and that there must be a system of pipes that run underneath the house that the family is unaware of. After all, it is the countryside and they would not suspect pipes that would normally be located in the city to be here. It is actually a very clever hiding place. I followed the tracks through the woods to the sewer entrance you have seen, Watson, and knew he must be keeping her in there. I devised my plan to capture Mr. Spear and retrieve the girl, and returned to elicit Watsons help. That is all there is to it, he finished. That is remarkable Holmes, truly remarkable. I had no idea you had observed all of this about the yard, I said. Well in any case, let us hear the story of this man, said Lestrade, jerking his head in the direction of Mr. Spear. Mr. Spear had been listening quietly to Holmess account of how he was caught, and now had the look of a man without hope who knew there was no way out of being arrested. You have solved this case with surprising ease. I did not expect anyone to suspect it was me, as I have been this familys faithful gardener for so many years. Tell us how you came to know about the fortune and how you executed your plan of kidnapping the girl, said Holmes. Fine, I will tell you all for there is no use in hiding anything from you. I began working about four years ago for Mr. and Mrs. Smith, coming to tend to their garden every Tuesday and Thursday. They would often leave the kitchen window open and discuss private family matters. The same window you left the note by? Holmes interrupted. Yes. You must understand that I am a man of modest means and there was nothing more tempting than the fortune they described. When I heard them speak of their plans to pass the key on to their daughter, over a year ago, I began devising my plan. I needed that much time to prepare the holding cell underground, for I had no
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intention of hurting the child, only in obtaining the money. Why did you not contact Mrs. Smith besides letting her know you had her daughter and the charm? asked Holmes. I wanted to wait long enough so she would be more cooperative in letting me take the fortune and flee, so I figured the longer I keep her daughter and leave her in suspense, the better, he replied, confirming Holmess earlier explanation of this lack of communication. I was planning on leaving another note about where to pick up her daughter soon, but you caught me before I could do that. Anyway, I took the girl while the rest of the house was sleeping and have put her in the chamber you found her in tonight. That night I wrote the note in a bar I go to often, held it in my pocket when I went to the house early the next morning, and then put it on the windowsill, he concluded. Well, I suppose that is everything, commented Holmes. Mr. Spear, you will need to come with me to the station, said Lestrade, hauling the handcuffed man somewhat roughly to the door. I cannot thank you both enough for bringing my daughter back! I dont know what I would have done with myself if anything had ever happened to her! Mrs. Smith said to us, as she threw her arms around our necks. What can I do to repay you? Oh nothing madam, the work in itself is a reward, replied Holmes. Yes, we are only glad we could be of help to you, I added. Well Watson, I believe our work here is done. Do you fancy a late night stroll in the park? With that, Holmes and I departed, leaving a relieved mother and daughter behind us, the adventure of the silver charm having come to a close.

XIII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE PRIZED SWORD
I arrived at the steps of 221B Baker Street and met the merry yet always inquisitive Ms. Hudson, for she has seen many a strange character come through this door, as she brought me in out of the cold. It was the first of the new year and a heavy blanket of snow had covered the now shimmering London boroughs. The living room smelled heavily of tobacco as I saw that my companion was enthralled in another one of his numerous experiments. There were various cauldrons and beakers simmering on Bunsen burners as Holmes moved swiftly between his scrutinizing observations and scrawling data onto a nearby scrap of paper. I had learned not to disturb my friend in his times of deep concentration and instead peruse over the afternoons articles in the Times. Without even a turning glance or acknowledgment Holmes pointed in the direction of the mantel where the whiskey bottle I was searching for stood behind a pipe rack. The newspaper is on the arm chair in the drawing
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Purest white, I find nothing as to the specificity of the glove. Many people have gloves this time of year, Holmes. Maybe a gentleman of an esteemed club or society. On the contrary my friend, much can be drawn from a man by the gloves that he wears, especially the one we have here. Well Mr. Sherlock Holmes, do tell what it is that can be seen from such a simple article as this glove, I replied with a jokingly sarcastic tone. Not necessarily what can simply be seen, but what can be deduced, Dr. Watson as to who this person might be. For starters it is clearly a man who has come to Baker Street tonight, a rather short pleasantly stout man at that. As to who this man is, he is surely the head butler who resides and works with Sir Edward Parr, the Duke of Clarence. A most esteemed man among the staff of the Duke who is very hard working. He has a strong habit of snuff, yet is quite embarrassed of the practice. Our man is rather timid and indecisive yet is very brave and follows through with all of his responsibilities. Judging from the quality of the glove and the many commitments of a butler I am sure that he will return shortly to retrieve his lost possession so that he may return to Clarence before late. It all seems so simple after you explain your reasonings my friend, but surely you are not that positive as to the profession and in depth qualities of this person. Oh Watson, it is just simple deduction that anyone can determine the nature of a person from an article of their clothing. Oh, pray tell me how you came to such conclusions, I asked inquisitively. First off, Holmes began, the glove is obviously that of a butler coming from various points. No one wears such thin white gloves to keep warm in the dead of winter. The material is much softer and a little more reinforced on the palm and fingers like that of a butlers glove so that need be, he may dust and wipe down the furnishings of the house by simply using his hands. As to where this butler lived I saw the knights helmet stitched on the top of the glove and after finding the initials E.P. it was a mere laugh as to where this man worked. Sir Edward Parr is the Duke of Clarence and in his lifetime was the most renowned knight in all of England and hence the Dukes official seal is a crimson and silver knights helmet. All very well, Holmes but how can you say that this man is esteemed among the staff of the Dukes and especially how can you inquire into his personal habits? Only the head butler of such a royal court would receive such an expensive pair of gloves and you can tell his work ethic from how the underside is discolored and even worn down at the finger tips from many a detailed task. As far as his personal habits are concerned, there is a stain of brown on the tip of his smallest finger where one undoubtedly uses in the practice of snuff. The fact that he is ashamed of his habit can also be seen by the
room, commented Holmes without missing a beat of his involved task at hand. Thank you Holmes, I replied with an unsurprised smile, but how could you know without even looking that I was looking for the whiskey or even the newspaper? Looking over his shoulder saying in a matter-of-fact tone, Dear Watson, such a trivial observation is easily attributed to your strictly routine tendencies. I merely directed to you to the whiskey for whenever you arrive after the hour of five it is always that you have been at your lab work during the day and quite your custom to readily pour a glass of whiskey and water. Also, whenever you see me deeply involved in my work you always respectfully read the afternoons news while you are waiting for me to finish. You see, you are quite a man of habit. Chuckling I poured a stout glass of whiskey and placed myself on the couch until Holmes was through with his experiments. There was nothing in the afternoons articles worth much attention as it had recently been numerous quiet days and no attractive cases coming to Baker Street. Holmes finished his work and as usual left the remnants of his experiments strewn about the table at the far side of the living room. Upon finishing his work, Holmes suggested a walk to Tinsburys Pub for dinner. I rose to gather my overcoat and scarf and heard an exclamation from Holmes who had just opened the door. Have we a visitor, Holmes, I called from the inner room. Well, we had a visitor yet he did not make it as far as to come inside, he replied. Not fully understanding what my friend was meant I hurried to the steps and saw Holmes sitting on his heels in the snow apparently examining a recent footprint that was made just outside the door of 221B. The snow was falling fast and had not yet filled the spaces left by the footprints obviously showing the mysterious caller had not been here to long ago. I had arrived around quarter past 5 and the footprints not being there at that time meant the person had come sometime while I was inside. Ah, yelled Holmes with a grin as he hurried towards the curb, we may have a visitor tonight after all Dr. Watson. Not seeing at all where he was going with this, Holmes stood up and spun around holding a glove, white as the snow on the ground. Let us go back inside and see what we can make of our visitor from this glove, Holmes said assuredly as he turned the glove over in his hands, examining it closely. Here Watson, what do you make of person who came to see us tonight, he asked tossing me the glove and pulling out his pipe. The glove was vividly white, a soft thicker material on the palm and stretching to the underside of the fingers. The tiny letters E.P. were stitched in gold on the back of the hand near the thin wrist band. The bottom had turned a less pure white apparently from wear. There was an emblem of a knights helmet in crimson and silver embroidered in the center on the top of the glove.
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white powder found around the little finger where, in attempt to cover up the brown stain, he has sprinkled white powder. Ok but what of his stature and his uncertainties? Well he is obviously a little overweight, Holmes remarked as he slipped the glove on showing how it had been stretched out. As we have recently seen, our man is quite indecisive as you can see from his pacing footprints in the snow outside our door. While he is indecisive he is undoubtedly brave for a man of his rank to leave his estate on unofficial business is a very risky business. As Holmes concluded his remarkable display of inquiries as to the owner of the glove, a knock sounded from the foyer. And it seems that we just might have a chance to meet this fellow tonight after all, Watson, exclaimed my ever astonishing companion. Do come in out of the cold, called Holmes as Ms. Hudson showed a plump man in an exquisitely tailored suit into the living room. Excuse me Mr. Sherlock Holmes, said the man quickly with a worried look upon his face, Im not interrupting am I? Oh no sir, replied Holmes jovially, How can I be of any assistance to you. My name is Hartwell Roberts and I am the chief butler down in Clarence for Duke Edward Parr. I have had a most troublesome thing happen to me recently and I just couldn't seem to make up my mind as to what to do about my situation. You see, it is quite against the rules of the house for any servant, especially myself, to leave the grounds yet I convinced the Duke that I was going to see one of my family members who had recently become deathly ill, for that is the only way my present problem would allow me off the grounds. My problem is of such extreme importance and consequentially could cost me not only my job but much more and once I reached your apartment I couldn't decide if what I was doing was the right thing. And upon deciding to leave you dropped your glove in the snow, interrupted Holmes as he handed over Hartwells glove with a satisfied grin, please, do tell us of your state of affairs. That's exactly why I returned, continued Mr. Roberts. You see, the Duke has recently purchased a vacation home just outside the ease side of the city in Essex along the Thames. A most grandiose estate as I have ever seen, filled with the most valuable royal possessions of the Duke and his family. An official from the Scotland Yard even came with security locks to the gate and the vault in the basement of the house. The house was furnished and completed last month and the family of Sir Edward was going out there a few days ago, the 29th of December, so I was sent ahead to make preparations and meet the family when they got there. There was a staff of 15 servants already there and some members of the Dukes court that Edward had sent out to join his family in vacation. After I had finished the preparations for the family I went down to the basement
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to bring up the wine bottles requested for the evenings dinner and when I reached to bottom of the stairs I saw the most frightening sight that has haunted me in my sleep every night as I have never seen a dead mans face in all my days. Oh, you must recall every detail whether it seem important or not, exclaimed Holmes as he anxiously awaited the end of the story. I crept up to the mans body that I saw as dead and I was so frightened I ran up the stairs through the basement door and smack into, who would guess but a Scotland Yard agent. I could barely get out what I had seen before agent Hunt was down the stairs to investigate. He returned from the basement a little time later and after pronouncing the man dead said that the door to the vault was standing open and the highly beloved sword of Sir Edward Parrs family was gone. Agent Jonathan Hunt said he happened to be at the house installing the last of the security gates around the house. This certain sword was used by the Duke during his famous days as a knight and holds extreme personal value to him. The sword was given to Sir Parr from his father on the day he was knighted and the sword had been carried by knights in his family for hundreds of years through many generations of Dukes and other royal positions held by his ancestors. To lose this sword would mean an enormous loss not only to Edward but the entire Parr family. The agent called off the Dukes arrival and we all returned that afternoon to the estate in Clarence. Since then the investigation led by Hunt has turned all of its lead on to myself and accused me not only of the murder of Stuart Bonner, a high county official, but also of the theft of the precious sword. I assure you I am not the man who has done these crimes and this is the reason why I have come to see you this evening. Holmes had listened intently to every detail of the butlers and stood up repacking his pipe. Well, Mr. Roberts, you do have a particularly dreadful problem that has been forced upon you. I am going to need to speak to the Duke and to agent Hunt to get more details before I am able to rid you of this accusation. Agent Hunt is at the estate presently and I am positive the Duke would honor your help in the case for it is from him that I learned of your fame as the best detective in all of London, replied Roberts eagerly. Watson, are you prepared to take the first train in the morning and travel to Clarence to assist me in clearing this very foggy case of the precious sword? Surely Holmes, there is a train heading for Clarence at 9:15 I am always willing to follow such mysterious occurrences like the one we have been presented with tonight. Alright Roberts, well see you tomorrow morning. You don't know how much I appreciate you doing this Mr. Holmes, Ill be waiting.
