Volume 15

STRAN S ND MA AGAZ ZINE "Th he Fur rther A Advent tures o of Sher rlock H Holme es"
A Collection of o Origin nal Shor rt Storie es d on the Charac cters Cre eated by y Based Sir Arth hur Con nan Doy yle And d Illustr rated by Sidney Paget Volume V 15 Ap pri1 18, 2013
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The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

I. THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES AND THE ROSETTA STONE
There came a day, much as it had in the past, when my brilliant partner and I were entirely without cases to solve. We had been in ruts such as this before, but never had it lasted for weeks on end. I had managed to keep myself busy with my personal affairs and financial matters, but Holmes, with no worldly catalyst, had once again turned to cocaine to challenge his mental abilities to the fullest potential. In what world he would gallivant while under the influence of this drug I knew not, but I knew for certain his mind was tirelessly working on some contrived mental exercise. I came in to find him laying spread-eagled on one of the couches barely breathing but with his eyes wide opena common occurrence when the drugs effects would finally wear off. I had just fetched the morning paper on my way to Baker Street in the hopes of finding an advertisement, a news story, any sign of a possible case. I expected to have my hope turn to despair, however my heart leapt excitedly as I read of a murder case involving the grisly death of two men and the discovery of a priceless artifact that had previously been presumed stolen. The paper read: Murder by the Victory Inn Two men were found dead from knife wounds this morning between the mews off Sussex Lane and the Victory Inn. They have been identified as Jack White, a government worker in international affairs, and retired war hero Lieutenant Edmund Vincennes Exley of the 85th Rifles, who served the crown in Egypt at the turn of the 19th century. Scotland Yard has placed its top man on the case: Detective Inspector Lestrade, whose police career speaks for itself. Anyone with accurate information regarding these murders will be rewarded significantly for their aid. Holmes! I exclaimed, I have found the answer to all of our hopes of these past few weeks! An advertisement asking for a gardener to tend the Watson rose orchard? mused Holmes sardonically. Why no, its asay, how do you know I have thoughts towards employing a gardener? Analysis of data, Watson: basic in principle, but unbelievably intricate once all data are synthesized together to answer the questions of our existence. I will be frank; I have now observed mud stains at the ankle of your trousers every day for a fortnight. Given there are no marshy areas in your commute in London, and the lack of rain recently, this can only mean that you have been tending your garden. I also detected the unmistakable scent of Lancashire rose as you walked in. Now, it has been a while since last I visited you and your wife, but I never recall seeing lilies in your gardenonly common cotton grass, orchids, bilberry, and lilies. Putting everything together, it is obvious that you have grown tired of attempting to tend to the Lancashire red roses you purchased and cannot afford the mess gardening leaves on your proper clothes. Thus, you are in need of a gardener. You never cease to amaze, I conceded, I was unaware of your knowledge in botany. Regardless, take a look at this. My companion sat up immediately as if he were a corpse injected with epinephrine. I could see an almost maniacal gleam in his eyes as he grabbed the paper from my hands to dive into our next mystery. At long last, a case! he ejaculated as he finished reading the article, Undoubtedly, Lestrade has made no tangible progress on the case, and if I am not mistaken, here comes the man himself, visiting 221B Baker Street to seek my counsel. I glanced over at the window and surely enough a hansom had stopped outside our door and our simpleminded but kindhearted police detective was stumbling out of it. A few moments later Mrs. Hudson admitted him into the living room. He relayed the particulars of the matter as best he could. Pray tell me, has the scene of the crime been sealed off from the general public? asked Holmes, the paper failed to include that morsel of information. Why, of course Mr. Holmes! replied Lestrade, We have investigated it thoroughly and it appears to be a double suicide. Aside from that, and the fact that these two men have no apparent connection, we have found nothing of import, though it would be nice to have a second opinion. He smiled sheepishly as he looked pleadingly at Holmes for aid. Then there is not a moment to waste; on to the crime scene! Come Watson, the game is afoot! Upon our arrival at the mews, my partner and I immediately examined the dead bodies. The paper had failed to mention that both men were sitting at a dining table outside the Victory Inn with their wrists slashed open. On the table were several empty glasses, two bloody knives, spilled alcohol and a scrawled note reading: When the Crown has forgotten you what choice is there but to end your futile existence? Watson, examine the bodies for us if you will. As a retired army doctor, you can shed more light on this than we can.
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Write now, if you will: a black basalt stone discovered in Rosetta, Eqypt in 1799 by a French officer is still the subject of dispute between nations today. Known as the Rosetta Stone, the famous artifact has inscriptions in ancient Greek, demotic characters and hieroglyphics. The 2,200-year-old stone is believed to hold the secret to translating hieroglyphics and Eqypt's ancient past. In Frances surrender to the British in 1801, the Rosetta Stone was taken with many other cultural artifacts. Eqypt has continued to seek for the stone's return. Once I finished transcribing his dictation, I looked up to see him preparing to leave. I, likewise, donned my coat and hat, all the while wondering what this could mean. On the way out, I made sure to grab my revolver lest we run into the five murderers. Holmes led me through many backstreets until we finally arrived at our destination: the British Museum in London. We waited silently, hiding by the closed entrance, waiting for what seemed like hours. Finally, we heard whispers and saw five men dressed in Arabian clothing approach the door and attempt to pick the lock. Holmes signaled that it was time. Halt, or I will shoot! I shouted as I stepped under the moonlight. The men turned around alarmed, and dropped their tools. Holmes whistled, prompting Lestrade and his men to surround the perimeter. The game is up, said Holmes, you must accept the consequences of murdering Jack White and Lieutenant Exley and attempting to steal the Rosetta Stone. Allow me to explain how I am certain of this: Mycroft told me that he had been suspicious for some time that Egypt would attempt to take the Stone and extract revenge on the Crown. Jack White was essentially my brothers right hand man in dealing with these types of situations. Mycroft sent White to warn Lieutenant Exley, the commanding officer of the 85th at the time the Stone was taken, that his life might be in danger. Unfortunately, it seems these men overheard their conversation, and realizing the Whites role, they decided killed both of them. Knowing that they were not safe and running out of time, they had to thieve the Stone immediately with plans to leave in the early morning for Egypt. Am I correct? You are, sir, said the apparent leader as he stepped forwardhis thick accent was very calm and peaceful, except for the fact that this Stone is possibly the most prized artifact of Egyptian culture and heritage. People like Exley and White have systematically taken our countrys wealth and knowledge for its own purposes. They carved this destiny for themselves and it was fulfilled. In a world dominated by Imperial Britain, where superpowers use weaker countries as pawns to further their own goals, who cares if one of these nations is being robbed of its identity? Thus, you are the thieves, not we. I am Ramses, these are my kin: Khu, Wosret, Hebeny and Nakhti. We are part of the Magi, the order created in a time when the Roman Empire pillaged neighboring lands for sport. Our sacred duty is to protect Egypt, her wealth, and
Well, I said, after examining the victims, Someone certainly wants us to believe this a suicide. However, observe these men: their fingers are broken, indicating they were both forcibly held in these chairs by at least two men while their wrists were cut. The indiscernible pattern of the footprints supports my theory that there was a scuffle involving several people, leading to the murder of these two men.
Excellent, Watson! Just as I had suspected: their terrified expressions hinted that they did not willingly end their lives, said Holmes as he found a trail of footprints leading to the nearby bushes and trees, That being said, take a gander behind this foliage. The five sets of unusually triangular footprints you see are those belonging to our murderers. They must have waited here silently until their victims arrived, taken them by surprise, and ultimately ended their lives. Why would they do such a thing? I demanded, And how are these two men connected? Questions that still require answering, he replied, I must speak with Mycroft at the Diogenes Club tonight. I fear the murderers may slip our grasp if we do not act with the utmost urgency. Lestrade, see what headway you can make on the case in my absence. Watson, return to Baker Street and await my return. I was dosing off in the living room when my companion returned, around midnight. He brought with him an air of urgent confidence; he smiled grimly as he saw my weary expression. We do not have much time, but I will impart some of the particulars of my talk with Mycroft to you. As you know, he is the only reason our nation has not openly been at war with much of the world for decades. His clandestine methods have saved Her Majesty from harm countless times. Now, if you would look into my index, you would find no information on Rosetta Stone. However this artifact is the center of our case; Mycroft has given me some very valuable facts about it.
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her identity; only the most worthy are chosen to join the ranks of the Magi and once initiated, one is committed through life, death and the afterlife to pursue this goal. You are a worthy adversary Mr. Sherlock Holmes; we made a mistake in underestimating your skill and for that we are lost. Fear not, my men and I are honorable; we will not attempt to fight. Just know that your country is the villain, not ours. With that, the men were restrained and taken away. Holmes, Lestrade and I stood together, still somewhat in shock following what Ramses had said. We returned to Baker Street and were saying our farewells with Lestrade when one of the most interesting moments I have ever described came to pass. Lestrade quipped: That bloody Egyptian, unbelievable what rubbish he said about White and Exley. Do they not remember how many British soldiers they killed in that war with France? Justice will be passed, whether through execution or imprisonmentit is rightly deserved!
And what of them? asked Holmes, are they not also soldiers? Are they not equally bound to their convictions and compatriots? His sense of duty was no less than yours. Do not be so quick to deal out death in judgment, for even the wisest cannot see all ends. Oh, of course Holmes, I meant no offenseuh right you are! replied Lestrade meekly. He took his leave quickly thereafter. Did you really mean everything you said, Holmes? I asked. His comments, though they antagonized the Crown, were very sophisticated and thought provoking. Every word, Watson. It is vanity to force ones ideals and values on others. Never make that mistake, for the world will return such inflicted wound tenfold. It is difficult for me to conclude the adventures of the Rosetta Stone so cryptically, but then again, perhaps some of the questions of our existence can never truly be answered. In any case, Holmess words impacted me greatly and I do hope that, one day, the Rosetta Stone shall bask once again under the Res golden light.

II. THE ADVENTURE OF THE ROYAL KIDNAPPING
It has been a few years since we had Inspector Lestrade burst into our flat with dreadful news that were to put Holmes to work at once. This case was to be regarded with the highest degree of secrecy and not to be published until some years had passed, and I think sufficient time has passed so that this case may be published and not cause any harm. It was cold and the sky was pouring down rain on the night of November 17th, 92. My companion was lounging on the couch in his night-gown; the room was full of news journals of the past days in which there were many cases that had been solved by the Great Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard whom usually consulted my dear friend when he found himself with an impossible case such as in A Study in Scarlett. But it had not been so for quite some time. Holmes was preparing his usual dose of cocaine, all in complete ignorance of my prohibiting it. I was furious at the site of him destroying his marvelous mental abilities which some may consider a gift from the gods. I scolded him many a time before for his use of cocaine to which he always replied I cannot live without brain-work. What else is there to live for my dear Watson? Because of this remark I began to sympathize with the idea of him using cocaine for it had been two weeks already with not a single case for him to work on. This type of boredom would not kill the ordinary man, but to my friend, it could prove fatal. While we were arguing on his mistreating of his brain, there was a loud banging at the door. We both could hear Mrs. Hudson answering the door and the loud footsteps that followed after the door closed. When suddenly, in rushed Inspector Lestrade. He was evidently out of breath and was soaked from having to travel through the horrible weather of the night. He spoke fast and with many interruptions in order to catch his breath; Mr. Holmes I have come..to consult you for I fear that time is..of the essence in the case that I have upon..my hands I then noticed the wet envelope that he carried in his hand which he handed to my friend saying Something terrible has happened Mr. Holmes and I have been dispatched immediately to solve the case. After going through the facts myself, I knew that this case is of the utmost importance and as you have seen in the papers, I have been pretty busy solving cases myself. I am fully capable of solving this case on my own but I was ordered to seek your help. The client wanted you personally to help with the investigation. I am sure you will know why, once you read the message. Well Inspector Lestrade, I would say that luck is in your favor for you have found me at a time where I am absolutely available to assist. But, may I inquire who this client may be? said Holmes. That is impossible Mr. Holmes for I have been ordered to maintain the identity completely anonymous. Not even the journals know about this. The client has explicitly stated that this be kept completely disregarded by the public to which I assured them that
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her troubles my utmost priority until I have found the heir to the throne. After this statement I was shocked and stood watching the inspector as his jaw dropped in awe and was wondering how Holmes had come to know this information. I will let her majesty know that you have agreed to take on her case and that you will certainly find her lost one. The inspector then proceeded to leave the room. At this moment I turned to my companion who was laughing at the image of the inspectors expression and knew exactly what I was about to ask. Holmes, how could you have possibly known that the anonymous client was the Queen herself? I asked. Why my dear Watson, it is very simple he said. But how could you have possibly known from reading that single note, it is obvious that it has to be from someone of wealth which even I can deduce from the references that she makes. But how did you deduce it was the Queen when it is signed E.I.? There lies your mistake Watson; there is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact Said Holmes. I shall proceed to enlighten you Watson, but this is a case which cannot leave your journals for some time. It must not be published any time soon for we may actually have serious repercussions if this were to take some light right after we solve the case. I told him that I gave him my word as a gentleman and that he knew I would not publish it until years had passed. After doing this, I proceeded to ask him to explain his deductions. He said Watson! You know my methods! and chuckled. First of all, the inspector obviously dropped any case that he was working on and immediately sought out my expertise, making this a very urgent matter. It has to be a person who would have an extreme amount of influence over the police force. I knew it was a woman for the inspector himself used she repeatedly while referring to the client. I also know that the Queen has an heir to the throne. That is how I came to deduce that our anonymous client was her majesty, Queen Victoria. But the anonymous client has to have the initials E.I. in their name because thats how the letter was signed. Ah ha, it seems that you are not quite up to par on your historical events of this great nation. Our dearest Queen has the title of Empress of India, and since she tried to hide her identity, per say, she signed with one of her other titles, which she received at the Delhi Durbar in 1877 which is a type of coronation ceremony. That is how I came to know who the not belongs to. On that note, it is better that you get some rest, for we have a long investigation ahead of us and I have the feeling we may be find ourselves in Royal presence. Good night Watson! He said. Time for breakfast had come and Holmes was nowhere to be found. As I enjoyed my breakfast laid out by Mrs. Hudson I pondered upon what may have happened to one of the royals. As I finished my breakfast, in came Holmes. Good! Youre up; it is time for us to depart to the scene of the abduction. Our dear Inspector Lestrade shall be waiting for us there. Where have you
you are a man of honor and of extreme discretion. At this moment both, my companion and the inspector looked at me until I gave my word that I would maintain this case under the highest degree of secrecy possible until was solved and the client would have no repercussions. While I made my oath of secrecy to the inspector, I could see that Holmes had started to analyze the envelope which was handed to him by the inspector. Holmes then read the note aloud, which said: Mr. Sherlock Holmes, There has been a grave incident in which one of our own has been abducted from their home. Your reputation precedes you as one of the greatest detectives in all of England. I came to know about your hand in the case that the Grand Duke of Cassel- Felstein, now the King of Bohemia, came to you with. I also heard of your recovery of a very rare blue carbuncle stolen from my dearest friends hotel room, the Countess of Morcar. Therefore we are counting on your expertise or luck, whichever it may be to find our heir, For the reward may be the largest you have ever had, if you live up to the expectations. -E.I. After he read the note, my friend stood silent with a dazed look in his eyes as he proceeded to analyze every detail possible in that single note. While I was accustomed to being left in silence while he performed his routine analysis of an object, the Inspector looked at him in the weirdest of contemplations. Therefore I addressed him explaining that he was just analyzing the note, when the Inspector interrupted Dear Mr. Holmes, I pray that you delay no further for that note will not help you in any way possible. I beg to differ Inspector Lestrade, I need to know all I can about the client in order to be certain that I have not missed a single aspect for that may prove to be the downfall of the success of this case. After this remark, the inspector stated; My client does not wish to have her identity known Mr. Holmes, I would appreciate it if you did not inquire any further upon the subject and get straight to solving the case. It is not a subject you wish to inquire further for you may find yourself with detrimental consequences. As the inspector opened the door he stopped and told Holmes and I that he would bring us more information regarding the case in the morning after breakfast time and he would take us to the place of the abduction. We shall be waiting for you inspector said Holmes. Oh! And pray tell her majesty, Queen Victoria, that I shall make
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been Holmes? You have not touched your breakfast I was out collecting some facts and instructing our dear Wiggins with orders. Hurry Watson I shall tell you more about my morning on the way And where exactly is it we are going, if I may ask? Why we are headed to Norfolk; to the residence of the Prince of Wales. So he is the one who has been abducted? It appears to be so. We shall go to the train station and take the first departure to Norfolk. Hurry Watson, our hansom is waiting for us alright, alright Holmes let me get my coat Off we went with our usual hansom driver Mr. Johnson, a nice fellow. He wore a bushy grey beard, and his face showed wrinkles from old age. He was of a stout build and hands showed great strength from pulling on reins his whole life. He was none the less always at our door when we needed to be somewhere fast. To the train station Mr. Johnson, it is of great importance that we take the first departure to Norfolk Understood Mr. Holmes replied our driver. Holmes, now where was it you said you went this morning? Ah Watson, after our lovely chat with Inspector Lestrade I started thinking about the family heirs and who may have some kind of grudge against the royal family. None came to mind after thinking about every possible suspect and their whereabouts. So I decided to consult with our dear Wiggins and instructed him to set every street Arab on the search for any activity regarding a kidnapping and to keep me updated on his findings daily. Said Holmes just as our hansom pulled to a stop and we boarded the first train to Norfolk just in the nick of time. Our train ride was one full of silence as Holmes crossed his fingers on his lap and thought deeply on the details he knew so far about the case. Upon our arrival at the Norfolk station we were greeted by Inspector Lestrade.
Gentleman, if you would be so kind as to follow me in this landau, the client awaits us. And I must say she is very impatient because of this situation. I can only imagine Said Holmes as we boarded the landau and arrived at Sandringham House, summer retreat of the Prince of Wales. The house was very impressive as we approached it, surrounded by woods and very private. At the house we were greeted by his wife Alexandra whom seemed exasperated and torn because of the situation. The moment she caught eye of the landau pulling up to the entrance, she gleamed and appeared to have regained some hope. Mr. Holmes I am glad you responded so quickly in such short notice. It has been a very long night since my husband has gone missing. Maam has he gone missing or has he been kidnapped? The letter sent to me by her majesty stated that your husband had been abducted. I am not sure that he has been kidnapped or has gone missing. Why do you say that? Please Mr. Holmes do not mock me and tell me that you have not heard about my husbands mistresses. The empire in its entirety knows about it. Yes maam Im aware of those rumors. But I know of none that leave anywhere near Norfolk. Do you know of anyone he may be seeing here? No, I havent the slightest idea. For he always leaves on hunting trips on his own and comes back at night in time for dinner. But this time he never returned. Did he leave with anyone? Is there anyone he usually hunts with, a companion, a friend? No Mr. Holmes, he always leaves on his own, because this is our summer home we do not maintain relationships with our neighbors because of the lack of time so, no. Well seems that there is not much we can do but wait and see if he shall return. Until then Watson please go back to London and talk to Wiggins and see what he has figured out I was very confused as to his instructions but did not question them and proceeded to board the landau again when he reached my arm to say good bye and slipped me a piece of paper without anyone noticing while he directed Lestrades attention to the woods and asked his opinion on the case and what his conclusions were. On the way to the train station I read the note that left me very puzzled: Watson, Go to London and get the information from Wiggins, then you must get Toby. You know where to find him. And come back here tomorrow morning in the first train. I shall meet you outside the house so that we may begin our search. And give this note to Wiggins. Ps. I shall pay you back the money
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noticed that there had been some kind of quarrel where it was laying. Thats Edwards rifle! screamed Alexandra as we approached the scene. There were blood stains and foot prints all around. But then Toby circled around the scene and proceeded towards an open field where there was a house. Holmes had enough time to look at the scene with the rifle for a few seconds because Toby pulled him to the front door step of the house in the open field.
At my arrival at the train station in London, I was surprised by Wiggins. He knew that I would be coming back and awaited my return. Wiggins, how is it you knew to be waiting for me? Mr. Holmes instructed me to be here at this time in order to give you the information I gathered. And that you would be paying for our services. This is when I knew what he meant by the money. So what is it you have gathered? There have been multiple kidnappings but only one coming from the Norfolk area. I heard this at a bar on 4th St. where three men were boasting about having gained a huge purse after taking someone for a ride. They were talking about their adventure and how they were in Norfolk the night before and had arrived to London that morning. Good job Wiggins, I shall let Holmes know your message and here is your payment as well as this note which is for you. I then headed out of the station to find Mr. Johnson waiting for me. When he saw me coming out he approached me and offered me a ride. As he did so, I said let me guess, Holmes told you to be here. Yes sir. Said Johson as he grinned. Where shall I take you Mr. Watson? To see Mr. Sherman, at No. 3 Pinchin Lane in Lambeth Very well sir said Johnson. As you may recall, Toby is the best tracking hound as considered by Holmes. He managed to be of great help in The Sign of the Four when he used his tracking nose to help solve the case. As we arrived at Mr. Shermans I requested Toby and he remembered that I came in place of Holmes. He gladly handed me the ugly long haired, lop-eared creature, half spaniel and half lurcher. I then headed back to the train station and managed to take the midnight train to Norfolk which would have me there by morning. Once I arrived at Norfolk I took the neared landau to the Sandringham House in order to meet Holmes there. As soon as I pulled on to the property Toby started barking and jumped off the landau to greet Holmes. Good boy, Toby said Holmes as I approached them. Inspector Lestrade and Holmes were on their way out. I asked where they were going and Holmes said we were headed to look for more tracks because after you departed last night we went out looking for the princes tracks but could not find any. But now that you have brought Toby we may have better luck. Alexandra, would you be so kind as to get me a piece of clothing that belongs to Prince Edward. What good will that do Mr. Holmes? Toby here, despite his appearance is the finest tracking dog in all of London. So if you may give me an article with the Princes scent, we shall find him in no time. Alexandra then sent one of her maids to fetch a shirt that belonged to the Prince and handed it to Holmes. Holmes then placed it in front of Toby and latched on his leash so that he may do his job. The dog smelled the shirt and then shot his nose up into the air and then started to walk towards the woods and began to pull on the leash that Holmes had been holding. At this moment we all began to follow Toby, including Alexandra who was eager to find her husband. After walking through the woods we found the rifle that belonged to the Prince, and
After Holmes knocked on the door, out came the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her name was Sarah Brubaker. We explained to her the reason behind our visit. She instantly broke down in tears and asked us if we had found Prince Edward. Have you found him Mr. Holmes? He left my house last night after coming to visit and she put her head down in shame. You have nothing to be ashamed of Ms. Sarah, we are only trying to find the prince and we need all the help we can get. Thank you Mr. Holmes. He came by last night as he does every summer. He comes here with the excuse of going hunting so that his wife does not question where he is going or gets suspicious that he is seeing someone else. But last night he told me that he was worried that this may be the last night he comes because his wife was beginning to act indifferent as if she knew something was going on. And then he left in order to make it back in time for dinner. That was the last I saw him. Thank you so much for your cooperation. I think we have caused you enough pain for the night. And rest assured that the Prince will be found without harm said Holmes as he winked at Ms. Sarah and we walked away from her house. Infuriated Alexandra demanded that Inspector Lestrade arrest her for adultery but Holmes prevented him
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from doing so claiming that he had not sufficient evidence to hold up in court. Lestrade had to agree with him and began to walk back with Alexandra. Upon our arrival at the Sandringham House, there was an officer there with excellent news. Inspector Lestrade, I have brought news to you and Mr. Holmes that we have found the Prince and he is alive and well. But how can this be! exclaimed Lestrade how did you know where to look? Apparently a young boy came in to Scotland Yard with valuable information about a kidnapping and we proceeded to arrest the culprits. But they got away after fleeing from a bar where they were drinking. We managed to save the Prince and he is well and on his way. But who was the culprit behind this attack? How could those low lives have known where to find the Prince and know about his affair with Ms. Sarah? asked Inspector Lestrade. They didnt said Holmes. The mastermind behind this plan is his wife, Alexandra. Everyone was shocked at this accusation. After this remark, Alexandra tried to run towards the rifle that we had been carrying back from the scene in the woods. Holmes managed to apprehend her in time before she committed another crime. She then began to weep and explained why she did it. My husband has caused me great shame and dishonor. Everyone in the whole world knows about his affairs and I cannot go through a divorce with him. He disgusts me and the only way I saw for our separation was his disappearance, even if he is the heir to the throne. Inspector, I think it best if you take her to her Majesty so that they deal with this family matter in private said Holmes as he pulled Toby and started to mount the landau that had been waiting for us since my arrival that morning. On our train ride back to London I could not help but wonder how the police came to know about the Prince and his raptors. I asked how do you explain Scotland Yard finding the Prince without your help Holmes? There is your answer my dear Watson, they did have my
help. That boy they received the information from was none other than Wiggins himself. Job well done I must say. But how did he know to alert the authorities without your orders? Remember that second note you were told to give to Wiggins? Well everything was instructed on that simple piece of paper. I knew the Prince would have to be out of Norfolk and most likely in London where all the culprits culminate. I knew only the Baker Street irregulars could do the job, and so they did. What can you tell me about her Majesty? That note seemed pretty alarming for us to not have seen here at all, especially since it was a case dealing with the heir to the throne, dont you think? I am pretty sure that Queen Victoria did no write that note. She would have no reason to sign it with the initial E.I. because she sent an officer who would never disclose any information especially when it was a case of great importance. That is why I have my suspicions that her Majesty never knew what happened to Prince Edward until he was taken home this morning. Also, why did you summon Toby when you are a great tracker yourself? Well I knew that it would be very difficult to find Prince Edward for he is an experienced hunter and knew how to hide his tracks well in order to hide from his curious wife and time was of the essence. But I needed to know where the Prince had been and who he had seen in order to determine who the main culprit was. And after listening to Ms. Sarah give her account of the night, it was ever more clear to me that the jealousy of his wife Alexandra had become poisonous and she was the one who sent him off. Do you not remember her mentioning his affairs as soon as we stepped in her presence? That is what placed her as my main suspect. Well Holmes, you impress me every time, even after I have been with you for many years. Seems like Toby here has been of good help once again Holmes then stated: "Id rather have Toby's help than that of the whole detective force in London.