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The small gathering who had met us out on the drive began making their way up the pathway to the legendary Parr mansion which sat amidst a perfectly landscaped, grassy lawn with extensive gardens sloping away from the house. The ivy covered walls showed the old age of the house which had been passed through the proud generations of Parr noblemen living at this estate. Sir Edward broke the brief silence saying, Well, the sword which was removed from my vault is one of my familys most prized possessions and has run through many a noble hand in service of our country. On an even more serious note, the murder of Mr. Stuart Bonner has proven a most strange addition to this crime as the thief must have murdered Mr. Bonner in order to get away with stealing the sword. I believe it will be most useful if I may speak to both Mr. Hartwell Roberts and the agent in charge of the case, both of whom were present at the scene of the crime if I am not mistaken, stated Holmes as we walked through the giant front hall of the Parr Mansion. It seems to me you already know a fair amount about the case at hand, Mr. Holmes, Edward remarked questioningly. At that I glanced in the direction of Mr. Roberts who was trying to hide his nervousness in the Duke discovering the source in which Holmes information came. Oh Sir, mere details I was able to pick up from the article on the events of the crime printed in this mornings Times. This greatly relieved Hartwell who could not risk being caught as the reason Holmes traveled to Clarence. We proceeded to walk through the expansive foyer and into the drawing room where we saw agent Jonathan Hunt milling through a stack of papers at a desk. He rose as we entered and so eagerly greeted Holmes that I could read my friends face and tell he didn't like something about Hunts hidden insincerity. After some time of Hunt telling the story of what he witnessed inside Sir Edwards home in Essex, being very similar to the story we heard back at Baker Street from Hartwell, Holmes continued with some questions directed at Hunt to get further details. During the questioning, Mrs. Roberts entered the drawing room and promptly handed Holmes two pieces of paper that I guessed was the response to the wire he had sent out earlier that morning. Now Mr. Hunt, how was it so convenient that you were at the house at the same time as the theft and murder, inquired Holmes. Sir Parr had requested that security locks be placed at the front gates to the estate and around the house, especially at the vault in the basement and I was placing the final locks around the grounds. The Scotland Yard assists many royal families in securing their property. And what did you do when you met Mr. Roberts at the top of the cellar stairs? I could tell from the look on his face and his frantic actions that something was seriously wrong so I proceeded down the stairs to find the body of Mr. Bonner
I could tell by Holmes solitude the next morning that he had put much thought into the case the night before and was busy scribbling out a wire that he gave to a messenger once we arrived at the station. Holmes and I reached in Clarence about midmorning and were greeted by an anxious woman who, by her dress, seemed to be a servant of the Parrs. She hurried over to us seeming overjoyed that we had come. Good morning Mr. Holmes, and Mr. Watson I presume, said the lady, I am Maggie Roberts, the wife of Hartwell who called upon you last night. I cannot thank you enough for lending your hand in clearing this matter up. Our pleasure Mrs. Roberts, Holmes replied, Watson and I shall do anything within our powers to help rid your husband of these accusations and come to the truth of this matter.
Mrs. Roberts showed us off the platform and to our waiting carriage which showed the luxuriousness of the Dukes family. We arrived upon the estate of Sir Edward Parr after a near half hour drive through Clarence and were eagerly greeted by the Duke himself followed by Mr. Roberts who quietly took our bags inside. Thank you for coming down Mr. Holmes to assist in clearing this matter up, said Sir Parr, I was hoping you would arrive for I have heard of your keen interest in unusual cases like the one we are presented with here. It is an honor Sir that I may be of assistance to your noble family, added Holmes politely. I have had many a strange case come my way Sir and I promise after due investigation that I will reach a truth behind this crime.
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lifeless on the floor outside the vault with the vault door open. Wait, were there any visible signs of violence or struggle on Mr. Bonners body that showed to you that he was dead? Agent Hunt paused momentarily and responded, Not that I could see there were not. Holmes tried to hold back his reactions to this but as I have accompanied him on many of these cases I could tell by my friends expressions that he was on to something. So Hunt, if there are no wound marks or any other signs of murder on the mans body then how and why have you placed all of your leads on Mr. Hartwell Roberts and charged him with the murder of Stuart Bonner and the theft of the beloved Parr family sword? Oh that can be seen quite plainly Holmes, said Hunt confidently. Roberts was the only person in the house who knew that the sword was in the vault and was the only person who was down in the cellar at the time in which I found Bonners dead body. After due investigation, it is also seen that Roberts family is under some serious financial pressure at the present time and would give any desperate man perfect reason to steal an object of such extreme sentimental value knowing that once given a ransom price, the wealthy family would gladly pay the sum to regain the beloved sword. The servants and few guests had not been at the house long and after interviewing all other servants, none said that they had gone into the cellar for any reason that morning and knew nothing about Mr. Bonner or anything that had happened. I build my case upon the hard facts Holmes, and these clearly show Roberts as the only possible guilty party. Ah, you do make strong points Hunt, replied Holmes. I could see by the look on Holmes face that he still knew something that no one else had noticed. Very well Watson, we have done what we can for the day, I believe if head to the station we can catch the train back to London in time for dinner. Oh, but you will surely join us for dinner and stay the night Mr. Holmes, stated Sir Edward. Youre assistance is of great value to us here. Thank you kindly for the offer but I must return to my room in London so that I may look over and ponder the facts of this case before I am able to be of further help to you. I am confident Sir that before long we will have the persons caught who were responsible for these crimes. Wait Holmes, did you say persons, asked Edward. How do you possibly think there is more than one person involved in these crimes? I have my theories Sir that could possibly prove so, thank you for your hospitality and we shall see you early tomorrow morning. I was not quite sure of where Holmes was going with all of this strange behavior yet still followed him towards the front door. Before we left, Holmes quickly wrote something down on a piece of paper and handed it to Mr.
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Roberts, who had just placed our luggage in the carriage, and asked him to make sure exactly was is written is given to only the people listed. Don't worry Watson, said Holmes calmly once we were alone inside the carriage. I let Roberts know that we are still on his side and we shall know the truth of our criminals early this evening. My dear Holmes, after all of these impulsive actions surely you will tell me what clue you have possibly come upon that allows you to believe there is more than one person involved in this affair and that we might come upon the truth this very night. Ah, Watson, this has been difficult to follow but that wire I sent out this morning has helped confirm a few of my theories that lead to who is trying to trick us but we shall see for ourselves this evening. We will not be going back to Baker Street tonight Watson but instead we shall be traveling on the next train to Sir Edwards home in Essex. Shortly thereafter I found myself whizzing by the green pastures that stretch out beyond the last houses making up the city and into the more peaceful countryside winding along the Thames. The station where we arrived was a short drive from the Parrs vacation home where Holmes instructed the cab driver to stop about a half mile away from the estate. Since the high front gate would be locked we would need to go around back where we could scale the wall and get inside the property and watch the house from a close distance. It was growing dark when we found a grove of trees where we could have plain view of the house and any action around it. Momentarily we heard the clatter of horses hooves against the drive and saw a carriage approaching the house. Wait Holmes, that carriage has the seal of the Scotland Yard on the outside, I quickly observed. Yes my friend you are right, and inside we have our criminals, replied Holmes with a smile of satisfaction spreading across his face. With extreme confusion I followed Holmes who began crept among the trees to get a closer look at the people arriving in the carriage. The first person to step out was a man whose obvious stature and voice proved to be none other than Agent Jonathan Hunt followed by a shorter, well-dressed man whom I had never seen before. Quickly Watson, Holmes whispered as we quietly ran through the growing darkness. The two men entered the house while Holmes and I crept around back and found an open door through the servants entrance. We entered the house and heard voices coming from the cellar. Holmes threw open the door and I followed him quickly down the stairs as the two men stood stunned before us, holding the sword of Sir Edward Parr. Watson, Holmes cried, let me introduce you to the thieves of Sir Parrs sword and the murderers of Stuart Bonner, Mr. Jonathan Hunt and Mr. Stuart Bonner himself. Completely confused at what Holmes had said I didn't question him at this moment. Holmes walked over
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friend of the Parrs but was recently exposed as to being a chief participant in a scandal involving the corruption of high officials handling money and important government documents, which was all revealed by the noble son of Sir Edward. In attempt to get back at the Parr family he attempted to steal the one thing that meant most to the generations of dominant Parr royalty, their sword of knighthood. So after arriving at the house, Bonner quickly went to the cellar and opened the safe with the code given by Hunt and hid the sword so that he may return and retrieve it another night, tonight. He faked his own murder by taking the alkaloid and while having an agent there to verify his death and cover up the situation rather easily, it made it quite a simple matter to successfully act out the whole plan. After it was confirmed that the only pharmacist to have sold this very rare drug was to Mr. Stuart Bonner, it was easily seen what his intentions were. I deduced that since Bonner has lost his credibility as a government official, he could not only hurt the Parrs by collecting the ransom money, he could also move to a new location of choice and start a new life there since his present one was moved to ruin. Bonner needed a partner who knew the locks of the Duke and knowing Hunts not particularly strong reputation won him over with a certain sum of money. Hunt saw an easy target being the vulnerable Roberts and his personal financial state, something an agent could easily discover, which would allow for a believable story and knew that he could pass the guilt off and follow through with the plan. I do say Mr. Holmes that your work done here has been truly astonishing and I believe both of these foolish men would have walked away at no cost had it not been for your assistance, interjected Sir Edward with a disapproving stare at the two men. Oh, it was all my pleasure Sir Edward and here is your beloved sword that you surely thought was lost forever, replied Holmes satisfactorily.
to agent Hunt and took the sword from him with a look of disappointment on his face. You are a disgrace to every detective and Scotland Yard agent in London, Hunt, said Holmes with authority. I must say Holmes you have truly shown your skill in finding me out, muttered the embarrassed agent. At that moment I heard footsteps at the top of the stairs and was even more shocked to see Sir Edward followed by Mr. Roberts coming down the cellar stairs. I obeyed your directions to the letter Mr. Holmes, said Roberts with an eager grin. Sir Edward was highly reluctant to come but after I showed him the telegram you gave to me he trusted that you had everything under control. Ah, yes my dear Roberts. I was highly inquisitive as to the details of the open safe and dead man with no wounds on him when you first told me your story. You along with Sir Parr both, without taking notice yourself, told me that the security locks were placed around the grounds and all of the codes where known only to Sir Edward, yourself, and the Scotland Yard agents who installed them. So quite easily I found that the person who opened the safe had to be one of those people, or in this case a third party working with agent Hunt who set up the security locks himself. This morning I ran a wire to Wiggins and told him to find out all the information on a high county official, Mr. Stuart Bonner and also to check the surrounding pharmacies and look to see who sold a certain type of alkaloid, tetracycline, once taken in large quantities would induce a such a deep sleep that the person is easily mistaken for dead. Watson, Holmes said in a low voice turning his head in my direction, that is an interesting result that I have actually personally discovered to work wonderfully when having particular sleeping problems. Furthermore, I received a response this morning from my faithful Wiggins that to my surprise fulfilled both theories quite extensively. Mr. Bonner is still a close

XIV. - THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSING PAINTING
I would wager that nearly every man and woman would agree with an assertion that to achieve the highest level of success in any area one must possess a genuine interest in what they do. I, for one, can certainly vouch for this statement. I found that my biology classes always captivated me beyond those of any other, and I thus entered medical school. Another example is my freshman roommate from the University who followed his comprehensive understanding of mathematics to become what I have heard to be quite an accomplished banker. However, never have I met a man with such eccentric, such singular interests as those of my dear friend Sherlock Holmes. Particular to this occasion was his exhaustive knowledge of tobaccos. Sitting on the mantle above the fire laid Holmes most recent purchase, the familiar package of Benson & Hedges pipe tobacco. Having a limited knowledge of tobaccos myself, I began to wonder what flavor of tobacco such a fastidious connoisseur would believe to be the most pleasing. Its a dark blend, fire-cured, said Holmes through the haze of green smoke that climbed from the surface of
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the dark brown liquid which lay amongst his collection of chemicals.
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I started forward wondering if I had accidentally spoken my last thought aloud when I realized that Holmes had indeed read my mind. This was not a new experience as he had appeared to read my mind of several previous encounters, but nonetheless I was very taken aback by his comment. How this time did you so readily see into my mind? I could easily have been pondering a great number of things! I cried. True enough, said he, it is no exact science. In this case, however, you gave me little doubt as to what you were contemplating. How is that so? Its really a simple matter, you see, my dear Watson, said he. Look there on the floor at that footprint. Do you mean to tell me that this footprint here has led you to see the thoughts of my mind? I stammered. Well, said he as he rose from his seat with the air of indisputable authority that I had grown to be well acquainted with, if you could only see things from my end you would not so much as lift an eyebrow. How many times have I told you, Watson, that what you take to be inconceivable acts of magic are merely a simple sequence of inferences that I have strung together. You look at me in awe because you see only my starting-point and my conclusion. You must pay attention to the intermediate deductions, Watson, the intermediate deductions! You have told me this with consistency yet I still fail to see any connection. I hesitate to share my secrets as you will think nothing of this incidence once I have explained it, but for the sake of explaining the simplicity I will share my logic with you. In fact, I believe that it should take no more
than a few simple deductions for me to leave the footprints and arrive at my conclusion. Firstly, that shoeprint is certainly from the leather boots you wore into the muddy streets last night. The fact that the print has been undisturbed led me to believe that not only is it surely yours, but that it is fresh from your entrance last night. I then began to wonder to myself why you might have gone out into that dreadful weather last night when I remembered that in my absence you kindly agreed to meet Diggory the street Arab off of Sully Street to pick up that package. This morning when I rose I found the package unopened just as I asked on the mantle there. I then enjoyed a smoke before you rose and began my work. Just now I looked up to find you staring at the mantle and I assumed that like any curious human you would be wondering what the package you delivered contained. When I then saw you reach for your glasses I thought that that must surely be what was on your mind. I admit it was a guess, but I believe it is one any man could have made with confidence. You make the whole process seem so elementary! I cried. Just as most things are if you only know how to look at them, said Holmes as he paced to the window. Indeed, I would wager that by tomorrow this young blonde will consider the lour upon her face quite unnecessary. Excuse me? The words had only but left my mouth when there was a ring at the bell, and only moments later a dainty blonde, no older than her early twenties shuffled lightly up the stairs and entered upon Holmes request. She was well dressed, fair skinned, and would have been one of the most marvelously beautiful women had it not been for the look of sheer exhaustion and anxiety that seemed to define every feature of her body. It was clear that she was a woman of a wealth, but aside from that I could tell nothing of the girl. My companion, however, seemed to have learned a great deal about her. Good morning, said Holmes, what trouble is great enough to bring you this far north? My name is Laurie Pope, she said as her face changed from and expression of apprehension to one of skepticism. I have been victim to the most curious string of events these past three days. I have contacted the police but they consider the matter to be of little significance in comparison to their other duties. I had begun to grow quite anxious when a good friend of my parents and a former client of yours, the Countess of Morcar, pointed me toward your doorstep. I do I hope you can help in this matter, Sherlock Holmes. I will certainly do what I can, said he. The Countess says you are surely the cleverest man in this whole city, she exclaimed. She told me your methods are exact and that you have solved every mystery, ever riddle placed before you. My results are assuredly not perfect, Ms. Laurie Pope, said Holmes as his cheeks grew a darker shade of
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staff in my household, and each of them has seemed innocent upon questioning. The painting means a great deal to me, as it was given to me by my father on his death bed. I would greatly appreciate any light you could shed upon the subject. Ms. Pope, said Holmes with an air of authority, I can tell you nothing for sure at this point. Perhaps it is best that we venture to your estate and see what the scene of this crime has to tell us. You are certainly welcome to look wherever you please. Wonderful. I insist that you first join us for a meal before we depart. I would be glad to. It was early evening when our train pulled up to Veranda Station. The sun was setting over the hills as we exited the train and began the short journey to the Pope estate. It was truly an impressive sight as the main house panned out in an L shape with an equally superb guest house that sat several hundred feet from the main house. We were met cordially at the door by the butler called Finch and escorted to our room on the second floor. We were given time to clean ourselves and then were escorted once again by Finch to a dinner that was as fabulous as the place we were staying in. After dinner Holmes made an effort to introduce himself to all the employees of the Pope household and had seemingly done so when we were finally escorted back to our room by Pope herself. I hope you will not mind if tomorrow I speak with some of the employees of your household, said Holmes to Pope. I trust them very much, Mr. Holmes. However, if you think that it will benefit your search you certainly may, said she. I do not doubt their innocence, Ms. Pope. It is merely a routine that I have found helpful in the past. Very well then. I am sure they will all be happy to cooperate. Have a good night, Mr. Holmes. And you as well Mr. Watson. Early the next morning I was awakened by Holmes with the instructions to get dressed and follow him out onto the grounds of the estate. Some ways into the horse pasture Holmes led me to a small cottage with a thatched roof and smoke gently rising from a stone chimney in the back. Holmes knocked on the door and it was answered by a man named Portman. He welcomed us into his house and had his gorgeous wife Madonna serve us breakfast. What can I help you with, Mr. Holmes? Ive already told the police that I know nothin of Ms. Popes missing painting. I am accusing you of nothing, said Holmes. However, I find that the police often pay no attention to details that are exactly what lead me to solve these little curiosities. This painting means a great deal to Ms. Pope and I would appreciate it if you would answer only a few simple questions. Certainly.