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III. THE ADVENTURE OF THE ARROW WHITE CARDS
We have had some most dramatic introductions and departures on our little stage here at Baker Street, but I can think of no other more startling then our first introduction to Mr. Henry Witticker. Sherlock Holmes and I sat by the fire on a cold rainy winter night. I had an exhausting day and was enjoying the calm silence that exists between friends of our nature. I was reading the newspaper when I looked up and saw Holmes starring out into the rainy abyss, brooding in his armchair. It had been quite some time since he had been presented with a case that strained his gifts of insight and deduction. I could read on his face the toll this lack of mental stimulation had on his patience. Upon discovering a headline that I thought might be of interested to Holmes, there was a bright stroke of lightening, a loud burst of thunder, and a pounding knock at the door. The door swung open and a shadowed figure burst in, bringing a cold sweep of winter air with him. When he moved into the light of the lamp, I observed that he was an elderly man, most likely in his late sixties. His clothes were that of a refined middle class man. He was of medium height and build. He had a stately appearance despite his increased age. He wore an ancient watch upon his wrist and a bowler hat upon his head. Despite being in seemingly good health, he staggered forward towards us having seeming to have rushed here in a hurry. When he had caught his breath and finally spoke, his deep voice filled the room. Which one of you gentleman is the consulting detective by the name of Sherlock Holmes? he prompted while his eyes darted between myself and Holmes. Holmes stood up and moved over towards the gentleman saying, I am Sherlock Holmes, and who might I be addressing? Holmes ushered the gentleman forward into our home as I stood up quickly and escorted him to an open arm chair. He replied, My name is Henry Witticker and I am here to tell you the most unusual of cases. My life has taken a turn into the unexplained full of secrets and deceit. I have heard that you are the one to employ to solve the unsolvable. Holmes looked the man up and down, taking in information by the power of his deductions unseen to me. I see that my reputation precedes me. You must have come here in a great haste upon a matter of the utmost personal importance. Pray tell what such matter could have forced a gentleman such as yourself to sneak out of your own house? Mr. Wittickers eyes grew wide and jaw dropped at Holmes knowledge of his late night secret. He quickly composed himself while obviously contemplating how best to respond to Holmes accusation. Though I have no idea what gave me away upon my departure yes, you are correct I did sneak out from my house this evening in order to not let my daughter know of our meeting. How could you tell simply of the way in which I exited my house? Holmes calmly responding, Anyone could have deduced as much upon simple observation. Your shoes have fresh mud surrounding the sides, showing that you must have walked through freshly made mud on your way over here tonight. This means that you must have not been walking solely on a paved path as would have been the case if you walked out your front door. You also are not wearing any sort of winter jacket. This shows that in addition to not having taken the front door where a coat rack would have been, you were in such a hurry has to not take in to account the weather. Your bowler cap is not quite fitted, but rather appears to be a bit snug and have hastily had dust brushed off. A gentleman such as yourself would not leave the house without your hat, but could not get your new one from the front room. This leaves me with the conclusion that you did not want to be seen, thus you hastily left through a back door accidently stepping into a freshly made muddy puddle. Now that you understand how Ive drawn my rather simple conclusion, please tell us your predicament so I made shed some light upon that as well. The new client full of awe at Holmes talent, wasted no time in diving into his story: Everything was normal just a few weeks ago. It was a fortnight ago today that the cards started appearing. In order for you to fully understand the severity of this case, its best that I start from the very beginning. I feel in love with my wife about 40 years ago. I knew the moment that we met that we would be wed. My affections were returned and we were married within the month. We were happily married for 10 years but had lost hope of her ever being able to bear a child, when our prayers were answered and my daughter Elizabeth was born. She was our miracle baby. We were a blessed family, and lived a life of bliss for the next 12 years. One day, my wife became very ill. Within a month she had passed away and I was left completely devastated. Ever since then my daughter has become my life. She is my stronghold and I love her beyond life itself. We are very close and our bond is one that any father or daughter would envy. Mr. Witticker then paused almost as if deciding weather or not to proceed. It was clear that it was hard for this prideful elderly man to share what seemed to be some deep family secrets. It is important for you to know that I have full trust in her. My daughter is a good, honest woman he continued feverously. She married a man by the name of John Laymond when she was 22. It felt as though he had appeared overnight. They met at the post office. What kind of way is that to meet your fiance? I was at first hesitant to the engagement for it happened so swiftly I was not prepared to let go of my
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little girl. She pleaded with me for my blessing and who was I to stand in the way of my daughters happiness for she so loves him. Since then I have still not been able to embrace John, there is something about him that has always kept me ill at ease. However his love and commitment to my daughter has been true. The predicament I now find my family in started two weeks ago when my daughter came home from the market. She greeted me and went to hang up her coat when a small white card fell out of her pocket. It simply read, Present the guilty and the innocents name will be set free. You have been warned. Neither she nor I could make head or tail of the cryptic message. We thought it was simply a practical joke by some creative children and she simply left the note on the table. When John got home from work that evening, he came and greeted Elizabeth as he always does, then noticed the note on the table. I have never seen such pure petrified fear and guilt spread across a mans face and sink into his eyes. It was as if the note had shaken his very soul. Where did this come from? he demanded with vigor. Elizabeth explained how she had discovered it in her pocket after returning home. She inquired what he knew about it and why he was so afraid. He looked at me, composed his expression, and murmured that it was nothing, and that he must go run an errand. With that he briskly walked back out the house. This incident disturbed me but I didnt think much more of it until two days later. I came home and heard her and her husband in an argument. She was yelling about how he cant keep secrets from her and that a marriage is founded on honesty. Now I must make you understand and I pray you will both keep my story between us. I would not want others to know of conflicts in my daughters marriage should this be resolved as a misunderstanding. He looked at us with expectant eyes, looking for confirmation that the integrity of his family would not be blemished by his new found troubles. I nodded as Holmes replied, Do not fear Mr. Witticker, whatever you may tell myself and my companion, Dr. Watson, will be kept the upmost secret. Mr. Witticker slowly nodded and continued, He calmed her down as he heard me come through the door and their conversation turned into a dull whisper. My daughter then came from their room to greet me and would not speak of the argument I had overheard, brushing it off and changing the subject. Ever since then my daughter has been acting distant, as if lost in her own mental dilemma and I have barely seen her husband. When I have hes seemed drained of color and of all vitality that used to be present in his character. Up until that point it had all been very peculiar but was no reason for me to believe she was in any danger. Until yesterday, I was stopping by and
retrieved the mail where I noticed another note, with the same handwriting as the last one. This one was the same size and shape, a small white card of paper with no specific indications as to the author. The only unique feature of the card was a small indented arrow on the back of the card. The note simply read, The truth will prevail, act now or suffer the consequences. This is when I began to worry for I fear that John and consequently my daughter may be mixed up in something dangerous. I have asked my daughter to confide in me and let me help understand what is going on but she claims to know nothing. This is why I have come to you Mr. Holmes. When Mr. Witticker had finished explaining his case, Holmes leaned back in his chair and nodded his head. If what you have told me in true, I believe there have been more notes then the two you have seen. Do you have these notes with you?
Yes, I have the second note that I discovered yesterday. He removed a small white card from his pocket and passed it Holmes. Holmes shined it up to the light and delicately examined both the front and back of the card. This provides to be a most unusual case. I will follow up on some observations I have made tonight, and we will proceed with the case together in the morning, Holmes said while standing up and moving to the door with Mr. Witticker. Thank you for taking on my case Mr. Holmes, your help is much appreciated, Mr. Witticker replied letting out a sigh of relief.
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conversation. Speak nothing of me and of our mission, pretend you are an old friend of Mr. Wittickers if his daughter is to ask. Mr. Witticker knows that you are coming to discuss a matter and to simply go along. Stay for about an hour and make sure to leave promptly at two oclock. Walk towards east down the street towards the post office and you will find me. Do not give him word of my whereabouts or disguise and trust me that there is a method to my madness he explained as we walked towards the door. The address is 419 West Cherry Street. If all goes according to plan, we will have solved this mystery and returned Mr. Witticker to a sound piece of mind by nightfall. I nodded in agreement to Holmes plan and went to grab my coat. Dont forget your pistol Watson; you never know when it might prove useful. As we stepped outside our apartment, I turned right in order to hail a cabbie. I turned around to usher over Holmes but he had disappeared. I have long since stopped questioning my dear friends peculiar habits, however the surprise and confusion has not quite been suppressed. I proceeded on my way to West Cherry Street curious as to how the rest of the days events would unfold. Upon arriving at the Witticker residence, I made my way up the stoop when the door was thrust open by a beautiful young woman. She had dark flowing curls and pool blue bright eyes. Hello sir what can I do for you? she addressed me with a soft timid smile. Why hello there madam, my name is Dr. Watson and I am a friend of Mr. Witticker I replied. Oh any friend of fathers is always welcome in our household! Please do come in, I will run upstairs and fetch him now for you. No need my dear, bellowed Mr. Witticker as he ambled down the steps. Why hello Dr. Watson, how might you be on this fine afternoon? We began a pleasantry of greetings and conversation as he guided me into the foyer. Just as Mrs. Laymond was offering to fetch us some drinks, Mr. Laymond came into the room. There is no more accurate description of Mr. Laymonds appearance then that of a ghost. He was pale and sickly, as if having a perpetual look of fear stricken across his face. He looked at each of us about the room before addressing his wife asking, And who might we have here? Before his wife could answer Mr. Witticker replied, This is a dear friend of mine, Dr. Watson, who has stopped by to pay me a visit. Mr. Laymond nodded and proceeded to politely excuse himself to run an errand. I do apologize Dr. Watson, John has not been himself these past few weeks. I believe he has been caught up with troubles from work Mrs. Laymond explained in earnest as a means of excusing her husbands curt behavior. I nodded and gave her an understanding smile. She blushed and the three of us continued on a pleasant conversation. I checked my pocket watch showing me that the time was now 1:55. Following Holmes instructions, I politely excused myself explaining I had an appointment to keep. I turned east down the avenue looking out for my ruffian
After we bid Mr. Witticker farewell, I turned to my companion and inquired, What do you make of this case? It reminds me of the case with the five orange seeds or that of the dancing men, seems to be some twisted form of blackmail. Very good Watson, I see that your wit is becoming better given over the time youve spent immersed in my cases. Yes I do believe this may be a case of blackmail of some sort, but I also believe there is much more to the story. Upon observing the card you will notice that it is exactly that, a card. Rather than simply a piece of paper it is of a thicker, higher quality material. The note was not written hastily, but with much purpose and meditation. The author made no effort to hide his personal handwriting, the penmanship is meticulous. In addition, the arrow on the back of the card is most clearly a message to Mr. Laymond, an inside secret of some kind. Providing Mr. Laymond knows his black mailer personally, the author wants him to know his identity. I would suggest that the author of this note is an old friend from some secret part of Mr. Laymonds past. He is looking for revenge and wants to strike fear into Mr. Laymond before he reveals how he will act. Our goal is to catch this culprit before he turns from threats to violence. With that Sherlock sat back in his favorite armchair and turned to watch the storm. The thunder and lightning had subsided leaving but a dull quite lull of the rain. I could see from Holmes demeanor that he was lost in thought, contemplating the different angles of his new case while thumbing the little white card. I bid Holmes goodnight and retired to bed, excited for what adventures the next day might hold. I awoke the next morning to Holmes hitting me with a cane, good morning old chap! It is no time for sleep when we have a case such as this on our hands, its time to greet the day and solve a mystery, he shouted as he exited the room and made his way to the kitchen. I rushed to get ready and when I went to meet him downstairs I was shocked to not see Holmes in his regular attire, but rather dressed as someone I didnt even recognize. He was dressed as a common street beggar, complete with soot covered face and rags for clothes. He was hunched over with a scraggly beard. What I had earlier mistaken for a cane was actually a large walking stick. He hobbled over to me with a cackling laugh at my bewildered expression. With a wink he said in raspy voice I would not have placed as his own, today were departing on a little adventure. I see that this is an adventure of reconnaissance, for there must be a reason for your change in appearance I said whilst examining his new look. Aye and you are right my dear Watson. Upon some research last night and a few early morning telegrams this morning, I have a few ideas as to the nature of the blackmail cards. In order to test these theories I need to gather some final information of which you will play a pivotal role. Were going to journey over to the house of Mr. Witticker, and you are to engage him into
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among the street arabs. I had walked about three blocks and was beginning to doubt my comrade when I heard a loud painful cry from a back alley way. I turned to find Holmes leaning back against a wall platonically watching Mr. Laymond and another man fist fight in an all-out brawl. The man whom I did not know had pinned Mr. Laymond down and was yelling, Come clean, clear my brothers name and admit your guilt!
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Ah, Dr. Watson you have come just on time! Please help me remove and calm Mr. Rhine. With pistol drawn if necessary, Holmes calmly said as he walked over to the fighting pair, prying the supposed Mr. Rhine from strangling Mr. Laymond. I jumped in to help constrain Mr. Rhine as he continued to try to swing at Mr. Laymond. What on earth is going on here Holmes? I demanded completely bewildered at this surprising change of events. This fellow here is Mr. Benjamin Rhine. His younger brother used to be Gregory Rhine who was shot after an attempted robbery gone wrong up in Nottingham about two years ago, Holmes began to explain. I looked at Mr. Rhine, whose face was flushed with anger and a fresh wound dripping blood down his face. His expression changed from pain to rage as he yelled at Mr. Laymond, You let Gregory take the fall! Its your fault hes dead, you should have died not him. You are to blame for my families ruin! I looked over at Mr. Laymond who had sunk against the wall and help his head in his hands. He looked up, face ashen white. As tears welled in his eyes he replied in a soft whisper, Im so sorry Ben, I wanted to. Greg was more than my best friend; he was like a brother to me. After that nightI
didnt know what to do but skip town, leave behind the pain and mistakes. We had it all planned out, the bank maps, the exact time the guard would be gone from his postI cant remember what went wrong. One moment everythings going according to plan and the next, Gregs been shot and Im running for my life. I fled to London and was going to telegram you and explain, but thats when I met Elizabeth. We fell in love. It was just so much easier to leave the past behind, leave my memories of a life lived as John Andrews die with Greg he trailed off as his head sunk back into his hands. We sat there in silence for a minute then Sherlock turned to me saying, To help with your confusion Watson, dear Mr. Rhine here sought after the old John Andrews. Upon discovering his change in identity to John Laymond, he began to send the threating cards. Ah I see, the story is starting to piece itself together. Now how do we proceed? I inquired. Well I see no reason to integrate Scotland Yard as to my knowledge Mr. Rhine here is under questioning for some robberies of his own back in Nottingham, Sherlock explained whilst giving Mr. Rhine a questioning look. He in turn shot Holmes a nasty glare before letting his expression fall neutral as he avoided eye contact. Holmes continued, So if these two gentlemen can work out their own personal troubles and grudges, I see no reason to contact Lestrage. With that Holmes released Mr. Rhine, crossed his arms and waited to see how the men would react. They stared at each other for a moment then Mr. Rhine extended an arm to help Mr. Laymond up. Sherlock gave them both a nod before saying, Come along Watson, we wont want to be late for supper, and proceeded down the road towards Baker Street. I jogged along to catch up with his brisk pace. How do we know that the moment we leave they wont kill each other? I anxiously asked. We dont, curtly replied Holmes. However from what I can deduce of Mr. Rhines character, he is full of anger but would never move to fatally harm Mr. Laymond. The cards were in order to scare Laymond, he only acted in violence is a fit of rage provoked by me, Sherlock explained. Provoked by you? Do tell how you discovered the story of the late Gregory Rhine and his connection to our case. The telltale sign was the arrow on the back of the card. Being able to deduce the cards were from some figure of Laymonds past made it easy for me to deduce his origin being Nottingham. Nottingham is the home of Robin Hood, where many local vigilantes use the arrow as there symbol in contacting one another. Upon doing some digging I discovered the death of Gregory Rhine followed by the disappearance of John Andrews. The robbery and consequent series of events aligned perfectly with the appearance of John Laymond here in London. Knowing that there must be another key player that was out for vengeance, the obvious conclusion was that of the older Rhine brother. The cards exposed Rhines passive nature but also his extreme resentment and feelings of betrayal. I
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forward attacking Mr. Laymond. Thats about the point when you appeared, helping me to resolve the problem. I nodded along taking in all the whirlwind events of the day. What are you going to say to Mr. Witticker? Are you going to tell him of Mr. Laymonds past? I inquired wondering how Holmes was planning to resolve the case. Mr. Laymond is a good man who became caught up in the wrong activities in his youth. I see no reason to reveal his personal past now that the conflict has been resolved, the cards will cease, and his conscience cleared. I will telegram him later this evening with news that the matter has been resolved and that it was nothing more than a misunderstanding.
thus could deduce that Rhine must be following Laymond in order to deposit the cards in such a variety of places. The best way I could think of to draw out Mr. Rhine was first to draw out Mr. Laymond. Consequently I sent you to distract Mr. Witticker and Elizabeth, leaving time for Laymond to exit the household. Dressed as a beggar, I was undetected as I followed Mr. Laymond about the city. When I knew that you would soon be on your way, I approached Mr. Laymond claiming to know his true identity and that he was a part of the burglary that killed the young Gregory Rhine. With this the elder Mr. Rhine could not hold himself back in the shadows, but burst

IV. THE TWINS AND THE MANUSCRIPT
Part 1 I ascended the flight of stairs at 221b Baker Street one warm and damp afternoon on Monday, March 22, 1888. I had the intention of sharing a quiet afternoon tea with my old colleague who was, as I thought at the time, in another one of his gloomy moods arising from as he put it stagnation of the mind. To take his attention away from that despicable substance, cocaine, which he relished for the strange stupor it inflicted on even the most academic and intellectual of minds, I had brought some scented indian tobacco that I had received from a gracious former patient, as well as a bottle of Port I had kept in my cabinet for some time. My hope was that he would go at least for strong substances that inflicted more calamity on the kidney and lungs than the nervous system. My efforts, as I was soon to discover, were absolutely superfluous and unnecessary. As I entered the familiar old sitting room, I was surprised to see an old tail coat hung very jauntily over a makeshift figure at the center of the room, comprised out of a hat stand and coat hanger. Overall, It gave the impression that my irreprehensible friend was engaged in the creation of a ramshackle manikin. Holmes was nowhere to be seen. After looking around for several minutes, and finding no note, I set my arms akimbo, and sighed. All right, Holmes, what are you up to? Getting a privileged perception. I whirled around and squinted to see Holmes lying sideways on top of the high book-case against the wall, quite concealed in the shadows. He chuckled to himself as he descended down the shelves as one descends a ladder, as quickly as a schoolboy, and almost as jauntily. That gave you a surprise, did it, Watson? he said, while dropping beyond the last shelf and springing up with his usual cool expression as if there were nothing peculiar about lounging on dusty shelves in the late afternoon. Well, I began, setting my bundle of port, tobacco, and assorted daily items on the davenport, not so much as finding you disguised as Moses in an opium den, though the whole business of coats on hat-racks and dusty lounging-spaces has me quite mystified. Another fantastic mystery, I presume? Holmes commenced to brush off his dusty countenance as he spoke, making such a grey mess on the rug that I am sure led Mrs. Hudson to a frightful state later that evening. Not nearly as fantastic yet as our affair with Mr. St Clair, though I daresay it is a mystery sure enough. Yesterday evening there was an auction hosted just off Trafalgar Square by the British Society for Historical Manuscripts. Despite their name, it is a ramshackle group of imbeciles, who make pennies on the pound for old rags they claim to be of so called historical value. They hawk their goods as soon as they get enough for a street auction for pitiable prices; honestly, any one of my street arabs has ten times the selling sense of any of those sorry scallywags. It has crossed my mind, however, that one day something really valuable may fall into their hands, and they wont even know it, as has happened only recently. At this he laid the previous days Issue of the Daily Telegram in my hands, and commenced to opening the port, pouring its contents into two thin goblets he had waiting on his desk. The headline read Guttenberg Bible Missing From National Library: Large Reward Offered for Pertinent Information. Holmes strolled over with the goblets. As it happened, I was lounging around on a scaffold disguised as a worker attempting to amuse myself with the plights of the common man, and this auction was going on beneath me. Naturally, I took stock
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of each and every purchase sold, and the general clothing and appearance of the buyers. When I saw the headline at my return around high noon, I recalled seeing a gentleman who made off with a very large bundle, about the size of our blessed Bible, and bounded back to the square at once to follow this gentlemans steps. My mind, as you know, does not account for coincidence, and I made some quick logical connections forcing me to believe one of the most invaluable manuscripts on this island had just been sold for no more than the despicably low price of ten pounds. At any rate, despite the confused array of footprints in the mud, I recall he went off an alley adjacent to White Hall, and soon picked up a trail of prints with a stride length that betrayed his enormous height, and a depth of indentation that betrayed his heavy load. My dear Watson, I got more than I ever could have dreamed. At this, he took a swig of port and looked contemplatively at the glass. Really man, you should not bring wines that have been sitting in your cabinet for months if you want to drive me from my own comfortable toxins. At any rate, at five and a half blocks, the prints showed that the man stopped dead in his tracks for a few moments and commenced to drop his coat, from the apparent shock of realization of what he had just bought. It has now, fortunately, dropped to me. Then he hurried to the next alleyway and several hundred steps down, almost perfectly concealed behind an old brick stairwell and quite concealed in the shadows, was the manuscript itself. At that point, he hailed a taxi, for the footprints stopped, and I could no more follow the man. Now there is the book, he said, pointing to the bundle on the table that was unmistakably the old sacred text, And here is our key, he said, handing me the garments that had been placed on the hat-rack. What can you deduce? I took the black overcoat from his clever white fingers and gave both items close look over under the yellow light of the overhanging gas lamp and after several minutes, pronounced Well, he is a man of wealth, since this seems to be of the finest brand of spun cotton overcoats. Holmes shook his head and sighed deeply. My poor, poor fellow, has all your time with me taught you nothing of the simple processes of observation and deduction? This previously wealthy man, who used to live in the southern United States has fallen upon hard times because of mere managerial difficulties in the company in which he used to work and has taken a temporary position as a clerk near the docks in an unheated building in south Westminster, I believe. A high level of stress in his life has led to premature balding, though he is a proud and meticulous fellow in his everyday dealings, and does not refrain from scenting his hands with mint every morning, and is currently living in a suburb of Camden. My years of experience with the sly master of mystery stopped me from staring at my companion in shock. Still, I raised my eyes to his thin aquiline face, which had the faintest hint of a smirk, and to show I was
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impressed, raised my glass, and toasted to the health of is incredible mind. A pretty puzzle, but you always have a way of unraveling such trifles. Well, go ahead then; how did you do it? Holmes put down his glass, still half-smirking, and folded his hands behind his back, beginning to pace like a parent lecturing an ignorant child. The simplicity of it all is enough to stagnate the mind, my friend. This coat, of a thick but good-quality fabric is of a brand known as Gordons, which is preferred by both the upper and middling classes in the United States. This is of one of their more stylish lines, and is one of the few suit coats they make. The brand is only popular in the United States, since our noble island has more refined tastes. As to its origin in the southern country, there are distinct sweat marks on the armpit, and the neckline, and faint traces of red clay on the inside of the coat tails, a class of soil only found in the south eastern United States. Whoever this fellow is, he has spent enough of his time in America to have permanent dirt stains, and distinct sweat marks, despite repeated washings. As to his falling from a well-paying job, you can see distinctly in the pocket where he would have kept his wallet a particular wearing of the fabric that indicates a billfold bulging with money you also, no doubt detected the faint hint of sadlewood leather. However, the indentation is aged, indicating that his wallet has seen fatter days, and has been rather thin of late. But such a meticulous fellow could not have lost his job because of sloth or disorganization. The coat has unmistakable fold marks from routine and meticulous care, and there are indentations and pattern marks from the leather needlework on the wallet, and the damascene relief on his watch, which he invariably kept in his right and left jacket pockets, respectively. As to his retention of the position of clerk, youll notice his right cuff has been worn from continual writing, and the sleeve has faint ink marks youll notice this as another indication of his meticulous nature - a less careful man would leave the marks as they were, but he takes care to scrub them out. Also, these smell faintly of mint, indicating his peculiar but classy habit of scenting his hands. The penetrating scent of the jacket is of pine beams, which most of the ramshackle apartments in Camden town are constructed out of, but there is a subtle piscatorial scent, which I recognize as raw tilapia just north of the Thames in Westminster is a tilapia vendor who works adjacent to several small trade shops, each of which could accommodate a good clerk. As to his age and stress, I found no less than 10 long but perfectly mousebrown hairs in the rim of the collar, stems still attached. How else could he have lost these if not by stress-induced hair loss? If the man is losing this much hair in an hour, he will soon resemble our friend Mr. Thaddeus Sholto! So there you have it, my friend simplicity itself! He straightened up and downed the rest of the contents of his glass. Now, he began, If I am to learn anything about this fellow, and his tie to our beloved manuscript, I ought to meet him.