red No methods in my business are flawless. However, I have been rather successful in the career I have chosen. Its a simple matter, really. I can do what others cant only because I have mastered the science of deduction. You will most often find, Ms. Pope, that what appear to be the most mysterious and complex crimes will prove to be much easier to solve than those of a much simpler nature. Now for your casegive me the details of your troubling enigma. Of course. And I pray that you will not mind my dear friend Watson to sit in, said he. I have found him to be of the utmost value in my previous dealings. Certainly he may stay, said she. Whatever you believe will help to solve this case is quite welcome to me. Well then, lets have it. As I have just mentioned, my troubles began only three days ago, said Pope as she drew herself together. I am the only child of my deceased parents. We were quite content together until my mother passed away when I was only three. My father was very much in love with her and he did not take it well to say the least. I hear that for days on end he would lock himself in his room and refuse any food or company. Eventually, however, he began to spend less time in his room and more time with me. I believe that he saw my mother in me, and I became his way to cope with the death of my mother. Consequently, he made it almost an obsession of his to spoil me throughout my childhood. This obsession would climax at each of my birthdays with extravagant parties and even more exorbitant gifts. When I was seven he gave me a set of Russian dolls that I have since learned are valued at nearly 20,000. Then, when I was ten, I was given a diamond necklace that is worth more than twice that value. The gifts continued to come every year until in my nineteenth year my father became deathly ill. He struggled to stay alive for months, but no doctor was able to do anything for him. This was three years ago on my twentieth birthday. Before he died, however, he called me to his side and told me that he had one last birthday present he had to give to me. He pointed to the side of his bed and there lay a painting which he told me had been passed down to him by a dear friend and it would mean a great deal if I would have it. It was perhaps the ugliest thing I had ever seen, but as it was from my father I grew to love it very dearly. In fact, I hung it upon my bedroom wall. Then, three days ago, a theft broke into my house while I was asleep. He touched none of the other things that were scattered throughout my roomnot my necklace, not the dolls, and not even the hundreds of pounds I had lying upon my deskinstead he took my painting. My immediate thought was that perhaps it was worth more than I was aware, but upon inquiring into the matter, I found that no one has ever heard of it. Because the painting is of no apparent value, the police have not taken much interest into the robbery. I trust greatly all the
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Excellent. First tell me, have you seen anything unusual in the past weeks? No I have not, said he. Like I told the police, it has been the same old routine around here for as long as I can remember. Very well. Ms. Pope says that she hung the painting in her room. Did you ever get a chance to see it? Oh yes, said Portman. Ms. Pope has always been very good to us, letting us come into her house and eat with her and such. We get a lot of freedom to go where we please, and I have glanced into her room more than once. To tell you the truth though, Mr. Holmes, I may never have seen an uglier paintin. It looks like a child made it. My wife here has seen it too, and being a rather talented artist herself believes that the artist must have been a lunatic or somethin. Tell em, Madonna. Not having noticed her seated in an armchair by the fire, Madonna gave me a start when her voice lifted gently from across the room. Yes, it is true. It was made of the ugliest shades of brown and green that appeared to have been thrown carelessly onto the canvas. Nonetheless, Ms. Pope loved that painting. You have been very helpful, said Holmes. However, we have a long day ahead of us and I think we must be on our way. Once out of the house, I asked Holmes, Surely you do not already know the location of the missing painting. No I do not, said he. However, I was able to learn a great deal from that encounter and I believe that it is time we speak with a maid named Sally. We trekked across the horse pasture and back to the house where we found Sally cleaning a set of armor on display in an upstairs hall. Good day, Mr. Holmes, said Sally as she looked up to see us approaching her. I take it you received my note last evening. Indeed I did, said Holmes. From his pocket he produced a small, torn piece of paper with a few words printed in neat handwriting. Dear Mr. Holmes, I believe that Portman and Finch have something to do with Ms. Popes missing painting. From my window in the guest house I have seen Portman disguise himself in a cloak and leave his house to meet Finch just under my window. I do not know where they go, but it appears they are up to no good. Yours truly, Sally Weathers Yes sir, I tell you the truth, exclaimed Weathers. And it is not only once that I have seen it happen. I dont know what those two are up to, but I dont know who
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works in cloaks in the middle of the night. I love Ms. Pope and if those two have robbed her I want them to pay for it! If they did, they certainly will, said Holmes. I believe I am beginning to get some clarity on the matter, enough that I hope by tomorrow I will have this little mystery unraveled. However, before I can be sure of anything, I must ask you one question, Ms. Pope. Certainly, if it will help. Ms. Pope believes Finch to be one of her most loyal employees; do you believe this to be true? Well before I noticed his recent shady activities I would absolutely agree with you, said Sally. Finch has always been very defensive of Ms. Pope. He even turned the old groundskeeper in when he approached Finch with a scheme to rob Ms. Pope of thousands of pounds. However, I cannot say that I trust him anymore after seeing him lurking at night on the grounds. I have told Ms. Pope this, but she still refuses to believe that he would betray her. You have been more than helpful, said Holmes. Thank you for your time. Watson, I believe it is time we have a chat with Finch. If Finch tells us what I believe he will, I think this case will be very close to being solved. It was not long before we found Finch. He was seated in a small office just off of the main hall of the estate reading a newspaper. As we entered he quickly set down the paper and rose to greet us. Good day Mr. Holmes. Good day Dr. Watson. How may I help you? Oh it is nothing of importance, said Holmes. It is simply a question of your tastes. If you believe it will help, ask me anything. Are you a fan of art? Holmes asked without a hint of accusation in his tone. Indeed I am, said Finch. I cant say that I necessarily enjoyed the piece of art that Ms. Pope Wait! Are you suggesting that I stole Ms. Popes painting? Ms. Pope has been more than generous to me and I would never Please, Finch. I am merely trying to tie some loose ends together, said Holmes calmly. I am sorry to have upset you. I am suggesting nothing, Im sorry if I have come across that way. I will now leave you alone. Watson, let us return to our room for the present. Once back in our room, I seated myself in the big red chair beside the fireplace. What now, Holmes? asked I. There is nothing more we can do at the moment other than wait, said Holmes as he lit a match and brought it to the pipe protruding from his mouth. If my assumptions are correct, and they most often are, tomorrow we will be back on Baker street without a thing to occupy our time. But first, what do you make of this note I found earlier on the floor of Portmans cottage? Holmes handed me the note and I looked down at a line of small, uneven scrawl.
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Holmes sitting in front of the fireplace, smoking a pipe and reading what appeared to be a map of Veranda.
Madonna is leaving for town today. We shall meet as planned. What do you make of this, Watson? Well, said I, It seems rather clear to me. Madonna will be in town this evening so Finch and Portman will be meeting just as Ms. Weathers has described to us. Perhaps, said Holmes as he stared drearily at the fire. On the surface, it would appear that you are most certainly correct. I believe there will indeed be a meeting tonight. However, if I am correct, you will have a surprise waiting for you. But for now, all we can do is wait. After an afternoon of relaxation in our room, we were once again invited down to dinner with Ms. Pope. She was delighted to hear that Holmes believed the case to be close to solved and it was several hours before Holmes informed Ms. Pope that we had thoroughly enjoyed the company but it was time to retire for the night. After adieus were exchanged I followed Holmes out of the dining hall. However, instead of heading to our room, Holmes turned right down a small hallway which led to a door leading out the back of the mansion. Once outside we hurried across the lawn and hid behind a bush on the side of the guest house. After waiting in silence for what seemed like hours, the same door we exited only minutes before creaked open and we watched as Finch crept out and came to stand only a few feet from where we were hiding. As I began to wonder what would happen next, a second, hooded figure appeared next to him and the two took off toward the woods several hundred meters from the guest house. Once they had proceeded about a furlong, Holmes gave me a nudge and we rose and began to follow the two. We had only traveled a few paces, however, when Finch looked back and saw us following him. With a look of panic he grabbed the cloaked figure and took off in a sprint toward the woods. In the panic, the cloak flew off of the hooded figure and Holmes drew us to a halt as we watched a head of dark, flowing hair disappear with Finch into the woods. Just as I thought! exclaimed Holmes. After a moment of confusion I realized that the hooded figure whom I had assumed to be Portman was actually Madonna. So it was Finch and Madonna that stole the painting! I proclaimed. Why have we stopped, Holmes? Lets follow them! They will no doubt lead us to Ms. Popes missing painting. No, Watson. They know nothing of the painting I assure you, said Holmes as he turned to face me. We have done nothing more than interrupt a hidden love affair. Their innocence is certain to me, and I now have all the information I need to solve this little crime. Let us now get some sleep. There is nothing more we can do tonight and we have a full day ahead of us tomorrow. Confused and tired, I followed Holmes once again back into the house and back to our room where we promptly fell asleep. I awoke the next morning to find
Have you now taken an interest in geography? I asked Holmes as I rose from my bed and began to dress myself. I have just pieced together the last piece of the puzzle, my dear Watson, said Holmes as he as he continued to gaze at the map. I have called for a cab and we will be departing for Veranda shortly. I would be surprised if we are not on our way back to London by mid-afternoon. I barely had time to dress myself and eat the breakfast Sally delivered when we were informed that the cab had arrived. The ride into town was one of silence as Holmess infatuation with his map occupied his full attention. The cab weaved through the small town as we passed quaint little shops and people engulfed in their daily lives. We continued on through the town and did not stop until we were about a mile from the center of the town. As I felt the cab coming to a halt, I looked out to see that we were parked in front of what appeared to be an old, abandoned warehouse. This should be the last leg of this little adventure, Holmes said as he exited the cab. I still fail to see how this has anything to do with Ms. Popes missing painting, said I. Just follow me, Watson, said Holmes as he started towards the door of the old warehouse. Once inside, I found that the warehouse had indeed been abandoned. It looked as if it had been years since anyone had set foot in the place and I was as confused as ever. There were a few dust-covered bookshelves and garden rake next to the door, but other than that I saw nothing. What now? I asked. But just as the words left my mouth I heard footsteps outside the door and Holmes grabbed me and threw me behind a bookcase with surprising force. We had not been five seconds behind the bookcase when the door to the warehouse opened and it became evident that someone had entered the warehouse. From our position I could not see who was
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responsible for the noise, but the staggered footsteps gave me the impression that the person was burdened by something. Then, in an instant Holmes drew a pistol from his jacket and sprung from behind the bookcase. I quickly followed and stood there staring at the petrified face of Portman, half-visible behind one of the ugliest paintings I had ever seen. May I give you a hand with that, Portman? asked Holmes. Wha-What are you doin here, Mr. Holmes? Oh I think you know exactly why I am here, said Holmes as he removed the painting from Portmans grasp and handed it to me. Watson, if you would be so kind as to carry this painting outside the cab should still be waiting. And Portman, I assume you wont object to joining us back at Ms. Popes estate. Portman started to say something but the look on Holmes face stopped him before a word came out. The three of us then left the building and walked two blocks up the road to meet the cab where Holmes had instructed it to wait. The ride back to the Pope estate seemed to last forever, but we finally arrived back at the estate around noon. Upon entry into the house, Ms. Pope was both surprised and elated to find her beloved painting with us. Mr. Holmes how did you ever findPortman, what are you doing with them? stammered Ms. Pope. Before Portman could answer Holmes answered, Portman here was the man who has been kind enough to be keeping your painting for you. Lucky for him, however, we found him before it was lost to him. Wait, what do you mean? insisted Ms. Pope. Portman, it was you who stole my painting? How could you? Staring at the ground Portman replied in a voice that could barely be heard, Im sorry maam. Times were hard and I thought that perhaps if I sold the painting I could bring in a little money for Madonna and me. Of all things in this house, why would you choose this painting? I would doubt if you could sell it for a shilling, said Pope with a confused expression on her face. However, before she could answer there was a knock on the door and Finch brought two policemen into the room. Gentlemen, Holmes addressed the officers. This is the man who stole the painting Ms. Pope reported as missing this past week. But I dont understand, interjected Ms. Pope. Why this, Portman? You know it means a great deal to me and I doubt it is worth a thing. Maam, Im sorry. Said Portman. I figured since it wasn worth much you wouldnt be too sad to see it go. Before Pope could answer, however, Holmes said, Oh I dont think that is true, Portman. I think you know a lot more than you pretend to know. What do you mean, Mr. Holmes, said Portman with a nervous expression on his face.