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Nonsense Watson, old fellow. He spoke as he produced a pipe from some hidden pocket and filled it. Youre tending to me the rest of the afternoon, and believe me, I dont think Ive ever needed your companionship more than now. Dont worry, Ive made arrangements, and all your patients will be serviced by top notch doctors. If were smart, we may have this case in the bag before the evening is out. Recovering from my shock, I shrugged my shoulders and pulled up a chair from a humble table by the bed. Very well, Holmes. What have you found? A skittish but brilliant American, a daft salesman, and a very promising lead. From his pocket, he produced a small scroll with oriental-looking characters. By their width and thick but rectangular treatment, I judged them to be of Chinese origin. As I examined this book, he struck a match and lit the contents of his pipe. After sending up a great plume of blue smoke, he continued. Just as I suspected, our American clerk worked in a pitiful, run-down trade shop just off the Thames. As you can imagine, he was frightened at first, but when I assured him that no one suspected him of any crime, he was transformed into a truly genuine fellow, and humored me with a few glasses of fine brandy he kept under his desk. I tell you Watson, most men from that continent are of a roughshod and exaggerated temperament, but there are a few gems among the bile heap. As I expected, he was very well learned in the history of western manuscripts, and had trained at Harvard for two years as a crack historian before his family fell into heavy debt, and he had to pull out of college. Originally from western North Carolina, his family had made a name for themselves before the war as large scale tobacco farmers, but has fallen on hard times since the carpetbagger intrusion, and this pitiable excuse for reconciliation the northern bankers and senators are calling Reconstruction. He sailed when he could not find respectable work, except as a sharecropper, and has been working as a clerk ever since, attending many small auctions and seminars pertaining to ancient manuscripts. After his latest purchase at the recent auction, he naturally abandoned the Bible when he realized what he had, to avoid suspicion. Fortunately, he was able to give me the name of the idiot who sold it to him, Frank Ghery, as well as this fine tobacco from his family farm. Holmes stopped for a moment and took a long drag to relish the sweet but sharp fumes from his pipe. He exhaled, and closed his eyes with a sigh delight as the plumes drifted to the wooden ceiling and lingered in an intoxicating haze. Now, he continued, this man, Ghery, was a complete cockney-accented dolt as you can imagine. Apart from his trouble in remembering the manuscript itself, his mental struggles to remember the man who gave it to him were comprehensive as they were saddening. Honestly, Watson sometimes I really question whether other humans even bother to use their brains. At any rate, he eventually found the dark corner of his memory with
I? I inquired, having recovered from the temporary pang of amusement at his meticulous way of solving cases, It seems that usually you prefer my company on such mysteries as this. And God knows I enjoy being in your service. Holmes long-stepped over to his coatrack, and took his hat and light overcoat from the pegs. As you may and so I do. But Americans, particularly out of their native land, are suspicious folk, and it might be best if I go to see him alone. The fact that he left his coat on the curb, as well as his loose hair in the collar proves him to be a frightful fellow, and a tense moment means a tenser tongue. An easy manner and a sharp wit can get you almost any information, provided you have the wherewithal to know how to use them. Ill pop in on you tomorrow in the afternoon and let you know how the case is progressing. But Holmes, I began, you know perfectly well that I have to tend to my rounds tomorrow. I won't be finished until 9:00 at the earliest. He gave me a sly sidelong glance as he made the final adjustments to his collar and cuff-buttons. Oh, he said, Im sure I can get you out of it. Ill find you around 5:00, wherever you are. And with a smart half-turn, and a quick smile, he stepped out with two long, loping steps, and slid the door behind him. By the next morning, I had forgotten the whole affair, and was making my rounds as was usual for Tuesdays. By a quarter past 5:00, I was walking along the base of Primrose Hill when I saw a commotion ahead of me at the edge of the stone wall on the southern rink. Rushing to the fray, I perceived a massively built fellow with long steel-colored hair and a tanned but heavily lined face lying on the sidewalk, a hand clutched to his side and a huge red stain of blood on the ground beside him. As he rocked, he moaned and made utterances that sounded Russian. When I asked what had happened, someone said he had fallen only moments earlier, and needed a doctor desperately. Rushing to a passing street arab, I produced a half-crown and told him to go to the local telegraph station and request a wire to the local hospitals with the information that Dr. Watson would be attending a seriously sick man and could not finish his rounds. Presently, I helped the huge fellow shuffle across the street to an inn, where I acquired a room to administer to his wounds. As we entered the humble space, and I shut the door, a familiar hearty laugh came from the man I had just lain down on the bed. I whirled around to see Holmes thin aquiline face emerging from behind the fake beard and toupee, perched atop a huge body not his own. My dear Watson, do my disguises still throw you? he laughed again as he undid the strings holding up his massive fake torso and became his old size as the cover slipped from under his shirt. I passed a hand over my face is despair. Holmes, you made me lose a patient, and if I get going, I might miss all the others!
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the description of the man, and it was no less than the head curator of the National Library himself. Upon further recollection, he remembered that it had been given freely by the man for no cost, and he did not appear to care whether he was recognized. He also remembers our man dropping this small oriental manuscript as he walked off, which fortunately he had not been able to sell. Why such a prestigious man should not care whether or not the general populace knows he is giving away our national treasures raises questions. In my opinion, Watson, this was a man in disguise, wishing to lay blame on the curator himself. Now, of course, we do not know the man, but we do know the imitation, and perhaps we can learn something from him of our criminal. If our man could imitate him so well, they must be well acquainted. If you could accompany me to visit this fellow to learn what we can, I would be most grateful. I pondered over his words. After all, I had nothing better to do for the rest of the day, having been fooled into dismissing myself from my medical duties. I shrugged, Very well, old friend. Im yours for the evening. As we walked down the stairs of the humble inn, I asked my companion, I say, Holmes, what was the name of the American clerk who abandoned the manuscript? He put on his coat with a flourish as he stepped out into the street and responded, Andrew Reynolds, I believe. Part 2 We stepped out into the dimming twilight as we pulled our coats tightly against the rapidly cooling weather. The uncharacteristic warmth of the previous day had all but fallen away and the cold damp pallor that so often covers the face of London had returned in earnest, making our embankment all the more dreary and foreboding. The gloom, however was lost on my friend who sauntered to the street and hailed a two-seater with a cheery flourish of his hand. When hot on the case, so little could dampen the mood of that impressive mind.
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We stepped gingerly into the cabin and closed the latch behind us. 36 Steele Road Holmes barked, and we rattled off into the night at a clipper pace. Our destination is none other than the residence of Dr. James Edenton, Holmes Explained. As the museums curator, he lives in a house provided by the museum society, and tends to his studies there. Our examination should yield significant new light on our case, but we shall see what we shall see. And at this, he commenced to fill his pipe. As we sped along, my old companion sat back in his seat, hands folded in front of his chest, eyes gently closed, with his mouth partly open in an expression of concentration that belied an intense focus on his thin face. I still marvel at his ability to detach himself from the physical aspect of a situation and focus solely on the facts of a case. Knowing any attempt at conversation would be futile, I contented myself to looking out at the pervasive yet ephemeral gloom so characteristic of London Town. As I watched the silhouettes of my countrymen pass in the night, I contemplated on the injustice of the crime committed. To the casual reader, the robbing of an old Bible may seem like such a trivial and unimportant affair, but to me, the old manuscript was, at the time, an object of national pride. Those tattered leaves of parchment and weathered leather covers are more than just dusty relics; they were part of the historical fiber of our island. A thread of national history that holds the garb of pride together that all Britons carry in their hearts and minds. Or so I saw it at the time. My mind burned for the criminal who wished to take that away, but by heart brimmed with hope as I looked back at my friend still meditating in his peculiar manner on the solution to our complex puzzle. I knew that if anyone could, Holmes would see justice served. But before our adventure came to an end, I was to learn a lesson in pride more potent than any I had received before. We pulled down a long wide drive, and came to a halt at a squat brick post with tile markers that read Dr. James Edenton, 36 Steele Road. Having paid our cabby, we ambled down the private walk, and watched a respectable looking three-story brick house emerge from the gloom. A light was on in the second floor, and a man working at a desk was just perceptible through the dense fog. Just as I suspected, said Holmes. I was going to inquire what he meant by this, but we had soon reached the front door and I proceeded to ring the bronze doorbell. After about a minute, we heard a slow shuffling of feet approaching the door, which opened backward with a creak as a deep but tired-sounding voice form within said May I help you, gentlemen? At first, the relative darkness of the interior hall masked our peculiar resident, but as our eyes adjusted, we perceived our man more clearly. He was somewhat shorter than I expected, being just under six feet tall, but his gaunt body made him seem taller than he was. His black waist-coat and trousers were both quite worn, but had been well cared for and neatly brushed. His cuffs were rolled to the elbow, and despite
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has been committed to the serving of justice through the constraints of English law. The only way your brother would be safe would be if he had remained in Manchester, and never taken to a life of crime in the first place. However, your testimony in his defense may help his case. At this, Mr. Edenton bent his head, and his face contorted into a look of such intense sadness as I have never seen in any other grown man. He wiped away a solitary tear that trickled down his cheek, then sniffed, and looked up in an expression of profound and solemn resignation. Very well, it appears you know much already. As you have said, I do have a brother a twin, whose name is Alfred. From infancy, Alfred and I were very close, and both of us shared a passion for the study of ancient history and the collection of historical artifacts. Alfred in particular was fascinated by oriental history, and was always conjuring theories on the demise of the Ming, or the stability of the Yuan. My interests were somewhat more conventional, and Anglo-Saxon migrations are really my passion. As he became more learned, he began to sympathize with the Chinese in particular because of their rough treatment by the Crown. As you can imagine, he received a lot of criticism from the lads in school, as well as some of our more conservative teachers, who were of a similar mind as Kipling, and had little sympathy for anti-nationalist sentiments. We both were able to attend Cambridge, but he was expelled when he tried to rob some of the choice pieces of the University collection of ancient roman scrolls. As he explained it to me, he was repaying years of injustice to our oriental brothers by returning what was rightfully theirs. We parted ways then, and over the years, I have kept a thin correspondence with him, and he has stolen from museums at Cambridge, Paris, Berlin, and even as far away as Budapest. I had not seen him in 10 years when he showed up at my house three days ago, and told me of his biggest plan yet the steal our Guttenberg Bible. He demanded that I give him the keys to the museum, and while I tried to reason with him, he remained obstinate, and forced me to give him the keys, as well as one of my best suits, and a check for 200 pounds. As soon as he left, I rushed a telegram to the bank canceling my account, so he has no funds at his disposal. Nonetheless, I saw the resolve in his eyes, and I can only assume that he carried out his plan and is now hiding somewhere in London. Holmes had been listening to his whole narrative in rapt attention, and when Mr. Edenton had finished, he sat up and said, Your exposition has cleared up any doubts I had in my mind, Mr. Edenton, and I thank you for the thoroughness of your answer. However, before Dr. Watson and I leave, I must know two things. First of all, you said that you believe your brother is still in London, but you know not where. Why would he not come back to you? As I said before, before our brief reunion, I had not seen him in 10 years, and he probably has friends elsewhere in the city. Besides, if any inspector such as
the warmth of the day, he wore ink-stained fingerless gloves over his hands. His long black hair was tied back with a crude thread, revealing a face that was not long and sinister, as I was expecting, but round and kindly, with twinkling eyes, and a long black beard that reached to his waist. His skin was pale, but not unnatural, and though the bones showed through his hands and face, he carried himself with humble yet dignified manner that belied a well-educated, yet not over-impressed gentleman. Though the years of experience with my friend told me not to trust gut feeling without facts, I felt strongly that this man was not the criminal we were pursuing. Why, yes, replied Holmes, My name is Sherlock Holmes, and this is my friend and companion, Dr. John Watson. I was just wondering if you would object to us coming in to ask you a few questions regarding a recent loss of a particular manuscript at the museum. A shadow passed over the mans face, and his kindly eyes were downcast. I should have expected this, eventually, I heard him mumble as he admitted us into his dark hall. I apologize for the darkness of my home, he said, I prefer to keep the gas turned low so that I have more money to spend on my hobby the hunt for new documents and manuscripts or the museum. Its pence on the pound, but every bit counts, so they say. As he was speaking, he led us down the dim hall to a red carpeted stairwell which we ascended to a glimmering light where we perceived his office to be. We entered to find a large room with a single window next to a large oaken desk with very neatly stacked leather volumes of all kinds surrounding a swivel chair that sat adjacent to a large bookcase and a pair of identical leather easy chairs, one worn, and the other as pristine as if it had been purchased the day before. The musty smell of old paper and used books filled the room, invoking an atmosphere of academic propriety and studiousness. You can take a seat if you like, Mr. Edenton said and motioned to the pair of armchairs, as he took his ease in the swivel chair by the desk. Out of deference for Holmes, I moved for the worn chair, but Holmes stopped me, sliding into the battered leather slowly, and shifting around until he settled, I suspect to get a better feel for our interviewee. He noticed Mr. Edenton watching him quizzically, and replied in earnest, Forgive me, but rheumatism has deigned a specific taste in seating accommodations. Now, if I may, there are a few questions I have regarding the missing Guttenberg Bible. Mr. Edenton finished. He looked up from his folded hands and his formerly grave face had become even graver. Mr. Holmes, I have heard of your success in solving cases, such as the business with Mr. Jefferson Hope, and I know it is futile to attempt to hide the truth from your meticulous and thorough methods. All I ask is that if I tell you who stole the manuscript, you dont deliver him directly to the law. Please give him one more chance. Holmes leaned forward, his easy countenance suddenly serious. I am sorry, Mr. Edenton, but my life
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yourself advanced in the right direction, I would be the prime suspect. Staying with me would be too volatile and risky. Mr. Edenton explained briefly I see replied Holmes. One more thing. Do you recognize this book? At this, he produced from his coat pocket the small booklet with Chinese characters I had seen at the inn and handed it to our interviewee. He looked at it briefly and handed it back with a look of the upmost depression. This was Alfreds first Chinese manuscript. He bought it at a small auction on a field trip when we were lads, and as far as I know, has carried it with him ever since. It contains a short history of China, as well as an explanation of the tenants of Daoism, a religion which he has converted to. That little carnival souvenir is his most prized possession, as far as I know. Homes took the booklet back from him, and pocketed it. Standing up, he turned, and said, Thank you for all your help, Mr. Edenton. I will keep you informed on the case, though I feel it is soon at an end. Justice is a sticky affair at times, but I will do what I can to see your brother is treated well and his sentence is fair. As we stepped out into the now deep grey and murky gloom of the backstreets of London, I remarked to Holmes, An easy piece of work, though you seemed to assume from the start that Mr. Edenton was not our criminal. I admit I felt sympathy for the man, but you usually have higher rationale. What convinced you? Holmes smiled, explaining while he filled his pipe with tobacco. Its perfectly simple, Watson. From what I have heard, he is a bit of a recluse, but is generally an earnest fellow and former Yorkshire man. I looked us his family history, and found he does indeed have a twin brother who disappeared when he was 20 years old, after being expelled from Cambridge for stealing some valuable documents from the school library. I had my suspicions this was the man we were looking for, but I needed confirmation from one of his more intimate, though perhaps distant resources his brother. Also, any self-respecting criminal of such high civic reputation as this would have flown the city shortly after the crime, or at least disguised the crime in a manner befitting his position. He has done neither, and remains at his original residence. Furthermore, you can see that though he is a man of respectable income, he appears to be the only occupant in the house, and thus does not keep servants. I expect we are dealing with a humble man of small needs, Watson nothing like a master criminal at all. I shrugged and looked ahead into the gloom as I said, Our target; however seems a different person entirely. His brother seems decent enough, but it sounds as though we are dealing with truly a sick and criminal mind here. Oh, on the contrary, said Holmes, Alfred Edenton sounds like a sensible lad who has been turned to crime by the persecution of a misinformed world. Despite the reports one reads in the paper, our treatment of the Orientals is as inhuman as our treatment of cattle for beef, or sheep for mutton. This man sees himself as a soldier of
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vengeance for those who have no voice, but to carry out his valiant crusade, he must break English law, and be brought to injustice by a system that clams a monopoly on justice. Once again the patriotic fire rose within me. Holmes, how could you! I ejaculated. Oh, open your eyes, Watson, he said. How is it that you think men of our class can live so highly? Subjugation by a stronger power has always been the norm, but as moral beings we have a duty do what we can to stop it, or at least scale down its ferocity. Patriotism is a mere excuse for violence and destruction. It is an impediment to reason, and a stumbling block to equitable governing. I admit that this fellow is in the wrong for stealing a national possession, but he is by no means wrong in rebelling against the powers of subjugation in this world. I only wish I could help him somehow. I was about to protest, but just then a cab pulled alongside us, and we hailed it. On our silent ride back to 221b Baker Street, I was at first appalled and angry at my friend for speaking out so brashly against his own homeland, and would have refused to speak to him, even if he had attempted a conversation. However, as I pondered over his words, I began to see the reason in his argument. I still did not agree that our criminal was in the right, but I began to see the injustice in the actions of my own country against the peoples of the nations we had conquered. As we rode back, I began to ask, what is it all for, but for pride? Indeed, what is pride, but an impediment to advancement, both personal and national? By the end of our ride, I had greatly changed my perspective. When we reached Baker Street, and Holmes disembarked, I had so much to ask and discuss with him, but only managed to inquire, Are you still going to pursue this fellow? Holmes paused for a moment, his hand still on the rail of the cab, the shadow cast by the dim streetlamp burning though the nocturnal London haze, covering his eyes, leaving the ghostly line of his mouth abandoned like a stern ribbon resting on his long chin. Yes, he said, but I have never been more conflicted about serving the law than I have in this case. Be here at 9:00 sharp tomorrow morning and we may yet have our man. Part 3 I arrived next morning to find my friend sitting in an armchair, chin in his left hand, newspaper in his right, staring intently out the window of our old living space with a grave and foreboding expression on his long face. I passed the neglected breakfast, and joined him by the window. I saw your ad in the paper, for the owner of a small Chinese manuscript to come by our apartment by 9:20 this morning. I said, trying to get some response out of him. If he is as attached to is as James led us to believe, I think well see him before long. Holmes took a deep breath, and let it out slowly and deliberately. Such a simple trap always works, my dear
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revenge for our brothers and sisters on the other side of the world. Holmes face was impassive as he responded, No one here will question your morals or your sense of justice. As you know, the law is interested in actions, and not the sentiments or morality behind them. It is a cruel world we live in, Mr. Edenton, but we can only work by the resources and circumstances handed to us. Ill escort you to the police station from here, if you will permit me. In a gesture of surrender, Alfred Edenton held out his wrists, and a profound look of surrender passed over his face as the irons clicked around his arm. After a week, Holmes and I were sitting at the table in our apartment enjoying some roast mutton, and I was passively reading the Daily Telegram. As I glanced over the pages, my eye caught a headline about a security breach and solitary escape form the prison where Mr. Edenton had recently been jailed. Funny that such an occurrence should take place so shortly after our deliverance last week, I commented. Holmes said nothing. I glanced across the table at him, toying pensively with his food. I wonder who the escapee was I said, and continued to watch him. He had stopped toying with his food, and was sitting perfectly still, eyes locked on his poached eggs. seems to fit the description of our friend, Mr. Edenton. I finished.
Watson. The simpler a scheme, the more effective. My question is what I will do with this noble rat then he has taken the bait and the net has fallen. You know I serve justice in the name of the law, and by that alone, this man has every right to be locked up. But he serves an ideal much higher than Lestrade, Gregson, or most of Scotland Yard and the British Judiciary System can imagine; the cause of freedom for his fellow man. If this man is put away, museums and private collections may be saved of financial calamity, but an idealist will be shut out and shut up. Its a sticky business at times, working for the law, but their constraints bear so little room for alteration that I have no choice but to turn this fellow in. He turned to face me, and I could see his eyes were weary and in want of sleep. The faintest hint of a smile appeared on his lips. Perhaps youre right perhaps overuse of cocaine has caught up with me at last, and interfering with my capacity to reason by superfluous emotion at last. He turned his eyes to the street again and the former grave expression appeared on his face. Still At once he straightened up. Here he comes. Said Holmes. I rose to get my revolver, but Holmes stopped me. Dont bother, Watson. Weve insulted this idealist enough by tricking him into come here. As anticipated, Alfred Edenton rang the bell and ascended the flight of stairs seconds after Holmes and I had spoken. When he rapped at our door, and was called to come in, the man who appeared was in almost every respect a copy of his brother. The same general worn yet well-cared for clothing, the same gaunt figure, long fingered, and thin-bodied strode into the room. Like his brother, he sported a long black beard, though his was somewhat more dirty and unkempt, his long hair pulled back behind the ears. Despite the similarity, however, Holmes and I knew this was our man by his eyes. Though his back was slightly bent, probably from years on the run, his brilliant green eyes shone with a deep inner passion reminiscent of the fiery wildness of the Amazon natives, but rather than sexual passion, these shone with a resolve shaped by persecution, and knowledge therein. They gave the impression of being honed by hardship, and made bright by courage. I was astonished by the effect of this contrast, and was jolted when Holmes coolly asked, Good morning, my good sir, I expect you are here to respond to my ad in the paper. The man stared directly at me, and then directly at Holmes, his brilliant eyes piercing our mask of wellpracticed civility. After a moment of silence, he bent his head, and shuffled his shoes. I know why you have called me here, and you are right in doing so for the constraints of the laws in this country. I have been to see my brother and he has convinced me to turn myself over. Otherwise, I would have been more cautious in my response to such a ploy to gain my company. Still, your reputation precedes you, Mr. Holmes and I know you always catch your man. But before you lock me up, let it be known that I never wished harm on any man or woman, and I only sought to deliver a sentimental
At this, my friend turned his head up slowly and looked directly into my eyes. The faintest hint of a smug grin played across his pale complexion and held for a mere five seconds. He then tucked into his meal with gusto. I do not claim to know what became of Mr. Edenton, nor Holmes connection to his escape, and conjuring assumptions therein can be a dangerous business. All I know is that since then, Holmes has received a parcel each March addressed from China containing a puzzle, a
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parchment, or some other trinket of trivial interest that keeps his mind active for a few days. Holmes himself refuses to speak on the matter, and always answers my queries with a sly grin and a change of subject. But Im not worried about my old friend. If for once, he chose to
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serve higher ideals than those represented by national law I laud his morality, if he has such a thing. For my part, I am contented that for a few evenings out of each year, my friend leaves the cocaine bottle for some eclectic oriental puzzle. In the least, that is something to take comfort in.

V. THE ADVENTURE OF THE HEART OF THE CIRCUS
I breathed in the sharp February air as I walked along the cobblestone street, and noticed that I was feeling positively uplifted after my brief mid-morning stroll. The sun was shining brightly overhead, and the remnants of the winter snow gleamed and sparkled as if it were dancing beneath my feet. I looked up before crossing the street, and nearly collided with a young man who was carrying an exquisite bouquet of delicate pink roses. He paused momentarily to apologize absentmindedly, before he walked hurriedly away. It was then that I realized that this man was on likely on his way to greet his loved one, for it was Valentines Day. I was overcome with a feeling of desire in that moment, for I wished that I were on my way to see a lover rather than to visit my friend who assuredly was not celebrating the holiday. I entered the Baker Street flat to find my eccentric friend and roommate of many years, Sherlock Holmes, sitting amongst a pile of thick textbooks. Hunched forward as he flipped through the faded pages of his text, he did not bother to look up as he greeted me, saying, My dear Watson, would you care to join me? I decided to refresh my knowledge of Belladonna, or Deadly nightshade, after reading about a curious case of poisoning in the countryside yesterday afternoon. Perhaps you would like to take a break to go on a stroll, I suggested. It is a lovely day, and there is much to see, as many people are out with their valentines. My dear Watson, I would rather be productive and strengthen my mind instead of wasting this day, as so many have chosen to do. I refuse to step outside today. Valentines day simply encourages people to pine away after senseless fantasies and pursue useless emotions. Reading about Belladonna, on the other hand, is quite practical. I had crossed the room and taken a seat on the couch next to my peculiar friend, when Mrs. Hudson rapped on the door. She entered the study and announced, Mr. Holmes, a young lady is here to see you. It seemed to me that my friend began to radiate with anticipation, as he straightened and said, Invite her in, please. I became quite amused as it occurred to me that although my friend did not have a lover on Valentines Day, the love of his life was the art of deduction. An extraordinarily petite woman with loose, dark curls pinned neatly back from her face appeared in the doorway. Come in, dear lady, Holmes said eagerly. Her small frame glided across the room, and it was not until she was seated across from us that I realized the extreme contrast of her dark hair and icy blue eyes. She was quite young, yet she carried an unmistakable heir of maturity. With perfect posture and crossed legs, she seemed to be somewhat composed; yet there was an unmistakable trace of fear upon her face. I had become quite entranced by this ethereal creature, but I was awakened when Holmes inquired, What concern of yours is so great that you come to see me on this Valentines Day? I should think that a recently married woman such as yourself would normally be preparing to celebrate this sentimental holiday with her husband.
The woman looked surprised at my friends knowledge, shifted her weight forward, and replied, My name is Adelaide Darlington, and I came to you immediately Mr. Holmes, for my second cousin, Violet Hunter, referred me to you with highest regard. Holmes replied, I quite clearly remember the unusual predicament of your cousin, Mrs. Darlington. Please tell my associate Watson and me what it is that so troubles
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and the ringmaster gave me the name, Heart of the circus, for he said that I had given the circus new life. Each show I wore my favorite headband, given to me by my father, which was a simple, off-white, satin ribbon, covered in small colorful stones. It was nothing of great value, but it was quite sentimental to me, for my father died of a stroke when I was only fifteen. She paused and fidgeted with her wedding band. After that successful first year, I received a small package from an anonymous admirer with a note saying only that he appreciated me greatly. Inside was a six-carat ruby in the shape of a heart. I fastened it to the center of my headband, and I believe that this outward symbol of my name contributed to my reputation. Mrs. Darlington seemed lost in her reverie only momentarily and then continued, After my second year with Zippos, I decided to retire after two years, because I had met my wonderful husband. In truth, I was exhausted, and I wanted to settle down. I am happily married, and I have been extremely content in my new lifethat is until this morning when I suffered this dreadful robbery. Holmes proceeded, This is a very interesting matter, indeed. I appreciate that you have come to me. Is there anything else that may be related to the robbery that I should know? The young woman looked uncomfortable, and after biting her lip said, There is one thing, although it is a very personal matter. You can be assured that everything you say will be kept in the greatest confidence between me and my associate, Watson, replied Holmes. After a brief hesitation, she continued, The truth is, that before meeting my husband, I had a brief romantic relationship with the ringmaster, who was considerably older than myself. We kept the relationship secret because we did not want our personal affairs to interfere with business. He was a caring man, and we were on friendly terms when I decided to take my leave from the circus. I do not believe that he was involved in this matter in any way. Thank you for this useful information, Mrs. Darlington. I feel confident that I will be able to solve this case. I think that the most direct course of action will be for my associate Watson and I to pay a visit to Zippos tomorrow morning, so that we might obtain more information about this robbery. Im sure you understand that you will not be able to accompany us, as we will be under cover. Handing her a piece of paper, he asked, Could you please write down the location of this circus? Absolutely, Mr. Holmes, she replied, scrawling out directions. Thank you very much for your help. We will report back to you tomorrow evening. I will send a telegram informing you about what transpires, he replied. I will be waiting anxiously to hear of your progress, she replied, I am so grateful for your help. She buttoned her overcoat before floating out the front door into the bright daylight just as gracefully as she had arrived. Holmes looked up at me and probed, My dear,
you Mrs. Darlington. I hope that you have not become entangled in such a strange group of people as your cousin found herself. Mrs. Darlington started, As a matter of fact I believe it is a very cunning group of people from my past that has come back to haunt me. Let me begin by telling you what has just occurred this morning. I am intrigued Mrs. Darlington. Do give me your full account, replied Holmes. I awoke to an empty house as usual, for my husband leaves for work at the bank each day long before the sun has risen. When I was on my way to read by the fireplace in the main room, I was pleasantly surprised, for on the table in the foyer was a small box. I was filled with happiness, for I believed that my husband had left me a small token of his affection for me on Valentines Day. I opened the box to find a beautiful set of four exquisite chocolates. Without a second thought, I took a bite of one of the chocolates, and that is the last thing I remember! I woke up almost a full hour later on the floor of my bedroom, close to the door. When I stood up, I felt disoriented, but I rushed to the main room, for I keep my most valuable and treasured possession, a headband, behind one of the thickest books at the top of the bookshelf. Some of the books on the lower cases had been removed, and my headband was missing! I knew my husband would not return from work until the evening, and after calling Violet for your information, I came straight to you. I looked over at Holmes, and knew that he had easily taken in each of the details of the story, which reminded me very much of the Scandal in Bohemia, when Irene Adler frantically rushed to retrieve her hidden photograph and save it from being destroyed in a fire. Do you have this box of chocolates with you? It would be extremely helpful to me if I could examine it. She reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out a small white rectangle, with a heart impression on the front. He reached over to the lady and gently took the small box from her, gazing at it intently for a moment before opening up its lid, smelling the outside and inside of the box and delicately touching the chocolates. After about a minute of examination, he replaced the lid and politely prompted her, saying, Tell me more about this headband of yours and the crafty people you have previously alluded to. Three years ago, I had a very different life. I was not married, and I had a very exciting and fast-paced career, for I was the only tightrope walker in a traveling circus. I always had an interest in tightrope walking ever since attending the circus with my father as a young girl. I took up the hobby at the tender age of thirteen, never believing it would become the center of my existence. Years of practice caught the attention of Zippos Circus; the very one I attended as a child. Upon joining, my skills caught the attention of the other performers and the ringmaster, and by the end of my first year, my act became the center of the show. I was blessed to be physically agile, and mentally prepared. At one time I could walk a rope that was fifty feet above the ground in a fashion that seemed effortless. The rope became the center feature of the tent,
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Watson, what do you make of the evidence Mrs. Darlington has presented to us? I believe that the person who committed the crime was a past admirer of Mrs. Darlingtons, who feels spurned by the occurrence of Mrs. Darlingtons nuptials. I believe there is great significance in the crime occurring on Valentines Day, a day for lovers. This criminal wanted to rob her of her most precious possession, as he feels robbed. Interesting, Watson, do go on. What else do you suspect? It seems that the robber discovered Mrs. Darlingtons relationship with the ringmaster and was jealous, and the robbery was his act of vengeance. Due to the timing of the crime, it would certainly send her the message that he did not approve of her relationships. Holmes smiled and leaned back in his leather armchair, intertwining his long fingers together in contemplation. It is clear that the robber was a woman, Watson, so your deduction, while provoking, is unfortunately incorrect. I was immediately disappointed. As so often occurred my friend had let me believe I was on the right track. How can you be so sure, Holmes? What evidence have you that discounts my theory? I asked. Dear Watson, the outside of the box of chocolates has a strong scent of perfume. Mrs. Darlington does not wear perfume, for she did not smell of it when she visited us today. If ever a woman wears perfume it is on Valentines Day. Furthermore, in order to insert the drug that caused Mrs. Darlington to faint, the chocolates must have been removed from the box. The box is quite small, and the chocolates are delicately wrapped in very thin paper, which was not torn or crinkled in the transference of the chocolates. This suggests to me that the perpetrator must have had small, nimble fingers, a characteristic attributed to women. In addition, the corner of the box had a small piece of white hair in the corner, which tells me that this woman is associated with animals in some way. Of great significance is that this hair was not from an ordinary domestic animal for it is longer and has a coarse texture, more so than an ordinary cat or dog. I am thoroughly impressed, Holmes, I replied sincerely. I do not know how you come to these conclusions, but after explaining your reasoning, it seems as if it should have been apparent to me all along. Holmes appeared pleased by my small compliment, but he managed to maintain a composed expression as he replied, The matter was incredibly simple, Watson. We shall find out more about the thief tomorrow after further investigation. Will you be up for a trip to the circus, Watson? The next morning, long before the sun had risen, I opened my eyes to find my friend next to my bed. He was fully dressed in his black business suit, along with a pair of glasses. We must be off immediately, Watson. Our destination is in the countryside, and only if we set out now, will we arrive by mid-morning, when the circus life
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begins each day. Please put on the suit that you wear when you make rounds to your patients homes. I groggily rolled out of my bed, wondering all the while how my friend could spend long periods of time without sleep during his most puzzling cases. We stepped through the front door onto Baker Street into the cool morning air. Holmes easily hailed a cabby, whom he directed to exit London upon the main Avenue. Throughout the ride, Holmes puffed constantly on his pipe, while we sat in silence. He only broke the quiet once to inform me of his plan for our mission. We will be posing as health inspectors today Watson, he said. This allows us to be where the general public is not allowed. Specifically, we will be allowed to see the back-stage areas of circus, while appearing harmless to the circus folk, quite suspicious people as I have come to understand. I decided this was the best alternative to going as ourselves, which would most certainly put them on alert. Ah, here we are now. Our hansom had just cleared a stretch of tall oaks, and before us was a vast expanse of grass, still wet with the dew of the morning. Straight-ahead and taking up the widest portion in the middle of the green was an enormous rainbow-colored tent, with various flags billowing softly in the breeze. We pulled up next to the tent and stepped down into the bustling atmosphere. All around were people making preparations for the day ahead. A group of women, wearing sparkling leotards and holding colorful batons was chatting. A man with a long beard strolled by, carrying a small boy playing a harpsichord on his shoulders. After only moments, a small, round man with peppered hair and a jovial bounce in his step approached. Reaching out and pumping each of our hands heartily, he said, Inspector Cooper I presume? Mr. Mitchell, head of the London Department of Health, notified me that you were coming. I am Mr. Abner Anderson, Assistant Director of Entertainment of this spectacular show. Pleased to meet you, responded Holmes. This is Mr. Watson, he will be accompanying me today as part of his training. We are pleased to have you, responded Anderson enthusiastically. He led us into the largest part of the tent through an enormous opening in the tarp. A large sign overhead displayed the name Zippos in giant red and yellow blinking lights. This is the main arena, where the magic happens! exclaimed Anderson, smiling proudly. Facing a large expanse of aromatic mulch was a towering set of wooden bleachers. The emptiness of the tent was complete, sparing a young teenage boy who was sweeping debris from the bleachers. It was eerily silent except for the sound of the wind beating the outside of the canvass tent. The season is in full swing, and this afternoon will be a spectacular show! Perhaps you would like to stay. I can promise you will not be disappointed in our spectacular displays. Yes, indeed, I think we will, replied Holmes, as he walked throughout the rows of bleachers, scribbling notes in his leather notepad. He seemed to be surveying the scene, playing the role of inspector convincingly by occasionally wiping his finger
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their costumes for performances, Holmes rapidly took notes on his pad. Then quite unnoticed, Mr. Holmes slowed his step so that Mr. Anderson was walking a few paces ahead. He had torn a small piece of paper from his pad and slyly placed it in my hand. It read: Search the third dressing table to our left when the time is right I had hardly begun to consider what plan my clever friend had invented, when all of the sudden Holmes lurched forward and began coughing loudly, clutching his side. His face was drained of color, and as he fell to the ground writhing, he seemed to capture the attention of everyone in the tent. I would naturally be concerned for my friends health, but he has historically used this type of scene for distraction. Knowing this was my cue, I slipped quietly out of the crowd that had quickly formed around Holmes. It was impossible to tell the dressers apart, but I followed the directions of the note and approached the third dressing table. It was fairly simple, with a flat surface, mirror and small bench, along with one small drawer. The surface of the table was completely bare. I opened the drawer and found a great deal of makeup, a set of brushes, and a handheld mirror. In my hurry, I dropped the slip of paper that Holmes had handed me, and as I bent over to retrieve it, I happened to glance beneath the bench. Tied beneath the bench, in the crook where the seat met the right back leg was a gleaming red stone. By sheer luck, I had found the object of our investigation, although I knew not how Holmes had come to realize its hiding place. I untied it and tucked it carefully in my jacket pocket. By the time I had merged with the crowd once again, I found Holmes sitting upright, and drinking a glass of water. As I approached, I heard him telling Anderson, It was simply an asthma attack. The allergens prove quite extreme this time of year, but I assure you that I am now fit to continue with my work . The crowd began dispersing and the energy level in the tent increased palpably. By this time, the show was only a half hour away. After waiting a few more moments, we helped Holmes to his feet. Anderson, a bit hyper with anticipation for the shows commencement, asked if Holmes was okay several times before leading us back to the main tent. This is where I will leave you for now gentlemen, he said, shaking our hands after we had stepped into the arena. I must go be sure that everything is ready to go backstage, but if you have any further questions do not hesitate to contact me. After parting with our animated tour guide, Holmes and I managed to navigate through the crowd, finding a seat in the center of the bleachers where we had a good view of the performance. As soon as he was sure that we would not be overheard, Holmes leaned over to me and said, I take it that we have found what we are looking for, Watson. Relieved that some of the days events
on a bench or nodding his head. As Anderson chatted on about his pride in the circus, I thought about Holmes and knew that he was reviewing the details of the case in his mind. After making our rounds, Holmes shut his notepad and Anderson cheerily offered, Shall we move on to the animal crates? He led us outside to a long row of covered cages varying in size. The air was thick with the smell of dung. In the first cage was an old, tired-looking orangutan, sitting hunched over with his back to us. He was holding an apple in front of his white chest, and chewing slowly. He stopped to glance at us as we walked by. As we passed from cage to cage, we witnessed an array of creatures, including a pair of giraffes and an ambling elephant accompanied by her small, wrinkled baby. We had come to the end of the row, when the clunk of hooves announced the presence of a beautiful, white stallion, being led by a young woman. The woman and the horse were adorned with matching headdresses, with one long, baby pink feather. The legs of the horse and the wrists of the woman were entwined in gleaming silver bands. Only when they were next to us did I realize that the woman was half the height of the horse. What a nice surprise! exclaimed Anderson, Inspector Cooper, Mr. Watson, we have gotten lucky enough to meet the star of our show, the fantastic Phoebe Rider. Her almond shaped eyes were dark, yet kind, and she smiled broadly saying, Its a pleasure to meet you. Duchess and I are on the way to the practice field. She patted the horse affectionately on the forehead. If you will excuse us, we have a few tricks to work on prior to show time. We have been in Canada for a show this past week, and Duchess has not had nearly as much practice as she normally does. She half curtsied, before clicking her tongue and setting off with her partner. She is the pride of our circus. Her performance is absolutely marvelous! said Anderson. Now if you are satisfied with your inspection thus far, I will escort you to our last stop before the show, the dressing room. Holmes adjusted his glasses, smiled and said, Yes, I think that will be fine, but in my friends eyes I could see that he was brimming with anticipation. A short walk across the bright field brought us to a long chain of smaller white tents. It was now a short time until the show would begin, and the area was humming with anticipation, as performers of all shapes and sizes walked briskly about. Bordering the interior of the tents were around 50 identical wooden dressing tables, each with its own large mirror. We passed an unusually tall man wearing a white suit. He stood next to a wooden stool on which a smaller man stood, securing a small black hat to his curly hair. The helper was an extremely thin, middle aged man who could not be more than four feet tall, and his appearance was particularly peculiar due to the fact that his wrinkled face was painted white, while his eyes were lined with black. It was a curious and exhilarating scene like none I have ever seen before or since. As the preoccupied Mr. Anderson explained that this was the area where all performers don and change
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would finally be explained to me, I replied, I found it beneath tied beneath the dressing table that you indicated. But, I am perplexed. How could you have possibly known that it was going to be there?
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The matter really was not very complex. I simply began with the facts that we already had, strung them together, and then was able to come up with a reasonable and testable hypothesis. The fact that we had a clear picture of our thief from the story Mrs. Darlington told us was very helpful, and I used it as my starting point. It was most probable that the thief was petite, because I determined that the culprit had extraordinarily small, delicate hands. I believed it to be a woman who was responsible because of the strong scent of perfume on the box. It was most reasonable to think that this woman was a part of the circus, as this would account for the motive, and give the thief a reason to resent Mrs. Darlingtons success. When we arrived here, it was by chance that we came across Ms. Rider. I had done my research on acts in the circus, and she was the only performer who fit the profile. I knew that the only place the performers keep their personal belongings are their dressing tables. I was sure it would not be difficult to create a distraction, and I knew it was her dressing table when I saw the initials P.R. engraved on the drawer. I was ever so pleased with your discreet investigation, and without your efforts we would not have solved this crime. Impressed by his logical deductions, I replied, Holmes, your logical deduction never fails to amaze me! I thought that Ms. Rider fit the description as well, so I
am not entirely surprised that she was the culprit after all. Drawing a pipe from his pocket, Holmes smiled, saying There is one crucial piece of information that you seem to have overlooked, which makes it apparent that Ms. Rider was not the thief at all, Watson, but rather has been framed by the actual culprit. Ah, there is the wily man himself! I looked to the middle of the arena, to find a clown-like group of people dressed in dark garments. Holmes pointed to a small man standing amongst them. I recognized that he was the peculiar, petite man we had seen in the dressing room with a white face and blacklined eyes. He was smashing a pie into the face of the orangutan we had seen in the cage earlier that afternoon. The crowd was wildly laughing and clapping at the circus opening act. But how can you possibly know that this man is our thief? What evidence is there that indicates this man perpetrated this crime, when all the facts you have told me seem to point to Ms. Rider? Removing his glasses, and placing them in his pocket, Holmes responded thoughtfully, I have to admit, Watson, that I believed her to be the primary suspect, until I learned of her whereabouts this week. When she told me that she was in Canada at a horse show, I knew that she could not possibly have carried out this crime. I began to think of other possibilities, and that was when something so obvious occurred to me. The person who committed the crime must be another member of the circus, who was resentful of the fame and fortune of Mrs. Darlington, and who might also be resentful of Ms. Rider. In order to have revenge on both of these women simultaneously, he crafted the clever plan of stealing Mrs. Darlingtons gemstone, while framing Ms. Rider. Another seemingly trivial piece of evidence helped me come to a conclusion about who this schemer could be. The white hair that we found on the box of the chocolates is a perfect match to the hair from the chest of the orangutan, who happens to be the companion of that small clown. The clown has petite hands and a strange, perfume-like odor matching that found on the box of chocolates, which I observed as we passed him in the dressing room. All of this seems quite logical indeed, now that you have explained it to me, I replied, although I fail to understand how you filled in each gap so perfectly. It is really no occasion for great congratulation, Watson. That being said, I do greatly appreciate your role in the matter today, which was so crucial. But please do not miss this most-exciting act. I returned my attention to the clown show, and several moments later, a bright spotlight beamed up towards the top of the tent. Framed in the circle of light was a small figure poised gracefully atop a thin rope. At closer inspection I could clearly see the gleaming of a red stone upon the figures forehead. I frantically reached into my pocket to find that the stone was in fact gone. It was then that I knew that the heart of the circus had been restored to its rightful owner, and the brave beauty atop the wire was Mrs. Darlington herself! I looked to my companion to find that he was beaming in pride. I should
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more is that this thief has seen the last of his performing days, said Holmes, nodding towards the small clown, whos white face was contorted in rage. Detective Lestrade is awaiting him outside, to take him into custody after the show. I had to ensure that this wily criminal was here long enough to fully appreciate his utter failure.
not have been so surprised at this clever solution, as Holmes never passed up the opportunity to create a theatrical ending. I thought it wise to send a telegram to Mrs. Darlington yesterday, asking if she was up for one last performance. She traveled here shortly after we arrived this morning. I took the headband from your pocket shortly after my asthma attack, and I was able to transfer it to her as she passed on our way back here. This surely is one of the most spectacular finales I have ever experienced! I exclaimed. It surely was quite the ending! Holmes replied in agreement. And what is

VI. THE BUCKINGHAMSHIRE MYSTERY
It had been a terribly long day out and about. I had multiple houses to visit for my work and had practically run around the entire city. Thank goodness that today was an alluring day with delightful weather or I would have been utterly exhausted when I arrived back home to 221B Baker Street where I shared a living space with my partner, Sherlock Holmes. It was the spring of 82 and Holmes hadnt seen much come his way in terms of cases. He had been restless, pacing the apartment and occasionally resulting to injecting himself with cocaine to stimulate his mind. Due to this habit I wasnt expecting much when I returned home. I simply wanted to walk up the stairs, get a cup of tea from Mrs. Hudson, and relax in the parlor for a couple of minutes before retiring to bed. I opened the door and sure enough, there was no sign of Sherlock Holmes, I assumed that he was in his quarters trying to busy his mind. Sherlock must have heard me come up the stairs because as soon as Mrs. Hudson had left the room upon bringing me my tea, he wandered in with glassy eyes, which suggested that he was indeed using cocaine, and sat down in the chair across from me. Have you had a long day Watson? I hope that your patient with Scrofula didnt give you too much trouble said he as he watched me carefully for my reaction. Holmes, this is perfectly correct yet I still fail to understand how you have come to these conclusions! said I. It is quite simple Watson, when you have a lot of patients to see, you opt take a cab but when you only have to visit a couple of patients you walk instead. Although there is mud on the bottom of your shoes, the coloring suggests that of northern Sussex which is quite a distance off. Because of the lack of typical London mud or clay on your shoes combined with the addition of a few other categories of clay, it is obvious that today you rode in a hansom which would then mean that you indeed had multiple patients. On your right sleeve, right where you tuck in your handkerchief because you are simply too used to wearing a uniform, there is spot of navy blue powder that has a slightly sulfuric scent. I could smell it as I walked into the room after I heard you come up the stairs. This combination of characteristics fits that of the common medicine used to treat the abscesses that develop when a person has Mycobacterial cervical lymphadenitis, otherwise known Scrofula. It always amazes me how detailed Holmes is able to observe things, he is the only consulting detective in London and with his skills of observation and deduction he has helped solve countless crimes and murders because he can find clues and follow them when the police cannot. Holmes was distracted by something outside on the dark sidewalk, for the sun had set hours ago, and he got up from where he was sitting to peer out. The features on his face suddenly morphed and he exclaimed, Watson, come here and take a look! I think that we have a case on our hands. That woman there, across the street, is Mrs. Sidney Elaine Harris, wife of the late Sir Joseph Robert Harris, company owner of Barlow Lyde & Gilbert law firm in London. I have heard only bits and pieces of this case but what I have heard quite excites me. Shortly after, we could hear the outside door open, followed by knock at our apartment. Holmes quickly sat back down in his previous position in the chair and, as calmly as he could muster, replied, Come in. The door handle turned slowly and the woman that entered our apartment was not at all what I was expecting from a grieving widow. Mrs. Sidney Elaine Harris was a woman whose presence commanded the room, even though she was not at all a large woman. She had a small frame but her confidence stunned me. She was obviously used to having the attention and understood her rank in society by the way she held herself and walked into the room. Sherlock Holmes did not seem stunned at all by her appearance and walked over to his new client.
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Mrs. Harris, I am terribly sorry for your loss, I am very glad that you have come to me in the matter, please take a seat. Why thank you Mr. Holmes. From your introduction it is obvious that you know why I am here then. You have indeed heard of my husbands murder? Yes madam I have. Very well then. Mr. Holmes, I know how you work so let me just start from the beginning of my story back in when I was a child. I was born in Cambridge, England, and was very privileged growing up. My grandfather moved to Cambridge from America and had very little to his name. He worked hard to earn what he has now and because of his dedication, my family is well to do and my father, having inherited my grandfathers business, is quite successful. In Cambridge, my family lives very close to the University and that is where I met Joseph. My family and I were in town for lunch one day during the school year and Joseph happened to be in the same caf, it was love at first sight. We sat and talked for hours in the little caf on the side of the road and we ended up getting married within the next couple of months. Joseph, of course, was still enrolled at the University to become a lawyer and had to finish out his schooling but after he graduated with a degree in law, we moved in together in a house nearby in Cambridge. With the help and influence of my father, Joseph was able to obtain a job at one of the local law firms and within the year we were blessed with our first child,
Ethan. Things were steady over the next couple years and we had our second child, Violet. We remained in our first home for around ten years where we were a quite comfortable and happy family but then I noticed that something was bothering Joseph. He seemed constantly distracted and within the month he landed his dream job, that of the company owner of a major law firm in downtown London, Barlow Lyde & Gilbert. I was ecstatic and so were the children but something was definitely still occupying my husbands attention. After a couple of years at his new job, we were fortunate enough to be able to move into a spacious new house in Buckinghamshire, England out in the country where we had more room and infinitely more privacy. In all truthfulness, I have never been happier in my life. I absolutely loved our new house and I believed that it really suited our family perfectly. Joseph eventually calmed down and for the past year, everything has been going quite smoothly. Since moving to Buckinghamshire, Joseph and I have gotten into a routine after he returned from a long day at the office. He would typically return home around 8 in the evening and he would immediately retire to the library and sit in front of the fire for thirty minutes to an hour and have a cup of tea to relax and relieve some stress. He would do this every night after he came home from work, and so I could see him more often, I would take the tea from the maid and bring it up to him myself and sit and talk to him about his day. From there we would come downstairs and he would eat dinner and by then it would be time for everyone to head off to bed for it would be quite late. Last week on Wednesday, my husband came home at his usual time and followed his same routine. He took off his coat and hat and went upstairs to the library to sit in front of the fire. I acquired the tea from the maid and had just given it to Joseph when I realized I had forgotten that I wanted to show him something from that mornings newspaper. I got up and left the library, closing the door behind me, and descended the stairs back down to the sitting room where I had left the morning paper. I was gone from the room for five, maybe ten minutes, and when I came back upstairs he was still sitting in his chair but he was covered in his own blood, motionless. I immediately started screaming for help, dropped my newspaper and ran over to him to see if I could do anything even though I knew it was too late to save him. I really have no clue how it happened Mr. Holmes; there is only one entrance to the library and that is the door that I left from. In order for anyone in the house to get to the library, they would have passed me going down the stairs. The police were notified right away and they were at my house within the hour. It has been two days Mr. Holmes and yet, no one seems to be finding any answers so I have come to you. Please will you help me find whoever murdered my husband? Mrs. Harris finished her question in a sob as her strong appearance slowly crumbled, beneath her confident
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Without any acknowledgement that I had entered the room, Holmes directed toward me, Watson, there is coffee on the breakfast table; we should probably be leaving in the next couple of minutes so please hurry and make sure you are ready. I am interested to see the scene of the crime so I believe that visiting the house of the late Sir Joseph Robert Harris should be our first course of action. There is a train that leaves at 9 and I have already called a cab to take us to the station. With that, I went back to my room, finished getting ready and we were out the door. For the train ride there, Holmes assumed his earlier disposition from that morning and remained silent the entire trip. I could tell from the puzzled look in his eyes that he was still indeed reviewing every little detail about the case at hand. By now, I had become used to his antics so I decided to take a nap for the train ride was going to be a long one. We reached Buckinghamshire around noon and Mrs. Harris was waiting for us at the station, informed of our arrival by a wire Holmes had sent that morning. Pulling up to the house, it was plain to see why Mrs. Harris felt so comfortable there. The Harris house was a huge mansion, most likely twenty to thirty times as large as the apartment that Holmes and I shared, covered in the most elaborate brickwork I have ever seen. Ivy was crawling up the front walls of the house and surrounded the main entrance. It appeared that there were multiple wings to the house from the outside but this would need to be determined from further inspection of the inside. The only thing that detracted from the beauty of the house and the surrounding gardens was the multitude of police that surrounded the area and could be seen coming in and out of the mansion. I immediately recognized Lestrade, whom Holmes and I have worked with on previous cases, and the annoyed look on his face showed that he too knew that we would be joining him on this case. After stretching our legs from our long journey, Lestrade showed Holmes and me into the house and up to the library, the scene of the crime, with Mrs. Harris following closely behind. Walking up the majestic mahogany staircase that wound up the middle of the grand entry way, it was plain to see what Mrs. Harris meant in that for someone to reach the library, they would have passed her on her way down the stairs. The entrance to the library, which was on the second floor of the house, was a large wooden door, equally as majestic to the staircase upon we just came from and the walls were covered with bookcases from the floor to the ceiling filled with novels, encyclopedias, important documents, and other impressive looking works of literature. Looking into the library, there were two focusing features of the room, that of the 6ft tall fireplace on the right wall and the large brown leather armchair that was centered in the room, facing it. Directly behind the armchair was a small table that had a vase of flowers on it as well as a couple of books. The body had been removed but the chair and the surrounding floor were still covered in dried blood.
physique the grieving widow who had just recently lost the love of her life was coming through. I looked at Sherlock Holmes and could tell that he was already contemplating over the evidence and there was no doubt that he was going to take the case. I walked over and offered Mrs. Harris my handkerchief which she gladly took to dry off her face. When she had composed herself she glanced in the direction of Holmes to see if he had an answer to her final question. Of course myself and Watson will look into your husbands murder, Mrs. Harris, thank you for coming and sharing your story. Please, return home before it gets too late and I will wire you in the morning. As soon as she left Holmes turned to me, Watson, I know you have had a long day but I would greatly appreciate it if you were to join me tomorrow in my trip to Buckinghamshire, it would be a considerable service to me if you were to help in this case. Why Holmes, you know how it excites me to accompany you in your adventures, I would be delighted to join. Well then, Watson be ready to go in the morning, I have a feeling that we will have an eventful day tomorrow. The next day I woke up around 8 in the morning, when I usually rise for work, to find that Holmes hadnt moved from his position in which I left him last night. The room was thick with smoke and upon entering the sitting room, I immediately found it difficult to breathe. Holmes had apparently been awake all night, contemplating the details that Mrs. Sidney Elaine Harris had given us so suddenly the night before.