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Indeed, what does that mean? said Pope with an expression of skepticism. Well, said Holmes, I am still unclear on a few aspects of this little mystery, but perhaps Portman here will be able to answer those questions that I am not. I do not see what questions are left to be answered, said I. That is because everyone in this room is unaware of the actual value of this painting, said Holmes as he walked to where I had placed the painting. Did you never find it curious that something so seemingly worthless would be given to you by your father on his death bed after the lavish gifts you had received previously? I certainly did, stated Pope. However, like I told you I have made numerous inquiries into its worth and it appears not to be worth much more than the frame and canvas. This painting is certainly not worth anything, said Holmes as he drew a pen-knife from his pants and began to run it gently down the edges of the frame. This painting, however, is worth quite a large amount, he proclaimed as he removed the horrid brown painting to reveal a sensational depiction of the Virgin Mary with baby Jesus seated on her lap. My Lord, exclaimed I. It is beautiful. It cant be, stammered Pope. Indeed it is, said Holmes. This is Madonna of the Yarnwinder by Leonardo da Vinci. It has been missing for years and all the time it has been right above you while you sleep, Ms. Pope. I have heard of its disappearance, gawked Pope. I never once considered that it might be in the very house though. How did you ever figure this out? Well, said Holmes, You were actually the first person to direct me in my search. When you came to me and told me that it had been stolen there was no doubt in my mind that there was something about it that was worth a great deal. I could not determine what was valuable about it from our encounter but coming here opened my eyes to the matter very quickly. In what manner? asked Pope. My first clue came when I visited Portman here just yesterday morning, stated Holmes. Upon entering his cottage it was clear to me that he has excellent tastes in art. It seemed that every wall had a hand-picked piece of artwork on it. It was clear to me that either Portman or his wife had an appreciation for good artwork and this only further suggested to me that perhaps your missing painting was hiding something of greater worth. When I found that Finch too had an appreciation of art I was worried that this case would be more difficult than I first expected. However, when Ms. Weathers informed me that Finch had been roaming your estate at night I doubted that anyone clever enough to discover the actual identity of your painting would be so careless as to conduct their business in the general vicinity. Once I had spoken to Finch it became even more evident to me that he knew
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Before I retired to my room last night I asked Ms. Weathers to include a map of Veranda with the morning paper. I knew that Portmans exchange would occur in a private location, as I have no doubt that Portman nor Mr. Smith himself would desire to be seen in public with the painting. I looked throughout the map but could find no acceptable location. With a second examination, however, I noticed a warehouse on the map that seemed plausible for a trade. Upon directing the cabby where to take us, he gave me an odd look and asked, Are you certain? This was exactly what I hoped to hear and told him that I was now absolutely sure this is where we were headed. As I expected, the warehouse was deserted when we entered. As to how I knew when to show up, it was sheer guesswork. If the exchange had occurred any earlier than when we had arrived, Portman here would be counting his money in his cottage right now. However, we arrived not a second too late and the rest is history. You are truly an amazing man, Mr. Holmes! exclaimed Pope. I do not know how I can ever thank you enough. It is what I love to do, my dear, said Holmes with an expression on contentment on his face. The only thing I ask is that you will call upon a cab for us to return to the train station. In the excitement Im afraid I forgot to ask our cabby to wait for us. It would be the least I can do, said she. After assisting Ms. Pope with the reinstitution of the painting and saying our farewells to Portman, Holmes and I bade Pope farewell and began the journey back to Baker Street. I have one more question, Holmes, said I as our cab pulled away from the Pope estate and onto the country road. And what is that, my dear Watson? How did a simple man like Portman come to discover the true identity of the painting? Ahhh, sighed Holmes, I have my theories, but I think that will be something we will never know for sure. Thats the trouble with this line of workits my job to solve mysteries, but as hard as I try I can never know everything.
nothing of the paintings whereabouts. However, I decided that to be sure I must figure out what he was doing at night so Watson and I made a visit to Finchs rendezvous. Ms. Weathers believed that his companion was Portman because she saw the hooded figure come from the horse pastures, but as I expected it was Madonna rather than Portman who showed up. This confirmed my suspicion that Finch was indeed innocentat least of burglary. But I do not understand how you knew where to proceed, said I. Well, Watson, said Holmes, At this point I was fairly certain that Portman was the culprit. The thief had to be someone who had seen the painting and I doubted that as valuable it was to her Ms. Pope showed it to company often. My attention then turned solely to Portman and the note I had recovered from the floor of his cottage. It is the one I showed to you earlier, Watson. The one that read simply Madonna is leaving for town today. We shall meet as planned. Being a fan of artwork and an even bigger fan of crime history I then remembered that Madonna of the Yarnwinder had been stolen some years ago. At first I found it hard to believe that it could have found its residence here at the Pope estate, but as I began to wonder the evidence grew stronger that it was indeed the painting. I remembered that when I visited Finch he was reading the Veranda Times, on which a curious article was displayed. The American millionaire and art connoisseur Jack Smith was in town just yesterday to present the town council with a generous gift. In fact, I even believe the article was titled Random Acts of Kindness. It seemed a bit too random for me and it led me to wonder whether he had an ulterior motive for being here. So Portman was going to sell the painting to Smith! exclaimed Pope. Exactly. But how did you ever find out when and where Portman would be with the painting? asked I. Ah. Now that was my most daring assumption, one which I will admit involved a bit of luck, said Holmes.

XV. THE MYSTERY OF THE SLS
Glancing over some of the cases which Sherlock Holmes has solved, many have struck me to be his most extraordinary case. In these cases Holmes has used his highest skills of deduction and analytical reasoning. In some cases the facts have been so minutiae that it shocks me as to how the case has been solved. In the case of the missing Miss Daisy Naylep, Sherlock Holmes once again impresses me with his abilities and talents to try and search for the missing woman. It was a cold winter morning and Holmes and I had just finished out breakfast prepared by Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock Holmes went into his lab for awhile. I had no appointments, so I decided to catch up on my reading. I was interested in some new medical procedure which I
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thought could help my work. A little while later Holmes came in, his hands stained with chemicals. Working on another experiment Holmes? I asked. Yes, trying to test the differences between the various alkaloids for my new research paper, he replied. While coming into the parlor and lighting his pipe, he shuffled through the mess of papers on the table. Finding a piece of paper amidst the clutter he quickly scribbled down some notes. We sat in silence for awhile, while he read his newspaper until he made some comment on the heavy weights. It was clear that he needed a new case or something to occupy his time or he would be back to his cocaine habit today, which he had picked up more heavily during the slow period. With that I heard a noise from downstairs and footsteps. Mrs. Hudson came up and said Sir, Im sorry to bother you but you have a visitor, a Miss Daisy Naylep. She wishes to see you immediately. Let her in. I could use some work, Holmes replied. A beautiful woman, around twenty-eight years old with long blonde hair entered the room. She wore a plain brown dress and carried in her hands a beautiful handkerchief. She had striking features; green eyes and cherry lips. Although, her face was white with fear and she had tear marks on her high cheek bones, I still gazed at her and could not let my eyes escape her beauty, she was captivating. Are you Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the consulting detective? she quivered Without even noticing her beauty Holmes replied, Why yes and this is my friend Dr. Watson. I nodded waiting for her story as she seemed very upset. Oh Mr. Holmes, I am in desperate need of your help she said as she burst into tears. I pray that you can help me. It is my sister, Lydia. She has gone missing. We own a sewing shop on West Manchester Street. It is a small shop but we make a decent amount of money with our regular clients. I always arrive at quarter till nine. My sister is always there when I arrive. But, today she was not. I waited for fifteen minutes and I started to get worried. She is never late, a very punctual woman. We always wire each other if we are going to be late. We are the only family we have left and are very close. I looked around the shop to see if she had perhaps left a note, but she had not. I waited for a few more minutes until around quarter past nine. I then left the store and ran to her apartment which is only a few short blocks away on Smithfield Street. I knocked on the door and there was no answer. I have a key to her apartment and let myself in. I called her name several times and she was not there. I looked everywhere. I thought maybe she had gone to the store or somewhere and had accidentally forgotten to wire. I waited for another half hour and even went back to the store, but she was still not there. I went to the police for help but they told me that she may have just gone out and forgotten to wire and that I should wait a day. But, I know that something is wrong. It was then that I decided to come to you for professional advice.