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Sherlock went immediately to work and inspected the entire room, leaving no corner or book un-searched. He scoured the room in his usual ways for approximately an hour before returning to us. I have learned everything about this room that I possibly can but I would wish to see the murder weapon please. I have come to understand that it was found over here on the floor? said Holmes as he pointed to a place on the floor about three feet behind the armchair. Lestrade, trying to hide back a shocked expression replied, Why yes, of course, the knife was indeed found just behind the chair and it has been taken down to the kitchen. Without another word, Holmes proceeded to exit the library and make his way down the stairs toward the kitchen with myself and Lestrade close at his heels. Mrs. Harris remained in the library, emptily staring at the chair where she had found her murdered husband just a few days ago. As soon as we were out of hearing range of Mrs. Harris, Lestrade began, Holmes, I know that Mrs. Harris insisted that you come and join us on this investigation but I have already solved the case so there really is no need for you to be here. With an amused expression Holmes replied, Oh really, well then exactly what has happened here Lestrade? Well, it is obvious from the start that the only person with access to the room was Mrs. Harris so she definitely murdered her own husband. She used the excuse of the newspaper to go downstairs and retrieve the knife and then when she came back, she quietly opened the door again and snuck up behind the armchair and slit her husbands throat. I think though that she quickly realized what she had done, threw down the knife and yelled for help. When the maid and the butler reached the room she was standing in front of her husband, covered in blood, trying uselessly to get the bleeding to stop. I later questioned the maid who Mrs. Harris took the tea from and she said that her employer seemed a bit on edge and upset over something. As well, there are no witnesses to prove that she actually came downstairs and only got the newspaper, she could have very well snatched the knife from a secret location and gone back upstairs and murdered her husband without anyone else knowing. Lestrade, you seem so confident about the case yet you have not presented us with a reason as to why Mrs. Harris would choose to murder her husband. That I have yet to figure out but there is no other possible suspect other than her. Then you certainly wont mind if I stick around for a few days while you conclude your case? Certainly not Holmes, I would love to have you here when I finish the investigation. During this entire conversation, if you had witnessed it without any sound or proof that these two gentlemen were actually talking, it would appear that no conversation was occurring because Holmes was so
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immersed in the knife that Lestrade had handed him upon entering the kitchen. Holmes had turned over the blade multiple times taking in every detail and memorizing every scratch and design. Lestrade was about to continue when Holmes interrupted , Lestrade what do you make of the initials here on the pommel of the knife? E.S.A. Holmes those are surely not relevant to the case, why would I care about the initials on the butt of a knife? Besides, they show no connection to Mrs. Sidney Elaine Harris at all, trust me, they are of no importance. I think they will prove to be much less trivial than you claim them to be, however, it is late, both Watson and I have had a long day full of travelling, I think that it time we retire to the inn down the street. The inn that we were staying at was within walking distance from the Harris mansion and it took Holmes and I 10 minutes to reach on foot. After checking in, Holmes and I ate a quick dinner and then retired into our respective rooms. I tried to fall asleep but the pieces of information about this case kept me awake. I couldnt help from going back to Lestrades theory that Mrs. Harris had indeed murdered her own husband and the more that I thought about it, the facts seemed to pile up against her. However, what Holmes had said about the initials on the knife and their importance made me think that he had another theory that would soon be revealed. I woke up the next day to find a note slipped under my door from Holmes. It read as such: Watson, please have a lovely day and enjoy the country side, I should be back around three in the afternoon. Holmes. This was typical of Holmes, going off on his own in search of more information. With all of this free time, I was unsure of what I was going to do so I decided to take a walk. It was a lovely spring morning, the countryside was filled with wild flowers of all different colors. There were patches of periwinkles, lavenders, yellows, oranges, and reds dotting the open spaces throughout the forest. The birds were in full activity, hustling around trying to find food for the small chirps that were coming from the tops of the trees. It seemed as if everything was in harmony and I lost myself in the beauty of it all. After a while, I realized that I had been outside for a while because the position of the sun had changed drastically so I decided to head back to the inn to see if Sherlock had returned from his day of adventures. Fortunately, I didnt have to wait very long. Holmes arrived back at the inn within the next hour however, when he walked in, I at first did not recognize him. He was in a fine suit, clean shaven, and his hair was even slicked back. This is the nicest that I had ever seen him dress and its probably the cleanest hes ever been. I knew not to ask him about his days movements, if he wanted me to know then he would tell me and because, I assume,
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the vase had been knocked over during the hurried escape of the murderer, most likely because he had heard Mrs. Harris coming back up the staircase. This fact became much more important after I had discovered a faint footprint of mud on the left side of the room, about where the bookshelf opened. The weather has been very dry here in the past couple of weeks, therefore, in order to leave a muddy footprint, the murdered must have spilt the water on their shoes as they were leaving. Upon further inspection of the footprint, it was obvious from the pattern on the sole that it was a mans shoe, however, the size seemed quite small for a man. From its size, the murdered must have been a very short man, about 55 in height. At first I was confused as to why the footprint was facing the wall until I found a most important piece of evidence that Lestrade so clumsily missed. On the wall where the bookcase opened up, there was a single faded bloody thumbprint. Placing my hand up against the print, a slight draft could be felt coming from the wall. I have heard of older houses before having secret passageways but before I came to any conclusions I needed more information. One last clue from the library, that even Lestrade was able to find, was that the knife was dropped, but as to why he was also wrong. The knife itself provided the most important evidence of all which Lestrade completely disregarded, the initials on the knife: E.S.A. I wasnt sure who these initials belonged to but I had some faint idea when I saw them. Because of the beautiful detail work on the knife, it was apparent that the person who owned this knife had a large amount of money at their disposal. Now I knew multiple things about my murderer from which I started, one, the murdered was a short male, two, he was very familiar with the layout of the house and had probably either lived there before or worked there, three, he had a considerable wealth, and four, his initials were E.S.A. With this I did some research of my own and found that the owner of the house right before the Harris family moved in was Sir Edward Seamus Adlam. Not only was he the previous owner of the house, he was also the previous company owner of the law firm whose position Sir Joseph Robert Harris replaced. My thoughts were now set on this guy but in order to be one hundred percent sure, I visited his house, acting as a lawyer for Mrs. Harris, hence the nice attire. Sir Adlam happened to live in the closest house to that of his former house, the mansion inhabited by the Harris. When he opened the door I was glad to see that he was of the right height to match the footprint and when I explained that I was helping Mrs. Harris his first expression was that of shock but then he got extremely flustered and angry and started yelling at me to leave his property at once. That all but confirmed it. As I was walking away he casually called out to me to ask how the investigation was going. I responded, Sir, the investigation seems to be coming along quite well, I hope that the police will be off of the premise by 5 this afternoon. Im sorry for the trouble. And with that I
they pertain to the case at hand, they will soon be shared. He dressed back into his normal attire, however it was nice that he still seemed clean. Watson, we should soon make our way back to the Harris mansion if we are to stop Lestrade before he foolishly arrests Mrs. Harris for the murder of her own husband. With this statement it was confirmed to me that whatever knowledge Holmes had gained from his adventures today was enough to close this case. We hurriedly walked back to the house of Mrs. Harris and found Lestrade. Lestrade, I would be much obliged if you could help me to carry out a theory that I have about this case. Could you have all of your men pretend to leave the house around 5 and have them wait hidden, off of the property? Lestrade knew that when Holmes had a theory, he was usually correct although it also usually meant that he himself was on the wrong track. He told all of his men the plan and they carried it through. Holmes then brought Lestrade, Mrs. Harris, and I up to the library and we stood in the far corner of the room so that we were in the shadows and could barely be seen from the armchair or the front of the room. Lestrade was just about to comment on how ridiculous this seemed but then we all heard a noise; a small noise, but a very distinguishable noise. It was that of footsteps and they sounded as if they were coming closer. Lestrade, Mrs. Harris, and I all seemed utterly confused because we were unsure of where the footsteps were coming from and to whom they belonged. I stole a glance at my companion and the light in his eyes let me know that this was what he was expecting to happen. All of a sudden, the bookshelf directly behind the arm chair swung outwards and from behind there came a short, stout man whose air was that of an upper classman. He was dressed in a fairly nice suit, leather shoes, and was tiptoeing around the room, apparently looking for something. Less than a minute had gone by, Lestrade, Mrs. Harris, and myself unmovable due to shock, then we came to our senses. Lestrade immediately strode from the corner and while our new acquaintance tried to escape the way that he had so stealthily come, Lestrade grabbed him before he was able to reach the bookshelf. Monsieur Lestrade, let me introduce you to Sir Edward Seamus Adlam, the murderer of Sir Joseph Robert Harris. With this, he walked out of the library and I followed him. By the end of the night, we were comfortably back at home on Baker St. relaxing in the main room. I was still in awe over how Holmes was able to solve this case, even though the evidence seemed so few. Holmes recognized my curiousness and remarked, Watson, I do believe some sort of explanation is in order. I guess I shall begin with the library itself. From here I was able to obtain three main clues that led my theory. The first was the water stain that was also present on the floor right behind the vase of flowers, this suggested that
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walked back to the inn where I met you. I knew that if he was truly the murderer, he would want to visit the scene of the crime to try to find his knife for surely it is of special importance to him being so valuable. Luckily, my assumption was correct and we caught him in the act. As to why Sir Edward Seamus Adlam wanted to get rid of Sir Joseph Robert Harris, I assume that it was because of
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jealousy and hatred for having his house and kicking him out of his job. With that he rose from his upholstered armchair where he was lounging while the story played out in my head and announced that he was going to try to get some sleep. Watson I suggest that you do the same because we dont know what tomorrow will bring.

VII. THE CASE OF NUSSEX HILLS
I walked down the narrow roads leading to Baker Street. The pavement was freshly dampened by the previous nights rain and tiny droplets of water still clung to the edges of the slick black roofs and the awning of the small tailors shop wedged in between the bakery and more row houses. The wind gently tugged at the flaps of my jacket and blew my trousers tightly against my legs. As I walked up the stairs to 221B Baker Street, I prepared myself to find my friend in the downhearted mood in which this cold, dreary weather typically left him. After knocking on the door and hearing an uncharacteristically cheery response from Holmes, my theory was swiftly disproven. Turning the old, cold metal handle forcefully, I opened the door to see my friend pacing quickly and rather energetically across the room in front of the blazing fire. Ah, Watson! he cried, motioning to the chair beside the mantle. Come! Make yourself comfortable! I see you have a case, I interjected on my way across the room, removing my cold, heavy jacket. Oh yes, Watson. One that I predict you may find rather interesting, perhaps not rivaling the cases which you have named the Study in Scarlet or The Sign of Four, but a matter of some importance none the less. He grabbed a letter off the cluttered desk and handed me the fresh white paper, which read: A new case has presented itself in Nussex Hills. Your assistance would be much appreciated. -Inspector Lestrade Still pacing, looking straight ahead, he asked, What do you know about the troubles in Nussex Hills, Watson? I read something about the situation there just this morning I believe, I said as I quickly sifted through the variety of newspaper from this morning on Holmes desk. Ah, yes here. I read a short excerpt from the paper aloud. Police have recently been baffled by an eerie scene in the graveyard of Nussex Hills. Just this morning, police have begun investigating the scene where the body of the wealthy, deceased Samuel Cromwell was dug up and mutilated. Residents in the area have been particularly disturbed by the objects found surrounding the body. Small bones, a circle of what is believed to be animal blood, and peculiar geometric symbols surround the grave, leading some to believe the crime scene has been the site of a pagan-type ritual. Well what do you make of it? I questioned Holmes. Sufficient data has not yet presented itself. It would be rather foolish of me to hypothesize on the case at this point, but if I am not mistaken, we will soon have some fresh information. Just as Holmes released the last word from his mouth, there was a strong, hard knock on the door, and Inspector Lestrade entered, just as Holmes had predicted. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed, giving him a distraught and somewhat confused appearance. Nevertheless, his broad shoulders and confident stance gave him a commanding air. Holmes! he exclaimed. I trust you have received the evidence that I had delivered to you. I apologize for not being able to come sooner. It is an important case, you know, and it was desired that I be present at the scene of the crime for a while were any more evidence to show up. That is quite alright, Inspector Lestrade. I believe you remember my good friend, Dr. Watson. You may trust that he will hold in confidence any facts of the case that I will. Pray, tell us the facts of the case in detail, said Holmes, motioning to another seat by the fire.
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then returning to his original pace. He crouched over the body, observing it for some time. Then, pulling out his measuring instruments, he scurried along the ground. After dropping to the ground the fourth time, he jumped up with excitement and a happy gleam in his eyes. Hunched over, he quickened his pace to the edge of the graveyard, where he once again got down on his hands and knees. Rubbing his finger on the surface of the muddy ground, he drew back his hand to observe what appeared to be simply mud. Smiling, he bolted upward and walked up to Lestrade.
It is a case of much importance, he replied. The residents have been much disturbed by the situation. Many believe that the grotesque scene was the doing of a group of pagans, intended as an offering to the gods, and they fear that the event may repeat itself. The body was that of Samuel Cromwell, a wealthy man who had made his money in banking and died only a few weeks ago. He was liked well enough so that we cannot seem to find any enemies that may have wished to mutilate his body in this way. As he was a widower and had no children, there are few which knew him. He lived only with his caretaker, Benjamin Hughes, the caretakers wife, and a few servants. As Im sure you have read in the newspaper, the grave was surrounded with curious shapes carved into the damp ground. Around the grave where the body had been unearthed, there was a circle of blood. Furthermore, scattered around the grave, there were small bones, which we believe to be of a chicken or some type of small animal. Other than these obvious observations from the crime scene, we have yet to find any clue which may direct us to the person, or perhaps group of people, which have been the source of so much fear in the community. I think it is best that we go observe the scene directly now if you have no more details to share with us at present. Very well, Mr. Holmes, I have a cab waiting for us just downstairs. We walked down the stairs onto the foggy street with Inspector Lestrade hurriedly leading the way, stepped into a hansom cab, and were on our way to the graveyard. We rattled down the misty streets quickly, but the ride was still a rather long one. In approximately an hours time, we had arrived. Stepping out of the cab, my feet squished into the moist ground which was still quite muddy from the recent rain. A low layer of fog covered the ground, creating an eerie atmosphere. From a distance, we could see the piles of fresh over turned earth around the grave were the body had been exhumed. Walking up to the grave, Holmes questioned the inspector, How many people have been allowed to walk about the grave? I have been the only one to directly approach the hole itself, and an officer has made sure to guard the site in my absence. We thought it best to preserve the scene, and obtain your expertise before tampering with any evidence that may be of use to you. Pleased by the slight compliment, Holmes gave a quick smile and gave a muttered Very well, as he began to closely observe the grave. As the newspaper had reported, small symbols had been inscribed in the muddy earth. One was a star surrounded by a circle. Another appeared to be two double ended forks, crossed in the shape of an X. Around the entire grave, small bones were scattered, and a large ring of blood soaked into the earth around the recently made hole. Holmes paced about the grave quickly, every so often dropping to the ground to observe some small detail, and
The man is approximately five feet and ten inches tall, and smokes Griname brand tobacco. He is relatively poor, but was once not bad off. He has a small amount of medical knowledge. At this point, Watson and I will go back to Baker Street. If you would be so kind as to call around 6 in the evening tomorrow, I believe I will be able to sort this matter out for you. Without giving the inspector time to respond, he walked hurriedly away toward the hansom cab that was waiting for us, and I quickened my pace to catch up with him. We rode back to Baker Street in silence. Although I was curious about the reasoning behind his deductions, I knew better than to disrupt him as he sat quietly thinking with his eyes closed, weighing the probabilities of his varying theories. I waited patiently until he was ready to discuss his results. In the last ten minutes of the cab ride, his eyes suddenly opened and he turned toward me. I appreciate your waiting, Watson. I noticed, by your habit of pressing your thumbs together as your hands are clasped, you were quite anxious to understand my deductions. Well Watson, as you also observed the graveyard, what do you believe to be my reasoning for the deductions I made today? Well, as for the height of the man, I imagine you merely used the length of his stride to calculate his height. I assume the brand of the tobacco was deduced from some ashes you found in the mud which you were able to identify from your extensive research on the subject. However, I will admit that your deductions about his medical ability and economic situation are a bit unclear to me. Very good, Watson! You are quite correct about the first two deductions. As for my deduction about his recent
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poverty, quite simply, the tobacco which he was smoking was of an extremely cheap brand and would very unlikely be smoked by a man who could afford better. The ashes had accumulated under the tree behind which he has hiding waiting for some time, likely waiting for the last worker at the graveyard to leave for the night. The deduction about his previous economic situation was actually from separate evidence. The pattern on the soles of his shoes was extremely well preserved in the muddy ground. That specific pattern is unique to one brand of shoes, those of the Dunquire brand, which happen to be moderately expensive. These shoes were likely bought during the period of higher economic prosperity. Together these two observations allow us to conclude that although he was once in a good economic position, this position has recently declined. Ah, of course, I replied. It all seems quite simple after you explain it. However, you have yet to explain your deduction about the mans medical knowledge. This deduction is quite elementary as well. The cuts on the body were extremely precise and straight, particularly the line cut across the throat. The thinness of all of these cuts indicates that they were performed by a very thin blade, such as a scalpel rather than the large knife that we would have expected to see had the cuts been created by a pagan in some sort of sacrifice or ritual. As of now, there is nothing left that can be done tonight. If you are willing to accompany me tomorrow, I will have a few places to visit to collect the final details of the case before Lestrade calls in the evening. I would be glad to accompany you if I could be of assistance, I replied. Very well then. I would suggest that you retire to your room and get some rest, for tomorrow will be a rather busy day. I went to my room and fell asleep to the soft sounds of the violin as Holmes quietly played classic melodies from the living room. I awoke suddenly to the sound of my friends voice as he urged me to get up. The necessary information that I have been awaiting has arrived, Watson! Up, Watson, up! We have much to do before Lestrade arrives this evening! he cried, fleeing my room. I got ready quickly, and followed him down to a cab. The weather was much improved from the previous day, but the brisk wind remained. Holmes remained quiet for the entirety of the ride, and I sat quietly beside him, watching the streets go by through the window of the cab. We arrived after a short time at a large estate, which appeared to have not been taken care of recently. The grass was overgrown and the gardens filled with weeds. As we stepped out of the cab, I turned to Holmes to question who we were here to see, but before I could do so he walked off hastily toward the side of the house. Approaching window after window, he wiped each one with his handkerchief, peered into the house, and moved to the next one. After repeating this process several times,
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he stopped at one window for an extensive amount of time, studying the room thoroughly from the outside. Glancing in the window, I saw a room with several bookshelves. Before I could observe much more, Holmes retreated from the window back towards the hansom as he quietly muttered, As I had expected.
Climbing back into the cab, he rattled off a different address to the driver and closed his eyes. I silently questioned where this address had come from, but was then struck with the obvious conclusion that it must have been somehow obtained through the group of street Arabs which often helped him in his cases. With his eyes still closed, he asked me, Watson, are you still carrying your service weapon? Yes, I am, I responded. I do not anticipate us needing it, but it is best that we are prepared. We traveled the remainder of the ride in silence, and after another half of an hour, we arrived at a small apartment. The neighborhood appeared to be a poorer one. Children ran about in the streets, much as the street Arabs that ran around Baker Street. We approached the faded red painted door to the apartment, and Holmes knocked on it strongly. The door was swiftly opened by a medium height man. He was a slender man, with a straggly beard and many wrinkles. His eyes darted around slightly in suspicion and his brows gathered together slightly in a mixture of what seemed to be fear and confusion. Good morning, Mr. Hughes. My name is Sherlock Holmes, and this here is my good friend, Dr. Watson. We were hoping we could have a word with you in private about your recently deceased employer, Mr. Cromwell.
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they would not find the jewel that belonged to his family. I followed out this orders after his death as he wished. I began searching for work but I was unable to find any, and shortly after my employers death, my wife got very sick. Her medical bills used up much of our money, and it was not long before we had little left. The jewel was the only source of money I could think of to help her. He dropped his head once more for a brief moment before lifting it slowly again to continue the story. I had anticipated that the jewel may have slid down his throat so I brought by scalpel to remove it. After I had made the cut and removed the jewel, I thought the one cut would make my crime too apparent so I had to make some small incisions on the remainder of the body. The rest is as you have said. My wifes brother is a butcher and supplied me with pig blood and some small animal bones, which I used in the way I had seen in the books of Mr. Cromwells library. I fled with the jewel, and quickly sold it to a man whose name I did not learn to obtain money to get my wife proper health care. He looked at us both with a face drooping in guilt and eyes filled with fear. Well that quite clears up the remaining details, Mr. Hughes, thank you, Holmes said kindly. As you do not know to whom you sold the jewel, I do not see much that we can do at this point to redeem it. I am not a member of the police force and do not feel compelled to share with them the actions of a desperate man wishing only to help save his wife. I wish you good luck with your wife, and I hope that you are now able to get her the necessary medical attention. Good day, Mr. Hughes. I followed him out of the apartment and into the cab, and we made our way back to Baker Street to meet Inspector Lestrade. The daylight was slowly fading and the wind becoming icier. We walked up the narrow stairs to the apartment, finding the inspector already waiting for us. Holmes! he exclaimed, What have you discovered? Have you found the person who has caused all of this alarm and disorder? Holmes approached him with a somber face. It is clear that the crime was not committed by any pagan group, but rather by a common grave robber who wished to cover up his theft. The cuts, animal blood, and bones were merely present to serve as distractions. However, like many grave robbers, this one has likely fled with the money and whatever valuables he was able to find. The chances of us finding him now are extremely slim since he is probably now far away and has left few clues as to his personal character. Lestrades shoulders slumped slightly before he returned to his energetic character. Well at least we may reassure the people of Nussex Hills that the act is unlikely to happen again, and it was not any sort of pagan sacrifice that is likely to repeat itself. Thank you for your help, Mr. Holmes. He turned and quickly left the room. Holmes ventured into the living room, seating himself in a chair
The mans eyes widened slightly for a moment before he smiled and invited us into the small apartment. He motioned to the seats as we walked into the living room; however, Holmes remained standing. As you know, Holmes began, the people of Nussex Hills have recently been upset by what many believe to be some sort of pagan ritual with the body of Mr. Cromwell. You were, Mr. Hughes, his caretaker for many years, correct? Mr. Hughes gave a small nod and returned his gaze to the floor. During the years that you cared for him, you and your wife were well cared for in return. However, when he died, you were put out of work, and as you were not left anything from his will, you fell on rather hard times. As the man gave a sad nod, Holmes continued, You needed money and knowing that the man had been wealthy, turned to the idea of grave robbing. Using Mr. Cromwells extensive library, you searched for a way in which you could cover up your true motive. Falling upon some books about the pagan rituals of some old tribes of America, you found a plausible cover up. You waited a few weeks in hopes it would not be associated with his recent death but be seen as a pagan ritual instead. Then, you came to the graveyard, waited for the last worker to leave, and approached his grave. Knowing your employer was a wealthy man, you knew he would have likely been buried with something valuable. The slender cuts made by the scalpel were the first clue that the crime was not any type of pagan ritual. Using a scalpel, you removed something valuable from him and made cuts in the rest of his body which would fit your cover up story. You then recreated the pagan markings that you had seen in the books in Mr. Cromwells library and scattered small animal bones and animal blood to complete the effect. Mr. Hughes shook with fear and suddenly, he jumped up and exclaimed, I did it for my wife. I did not want to hurt Mr. Cromwell in any way. He was very good to me and my wife, but she is very sick, and I needed money to get her real medical help. When I could not find a job, I did not know what else to do. Dropping his head into his hands, the man sobbed quietly with his entire body trembling. Lifting his head back up and regaining his composition, he pleaded with Holmes, I will tell you the entire story. You can take me to jail. I only wish to help my wife. Holmes responded, I am clear on much of the story but I would like for you to fill in just a few details. The man nodded, regaining his calmness. As you know, I cared for Mr. Cromwell for many years. He was sick for some time, and his death came as no surprise. Before his passing, he asked me to carry out one last task. He wished to be buried with a precious jewel that had been passed down through his family. Since he had no remaining family, he instructed me to bury it with him. He was a very suspicious man and instructed me to put in his mouth so that if someone merely dug up the casket,
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by the fire and lighting a pipe. Noticing my inquisitive glances in his direction about his recent actions, he said, I dont believe that a good man should be judged by his
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desperate actions to help another. Dont you agree, Watson? The question required no response, for his eyes had already closed.