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Interesting Sherlock stated, after she had finished her story. And one more thing Miss Naylep said. I found this at the store as I was leaving. Miss Naylep pulled out of her pocket a beautiful white handkerchief with an embroidered tulip. She said, I brought this for your examination, Mr. Holmes. Sherlock exclaimed taking the handkerchief from Miss Naylep, Look at the handkerchief, what can you deduce from this Watson? It seems, I said examining the handkerchief that this is definitely a womans handkerchief and that she likes tulips or flowers. There is not much else I deduce from this piece of cloth. On those facts you are right, Watson, but there is so much more you should be able to gather from this handkerchief. Cant you see that this is a young woman who struggles to raise her young children on very little money by owning a floral shop in downtown London. She is not very tidy and has a small back dog. Miss Naylep stood there astonished. You have an extraordinary genius for minutiae, I remarked. I confess my friend that I can not see how you arrived at the other observations. O Watson, its elementary my dear friend. The handkerchief smells of pollen which means she either has gardens or owns a floral shop but due to the dark slush stain on the corner, made by a handsome passing by on a winter day, it must come from downtown and there are no gardens there so she must own a floral shop. This cloth is quite old and of no real significant value, so she must be struggling with her money to keep a dirty old rag with a rip on the side. Really quite simple. She has small children because of the spit up on the cloth which can be seen and comes from a small baby. The dog because of the tiny rip made by a small mouth and the dark black hair found on the handkerchief. She doesnt keep a clean house because this handkerchief is not in good shape and she seems to not care about that. Also, dust is clearly visible on the ends showing her shop or house to be dirty. I am always amazed by your work I replied. Do you know of any reason why someone would want to take your sister? Any enemies? Holmes asked. No! My sister was beautiful and loved by all. Her customers loved her and she was always of a pleasant nature. We were very close. Do not fret Miss Daisy, I said with our help your sister will be returned safely. Thank you very much gentlemen she exclaimed as she left her blond locks flowed behind her. What do you think Watson? Holmes asked after she had left. I am not sure. We should perhaps find the owner of the handkerchief to shed some light on the case. I agree and I have worked with cases such as these, I hope that we make it in time to save Miss Nayleps
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And that is the mystery Watson, we must wire Miss Daisy Naylep to see if she can shed any light on this new piece of information and go to Lydias home to see if we can find any information. Miss Daisy Naylep told us to meet her at her sisters home 645 Smithfield Street at eight that night. We finished our dinner and Holmes smoked a pipe and we headed over to Smithfield St. taking a cab. When we arrived, Miss Daisy was waiting for us outside the apartment. I do not know what SLS means Mr. Holmes. She never mentioned it to me before. I even arrived early and tried to see if any of her valuables had those letters, but I found nothing. Nothing at all. I do not understand. We were so close, she told me everything, she said as we entered the apartment and went up a flight of stairs. Miss Daisy Naylep showed us around. There was a small kitchen with a table with four chairs, next to a living room with a beautiful black couch and numerous gold pillows. A large picture of Miss Lydia and Miss Daisy was hanging on the wall. Everything in the house was extraordinarily clean. The house had a distinct smell, like flowers in every room. My sister loved to make things for her home. She used to say that even though she did not have much money, she still wanted to make her home look beautiful. Well she did a fine job. It is beautiful and it smells lovely. I said. Yes, Lydia loved her home to smell inviting and comfortable. She made potpourri and kept it in the rooms. Interested more in the investigation Holmes asked, The woman, a short dark haired woman mid 20s. Do you know any woman like this? Any enemy of Lydias? Lydia had no enemies. Besides we saw many women like that at our store. Im sorry Mr. Holmes I can not tell you any person in particular with that description. I just dont know Mr. Holmes. I dont know why anyone would take her away. I cant imagine anyone wanting to take her. Please. She said Look around, take your time and if you need anything let me know. But I need you to find Lydia. She is all I have in this world. We looked around the room. Holmes observed all the details of the room. Opened her drawers and looked in her closer. There was nothing with SLS. It seemed to be a very large secret as she did not even tell her sister, whom she was extremely close with. I tried to think about what these letters could stand for. Any medical facility or hospital which I was acquainted with? But, I could come up with none. I then picked up a pillow on her bed. It was a beautiful blue color, with ribbon and an embroidered flower on the front. What beautiful pillows she makes, arent they friend? I said as Holmes walked towards me. Why yes Watson they are, a very good seamstress. Although it seems that there is a tear in this pillow. He said as he reached for it. He paused. Why Watson, did
sister. We must start our research right away on floral shops in the city. Holmes replied. Holmes and I immediately looked up the different floral shops in the area. We found three different shops. Well Watson, we now have three options. I must go to each store and investigate which woman fits the description of our criminal here. You stay here in case of any news on Miss Naylep. I stayed in the apartment and tried to think of why someone would kidnap this woman. I tried to read the newspaper but I was too excited about the case. Holmes came back about 2 hours later. He reported that he had found the owner of the handkerchief but she was in fact not the criminal. I knew immediately that the owner was not from the first two shops but when I arrived at the third shop I found a woman who I knew was the owner of the handkerchief. Her name was Katherine Trotner and her store was dirty and she dressed in ripped clothing and her two young children were with her as well and Scrappy. Scrappy? I questioned. Her new black puppy. When I showed Miss. Trotner the handkerchief and told her where it was found the woman immediately told me what had happened, afraid she would get in trouble with the law. She was at the soup kitchen two days ago when a woman approached her and asked if she would like to make three pounds. She told her all she needed to do was go to the sewing shop on West Manchester and look for a book or notes that said SLS or had a white rose. She questioned the reasons but the woman would not answer. She met her at 10 oclock pm the next day, which was last night, a block from the sewing shop. She went through the window and looked all around but could find nothing with those letters or the rose. The woman paid her and then left. She said she must have dropped her handkerchief in the dark in the store This woman, what does she look like? Did the woman get a name? I asked. Excellent questions Watson Holmes responded. She said she was a smaller woman, around 155 to 158 cm. She had dark brown hair that hit her lower back. A pretty woman, probably mid 20s. She could not get a name from her. She also had no idea what SLS was or what it stood for. I gave Miss Trotner my information and told her to contact me if the woman tried to contact her again. Are you sure she was telling the truth Holmes? I questioned. Yes Watson, it was clear to me that poor woman is just in need of money. She pleaded with me not to tell because she would have no one to take care of her children and that she couldnt afford to go to jail. She is not a criminal. It seems you are right once again friend. But SLS what does it mean? What is the white rose? Why does someone need these notes about those letters so much?
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you see this? Where the pillow had ripped, embroidered letters could be seen. Secret Ladi Sherlock ripped the pillow open more. More letters appeared. A phrase. Secret Ladies Society A white rose was embroidered underneath the phrase. That was it. But we had found the secret letters. A secret society. Haha, finally Watson. Something to work off of. Excellent work. You have inadvertently found us a clue. But we must head back to research this society. It is a capital mistake to theorize before you have all the evidence. We soon left the apartment to head back to Baker Street. Holmes wanted to try and find more information about this SLS group and why someone would want this information. We told Miss. Daisy Naylep that we would wire her to meet her back at Lydias apartment if we could discover any information about the group. Back at Baker Street I sat and read the newspaper for awhile. I was very excited to see what Holmes would discover about the SLS. I dozed off for about an hour when Holmes came into the room, nearly 3 oclock in the morning and said, Aha, I have done my research and I have discovered what the Secret Ladies Society is Watson. Excellent, my friend, please do tell what you have found. I have been waiting for such knowledge. I cried. He pulled out his pipe, lit it and began talking, not exhausted at all It seems that the Secret Ladies Society was started in the early 17th century in Rome. Five women gathered together to discuss issues which women were not allowed at the times, such as politics and higher intellectual knowledge. They met once a month to discuss these issues. There symbol is the white rose. There were five members in Rome and then it grew to having two delegates from major cities and now encompasses over 60 delegates. Some say that these women have made a discovery that will change our world forever. Others think that it is just a tradition and group of women that come together still to discuss issues freely. That is still in question. How the members are chosen and the members names are also not known. For several years a member of the society keeps the secrets safe. Extraordinary, I cried. And do you think Miss Naylep is part of this society? It seems that way Watson. And it also seems that Miss Naylep is the keeper of the secrets. Someone wants those secrets, and that person is the one who kidnapped Miss Naylep. Yes we must go back to Miss. Lydia Nayleps apartment to see if we can find anymore secrets or clues to help us find who kidnapped her. Wire Miss. Naylep and tell her to meet us at the apartment at nine tomorrow morning. We have a full day ahead of us tomorrow Watson. When I woke around quarter past seven, Holmes had already had breakfast and was sitting in the parlor smoking his pipe. I ate my breakfast and around eight thirty we left for Smithfield Street. Miss Naylep was
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eager to hear the information. She wanted to help in anyway possible but had never heard of this society and was shocked that her sister was part of such a prominent group. I began explaining the details to her outside of the apartment when Holmes suddenly said Miss Naylep have you been here since we left last night? Why no Mr. Holmes, no one has. No, someone has, Miss Naylep look, he pointed to the ground, Those are footprints. Two sets of footprints. Examining the footprints more he said, Those are two womans footprints. One with pointed shoes and a heel and another with rounded shoes. I can tell by the size and shape that these are womens shoes. And it has not snowed since 8 oclock last night so someone came after that hour. Miss Naylep was shocked, But no one could have got in, I have locked the doors. We went inside, everything looked normal. Nothing looked as if it had been touched. Hmm Miss Naylep, it seems someone has stolen one of Miss. Lydias pillows on this couch. Yesterday I counted five, and today there are only four. Holmes said. Miss. Naylep looked impressed, But why would someone take this pillow? A secret must have been written on this pillow Miss Naylep, just like the other pillow. Someone knows where these secrets are hidden and someone is trying to find them all. Holmes declared. We went into the bedroom, everything seemed to be accounted for. Judging by the foot size and the fact that this person must have opened the door, I am to presume that Miss. Lydia was here at this house last night along with her kidnapper. Her kidnapper must have her giving the secrets to her. Im sure they will be back again later today once the kidnapper realizes that the pillow is only one piece of the secret puzzle. Watson, lets find some Baker Street Irregulars to guard the apartment and to follow the woman. This is excellent, we are very close to finding your sister Miss Naylep. Oh thank you she cried. You should come back with us for lunch Miss Naylep and be at our place incase I hear any word and we can leave quickly. Absolutely Miss Naylep exclaimed as we caught a cab and headed back to Baker Street. We had Mrs. Hudson prepare us lunch for ourselves as well as our guest. We were all very antsy, but there was not much we could do until we got word from our street arab. Holmes went into his study for a bit and worked on some experiments. I talked with Miss. Naylep for sometime and then took to the newspaper. Finally around 4 pm Mrs. Hudson told us that we had company. Holmes came out of his lab. A young boy, who seemed to be our street arab ran up the stairs. He was out of breath and said I have news of the visitors. Yes? What have you found? Holmes cried. I was watching since lunch time Mr. Holmes, and finally about half hour ago, a woman and a man came to
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woman. The different footprints are close together, meaning the woman is probably holding on to Miss Naylep to make sure she doesnt escape. There are some other footprints on this sidewalk but hopefully we can continue on with the trail. We followed the footprints some more down the road. But it was starting to snow so we walked faster. When we came to the end of the street we looked for which direction the footprints went. It was snowing heavier now and it was hard to see some of the prints. I looked down Planter Street and Holmes looked down Brook Street. On the edge of Brook Street, Holmes saw something in the snow. Potpourri, bits of it. He cried. Your sister had lots of potpourri in her home. She must have these things in her pocket. She must know we are following her. She is helping us to lead us to her. We made a left onto Brook Street. We continued down the street and when we came to end we turned onto Cook Street. Miss Naylep then cried, I know where they are going she paused. this is the way back to our sewing shop. We make a right onto 20th Street and then make a left onto West Manchester. Sure enough Miss Naylep was correct. We followed her directions and the small trinkets continued, although it was getting harder to see due to the weather. We stopped about 3 stores down from the sewing shop. We slowly walked down the road, being very quiet. We were almost at the shop and Sherlock pointed down to the ground. The same footprints were there as well as the last of the potpourri. As we approached the shop, Holmes advised Miss. Naylep to stay back and not enter the shop until she could see that is was safe. I pulled out my revolver and we peered in the door. I could see two figures. A woman and a man. I could see the face of the man, the high cheek bones and red lips, there was no question: the man was in fact Miss Lydia Naylep. We barged into the shop and the woman looked in shock. Seeing my revolver, she tried to run out the back door but I fired a warning shot and Sherlock caught her just in time. Miss. Daisy Naylep ran into the store and straight for her sister. They embraced for a bit. She then said I just knew we would find you. I couldnt live without you Lydia. She turned around and looked at the perpetrator. She gasped. Natalie she cried. How could you? Why would you do this? We trusted you. You know this woman? Holmes asked. Why yes, she cleans mine and Lydias apartments. She came to us many months ago, saying that she needed a job and required little pay but wanted to clean our homes. She told us both her parents had died and she just wanted to be able to pay for a small apartment. We felt bad, having both our parents died as well so Lydia and I agreed. But this she said pointing to Lydia. I do not understand. You are now caught Natalie, so you might as well tell us why you have kidnapped Miss Lydia here. Why do you need information about the SLS?