VIII. THE MISSING STARBOARD
It was quite the spring day with the new birds on the window sill waking me up from my slumber. The smell of freshly brewed coffee enveloped my senses as I was lured out of bed and into the kitchen. Mrs. Hudson always did add that special touch to each morning. As I reached across the table for some sugar cubes, Sherlock was almost finished with the last section of the days paper. I glanced at the front pages title the Head of the Thames. I hear that the regatta is tomorrow. Are you planning to attend? I asked Sherlock as if I had not already known that the answer was a rejection for he never was really interesting in the sporting scene. Watson, I have too many cases that need to be solved within the next week to occupy my time in such mindless manner as attending sporting events, Holmes replied slightly frustrated that I interrupted his readings. Just when I figured that I would postpone the conversation until next year, Mrs. Hudson entered the room holding a piece of crumpled up parchment addressed to Holmes in a smudged reddish brown ink. As he tore open the worn envelope and scanned the letter, his eyes widened with a change of heart. Maybe, I will be attending this event after all. There seems to be accusation of kidnapping surrounding one of the Head of the Thames most prominent rowers, Barney St. Clair. He appears to have gone missing on Thursday, three days ago, and his father is just now contacting us in hopes of locating him before the big race. He says that there is some evidence that we best look at before making any deductions. Mr. St. Clair Senior suggests that we meet him at a quarter past noon to survey the scene of the crime, a rowing facility off of Guffry Drive. As I glanced up at the plainly decorated clock ticking routinely above the kitchen cabinets, I noticed that it was almost noon already. We better start off to the boat house within a few minutes. Our new client will be meeting us there quite soon. With a light coat for the seasons mild chill, I hailed a cabby down immediately outside 221B Baker Street for the two of us. Holmes filed into the black, glossy carriage first and we were off to a boat house near the campus of Cambridge University where the missing man attended. Mr. St. Clair Senior met us in an abandoned lot about seven minutes away. The gravel crunched between our feet as we approached our client. He stood proudly with his feet firmly planted and chest pressed out from his skeleton. Mr. St. Clair wore a blue striped Burberry suit with a gold silk cravat around his neck. While we strolled together, the father described that his boy would row here every day before and after class. Approaching the abnormally tall and particularly wide building set upon the water, you could feel the mist spray off of the river as it settled on the land. The river was covered in white caps as the wind was very rough for midday. We opened the large barn-like doors entering the facilities housing for multiple shells, the term Mr. St. Clair used to describe the boats in which his son rowed. The stale stench of murky lake water entered my nose throwing off my senses for a few moments. Once my senses were equalized, I was in awe at the scene that presented itself for I had never been exposed to the sport of rowing. I was ignorant to the amount of equipment which lined every inch of the building. The walls of the boat house protruded with pegs in equal length that were covered in an assortment of boats, different sizes and colors, used in the sport of crew. The equipment was very glossy as it looked as though someone spent an ample amount of time applying wax. There were two wooden docks on each side of the boat house where the rowers would place their boats in and out of the water to practice. They looked as though they had been there for a while as the mahogany planks were rotted around the edges and swelled with rusty nails. We walked along the right dock as it squeaked and bounced around with the waves that splashed underneath. At the farthest point of the marina was a beautiful maroon and gold coated boat. This is the shell in which Barney used in his most competitive races remarked his father. He had been practicing twice a day for a few weeks now in preparation for the Head of the Thames, his largest regatta of the sprinting season. His morning routine consisted on practice beginning at four thirty, followed by a quick breakfast at seven, and class at nine. Once his studies ended for the day, he began his second practice at night around five. Sherlock advanced towards the equipment scanning it up and down. At one point he took out a white glove, lied on the splintery boards, and
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the unseen and quite curious as to how he reasoned through the whole incident. I have just read about rowing in one of my Britannica encyclopedias a few weeks ago, so I am fairly familiar with the sports components. There is much to tell by the oarlocks which hold the oars in place on the end of the rigger. Regarding one opened oar lock and one tightened oar lock without any oars in the area, it seems that your son was in a rush half way putting the boat away. An experienced rower like Barney would not have left a shell in such a manner as this. He would have taken the oars out and locked the oar locks before attempting to lift the boat from the water. As Sherlock spoke, he pointed to the pieces of medal which came off the middle of the crafts frame. Mr. St. Clair stood around the other side of Sherlock, nodding intensely and he waited for each new piece of information. This tells that the lad which startled him had been waiting a while before making an appearance to make sure that Barney was over half way finished docking and placing the boat on to a rack and off of the platform. This ensured that he could not escape in the shell before communicating with our suspect. Holmes continued to analyze the scene by mentioning, I noticed that only one oar is present on the dock whereas the other one must have been used as a weapon to defend against the suspect which shows that whoever came and startled Barney must have had bad intentions and had also have been very fit to fight off someone with such a heavy piece of metal. Since Barney is a rower, his body is in a very athletic condition and could not have been easily overcome by a man of common sorts. Pointing to the side of the shell in which the maroon and gold painting formed a striped, he articulated, in addition, the scratches on the sides of the boat, not to mention the severe damage to the internal boarding of the shell, show that Barney rapidly attempted to evacuate the boat as soon as possible. As you mentioned, Watson, the parallel scratches they were created by the boat brushing up against the dock in a forwards and backwards motion which would be remodeled when someone steps out quickly and loses his balance. Also, as I recall in the Britannica, you cannot step on the inside of the shell or else you will step a hole in the bottom of the boat which ruins a shell making it not able to race in. Holmes finished recounting for most deductions still looking at the shell looking for any extra significant evidence. What about the sculling comment? I questioned as I remembered hearing something about the sculling and not being familiar with the term. Glancing around the large boat house trying to envision the crime scene as Holmes described it, I could see that Mr. St. Clair was discouraged by my ignorance to the case as I knew very little on the subject of crew. With his head turned to face the wavy cove and one shining step in front of the other, he began to pace to dock impatiently.
stroked the edges of the boat looking for some sort of evidence. The vessel, itself, was very long and thin. It seemed to float effortlessly across the rough waters. A couple of scratches parallel to the dock were visible as it tilted with the wake. The widest part, the center, was only around one and a half feet. There were two shiny, metal riggers protruding from the middle most point next to a seat that seemed to roll back and forth with minimal effort. As we waited for Sherlocks inferences, Mr. St. Clair seemed quite fidgety for the results. Sherlock began, Watson, after reviewing the boat, what would you make of this situation? I looked around trying to get a handle on the evidence that presented itself. I noticed that there were a few scratches down the left side of the vessel. If I must say, I would guess that Barneys boat hit the dock a couple of times which would explain the damage. May be he was tired from the work out and had great difficultly lifted the boat out of the water and went to find some assistance I inferred. It was hard to catch the miniscule details I knew that Holmes already discovered, however, I did my best to describe the scene.
My dear Watson, excellent work. That would be quite possible, if the scratches were perpendicular to the dock. You see, he said motioning towards the indents along the boat and the dock, he would have scraped the vessel against the wooden panels with an upwards pulling motion. Holmes announced this correcting me in a gentle, but firm manner. I would say instead that Barney was sculling, or using two ores, at the time. When he was in the middle of finishing his preparations of putting the shell away, when someone of great physical strength, most likely a fellow rower, not only startled him, but also demonstrated physical aggression in the form on rendering Barney unconscious, while, kidnapping him. Holmes, how were these accusations gathered? I asked suddenly. Once again shocked by his ability to see
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Holmes took a moment before answering as he was a little bit preoccupied by other thoughts as well. He took his right hand of his pocket to fix this coat button which had become undone from kneeling on the hard wooden floor. As I was reading about the sport of rowing, it mentioned that sculling is when a rower uses two oars to propel the shell forwards instead of one. It is evident that Barney is sculler not only because there are two oar locks and in any other shell with four or more rowers there is only one oar per person, but it is also clear that any boat with one seat would need two oars in order to aim straight. And something else that supports sculling is the damage to the inside of the slide and ore lock show that this particular shell has been well worn due to the feathering techniques of the blade and the infinite number of strokes taken. The father looked up after Holmes concluded answering my question regarding his initial deductions ready to ask questions of his own. He hesitated, and the kidnapping can be confirmed? Well sir, I was tentative, at first, to call Barneys disappearance a kidnapping. However, it is clear by the marks on the floor that he was dragged carefully out of the boat house. There are continuous scratches, most likely from a golden linked watch, which extends the length of the dock down into the sands outside of the building. Although, we cannot follow the trail to his location since he was taken away in a carriage whose marks blend in with millions of other tracks on the cobblestone road. Sherlock said all of the information so quickly it seemed almost too analytical, it was insensitive. Realizing the impact of his deductions, he concluded with the most important fact of the case. Your son, Mr. St. Clair, is alive. If the culprit wanted to commit a murder, he would have done so right in this spot. The suspect most likely wants to keep Barney from racing tomorrow to improve his own scores. This helped ease Mr. St. Clair a bit focusing more on finding his son rather than other options. Sir, what is the next step in finding Barney? asked Mr. St. Clair Senior fixing his collar and putting on this silky scarf in preparation to set out to get his son back and ready to race. He leaned forwards prepared for Holmes answer. To start, I think it is time that we pay visit to the underdog of the regatta; the one who is your sons primary competition. Whoever the suspect, it is one, present in the rowing world, who cares about Barneys placement in the race. Rory Festibles, the second nationally ranked rower in England, may have a few insights for our case. Holmes said as he glanced across the street for the black, glossy, cab that was still left from the first journey. According to this mornings article on the competitors, it is said that he lives not too far from this location. The wind picked up even more since arriving at the boat house. On the cherry stained wooden bench inside the carriage, I was seated next to Mr. St. Clair, who
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remained silent throughout the ride, opposite Sherlock. He appeared very enthralled in his thoughts as his gaze was directed at the distinctive lines of his rough hands. Do you think Rory is the kidnapper? I simply stated as we were about five minutes away from where the competitor lived on Hosmer Street. I had no idea who was the culprit at this point in our adventure. I am not sure as to whom the instigator is as of yet; however, I am reluctant to say that Rory is to blame for most athletes of this magnitude like competing, not just winning. Sherlock remarked excited to find closure for this case with so many piled up at Baker Street which also needed his attention. The cab slowly wheel up to the apartment 308 on Hosmer Street. As the carriage jerked forwards to a stop, my gloves fell on to the floor becoming dirtied by mud from the riverside. The cab driver came around opening the latched door for us to slide out. We stepped up the solid wooden steps on to the porch of the gray painted apartment with Mr. St. Clair following directly behind us. Above us was a large window with the most spectacular view of the harbor. After only a few seconds of gentle knocking at the front door, a very tall, lean, muscular fellow stood before the entrance. Mr. Rory Festibles welcomed us graciously into his home still in a unitard suite from the middays work out. The navy blue fabric appeared to stretch across his body forming straps over his shoulder and stopping just above his knees. He had strong cheek bones that overwhelmed his face and complimented his long brown hair that whisked across his brow. He was quite cheery for the weather which was becoming more dark and eerie as the day progressed. Good afternoon! You must be Mr. St. Clair, Barneys father, Rory directly spoke to St. Clair. I have seen you at the regattas. Your son is a very excellent rower, though you dont need me to tell you that! And who are you two? he announced enthusiastically pointing to Sherlock and I centered at the foot of the newly red-coated door. The cars passed with great speed on the street behind us. I am Sherlock Holmes, a consulting detective, and this is my partner Dr. John Watson. We are here because, as you most likely are aware, Barney St. Clair has been missing for three days now. As Holmes replied, Rory seemed quite interested and confident. He kept consistent eye contact and genuinely looked sympathetic to the case, not as a criminal would present himself. Yes, anything I can do to help you. He directed us into his sitting parlor comprised of two soft violet couches and a lit fireplace. The heat helped to thaw our fingers which frozen while we were by the harbor. There were a set of newspapers lined up along a glass coffee table along with some freshly baked chocolate chip cookies whose smell dispersed in to the air filling the room with great comfort. I have been rowing for most of my life and I have never heard about crime in the sport. Crew is such a prestigious, honest sport; it is horrible that someone would try to enhance their chances of winning
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had left the family, they had been struggling for funding to remain in the apartment which came as a surprise to her son, Rory. Just last week I was forced to beg on the street just to supply my son with a healthy meal. In desperation, she told of how she planned to make more money. I knew the race was coming in a few days and that the winner receives a cash reward of three hundred and fifty pounds. Rory is such an amazing athlete and rower, however, he would never beat Barney at first place. I had been comparing their times for weeks and he still is at least seven seconds away from the slowest of Mr. St. Clairs times she explained.
by taking out a top competitor. To me, rowing is something I do for myself and I feel so good when I win a fair race. I find that Barney was my biggest competition in the Head of the Thames. I am quite frustrated and concerned that he has been given this great disadvantage. For months I have been training for this race to see my progress in comparison to him. Mr. Festibles eyes tightening and began to shake his head. One could truly see the pain on his face as he is as much depressed as Barney is in not racing. Do you live alone? Sherlock asked the rower while rubbing his fingers along the embroidered edge of the seat. Rory answered, straightening his back, I live with my mother. She is usually in the house for most of the day, however, for the last two days, I havent seen much of her. I have been relying on our housekeeper for most of my cooked meals. My stomach has been quite unsatisfied with the maids small portions as my mother usually brings large quantities of delicious food to every dinner. And as for my father, well, he has been absent for the past few months and so I assume my mother is currently in her room still in mourning. It seems to be difficult for he to accept his leaving. Just as Rory stood up from his red, suede-covered sofa, an older, grey- haired woman clad in a bright orange pea coat and gold jewels entered the room. As she strutted into the parlor, her face showed a prestigious, assertive look. Sherlock watched as Mr. St. Clair stared intensely at the womens fore arm. Attached to her wrist was a very distinct gold watch with S. C. engraved into the side of the chain band. Holmes developed a subtle smirk at the sight informing me that the case was soon to be solved. What do you have on your wrist madam? Mr. St. Clair forcefully voiced like a hot lion ready to pounce. Bring it here. His voice boomed, startling the room as he is usually a quieter man. Oh, uh, this old thing, belonged to my grandfather who passed years ago, the women spat with cheeks beginning to turn the color of a rose. She quickly cupped the watch, trying to cover up the evidence. Unless your grandfather shared my age, initials, and love for rare watches Id say that the watch belongs to me. In addition, I would also add that the piece of gold was handed down to my son Barney and he was wearing it the day he disappeared, Mr. St. Clair senior snarled at the now guilty Mrs. Festibles. The cases details seemed to unravel quiet rapidly. Holmes grabbed the womans arm, gently pulled up the orange coat sleeve, and unlatched the precious jewelry from her arm. He examined the ridges of the linked chain with a magnifying lens directly matching it to the scratch marks made on the dock where the crime was committed. Suddenly, the truth was released. Rorys mother sat down among the group of men, on the opposite side of the sofa in which we were seated, telling all of what had transpired. She explained how since Mr. Festibles senior
With her hands pressed up against her face and tears flowing from her eyes, Mrs. Festibles unlocked the kidnapping details. At the Saturday market, I had recently run in to a former rower, Michael Daure, earlier in the month of February and we were discussing the race. He confided in me that he had ripped his Achilles tendon and could not perform that the regatta. Michael also described how the injury was made during a race against Barney in which they were neck and neck for most of the first thousand meters until he tore the muscle on a powerful stroke meant to push him ahead of the usual winner. That race, he announced, brought up a lot of desires of revenge against the rower since he can never be entered in such an important regatta again. I took this opportunity to employ the lad. I would pay him fifteen pounds if he kidnapped Mr. St. Clair a few days prior to racing. Although the money was unnecessary, Michael Daure accepted the proposal ready for retaliation. The shameful woman offered the location of the kidnapped man claiming that he is in Daures very sizeable residence on the other side of the harbor. I planned on releasing the young man after the Head of the Thames and taking off to the South American country of Brazil until the press and police announced the case as closed Mrs. Festibles admitted. Rory, ashamed of his desperate mother, looked into his mothers eyes with a solemn glare. His cheeks began to turn a furious magenta as he publicized his withdrawal
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from the race after hearing the news. I would rather know that I beat my competitor in a fair manner. Even if Barney does stay entered into the competition, he would have lost many crucial practices during the days leading up to the regatta affecting his finish time he said honorably as Holmes made arrangements for Mr. St. Clair Senior to collect his son at the Daure residence a few miles away. After revealing the struggles of an older woman providing for a family on the streets of East London, Mr. St. Clair found that he had a different opinion for Rorys mother and promised to not press charges just as long as she accepted thirty pounds enough to get her though a couple of honorable job interviews. She accepted this
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replacement of punishments with an abundance of gratitude. By the next morning, the weather had reset itself to a beautiful regatta day. The flowers filled the air with a light perfume scent and the sea green pollen wisped around with the gently breeze. Sherlock and I once again found ourselves seated at the kitchen table enjoying local pastries and coffee brought up by Mrs. Hudson. The newspaper that lay in the center of the counter was entitled The Found Starboard Ready for Race Day. I suppose Barney is still up for a row today I remarked as Sherlock peeked up from his copy of the London Times. Raising his brows Holmes replied, Watson, I think I will be attending today, care to join?

IX. THE ADVENTURE OF THE STRIPED OWL
It was a windy, rainy day in May, right around lunchtime in 1890. As I walked down Bakers Street to visit my former flat mate, Sherlock Holmes, I pulled my jacket tight around my body. As the rain fall became heavier, I quickened my pace to Holmess dwelling. We shared apartment 221B until I met Mary, my wife, during the mysterious case revolving around her fathers treasure, two short years ago. As I reached the entrance and crossed the threshold, Ms. Hudson took my wet coat, and I headed up the stairs. I found Holmes pacing across the common room, which he usually does when hes working on a case. I opened my mouth to address him, but he held up his hand to stop me. I could hear the pattering of rain on the roof and the howling of wind around the apartment. After a minute, he smirked and took his seat. Watson, how wonderful it is to see you! You are looking well. Holmes continued, How long will Mary be out of the country? I was taken aback. I had not told anyone Mary had left the night before. How did you know she was gone? Its quite easy, if you know how to interpret the clues. First, the timing of your visit; normally you would be on your way home to eat lunch with Mary. We did not have plans; you came to see me on your own accord. A sentimental man such as yourself would not miss an opportunity to spend time with Mary to have lunch with me. Therefore she is not currently at home. Secondly, you have a stain on the back of your knee. It is then obvious that your wife was not at home this morning. As we learned from Henry Baker, his hat, and his wavering spouse, a wife who loves her husband would never let him leave for work in such a poor state. Because I know Mary cares for you, it is apparent that she was not at home when you left. I doubt she departed this morning because you would have seen her off, and she would have caught the atrocity that is your pants. She has been gone since at least last night. I twisted my torso, and sure enough, there was a brown stain about the size of a halfpence right above my knee. I felt my face flush as I made a mental note to ask Mary to buy a new pair of pants when she returned home. Holmes continued, Stop being so emotional. Back to Mary. I know that she will not be back tonight because when I wired your office to ask you to come over for tea, they said you were out, but would be back at work tonight. Why would you work at night when you have a wife at home? Especially seeing that you are not eating with her now, you would surely have dinner with her. But alas, you are here. One can only conclude that she will not be home tonight. Finally, and probably most obvious, she has no family or business in England. Her mother died soon after her birth, and we both know the fate of her father. However, I can safely assume she has many friends from her school days. Therefore, she is probably visiting one of them. She is most likely out of the country, or she would not be gone for such a long period of time. What is her reason for travel? I shook my head. While I should be used to Holmess deductions by now, I was still surprised by his ability to construe entire stories from such miniscule details. She is visiting a friend from school in Scotland.
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Before I could ask Holmes any more about the feather, we heard a knock on the door. We could hear Ms. Hudson let the visitor in the apartment, and his footsteps quickly ascended the stairs. The door swung open, and in walked Holmess client. The client was tall, towering over both Holmes and myself, and he was in his mid-twenties. His hair was a dark brown, almost black. It was very long and hung in his eyes, which were the brightest shade of green that I have ever seen. It was apparent from the stubble on his face that he had not shaved recently. As he strolled across the living room, he addressed Holmes. Mr. Holmes, its nice to meet you. My name is Theodore Aberley. I believe we just missed each other this morning, but I left a feather and a message with your housekeeper. I see you have the feather; I hope youve had a chance to examine it. I have heard nothing but praises for you work. You alone have the ability to solve a case from next to no evidence, which is what I have. Who is your comrade? He gave me an inquisitive look. He is my friend, Dr. John Watson. He often assists me on my cases, and Im sure he would be an asset to our quandary. If his presence is acceptable with you, would you do the honors of catching him up on your situation? Holmes replied. Aberley sighed. I am from northern England, but I moved to London 4 years to work for the railway. I met my friend Clarence McNair in the station. He had moved to London from Texas, and was already working for the company. We got along fairly well, and he took me in as a roommate in his flat in London. Over these past four years we grew close, until one day last week he disappeared for nearly two days. I searched his room while he was gone, and I found that feather on his pillow. When he returned, he was visibly shaken. I asked where he had been and where had the feather come from, but he refused to answer any of my questions. He insisted that the feather was nothing. But I have never seen him so on edge, and I worry for his safety. I woke up this morning to find him gone, and I saw another feather blowing in the wind outside the apartment. I think the feather is the reason for his stress and absence, Aberley concluded. Holmes and I locked eyes as Aberley finished speaking. I could tell that Holmes was interested in this case. Thank you Aberley. Have you seen McNair today? No, I have not seen him, Aberley answered, but I heard him slam the door on his way out of the apartment this morning, around 6 am. Holmes pondered this. If he has not returned by eight oclock tonight, wire me immediately. Unless I hear from you, lets plan on meeting at half past noon tomorrow. I would like to inspect Clarences room myself to try and gather more information. Aberley nodded. I will leave my address with your landlady. As for payment, I do not make much money
Shell be back in a week; she asked me to accompany her, but I had to work. Do you have a case to fill my time until she returns? It seemed you just had a revelation when I walked in, I inquired. Holmes stood up and walked across the room. When he reached the bookshelf, he picked up a long, black and white feather. Do you have any idea what this is? He handed me the feather. I examined the plume. It was about ten centimeters in length, very soft, and mostly white with brown and black streaks. It had not been used as a pen as there was no ink on the tip. Beyond these basic observations, I knew I would have to rely on Holmess unique wisdom. All I can gather is it is the feather of a large bird. But I could not tell you which bird. Why do you have it? I asked. A client dropped it off this morning and told Ms. Hudson that he would return after lunch. The client said he found it in his roommates bedroom. He stated that the roommate has been acting odd and nervous. He should be here any minute; Ill let him fill you in about his case. Holmes gazed out the window, but did not observe his visitors arrival. Watson, what do you know about owls? he inquired. Not much. I know they are nocturnal and native to almost all parts of the world, I replied. But do you know what they symbolize? Holmes continued to examine the feather. All I could imagine was the wise owl with large, allknowing eyes. After thinking about it for a minute, I answered, Well, they are often associated with wisdom and the night. Holmes chuckled. Watson, you are correct to some degree. I believe this is an owl feather. In the modern day, owls represent wisdom. But in ancient times, owls were associated with death, especially to the ancient Aztec and Mayan civilizations.
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working for the railroad, but I can pay you this. He held out a small bag of coins. Holmes took the bag from Aberleys hand and paused for a moment while he seemed to mentally weigh it. This is acceptable. Thank you for bringing your problem to me. Unless I hear from you, we shall see you tomorrow afternoon. Aberley rose and crossed the room to shake Holmess hand and my own. He exited and we heard the descent of his footsteps and the eventual slam of the door. Holmes looked at me, and I could tell he was looking forward to tomorrow. What do you think of his case, Watson? I do not know what to think. It seems to me there are many possibilities for the cause of his stress that do not require your assistance. What is your take on the situation? I think theres something there. We shall see tomorrow. Are you free to accompany me to the apartment? Good, Ill see you tomorrow then. I have some research of my own to preform before our meeting tomorrow. Holmes was visibly eager about this incident. He had been case free for a few weeks, as the past few potential cases had been rather obvious and dull. He ushered me out of the apartment, and I retrieved my coat from Ms. Hudson. I began my journey back home, zealous for what was in my future. Later than evening, I attended my patients and settled down to rest around eleven. I had been sleeping for a couple of hours when I heard the door creak open and slam shut. I sat up in bed as I heard even footsteps advancing towards my room. Three steady knocks were applied to the door. Come in, I shouted, not knowing who to expect at this hour. Holmes opened the door and entered the room. Quick, Watson, you must arise at once. Ive received a telegram from Aberley- it is urgent that we arrive at his flat with haste. I have a hansom waiting for us outside. I got of my bed and quickly put on my shoes. What new developments have occurred that require our presence at such a strange hour? I inquired. Ill explain in the cab, Holmes replied. Holmes and I hurried out of my practice and across the street to the awaiting hansom. Once inside the cab, Holmes expanded on the case. I dont know much, Watson. The telegram I received from Aberley said his roommate has been killed, and for us to arrive at our earliest convenience. I wish to beat Scotland Yard to the scene of the crime. The remainder of the ride was spent in silence as the cab advanced towards slums of London. The hansom pulled up in front of a shabby flat with broken windows. Holmes and I stepped out of the cab and ascended the
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staircase. Holmes knocked on the door twice before it swung open. Aberley stood in the entrance, visibly shaken. Come in, the police are on their way. Holmes and I entered quickly and shut the door behind us. I attempted to comfort the young man. I am so sorry for your loss. Could you expand on what happened to your friend? He came home around six in the evening, and immediately retired to his room. It was apparent that he did not feel well. I tried to assist him, but he refused any help. I decided to let him be and speak with him in the morning. My plans were changed when I heard a bloodcurdling scream emerging from his room three hours later. I rushed up the stairs and stormed into McNairs bedroom. What I saw will haunt me for the rest of my life. His throat was cut and blood was pouring out onto the bed. In his right hand lay the bloody knife. Blood was also smeared across his face like war paint. It was truly horrifying. Aberley finished as he sank the ground, head in his hands. Holmes replied, I would like to see the room, if you dont mind. I assume nothing has been touched.
Aberley nodded his head and showed us upstairs. The scene was much like he described. McNair lay on his bed in a pool of blood. The knife was in his hand, and the bloody stripes had been painted under his eyes were now dry and a deep red. Holmes first approached the body and leaned over the neck, closely examining the wound. He then circled the body to examine the knife and McNairs hands. Holmes finally made his way to the open window and peered out. At that moment, the door burst open and Lestrade barged into the room. Holmes! What are you doing here? the inspector inquired.
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Spaniards, it is believed a small sect of people escaped and still follow Aztec practices in secret. The late McNair must have gotten mixed up with this group, Holmes concluded. Our cab quickly stopped, and we saw the darkskinned man running up the stairs into an apartment building. Holmes and I swiftly followed, until all three of us reached the roof. The man was approaching the ledge of the roof when Holmes reached him, grabbing the back of his coat and pulling him to the ground. Who are you? Why did you kill Clarence McNair? Holmes asked. The man glared at Holmes. I demand you release me. I will tell you my story, but not this fashion. I am a free man, and intend to remain so, he replied with a thick accent. My name is Ahuiliztli. I am from the great land of the Aztecs. I killed that American to extract revenge for my people. Ten years ago, when McNair was just entering manhood, he trespassed on our land. Not only did he interrupt a sacred ritual, he alerted the police and our sacrifice was halted. We are a small group of people, the last surviving in Mexico that can directly trace our roots to the ancient Aztecs. Many of our elders were taken in by the Mexican government because of McNairs report. Since that day, I vowed to shed his blood as punishment for his actions. Five years ago, I hunted him down in his home in Texas. When I was sure I had found him, I sacrificed an owl native to my home, the striped owl. I left the owl outside of his door as a warning. But when I returned that night to kill him, he was missing. I learned that he abruptly left the States and moved to London. It took me another five years to acquire the resources I needed to travel across the ocean. When I finally made it to London early this week, I began the search for McNair. I finally discovered him at the railway and followed him home that night. The next morning while he was at work, I climbed into his room through his window and left a feather on his pillow. A feather from the same striped owl that I left at his front door so many years ago. The striped owl has very distinctive feathers, due the patterns of its coat. Two days later, I placed a feather on his doorstep for him to find when he returned home. Finally, the next day, I stuck into his room in the early morning. I drew my knife and dug it into his neck. The release of blood was like a release of my anger. He screamed but was quickly silenced. I knew the roommate would be up in a matter of time, so I swiftly placed the knife in his hand. I couldnt resist marking his face with his own blood in the style of the Aztec war paint. After ten long years, I finally got my revenge upon Clarence McNair. And I can finally die in peace. With these final words, Ahuiliztli turned and ran to the edge of the roof. He climbed onto the ledge, let out a native war call, and soured over the edge of the building. Holmes and I rushed to edge, and we peered down upon the crumpled body of the foreign men.