the apartment. The woman was younger and had long dark hair. The man wasnt much taller, he wore a hat and a coat. He opened the door. A woman and a man? Holmes said. Are you sure it wasnt two women? Why yes, Mr. Holmes. Of that I can be certain. The street arab replied. He continued, They stayed in the home for about twenty minutes. They then left, the man carried a blanket. They waited for a cab, and when the cab came, I went close and asked for money. I could not see the mans face as he was turned away but I could see the women with her blue eyes and dark brown hair. She asked the cab to take them to Swan Lake Hotel. And I then ran back to you Mr. Holmes, to deliver the information. Excellent work young man. Sherlock exclaimed. He then reached into his pocket and gave the boy two shillings. The boy thanked Holmes and left. Grab your coat Watson. I think you should bring your revolver as well, there could be conflict. We are going to bring Miss. Naylep home. I believe the young man, that the street arab described was your sister in disguise, Miss Naylep. As the other woman described is definitely our suspect and your sister Miss. Naylep you said was only a few inches taller. The coat and hat were used to disguise your sister Holmes said. We took our cab and arrived at the Swan Lake Hotel a little after 5 oclock. I did not know how Holmes was planning to find them in such a large hotel. Holmes walked up to the concierge and described the people asking what room they were staying in. The concierge said they had left about ten minutes ago. Ah too late, do you know where they were heading? Holmes said. I do not know sir, I just know they left in a hurry the man replied. We walked outside of the hotel again. We stood outside for a few minutes as I could see Holmes pondering on what to do next. He put his hand to his chin and rubbed it for a minute or so looking around. I was thinking about how cold it was getting when Holmes suddenly cried aha. He bent down and picked something off the ground. It was a small sewing kit. He examined it carefully. That is my sisters Daisy cried. I bought that for her awhile ago. She must have dropped it on her way out. Holmes said. He looked at the ground again. they are going west on this street. How did you know that? Can you see them Holmes? Easy, my friend. Once again it is all in the details. Look on the ground, what do you see? I looked but all I saw was some footprints. Holmes seeing that I was perplexed said, The footprints. They are the same as the ones by the apartment. The rounded shoe and the pointed shoe with the heel, of that of a little
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I had to. I was looking for the secrets. The secrets that are rightfully ours, the Nighttime Womens Society. This Secret Ladies Society stole our secrets. Our societies began around the same time. The Secret Ladies Society stole one of our members a few months after our society began. We feel she told them our secrets and made the Secret Ladies Society so much more successful. We also fear that these women have a plan to get rid of our society and have secrets that can destroy reputations. They know something and we need to steal the secrets to find out. I had to find where the secrets were hidden. One of our members now found out that Lydia here was the one holding the secrets. I researched Lydia and found out that her parents had died and that she lived in London. I then came to London pretending to want to clean, and made up the story about losing my parents because I knew the sisters would feel bad, so I could go into her home and try and find information. After looking endlessly in the home, I hired a woman to try and find the secrets in the sewing shop. I was afraid to go in myself in fear of one of the sisters seeing me and not being able to obtain the secrets. After the woman could not find the secrets, I finally decided I needed to take action. I then kidnapped Miss. Lydia and was trying to have her give me the secrets. My intentions were never to harm Miss. Lydia but to just get the secrets from her. Although, she was smart and only gave me parts of the secrets, and parts that I could not figure out. It was then that Lestrade, a police officer from the Scotland Yard ran into the shop. I was down the street and I heard a shot fired. What is going on here?
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Everything is under control here. But would you please arrest this woman, pointing to Natalie for the kidnapping of Miss. Lydia Naylep. Holmes said. Absolutely Mr. Holmes. Its every mans business to see justice done. Holmes said Those secrets should be returned to their rightful owners. Natalie cried as he exited with her. Looking back at Lydia Holmes said, How did you know to leave the clues? How did you know we were following you? Natalie took me back to the home yesterday and before we entered I saw Daisy with you and your partner there. I knew my sister would be concerned and I could then see that she had help to find me. I had known a woman who had used your help Mr. Holmes and she explained how you and your partner had discovered the truth. By seeing the two of you, I knew you were there to help. A very smart woman Holmes said. But, you gave Natalie only parts of the secrets. Did you not think she would threaten on kill you until she got them all and what are you planning on doing with the secrets now that they have been discovered in your hands? Mr. Holmes, Lydia laughed. I never had the secrets. I was the fake. The one who was supposed to pretend to hold the secrets. Oh no Mr. Holmes. The secrets of our society are still very safe, she said with a sly grin. Might I ask what the secrets were that were so important to this other society? Holmes asked. That I can not tell you Mr. Holmes. The society will live on, even though one person tried to capture the secrets. Our society will continue for hundreds of years. I thank you for your services and if there is anyway I can repay you please let me know. No my dear, having a case of interest has been a fine payment. Your case broke my boredom. I feel I shall now go back to my seven percent solution until I find a further case. With that the women left. Natalie got off with little punishment. But what was most important was that the secrets of the SLS were safe. To this day we still do not know who the real keeper of the secrets is or why they were so important but I still remember the case of the missing beautiful Miss Lydia Naylep and returning her safely to her sister.
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XVI. - THE MYSTERY OF THE BROKEN HOE
Ms. Hudson is invariably a very amiable, calm, and patient woman who champions the ideals of modesty and politeness. The panicked fury that appeared in her eyes early one September morning therefore were stark indications of the gravity of the situation whichsoever ailed her. Her shrill cries for Sherlock Holmes and me were constant and unclear, too fast and sobbing to be deciphered in full, but the emphasis on certain words made them audible: lost, dead, stolen were the words that through repetition I was able to discern. I robed myself and entered the parlor to find Holmes percolating a cup of coffee as the grieving. Hudson attempted to control her hysteria. Dear Ms. Hudson, you must sit down and tell me plainly your affliction my friend urged. Ay said she taking a seat in the arm chair near the fireplace. I sat on the love chair adjacent to her, and Holmes tipping his coffee to his lip sat down to my right. Ms. Hudson dabbed at her eyes with a rag and took some few calming breaths. My family is from the North, near Newcastle and owns a small farm there, she began. With my limp I was no use in the fields and of little worth in the house with my other two sisters. When I was seventeen my father told me that for the interest of the family I should move south to London and look for employment. He asked this of me with a heavy heart, he said, but our family was barely keeping afloat and that it was absolutely necessary to do so. I wont bore you with what happened in betwixt then and now. But before I left from my home, my father and mother assured me of their own well-being as they wished me luck on my own. He said that as long as the hoe he held in his hand was intact, the well-being of the family would be as well. In saying this Ms. Hudson had risen, walked to the kitchen area, and returned with a small parcel wrapped in cloth. Not half an hours passed since I found this when I heard a thud at the door that didn't have the same sound as the paper, she said sobbingly. Mrs. Hudson unwrapped the bundle and revealed the head of a broken hoe. Oh why would this come at such a time, Mr. Holmes? she squealed and returned to the arm chair with her hands clasped. Sherlock Holmes put down his coffee, tightened his night-robe and walked over to Ms. Hudson, resting his hand on her shoulder in consolation. All will be revealed, Ms. Hudson. Pray tell where you found this misused garden instrument? said my friend. Ms. Hudson walked to the door and opened it, pointing to the ground wherein laid a scattering of crumbs and a pistol. Mr. Holmes upon observing these clues walked up and picked up the pistol, turned it around in his hands a few times and then lobbed it to me. You know my methods, Doctor. Apply them as I would and see if you cannot tell which direction our visitor has since taken, said Holmes. I looked at the gun and the crumbs for some couple minutes and resolved to have come to a reasonable theory. Well the gun is a little moist which indicates the presence of rain. And though there is none here at present, the black clouds coming from the east give the indication that he had come here from that cardinal direction, especially when coupled with the fact that Rooneys Fish and Chips Shoppe is two blocks in the same. As to where he went from here, I am given to saying that he has gone down Baker Street towards the North for the South leads to the Thames and that is no place to be for a tempest. Oh Watson you do try so well. Unfortunately I am forced to knock your theory quite a distance further away from the target yet again. The moistness of the stock has not been caused by rain but by sweat. The sweat of the palm he carried it in within the contours of his coat pocket. The crumbs are not chips but of Yorkshire pudding as evidenced by the yeasty remnants here at our feet. He is a large man both in height and girth and suffers from poor hearing. He is also quite a pig with little relish for the devotion to sanitation. On top of all of that, he is a showman who concentrates on appearance and not the actual grinding gears. I anticipate your confusion by the look of consternation in your countenance so I will spare you the embarrassment of asking and explain to you my findings. The moisture is clearly sweat as the stock smells strongly of salt and the ocean and the river are too far away for the pistol not to have dried by the time our visitor arrived here. Large men are more prone to sweating through their appendages than are trim men because the heat worked up in the hull of their bodies has trouble seeping through the fat and instead runs to the extremities for secretion. His indifference to sanitation I deduced from the pile of crumbs. As you see, there is a significant grouping of crumbs amongst the crumbs themselves which indicates that our man dropped his precious pudding. In leaning over to retrieve his morsel for later consumption His gun fell out of his pocket, and he failed to hear it! I ejaculated. Precisely, concluded my colleague. And if I were to bet a hundred shillings on it, I would say that our man went east in neglect of the storm, so engaged was he in the condition of his pudding. I assure you Mrs. Hudson we shall calm your racing heart immediately. Come,