Theodore Aberley is a client of mine. Im here to investigate the circumstances around his roommates death. Lestrade replied, What circumstances? After a minute in the room, it is apparent that this was an act of suicide. The knife is in his bloody hand. I regret to inform you that you are wrong. This man has been murdered. The culprit placed the knife in his hand to make it look like a suicide. But if you look at the wound, it is deeper on the right side, which indicates the knife started the gash on this side. As the knife is in his right hand, it is unlikely McNair inflicted this fatal injury on himself. If it had been an act of suicide and McNair used his right hand, the cut would have started on the left side of his neck. Next, the bloody stripes on his cheeks. It is true that his thumbs are bloody, but they were just dipped in the blood- it is not smeared as it would be if he streaked blood across his face. Finally, Lestrade, if youll come to the window with me, you will see a bloody thumbprint on the window ledge. I believe it is apparent that McNair was murdered. Lestrade was silent at first, and his face became red from a combination of anger and embarrassment. Well, Holmes, I suppose youre right. Scotland Yard will begin our investigation immediately. I must ask you to leave so we may begin our examination of the scene. If you require my assistance, you know where to find me. Holmes turned and exited the room. I followed as he descended the stairs and walked through the door. I called out to Holmes as he rounded the corner of the building. He ignored me and continued walking until he stood in the alley underneath the window of McNairs room. Watson, look! Under the window! A large, flattened bush was beneath the window. Wedged in between the branches of the plant was another feather. Holmes picked up the feather, held it up to the light to examine it, and tucked it into his coat pocket. Exercise caution, Watson. I believe the murderer is still nearby. He wants to ensure McNair is dead. I opened my mouth to respond but was interrupted by the crash of a rubbish bin behind us. Holmes and I pivoted just in time to see a man take off towards the street. He was average height, his skin was dark, and his hair was grown to past his shoulders. Holmes and I chased after him, and saw him climb into a trap. Homes flagged down a cab and instructed the driver to follow the mystery man. Holmes, what has gotten into you? I believe that to be our murderer. While you were at your practice last night, I referred to my encyclopedia on the history of the Aztec civilization. Human sacrifice was commonly used during religious practices. The ancient civilization believed that the spilling of human blood was essential for the continuation of the universe. While the Aztecs were almost completely eradicated by the invading
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I rushed down the stairs to the body, but was unable to find a pulse. Holmes sent a wire to Lestrade, who showed up within the hour. Holmes relayed Ahuiliztlis story to the inspector, and the body was disposed of.
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Readers, this is one of the cases that will stick with me for the rest of my days. The crazy gleam in the eyes of the Aztec and the moment of his jump will haunt me for the rest of my days.

X. THE CASE OF THWARTED VENGEANCE
It has been several years since the retirement of my dear friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes to his small farm on the Sussex Downs where he so enjoys the study and practice of the peculiar art of beekeeping. With the help of a glass of brandy and several bowls of shag, I have succeeded in obtaining his permission to publish one of his most suspenseful cases on my most recent visit to see him there. For many years, he has been reluctant to let me put the case on record due to its lack of instructive points and his belief that I would over romanticize it. Fortunately, lack of recent practice of the detective art has mellowed his severe didactic nature, and he has finally consented. I must warn my readers that to fully appreciate this particular case it is helpful to have reviewed some of my previous chronicles. On an evening in late 1903, I had dropped by Baker Street to find my friend in one of his lethargic states. He was stretched out on the couch playing a slow, sad melody on his violin that I was sure was of his own invention. An old bent billiard hung from his lips, and wraiths of blue smoke wafted towards the ceiling. Although to the little acquainted Holmes would have appeared impassive, I, who knew him so well, could tell that my friend was happy I had come. I succeeded in rousing him from his slothful sate by suggesting supper. He sprung from the couch with enthusiasm. I have not had occasion to demonstrate my wonderful domestic traits to you in some time, Watson! exclaimed he. I believe I will turn my efforts to preparing a most wonderful meal for the both of us. If you had come yet five minutes later, you may have found me engaged in that habit that you so detest. Capital, Holmes. Do you happen to have some cigars on hand? He indicated the mahogany box on the mantle as he began to prepare our supper, and I smoked while he bustled about the kitchen. After we had supped, we retired to the living room to smoke our pipes and read. Holmes read the sensational literature of which he was so fond while I delved into an enlightening book he had strongly recommended to me. Suddenly there was a loud clang at the bell which gave us both a violent start. It had come with such force that it appeared we had an urgent visitor; however, this first impression proved to be incorrect as we moved to the window just in time to see a dirty street arab running away from the front door. Holmes raised his eyebrows and a sly grin spread across his harsh features. I believe we are about to plunge into some curious problem, Watson, said he as the maid entered carrying an old leather satchel, that was quite marked up. She explained that it had been left by our recent visitor. Holmes dismissed her, glanced briefly at the bag and tossed it to me. You know my methods, Watson. What do you make of this curious parcel? Mimicking my friend, I picked up the satchel and began to examine it but prepared myself internally for the embarrassment that always ensued whenever he loosed his sharp intellect on any puzzle that seemed unsolvable to me.
I began, It is dark brown, old, and rather worn. It has two straps and appears to be extremely common place. No man of fashion would dare to be seen with such a thing. Its owner probably belongs to the working class; I would say hes most likely a store clerk. I said the last with much uncertainty because I had no great record of success when being so liberal with my deductions. It did not surprise me in the least when Holmes assumed his didactic air which so often unnerved me. My dear Watson, once again, you see but fail to deduce properly. This bag was stolen this afternoon from an elderly postman. Holmes! How the deuce can you tell? I exclaimed. Really, Watson, it still astonishes me that upon receiving the answer you cannot see the steps. Notice the discoloration of the leather on the side of the bag that would rest against the body when being worn. The side nearest the body looks much newer while the side that
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anything more from the note than the words that were typed therein. I was about to exclaim, but Holmes was too quick for me. Not now, Watson! We must act! I will explain at a later time. Grab your coat, we must get Lestrade and follow this thread; it could prove to be quite treacherous. As I donned my overcoat, Homes hurriedly snatched a file from his massive portfolio while ringing for the maid to call us a cab. In an instant we were rattling away through the damp London streets. Holmes was silent and meditative, his eyes to the ceiling. I could sense the cogs of his brilliant mind turning like the machinery of a great factory; Holmes was thinking furiously. Although I was utterly astounded and completely in the dark, I dared not disturb my friend in his concentrated thought. Both excited by and apprehensive of our present journey, I felt as though the black London night had swept us up into a wild adventure. Another Riddle When we rattled up to Lestrades apartments, Holmes sprung out of the carriage motioning for me to wait. He returned a few minutes later with Lestrade in tow. Lestrade, not his usual cocky boisterous self, looked docile and worried. I inferred that Holmes must have said something to pacify him, although I could not imagine what it could have been. 31 Lyon Place, Camberwell! Holmes barked at the cabbie. And with that we rattled off into the foggy London night once more. When we arrived at our destination, Lestrade and I followed Homes to the front door. It was obvious from Lestrades countenance that he was as unenlightened as I. Following three resounding knocks, the door opened to reveal a face that was both familiar and distasteful to me: that of Mr. James Windibank. For those unfamiliar with my previous chronicle of the case of Ms. Mary Sutherland, this man Windibank, Ms. Sutherlands step-father, disguised and posed as his step-daughters suitor and cruelly left her at the altar in order to bind her heart and prevent her from marrying. The object of this heartless deception was to secure that her inheritance would continue to supply the household. I know that we have had words in the past, sir, began Holmes quickly, and my feelings towards you remain very much unchanged, but I am here because I fear for your step-daughters safety. Windibank was taken aback. Well sir, my wife has been a bundle of nerves all evening. You see, Mary never came home for supper. As she is usually quite the respectable and well-mannered young lady, this was quite out of the ordinary. I insisted that it was nothing, but my wife was convinced of foul play, and here you are confirming her suspicions. With an, Excuse me, sir, Holmes pushed his way past Mr. Windibank and asked Marys mother where her
faces the world is scratched, lightened, and has the unmistakable look of leather repeatedly wetted. This discoloration indicates that this satchels owner has exposed it to the elements a great deal while wearing it and has often carried it in the London rain. What store clerk do you know who would ever need to carry his satchel out of doors except upon relocating from his cab to the comfort of his office? As you correctly stated, this item could not have belonged to a gentleman. We seek a man who carries his satchel a great deal, and is constantly forced to brave the elements. Does not the stalwart London postman present himself as the most probable option? We can further deduce that this particular postman must have been elderly because the two-strap style went out of fashion in favor of the one-strap style around twenty years ago, and two strap satchels cannot be readily found today. The young postmen, such as the one who delivers to our very own door, all carry the one-strap. As we have seen this street arab, whom I did not recognize as one of the Baker Street division, fleeing our doorstep, the bag was not dropped off by its owner and has, therefore, been stolen by someone. If you will notice, the edges of the bag are still slightly moist showing that the true owner must have made his rounds in the midst of this mornings treacherous storm, and the bag has been stolen since. Because the storm stopped around noon so we can narrow down the time of the theft with some certainty. I had to admit that I could find no flaw in his reasoning. Indeed, it seemed so simple when he explained it. But, Watson, he said, we have failed to see what our parcel contains. Surely this will shed some light on the matter. With those words he opened the satchel, remarking on the G.P.O. tag inside that confirmed his theory, and he pulled out a small grey sheet of paper on which was typewritten: The dangerous game begins Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Those youve endeavored to assist will find themselves in need of assistance. Sherlock Holmes handed me the card and commenced to light his pipe. He said, This may be merely an empty threat from one of my countless enemies, Watson, but, still, I will put my methods to work. With this he took the note back from me, retrieved his magnifying lens from the bureau, and sat down in his large high-backed chair examining every detail of the card. After several minutes of contemplative study, a cloud came over his face and he suddenly jumped to his feet. Great Scott, Watson! This is far more serious than I had imagined. We are working with a high intellect here. His face showed an odd mixture of delight at a challenge mixed with something akin to fear. I was shocked by his sudden reaction; I had been unable to read
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daughters bedroom could be found. Accordingly, we all filed into her bedroom. After taking a quick look around, Holmes remarked that there were clearly unnatural gaps in the young ladys closet showing that she had recently removed a great deal of her clothes. Upon hearing this, her mother immediately noticed that her luggage was gone. It is as I feared, said Sherlock Holmes gravely, Mr. Windibank, what has become of the typewriter that you used to trick your daughter? I am aware that it is no longer in your possession, but any information you can give me as to its whereabouts would be most helpful. I sold it a few months ago, stammered James Windibank, obviously astounded at Holmes seemingly supernatural knowledge, I received a letter offering me a good sum for it and was instructed in the letter to leave it at the post office and to collect the sum in return. I was to say, every three, and then present the typewriter. I found it all very unusual, but, as the price was so good, I saw no need to ask Holmes had given a violent start as soon as Windibank had said post office, and at this point he held up his hand and said, You must excuse us while we endeavor to assist your daughter. We piled into the cab and Homes ordered the cabbie to go straight to the Leadenhall street post office and then reclined in his seat. He caught Lestrade up on the curious package we had received. Really, Holmes! I know your peculiar methods, but to come away on a wild goose chase like this on such little evidence hardly seems prudent. I had not even finished my after supper port when you dragged me out and into this charade. You made the situation sound dire, while all we have to back our pursuits is an old satchel, an empty threat, and a truant young lady. You will see shortly how deep and dangerous these roots extend, Lestrade said Holmes as he smiled at Lestrades fussiness. He then commenced an explanation of his reasoning, something for which I had silently been anxious. The first singular point I noticed about the gray notepaper, which was of high quality and could only be bought for a good price, was a small stain of violet ink near the bottom right corner. I was at a loss for a functional reason that such a stain would have arisen, and the only possible explanation seemed that someone has intentionally dipped the paper in violet ink very slightly. If the ink had been spilled, the stain surely would have been less uniform and less slight, but if it had been merely a smudge, the stain would have been much weaker, broader, and less defined. I accepted the intentional dipping as a working hypothesis. As I often say, when all the probable explanations have been eliminated, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. I then moved on to the printed words. Immediately, I noticed fourteen distinctive characteristics about the typing, but the most singular were the slurred es and tailless rs. As you have probably guessed by now, Watson, I instantly
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recognized the typewriter of Mr. James Windibank, the scoundrel who had so treacherously posed as the suitor, Mr. Hosmer Angel. I also connected the violet ink as similar to, although not exactly the same, as the ink with witch Ms. Sutherland had stained her glove the morning she came to see us. However, I realized immediately that our current mystery could not have been the work of Mr. Windibank; he would have no reasonable desire to contact us again and would most certainly not dare threaten a clearly superior intellect. The inscription indicated some design upon my clients, so I immediately knew that Ms. Mary Sutherland must be in immediate danger and that the parcel had been sent to me purely to put me on the trace as a sort of test of my intellect. Sadly, it was not until speaking with Winidbank that I realized the significance of the postal workers bag, which indicates the post office where letters were left by Ms. Sutherland for Mr. Hosmer Angel. I knew the very same post office has been under construction this entire week past, making it the perfect place for a crime. We are up against a dangerous criminal, gentleman, and one who acts not out of any desire for personal gain but purely with designs to humiliate me in my profession. That he procured the typewriter some months ago shows planning and determination. I just hope its not too late for Ms. Sutherland. A cold chill ran through the inside of the carriage as Lestrade and I both realized the gravity of the situation. We were also filled with awe at Holmes deductive genius; even Lestrade could not conceal the feeling of inferiority that was so requisite when dealing with such an agile mind. We shortly pulled up to the Leadenhall street post office. As we alighted from the hansom, Holmes made a quick inspection of the area surrounding the front door, looking at the ground for traces, but he appeared unsatisfied. The post office was clearly under construction, but it showed no sign of forced entry. As Lestrade and I followed Holmes forward, we were surprised when, instead of heading for the front door of the small establishment, he made a sharp right muttering, No forced entry. The post office was a corner building situated right next to a small alley just wide enough to fit a carriage. As we rounded the corner, Holmes gave a yelp of joy. We may not be too late, she has not been here more than five hours! he exclaimed as he ran forward glancing at the ground. I was astonished at the audacity of his statement but held my tongue considering the pressing nature of our circumstance. Towards the back of the building was a shabby small door that looked as if it had not been used in years, and it was towards this door that Holmes bounded. Notice the discolouration on the door, Watson! This door is usually padlocked and so the lock must have been removed recently! He flung open the door which was indeed, unlocked. We entered a small windowless chamber which had, no doubt, once held the packages.
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the landau, I saw a man sitting in the corner. His top hat was pulled down over his eyes and his face was obscured by what I thought was shadow. Believing this to be Hosmer, I hopped into the seat opposite him. I realized too late that the man was masked and not Hosmer at all, but, before I could let out a cry for help he was upon me with a white pad in his gloved hands. I smelled the strong smell of chemical, and from that point I remember nothing more until I awoke, bound and gagged in the dark here. I was so completely frightened. Oh, but you must act, Mr. Holmes, you must save my dear Hosmer. At this point, Sherlock Holmes explained to her briefly and definitively that there was no Hosmer and that he was only a part played by her stepfather to discourage her from other suitors so that he could retain her income. The poor woman was, of course, distinctly shocked by this claim and protested vehemently that it was absolutely impossible. Holmes pulled the file he had taken from Baker St. from his coat and showed Ms. Sutherland the hard proof he had put together while also recounting her stepfathers behavior when he was confronted with the allegations. In the end, she had no choice but to succumb to my friends pure logic, absolutely heartbroken. Sadly, she appeared a broken and exhausted woman, and, thankfully, Holmes only had one further request of her. Only one further point, Ms. Sutherland. Did you still have the letter you received from the purported Mr. Angel? She rummaged about herself and then frowned. I certainly had it in my hand when I stepped into the landau. The brigands must have removed it from me, she managed to get out amidst increasingly uncontrollable sobs. The interview over, Holmes asked Lestrade to escort Ms. Sutherland home in the cab, to place a guard at her home, and then to come round to Baker Street. The trail had gone cold for the night. Lestrade acquiesced without any of his usual superiority. This singular case had evidently left as strong an impression on him as it had me. Holmes then thoroughly examined the little room but appeared to find nothing of merit. Well, Watson, he said, It appears that the tangled skein of this mystery trails off into the night; there is no more action to be taken. I only fear that some soul in this great metropolis is in grave danger tonight. We then hailed a cab of our own and retired to Baker Street, stupefied and frustrated. Lestrade joined us not long after we had arrived, and, Holmes cleared up a few obscure features of the case for us. He had known Ms. Sutherland was only at the post office for some five hours at the maximum because there were tracks from a landau that were made in the mud, and these tracks would have been washed away had they been made before the rain. We continued to discuss various details of the case but came to no definitive conclusion. Lestrade feared that another catastrophic terror such as the Whitechapel murders was about to fall upon the great city. After he had left, I turned to Holmes, exasperated, Who in the world would have such designs upon you? What treacherous villain is lurking out there?
There, lying prostrate on a barren metal table lay Ms. Sutherland, bound and gagged. She whimpered with fright upon our entering, but fear turned to joy when she perceived the stark avian countenance of my companion. As we untied her, a second gray note fluttered from her bindings. My heart sank as I realized that this wouldnt be the last of our involvement in this dark business. I felt as if events beyond our control were in motion and were sweeping us toward even more terrible future events. We lit the lamps which thankfully still had oil in them. Homes preferred to have the necessary interview instantly at Leadenhall due to the possibility of impending danger. He stooped and picked up the gray slip which read: Assault follows kidnapping. The hierarchy of crime. Holmes tucked the note inside his pocket, and after we all made sure that Ms. Sutherland had not been hurt, Holmes proceeded with the interview. Pray, tell us as quickly as possible, Ms. Sutherland, how this unfortunate series of events came to pass. Anothers safety may hang in the balance. After wiping away several tears, Ms. Sutherlands vacuous face assumed a look of determination that I had never expected, and she launched into her quick narrative. This morning, as usual, I collected the post. My heart gave a leap to see that one of the letters was addressed to me. Of course, my mind immediately jumped to poor Hosmer, so I stole away to my room to read the letter. Well, among renewals of the vows we had taken together and rather personal declarations that his feelings had not changed, the jist of the remainder of the letter was that my dear Hosmer had gotten mixed up in some dreadful business that had taken several years to clear up. He was, however, ready for me now and had his affairs in order for our union. He indicated that he still had the most tenacious enemies and that the entire affair must therefore be conducted in the utmost secret. I was to pack my most needed things and leave the house without saying anything to anyone. Of course, my heart leapt with joy as I had feared my poor Hosmer dead all this time I must interrupt here to offer a short note to my readers. Leading a quiet, retired life and due to the oppressive influence of her stepfather, quite obviously, the lady had never happened across my chronicle of her peculiar incidence. As Ms. Mary Sutherland is, of course, an alias, there was no reason for her to have ever known that she was the subject of the chronicle unless she had read it in full. This explains her enduring love for Mr. Hosmer Angel, even though the man doesnt really exist. I was to go to 223 Baker St. and there would be a large black landau waiting for me. My, Mr. Holmes, I didnt even realize I was so close to your lodgings until I think about it now. Anyhow, I did as was instructed and arranged all as was specified. When I opened the door of
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Holmes looked up at me, a wry grin upon his face. My dear Watson, you surprise me. I have no doubt of the identity of the villain. Dear me, Holmes! I exclaimed. Watson, can you think of no one with an extreme intellect, no morals and unlimited means who would want to wage a Vendetta against my career? I thought for a moment, sifting through the various cases we had experienced together over the years in my minds eye. Suddenly, I had an epiphany. Why, it's the Baron Gruner! Very good, Watson, replied Holmes, showing me only the slightest praise. Why ever didnt you tell Lestrade? It would do no good. He has made no mistake, and there will be no proof against him. We will have to anticipate him, block him, and thus expose him. We discussed the depressing matter no more. I began reading the latest medical journal as Holmes got down his old tobacco slipper, lit his black clay pipe, and stared meditatively into the fire. I could tell by his demeanor that this was going to be one of those all night sittings. Early the next morning, I awoke with a start to find Holmes fully dressed by my bedside. Up, up, Watson! he cried, We have a dangerous day ahead of us. The villain has been here in the night. He must have been quite as a mouse for me not to have heard him. Look what was sitting just outside our door this morning. He held out a banged up old tin cup that looked as if it had seen better days. Come, come now, Watson. The game is afoot! The Tin Cup In a very short time, I was up and dressed, and, after shoveling down some of Mrs. Hudsons delicious breakfast more hastily than I would have liked, Holmes and I were out of the house. We hailed a cab and Holmes instructed the driver to make haste to Lee. As the mental fog that sleep often leaves in our minds began to clear, I became curious as to our destination and asked where we were going and how the mundane tin cup could hold any significance. Why, Watson, you really must try to deduce more from what you see. This tin cup clearly belonged to a beggar. There are distinctive scratch marks and dents on the bottom rim that indicate repetitive banging on the road as is characteristic of beggars. The cup also has an incredibly dirty and scratched interior due to the amount of coins that have clanked down inside of it over its lifetime. And once we know that this is most likely a beggars cup, we must simply apply the incident to the peculiar case in which we are involved and see if any threads correspond. We know that our opponent wants to track down those for whom Ive done favors, and so we can conclude that today may be a very dangerous day for
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Mr. Neville St. Clair! I exclaimed, proud of following Holmes logic. Mr. Neville St. Clair was a fellow we had come across many years before who, while living in Lee with a respectable family and estate, earned his living as one of the craftiest beggars to ever work the streets of London. When Mr. St. Clair was thought to have disappeared, a scraggly ruffian with a twisted lip was taken into custody as the primary subject, and no one but my friend landed on the truth that the rascal in jail was none other than St. Clair himself. After uncovering the incredible disguise, we agreed to let the whole issue slide on the condition that Mr. St. Clair renounce his wayward profession in lieu of a more respectable and legal one. The events of that rare case came flooding back to me as Holmes and I rattled along toward Lee. We found the St. Clair home had just risen for the day, but was already in a state of anxious disorder, as the head of the household was nowhere to be found. Mrs. St. Clair met us at the door both thankful for and surprised at our appearance. Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson! she exclaimed, Thank goodness you are here! But how?...How could you know already? I havent even wired the police yet. We just found he was missing. Her face clouded and it was clear that she did not believe our presence to be a good omen for her husbands safety. She ushered us in, and Holmes asked to see Nevilles bedroom. We were shown up to a small bedroom decorated plainly with a lone bed, a highbacked chair and plain desk, and a chest of drawers. Holmes was immediately like a dog on a scent; he sniffed around the room examining every detail before finally standing up looking satisfied.