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Watson, disrobe and suit up for the imminent investigation that grieves our good livelihoodbenefactor, said Holmes as he dashed through the dooryard to his room. By noon of the same day Sherlock Holmes and I were in a hansom northbound to Newcastle to investigate the old homestead of our good housekeeper. The weary old plains and moors of the English countryside were of great relief to my senses that had recently become overwhelmed with the smells, sights, and sounds of the bustling London. My companion seemed also to have some benefit from our current surroundings as he scribbled many little writings down in his notepad with the most peculiar smirk on his face throughout the entire journey. His pen moved in faster revolutions than did our wheels down the old country roads. In the surplus of comforting sights at my present disposal, I confess that the comfort which I felt was immaculate and so induced me into a heavy slumber from which I did not wake until our driver nudged me, insisting that my partner had already left me in the cab and less I wanted to return to London, my exit would be recommended. I stumbled out of the cab and looked around for Holmes. After some few minutes of scanning my surroundings, I saw his gaunt figure in the fields striding along the rows of cabbage. I walked out to his position as he stared blankly at the contrasting fallow fields across the road. He offered not a word and then paced into the house itself. Our entry was a strange one, indeed, for as we stomped through the doorway, what appeared to be the entire Hudson family eating their midday meal. Where in the bloody hell do you think you two blokes are going? shouted the old man. Havent you got any sense between the two of ya? My name is Sherlock Holmes and this is my colleague Dr. Watson, sir. We are as surprised to see you as you us, I assure you. It is only that we come to inspect the absence of deaths of the lot of you that we are here today. And now to find you in such good health and nerve, I am in a state of confusion never before visited upon me. Mr. Holmes truly was confused and paused after his brief explanation. I continued his speech and attempted to explain the shortcomings of my friends speech. Your daughter, Emily, is our housekeeper in London. My friend is a spectacular investigating detective and was wakened by your daughter this morning in quite a fluster over an item left at our door this morning, I started. I presented to the family the end of the broken hoe which Mrs. Hudson had issued to us for the trip. She feared the worst for you, her family Im afraid, when she saw this. Oh my Lord, said the old man. Please, come sit down. Ay, we are Emilys family! How is she? Pray tell us! My name is Edward Merrill and this is my wife Sally and my two daughters Lizzie and Martha. The family all gave their salutations in chronology.
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She fairs very well, interrupted Mr. Holmes. She is married as you know to a man named Hudson. She enjoys our employment very much and we treat her very well. If you should wish to know more about her, why not come with us to London for the day so that the dear woman may have some assurance that her family is of exemplary health and being. The family resolved to leave their farming for the day to a couple of field hands recently employed. And through a caravan of hansoms and four-wheelers we made our way back to London. Through the journey, Edward Merrill explained to Holmes and me of his hard life as a tenant farmer and the heavy-heartedness with which he had to ask his youngest daughter to leave home. He confirmed the breaking of the symbolic hoe and knew not how it had come to such condition, but instead he feared of the possible misfortune that would assuredly come his familys way.
When we arrived at Baker Street, the scene was quite a contrast to our pleasant afternoon. Several policemen were circled around our flat and in serious conference. We neednt ask what had occurred, for our own B221 was aflame. Detective Andelay Jones approached us and with the utmost gravity told us that our dear Mrs. Hudson was now but mere ash. My companion was in an instant flashing around the crime scene, checking under piles of melted rubble and debris. Through the black tarnish and ash, several of Holmes belongings were visible and in moderate
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around to each member of the family, offering consolations and regrets, at once insisting that he had been wrong in his estimation of their daughters false death. The family looked intensely confused and mystified at my friends words. Who has killed her? demanded the mother. It is a vile person under an innocent cloak. A Judas in Jesus robe, said my partner. The lot of us then rode in hansom down to Scotland Yard where Holmes requested the presence of Andelay Jones. I have come to make known my assertion as to who the culprit is in this debacle. And the only suitable person to tell that hypothesis to is the detective-in-charge, unless one of you has performed a coup-de-tat on the venerable detective. After some rustling amongst Scotland Yard, Detective Jones was found and presented to our deep group. As he approached, Holmes me passed me a slip of paper instructing me not to look at it and to give it to Detective Lestrade when he had made his declaration of guilt. Well Holmes, what brings you all here? Have you made any developments in the arson of your flat? inquired Jones. Quite the contrary! started Holmes. I have solved the entire case. And here are your criminals said he pushing forward the unsuspecting Hudson family. Jones face turned red and into a smile before and said, Very good, Holmes! The same conclusion I came to. They appear to be as guilty as Big Ben is steady. Book them, William! Yes, said Holmes. The father should be booked immediately for accessory to a murder and the arson. Accessory? questioned Jones. At this question I was reminded by a glance from Holmes of my instructions and delivered his note to Lestrade, waiting by him as he read the note. I followed after him to where I had left from. Yes, Detective. I believe giving credit where it is due, and I would not be so obtuse as to omit from your long resume murderer and arsonist! shouted Holmes. At his words Lestrade had clamped the steel handcuffs around Jones wrists. How did you know? insisted Jones. I was fooled at first. I never suspected a member of Scotland Yard to be involved in so scandalous an act, but once I reasoned that I was being subjective and not entirely objective in my analysis, the answer presented itself quite readily. By your physique and apparent sweating difficulties, as well as my past experience with you in which I remember your hearing and forgetfulness being the primary reason the elusive Jonathan Freed escaped the laws grasp. Those facts alone were not enough for my deduction to be complete however. You would have had no way to know of the covenant between Ms. Hudson and her father in regard to the hoe. I knew the primary criminal must have a massive informational
condition (ruined nonetheless). Amidst the rubble were remnants of Holmes favorite sitting chair, bits of the stone fireplace mantle, and one half of what the authorities and we decided was a femur. It was from this one un-charred bone the absence of Ms. Hudson that Detective Jones came to the deduction of whose marrow this was. The Hudson family was huddled around each other, the father moaning consolations that I scarcely think even he believed. After inspecting the bone and the rest of the debris to his satisfaction, Holmes approached the family and said, Take rest, family. This is not your daughters bone. These are not her ashes. But she is in danger. Pray tell, Mr. Holmes! How do you know this is not my daughter? the father winced. Where is she? I will know soon enough, Sir. That much I can assure you. She will return to you safely. At that, I made arrangements with the Astoria Hotel in North London for the family to wait for my partners findings. I sent them in a hansom to the hotel, instructing them that if necessary they could telegraph instructions to their estates caretaker at the hotels concierge. As the hansom pulled away from Holmes and me, I pressed my friend on his hypothesis on the true nature of the crime. Something seemed very strangefor despite my friends occupation, he was a man with no known enemies and was universally respected. These facts made the idea of arson an unlikely one and through conversation with Holmes, I found him to be agreeable. The answer to our problem is in the rubble of that fire, and I have discovered it already, said Holmes. We have but the small task of drawing our culprit out. I invited Holmes to stay with my wife and me until he could find suitable lodging and collect his insurance. He accepted with some bit of humbleness, and we made up his bed in our guest room, helping him as requested to settle in. After some few hours of getting himself situated in his temporary abode, Holmes declared it time to put an end the worrying and grief of the awaiting Hudson family. He sent one our flats porters down to the street to hail a cab. At its arrival Holmes and I entered and gave the driver the Hudsons hotel as our destination. I hope you have all of this muddled affair figured out, for I assure you that I am positively clueless, said I to Holmes. It is a bit of a tricky matter, Watson. It took me all of the time their in your flat to come up with the solution. I my initial reaction was wrong. Ms. Hudson is dead. His words startled me as I had been fairly confident that the uncharred femur in the debris could not have been Ms. Hudsons. I thought of the kindness, friendliness, and professionalism with which Ms. Hudson conducted herself, and my heart sank. My sadness continued as we arrived at the hotel. We climbed the three flights of stairs to their lodgings and knocked on the door. As we were let in my friend went
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pull to be able to find the distant family and the resources to contact them. Therefore it is a compilation of criminals that has performed this most despicable deed, Holmes paused. The only thing I cannot entirely figure are each of your motives. I did not want for this to happen! shouted the desperate father upon being handcuffed. One of his boys came to me and told me it was but a joke to be played upon my little girl. I never meant for her to die! Ill kill that bloody bastard! Why burn down my apartment, then? Why kill Ms. Hudson? inquired my friend of Jones. Forgive me, Holmes. Forgive me, Hudson family. I have been dishonest, began Jones. I never intended to kill Ms. Hudson but merely used her fear and angst of the hoe to get you out of the apartment so that I might flawlessly ruin your practice that you have so steadily established in your flat. I tried to rescue Ms. Hudson from the flames but could not. You have been taking respectability and income away from our precinct for years, Holmes! I am not the only one who hates your
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practice! Even my colleague who has tonight cuffed me agrees with me. I am the only one who had the strength enough to fix the problem though! And for that I have no regret. Your practice is doomed, Mr. Holmes and the Scotland Yard boys will once again be the heroes of London! With a story like this one, said Holmes, I doubt it. We left the precinct and arranged for the Hudson family to stay at my apartment for the night until morning. My wife cooked a wonderful feast and played with the children and consoled the mother and older siblings of their losses. When they left in the morning, Mother Hudson was clutching the missing piece of the broken hoe and the half femur from the fire. I will bond the hoe and this bone, she said about to close the door to the hansom, and it will never break again.

The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

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STRAND MAGAZINE "The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes"

THE STRAND MAGAZINE