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him, grabbing the note, and turning him over, we saw the dreadful sight. His face was rent from the corner of his mouth to his high cheekbone, a wound that was probably the result of a sharp knife. The grizzly taunt of the terrible wound was that Mr. St. Clair was now truly the man with the twisted lip. Upon checking his vitals, I was glad to inform Holmes that he was still alive, and due to his low blood pressure and faint pulse, he had probably been anesthetized. After covering his face with a cloth to prevent his wife from seeing him, we carried him back to the house. We sent the maid in our cab to the telegraph station to wire for an ambulance, while Holmes and I waited in the house. Once we had explained to Mrs. St. Clair the state of her husband and had lain the man himself down, we retired to the sitting room to attempt to make some sense of the new note. It read as follows: The old mans time for napping is going to come most assuredly. The marine vessel, Destroyer, is made of steel so my wooden vessel, Life, most assuredly will very soon be outdated and destroyed. I was entirely taken aback by the strange message that seemed not at all to pertain to these horrible acts, but Holmes smiled and said, This Baron Gruner is all jest and taunt. Do you not recognize this code? I had surmised it must be a code, Holmes, seeing as this message makes no sense, but I confess myself ignorant of its meaning. Recall, Watson, the short case I related to you as the first one I ever endeavored to solve, replied Holmes with raised eyebrows. Why, the case regarding the Gloria Scott and your friend Trevor! I exclaimed. The message that proved central to the unraveling of that case was coded every third word beginning with the first word. Do you suggest that this message is of the same breed? Have a look for yourself, said Holmes, handing me the grey note. The note counting only every three words, reads: The time is come. The Destroyer of my life will be destroyed. Dear me, Holmes, I believe he means murder, said I with a tremor in my voice and fear in my heart. So he does, Watson, so he does. Notice the scheming of this fellow. Do you remember what James Windibank was to tell the post office to exchange his typewriter? The word were, every three, the very key to this message. And have you not heard of the very event which will likely play a central role in his diabolical scheme? I shook my head and Holmes continued, About a week ago, the papers mentioned the upcoming marriage of Violet de Merville, this time to the
I think we can be sure that Mr. St. Clair was being blackmailed and that he left this house to meet his blackmailer, said Sherlock confidently. What makes you think so, Holmes? I was at a loss to figure out how he came to such a conclusion, but, after my experiences with Sherlock Holmes, I was sure he had some clear train of logic. Notice several suggestive points, Watson. His bed has been made, but hurriedly and without much care. This shows us that he roused himself in the night to go out. What criminal, when abducting a victim, would then make the bed afterwards? Also, note that he has folded his nightclothes and laid them here on the chair showing that he has dressed himself and must have had every intention of leaving the house. The final suggestive point centers on that candle stick and why it has been removed from that desk. Can you not finish my deduction now, Watson? He indicated a bare candle stick resting on the windowsill that I had not even noticed previously. It had, as Holmes had said, clearly come from the empty candle holder on the desk. Being one of those old fashioned desks with the brass candle holders built into the desk itself, the candle stick must have been removed from the holder. Wanting to impress my friend, I racked my brains for a reason that Neville St. Clair would have removed that candle stick. Was he reading before turning in? I ventured. No, dear Watson. What book do you see that would support that conclusion? We must consider the facts. From the note we found on Ms. Sutherlands person and from the tin cup we received at Baker Street this morning, we know that someone wanted to harm Mr. St. Clair. This villain, it is clear, succeeded in persuading Mr. St. Clair to leave his house of his own accord. Mr. St. Clair must have been using this candle to signal to this scoundrel from his window. The only foreseeable conclusion is that he was being blackmailed, and that this meeting was prearranged to settle the affair. Here, Holmes and I exchanged a meaningful glance: we both knew that his past occupation would give a blackmailer who knew his secret the perfect opportunity. Holmes continued pensively I would wager that our Mr. St. Clair is still on the property then, though in what state I cannot say. After a quick glance out the window, he pivoted and raced back down the stairs, and I followed behind him. We walked briskly down the path to the back of the country house in the direction of the barn. Holmes was walking with purpose, and I suspected that he had an idea of where we might find Mr. Neville St. Clair. Holmes threw open the huge barn doors with the considerable vigor which was characteristic of him in his states of activity. What we found inside that barn affected me greatly despite my military and medical experience. Sprawled amidst the hay was the prostrate figure of Mr. St. Clair with a pool of blood surrounding his head and another grey note pinned to his back. After running to
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respectable Alfred Lyons, son of the wealthy noble, Lord Lyons. The ceremony will be ostentatious and the guest list distinguished. We must inform the force, I suggested. Indeed, Watson, but there is someone to whom I would prefer to speak first. The Colonel Sir James Damery who brought us the Baron Gruner case and is well connected with all involved. At this point, our cab had returned with an ambulance following not long afterwards. Seeing Mr. St. Clair in good hands, we set out for the Carlton Club, where all of Londons nobility, Sir James among them, could regularly be found during the daylight hours. We entered the gilded doors of the Carlton Club shortly thereafter, and upon inquiring after Sir James we were told that although he had been there in the morning, he had fallen ill around noon and was driven home shortly thereafter. Upon returning to our cab, Sherlock turned to me, Watson, I must ask a great favor of you. If will be so good, I will let you off at Scotland Yard. You are to relate to Lestrade everything that has happened. Request a police presence at the de Merville house immediately; Violet is to be guarded most closely. The wedding is tomorrow evening; it needs to be swarming with constables. I am sure, after you explain the situation, Lestrade will give you no trouble. The de Mervilles are of the highest social circles and are connected to the most important families in the empire, as we have seen. Lestrade will want to do all he can to protect the great family. I assented without hesitation. In response to my query, Holmes only said that he needed to tie up a few loose ends on his own and we were to reunite later that evening at the Baker St. apartments. After a long and tedious explanation to Lestrade, I succeeded in getting him fully on board with Holmes instructions. Once the whole affair was explained to him, Lestrade reacted in much the same way Holmes had predicted and was eager to ensure the safety of the de Merville family. Holmes and I were also to attend the wedding reception to maximize detection and security. I returned to Baker St. pleased with the good job I had done. As Holmes was not yet returned, I resumed the delightful book I had started the evening before. Even though it had not been twentyfour hours since, my casual visit of the previous day seemed worlds away. Late afternoon turned to evening before Holmes returned. Even though very accustomed to reading his moods, I could tell nothing from my friend; he was neither dejected nor exuberant. He looked the same as when I had left him, except that he was carrying a small brown parcel when he entered. He had grabbed the Persian tobacco slipper, stuffed his pipe full, and commenced to read before he addressed me. You were successful with Lestrade, Watson? Entirely, he should have security there now, and he has assured me that Scotland Yards top priority
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tomorrow will be to make sure that the wedding goes off smoothly without harm to anyone save the criminal. Hes requested our presence for added support. I stopped here hoping that he would fill me in on his pursuits. Instead, he simply stated, Oh, yes, we will have to go, Watson. I was perturbed that he had remained silent, but decided not to press him, knowing that he rarely withheld information without reason. He unwrapped the brown parcel, and I was astonished to see that he had bought a revolver. Dear me, Holmes. Why on Earth did you buy a revolver when you could just borrow mine? You may very well need yours too, my friend. We are dealing with one of the most dangerous men in London. I fail to see how it could be so dangerous with half the police force by our side. Holmes responded with a penetrating look and only said, You will forgive me Watson if I dont elaborate. We will have to wait for tomorrow. With these words he resumed reading and smoking, and I knew the conversation was over. I went back to my own reading and after a couple of hours, I decided to turn in. I was sure I heard the whining of Holmes violin late into the night, and I knew that he would be up for many more hours contemplating the morrow. The Wedding I spent most of the next day at my practice and engaged in various house calls, but I arrived back at Baker St. promptly at six oclock. I found Holmes reading the afternoon paper and smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. Holmes glanced up when I entered. Well, it looks as if we are on the right scent; there were no murders discovered last night. This fits with our hypothesis that Bruner is going to make his move tonight. Youre just in time for supper, Watson. Ive wired and asked Lestrade to join us. Ah, I believe thats his step on the stair now. The door opened and the housekeeper let Lestrade in, and Mrs. Hudson had the food on the table shortly thereafter. We did not speak of the important case at hand and had the chance to rediscover, as we had on previous occasions, that Lestrade proved truly pleasant company when he wasnt trying to evidence himself a better detective than Holmes. Lestrade had ridden over in his Scotland Yard hansom, and it was in that vehicle in which we drove to the de Merville wedding reception. The lavish Buckner Hall was the site of the fabulous reception. As could be expected from that upper echelon of society, the decorations were grandiose and the bride was stunning. All of the names synonymous with London society were in attendance along with a great deal of incognito constables and Scotland Yarders. There were uniformed constables at every entrance, and I was at a loss as to how Baron Gruner would go about forcing entry. Almost as
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incredibly conscious of my every breath and thus commenced one of the longest waits in all of my experience assisting Holmes in his endeavors. Only the wait which I have chronicled in the short narrative The Speckled Band could compare, and we were able to sit during that period of anticipation. At the start, I was all nerves and wonderment, not understanding how Holmes could leave such an important case in the hands of the police only to dash off on this other seemingly unrelated adventure. I was incredibly curious as to what strange events awaited us in this bedroom, and who it was sleeping in the bed. I formulated theory after theory to answer these questions, each theory getting wilder as the time passed. Eventually, I began getting drowsy and dropping off to sleep while standing and waiting. Suddenly, after what had probably been only a few hours, but seemed like days, the door handle turned slowly and some light from the hall flowed into the room as a man walk quietly into the room. I saw him raise his arm and noticed a second too late that he was holding a revolver. He discharged all six shots at the sleeper in the bed, threw his revolver on the floor, and stepped toward the patio door which was clearly his intended route of escape. Holmes and I had both removed our revolvers already, and we advanced towards him as Holmes turned on the lights. The light flooded the room revealing the shocked face of the Baron Gruner. The Revelation I was as equally shocked to see the Baron as he was to see us. Holmes was, of course, the only one not in the least shocked, and, before the Baron could make any sort of play, Holmes had him handcuffed. I was not sure where Holmes had gotten the handcuffs, but, then again I had many questions. Holmes immediately walked to the phone in the room, motioning for me to guard our prisoner. These were indeed wealthy people who had a telephone in their bedroom. Holmes phoned Buckner Hall, and, having Lestrade put on the line, instructed him to come as quickly as possible to 116 Riviera Place and to detain all the help upon arrival because we had captured the Baron. The Baron let out a harsh laugh and barked, Well, I must give you credit, Holmes. I underestimated your intelligence. You've caught me red-handed, and Ill go to the Assizes for it. But you still werent able to stop the outcome of my designs, were you? It was Holmes turn to laugh, Well, Baron, thats your problem isnt it? You still are underestimating me. How many people do you know who dont bleed when shot six times? Allow him to look at his victim, Watson. I allowed the Baron to turn his body to look and took the time to glance myself. I was astonished; the corpse wasnt bleeding at all. I could see where the shots had entered, but there were only black holes in the sheets. The Baron let out a scream that made my skin tingle before collapsing back in the chair in which he was being held prisoner.
soon as we arrived, Sherlock came up from behind me and grabbed my elbow directing me toward the kitchen. This way, Watson, said he. I let him direct me until we were quite close to the kitchen doors. When near enough, we simply followed one of the wait staff on his way back in the kitchen, and Holmes let go of my arm. Once in the kitchen I knew to follow his lead. He made his was to the very back of the kitchen and, before I could even protest, we were standing on the edge of the busy street on the opposite side of the street from the entrance to Buckner Hall. Holmes proceeded to a cab parked next to the street, and hopped in. I followed, asking, Holmes! Where in the world are we going? He whistled, leaned back in his seat, and we were off into the maturing evening, leaving the wedding behind us. My dear Watson, it is as you say. How much more protection could Ms. de Merville need with half the police force attending to her. No, Watson, we are not needed, but rather we have work to do. With this mysterious statement, his eyes assumed their pensive stare, and I knew that he would say no more. Looking out of the window I noticed that we were steadily making our way into one of Londons more fashionable districts. Holmes had the cabbie pull over at one of the intersections in this neighborhood, and we alighted swiftly from the cab. We walked down a lamp lit street, Holmes leading. We turned into the yard of a large brick home and made our way to the far corner of the fenced in yard. Well, Watson, well see how good your climbing skills are. Follow me over this fence, good man, whispered Holmes. I watched carefully as he nimbly scaled the fence, once again showing his great capability for energy when stimulated. I followed him, attempting to mirror his movements. The fence behind us, we made our way to the back boundary of the yard of the brick house and moved along the back fence Homes feeling the fence as we went. Finally, he halted and pulled a long old-fashioned key from his coat and appeared to stick it directly into the fence in front of him. A moment later, I heard a sharp click as Holmes opened a doorway in the fence that I hadnt been able to distinguish before. Stepping through the door, we found ourselves in the opposite yard. The house was a huge and palatial white house that was far bigger than the one from whose yard we had just come. I followed Holmes as he approached a ground floor patio, hopped over the banister and walked to the door. He turned to me and whispered, Were going to have to wait for quite a while I assume. Using the very same key, he unlocked the door, and we were inside the house. Once inside, Holmes quietly relocked the patio door. I could tell we were in a grand bedroom, though I couldn't make out much due to the darkness of the room. Holmes motioned for me to hide behind the curtains on one side of the glass patio door while he stood behind those on the other. Upon looking at the bed, I was astounded to see that there was someone sleeping in it. Amazed that the person hadnt heard our entry, I immediately became
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Holmes continued, Baron, I think its time you met the man you were trying to kill. Sir James, it is safe to come out now! The closet opened, and out stepped Sir James Damery in his full impeccable aristocratic garb. The clouds were beginning to clear from my mind, and the whole affair was growing lighter. At that moment Lestrade and a couple of constables walked into the room, the police having finally arrived. Lestrade, said Holmes, your timing is impeccable. I was just about to explain how I arrived at this result and staged the capture of the Baron. Lestrade agreed and took a seat, and the constables relieved me of my duty guarding our Baron. Holmes continued, So Ill begin with when I left you at Scotland Yard, Watson. I drove straight here to the home of Sir James, where I was sure the Baron would attempt murder. As soon as we retrieved the third note from Mr. St. Clair, I knew that the murdered man would be Sir James if we were not to intervene. The Baron knew that the nuptials of Violet de Merville would appear as a clear place for a murder, that Violet would appear an ideal victim, and that this would present him with the pefect distraction. The Baron had no doubt I would decipher his simple recycled code, and therefore would believe us all to be attending the wedding to foil him. Gentlemen, our Baron is not daring enough to act in a room he knows will be swarming with constables and Scotland Yard detectives. He likes to plan and carry out his operations with unfettered and exacting expertise. Understanding this, I re-evaluated the deciphered note. The destroyer couldnt refer to Violet anyway as she had not really done anything to the Baron except give up hope on him in the midst of overwhelming evidence. This destroyer could have referred to three parties, you and I, Watson, Kitty Winter, who threw the vitriol in the Barons face, or whoever had set us on the case. Since the Baron intended for you and I to be humiliated by failure in the endeavor of catching our man, we could hardly be the victims. Kitty Winter is in jail, and therefore beyond the black hand of crime. So, we must turn to our employer, Watson. His illustrious identity was never revealed, and, even if it had been discovered, it would have been impossible to touch him. His emissary, however, Sir James, was both known and fairly unprotected making him a prime target. My suspicions were confirmed when we arrived at the Carlton Club only to find out Sir James had gone home ill earlier in the day. This illness was clearly part of the Barons scheme to keep Sir James from attending the wedding, and to keep
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him in bed. The Baron had figured some way to slip something in Sir James food or drink while he was at the Carlton, and that something caused Sir James to go home with a high fever and stomach illness. That afternoon I drove to the residence of Sir James, and crept about to the glass door on the patio because I feared, correctly, that the Baron must have a confederate working inside the house. After knocking, the sick Sir James came to the door to the patio and let me in because he recognized me immediately. I explained the situation to him, and he was most eager to help assist us in our capture of the villain. We settled on Sir James hiding in the closet while we built a replica of a sleeping person upon whom the Baron could discharge his shots as planned. We needed a way to prove he had intended to murder, and, if the shots were discharged, it would be practically impossible to prove him innocent. Sir James gave me his garden and patio key and explained how I could enter the house stealthily from his neighbors home behind him. It was absolutely necessary that we appear to attend the wedding reception, as he would either watch us or have a confederate watch us. I ordered a cab to wait on the other side of Buckner Hall where we would slip out. Once we were here in Sir James room successfully, we only needed to wait for the murderer to fall directly into our hands. After settling on a plan, I went and bought a new revolver and handcuffs because I feared we might need them to capture the Baron. Even Lestrade couldnt suppress his enthusiasm, Well, Holmes, youve really done the force a great service. Ill say that this is one of the most spectacular of your cases that Ive seen so far. Of course, I dont approve of how youve kept the whole thing a mystery to us, but even if one doesnt like the methods, he cant argue with results. Well, Lestrade, you know I require no credit. It can be your name in the papers and mine can stay completely out of it. Its been doing more harm than good having the public exposed to my cases lately, with this last Sherlock shot me a sharp glance. I became painfully aware that if it had not been for me and my chronicling of his adventurous, the Baron wouldnt have had nearly as much fodder to put his plans into action. Lestrade took his leave, and returned with the Baron to Scotland Yard. After biding Sir James goodbye, Holmes and I headed back to Baker St. Thus, Holmes had solved one of his most formidable cases and had saved the life of one of the capitals most popular aristocrats.
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XI. THE ADVENTURE OF THE SCARLET STAINED SCARF
Your breakfast, Mr. Watson, said Mrs. Hudson, can I get you anything else? No, I am quite alright, said I. Pray tell me, where is Mr. Holmes? Will he be joining me for our morning meal? He is in the study with a client; do you want me to bring him to you? No, thank you Mrs. Hudson, I will retire there when I finish. My friends increasing fame and recognition from the people of the area requires him to slave away more hours of the day in the year 96, than any year previously. The clients that have ringed his doorbell have brought him both unusual and common cases, but nevertheless, he has made quite a business. Ever since solving the cases in the most recent years, from the death of Cardinal Tosca to the tragedy of Woodmans Lee, he has been in very high demand. Because my wife was visiting her second cousin in Venice, out of loneliness I moved back into 221B for the duration of her absent existence. This is very interesting indeed, Mr. Hallinan. Let me take a - Watson! You have come at a flawless time. I am just about to examine this scarf Mr. Hallinan has brought me, said my friend with an unusual attitude of excitement for such an early hour. I suspect my friends heightened emotion is due the fact that he has been bored stiff with no cases to occupy his time in the last few weeks. In the history of all English Augusts, this one has brought astounding temperatures. The blazing sun, warming anything to the touch, prevented anyone from stepping outside the safety of their home. If London residents did leave their houses however, they risked dehydration, heat stroke, rashes, and sun burn. While Holmes has been wasting time practicing experiments of all sorts, I have been wandering the sweltering streets curing residents struck with symptoms of the heat. Although he would never admit it, I believe he was the slightest bit jealous of my activity, wanting and waiting to exercise his mind. My companion was sitting confidently in his chair as usual, his eyes distracted by the vibrant, scarlet scarf which he gently caressed. His hands glided gracefully over the woven silk fibers that radiantly glowed with the touch of the morning sun seeping through the window on the east wall. Directly across from Holmes, our visitor stood erect, about thirty-five years of age, wearing a dark tweed suit, nervously grasping his dark brown satchel. His knuckles white, fingers red, and the skin under his nails a dark shade of violet as a result of his strangling grip on the worn, leather handle. His blue eyes expressed a blend of concern, sadness, and desperation as he watched Holmes inspect and dissect every centimeter of the scarf. Taking in a deep breath of air and attempting to wipe the strain off his stressed, pinched forehead, our client turned to meet me in a glance. John Watson, said I receiving a tender nod in return, its very nice to meet you Mr. Hallinan. Your publications have brought him to us all the way from Harlaxton, added my companion quickly without disconnecting his eyes from the accessory, What is your fiancs name Mr. Hallinan? Margaret, sir. Margaret Goldstein. When was the last time you saw Ms. Goldstein? Not for some time, Mr. Holmes, said he beginning to pace aggressively, I have just returned from Paris after spending twelve days there on business. As my profession, I manage The Goose, a hotel in Harlaxton. About a year ago, the Harlaxton Manor opened for viewing and has attracted Europeans from near and far. As a result, which I am very grateful for, the abundant tourism to our town has brought my business much prosperity; the Inn has been bustling with guests, bringing me great fortune. With my swelling wealth and the goal of expansion, I aspire to open another house for the copious amounts of travelers in Paris. During my most recent voyage abroad, I was looking to buy a new house to transform, but was unsuccessful. I tried to dedicate myself to the voyage and even wrote to Margaret that I would be staying the whole duration, but became bored and decided to depart. I boarded the three oclock ferry two days ago, to surprise my Margaret, whom I am to marry in three months time. After bearing the long journey from sunset to sunrise with much anticipation to set foot on land once again, I arrived on English soil yesterday around five in the afternoon. I hoped to surprise my American love, Margaret with dinner at a local pub. She had no inclination of my arrival because my original itinerary noted my return date as four days from today. When my taxi arrived at her residence around seven, nobody was home; the door was unhitched and cracked slightly ajar. I found this very bizarre; Margaret was very conscious about locking the doors because a year ago all her precious possessions were stolen by an unidentified local. Claiming to have learned her lesson, she promised to lock her doors at all times, even if she remained inside. Shortly after the incident, her brother, Peter, traveled here from Manhattan to live with her and ensure her safety. Concerned that she was harmed, I investigated every unoccupied room for anything out of the ordinary. I found the walls naked, the drawers barren, and the closets vacant. The only belongings left in the room farthest from the front door were her large bed, the bedside drawer, the letter I had written to her torn into two, and a picture of
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my fianc and me in a cheap frame. It looked as if all her possessions had evaporated into the air along with her brother, like hot water at a boil. As I walked back to the car, panicked, I noticed something red out of the corner of my right eye. It was her scarf, crumpled in a ball like an outdated newspaper. It broke my heart to see the gift I had gotten her destroyed on the side of the walk. She has refused to roam the streets of Harlaxton without her sacred accessory, and seeing the scarf somewhere other than wrapped around her gentle neck convinced me that something was wrong. I hustled directly to the Police Station, where Peter worked as a detective. I sought his assistance with the hopes he had answers to my questions. I asked one of Peters colleagues about his location and was given indefinite answers in return. The only information I could wheedle out of him was that he was in Grantham, assisting another officer on a murder case, and that Margaret had gone with him. This I could not fathom; Peter focused on robberies, not murders. There were many other detectives in his department more qualified to work a murder case than he, and my fianc would have written to me if she had planned to travel. I read about you in the paper to pass the time while on the ferry to Paris, and was reminded of your skills in all of the confusion of yesterday. Now I am here, Mr. Holmes, and am begging for your help. Holmes studied the scarf for a little while longer, flipping it over, examining every single thread. Mr. Hallinan waited in anticipation, as did I. The expression displayed among his young, handsome face shattered my heart into millions of pieces, reminding me of my beautiful wife in Italy and how much I missed her presence. There is one singular crease exactly in the middle of the scarf, indicating it has been kept on a hanger. Since the scarf was gifted from you to her, I would deduce she does this too keep it in good condition. Also, woven into the silk as if it was one of the original threads, is a long dark hair. Finally, I have observed there is a pungent mixture of musky cologne and sweet smelling perfume radiating from the accessory. My fianc is a blonde, not a brunette Mr. Holmes. That cannot be here hair. said Mr. Hallinan. I agree Mr. Hallinan; your fianc was a blonde until recently that is. By the damage present and the uneven map of color carved into the long, curled strand, I have deduced that she has recently dyed it to a dark shade of brown. In addition, I also suspect that your fianc has been close to another man, one very young and wealthy, because of the scarfs overwhelming smell. Since you have been away on business, it must be someone other than yourself. The fire in Mr. Hallinans eyes lit up like sweltering flames of a fireplace. The comments my companion made angered him impressively.
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How dare you blame my fianc of such a thing! said he, puffing out his chest like a threatened frigate. The rage Mr. Hallinan was feeling over took what control he had on his body. He fell backwards into a chair with a catatonic expression on his face. It was clear to me he was trying to come up with an explanation for Holmes accusation, but couldnt. I am sorry if my companion has upset you, Mr. Hallinan, said I as I attempted to console him. No need to speak for me Watson, I am only making my observations. Mr. Hallinan, This is how I will find your fianc, and it is the only chance we have. I must make observations and deduce a meaning from what little I have. Although your story is captivating, I have not found a strong lead. Through multiple boundless, elongated breaths, Mr. Hallinan relaxed and his rigid facial expression melted away. When he became more alert, Holmes continued. Every piece of evidence is important. Ah Yes! See here, on the edge just above the corner tassel, there is some sort of red residue. Holmes glided to the middle, left drawer of his desk on the right side of the room. He rarely touches anything from there because of the collection of fallen journal towers that reside there similar to garbage in a junk yard. The task in navigating the notebook graveyard took countless determination and bravery. Carefully opening the drawer, my friend spent minutes searching and digging. He then pulled out a medium-sized glass beaker, filled three-quarters of the way with a transparent solution.
Immediately, I recognized the experiment my companion was about to perform; I witnessed this very
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solution before. On the very first day we encountered each other, he was in the science laboratory working on a mixture to prove the presence of blood. Holmes poured a small amount of solution on a piece of torn cotton whose fibers soaked it up instantaneously. He lightly dabbed the practically invisible red dot on the scarf, then flipped the cotton over apprehensively. Positive, said he, positive for blood. Mr. Hallinans face captured a ghostly shade of white with only some traces of color in his puffy red eyes and flushed cheeks. His eyes slowly glossed over with salty tears as he stared blankly with no life at the wall. We shall rejoin this meeting later today, around two, to inspect the residence of your missing fianc. I desire to see the abandoned home of Margarets that you described earlier. My friend and I will take the twelve thirty train to Harlaxton and shall expect to see you at the station awaiting our arrival. Thank you Mr. Holmes. I will certainly be there no later than two oclock, said he sluggishly dragging his feet toward the door with a detached tone in his voice, I look forward to meeting you later. Harlaxton was a beautiful city: the houses all structured with red brick, the cherry blossoms in magnificent bloom, the streets made of cobblestone, and the manor, majestically sitting atop the highest hill. It was clear to me now how Mr. Hallinans business was doing so well. Holmes and I departed the train to find our client waiting in a hansom. After joining him, we drove in complete silence to the house of Peter and Margaret Goldstein on Daybrook Close. The only similarity between this house and the others was the outside structure. The Goldstein residence had no curtains hanging in the window, the flowers and plants in the front were shriveled and brown, and most striking, and the house seemed unconscious emitting no evidence of life. We walked up the steps to find an unlocked door, just as Mr. Hallinan had described. We entered to find a sad interior: no color, furniture, or spirit. Holmes started to explore like a hunting hound dog following the trail of a fresh scent. Mr. Hallinan pointed Holmes in the direction of the room where he found the lonely furniture the day before and then shortly returned to me bringing an anxious environment with him. Holmes continued to scavenge while Mr. Hallinan and I did our own investigation in the kitchen. Watson! yelled Holmes from the other room, interrupting my thought, Come quickly! I ran to him urgently to find a dark-haired woman upon the floor soaking up the puddle of blood in which she was immersed. Mr. Hallinan followed closely behind and collapsed to the floor after barely making it thought the door frame of the bathroom. I immediately checked for a pulse to find none. I brought Mr. Hallinan away from her body while Holmes performed what investigation he could.
Mr. Hallinan messaged for the police after he reassumed the ability to form meaningful sentences. When Detective ODell arrived, the local head of the department, Holmes had just finished collecting his information. He returned form the bathroom carrying a picture frame that he immediately gave to Mr. Hallinan. The body of Mrs. Goldstein was taken away, leaving the four of us in the house alone. The detective questioned us and our client for some time only to discover nothing of importance of the deceased woman. I appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Hallinan, and I am sorry for your loss. Please understand an investigation will be started immediately and we will do our best to find your fiancs killer. No need for that Detective ODell. No murder has taken place today, interrupted my companion confidently. Excuse me sir, pray tell me your name. inquired the detective mocking Holmes bold statement. I am Sherlock Holmes, the one and only consulting detective from London. Mr. Hallinan came to me this morning seeking my help in solving the case of his lost fianc, whom we have now found, said he. And what possible theory do you have about what has happened here? It looks to me like any other murder I have seen. What I will propose is no theory, detective. It is fact. Detective ODell seemed shocked by my companions overwhelming assurance, and sat down, already amused and waiting for what he thought would be a silly, worthless conjecture.
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Miss and Mr. Goldstein are involved in the Eastman Gang, a Jewish mafia from New York City, under the leadership of Margarets father, Monk Eastman. This gang is involved in robbery of silver, gold, and metal, for sale to Eastern Europe; where the materials are made into weapons. Mr. Goldstein worked as a detective in the Department of Armed Robbery to keep himself innocent from the robberies of those commodities he has been committing over the past year. Mr. Hallinan mentioned to me that a few months ago, everything of value was stolen from her house; the culprits were indeed, Peter and Margaret themselves. Mr. Hallinan, how did Margaret refurnish her house after her belongings were stolen? Well Mr. Holmes, I felt obligated to assist her. Then, she had not yet found a job. She asked and I willingly agreed to buy her what she needed. Like I said, I am a successful man. See Mr. Hallinan, Peter stole her things, forcing her to ask you for financial assistance. And how do you confirm these facts, Mr. Holmes? said the detective judgmentally in a mocking tone. To the right side of the master bedroom door is a mezuzah bolted to the frame with the Hebrew sign of the mafia carved into the front, the letters aleph and gimmel. Also, on Ms. Goldsteins right ring finger, there is a defined, fresh mark from a wedding ring, proving she practices Jewish faith and that she is indeed, married. The ring, recently removed, was found in the bottom of the sink in the bathroom where her body was found. Who Mr. Hallinan thought was her brother, Peter Goldstein, was actually her husband from an arranged marriage made by her father. She must have been very unhappy until she met you, Mr. Hallinan. Have you ever been to Margarets house before yesterday? said my friend directing his question toward our client. I have never been inside and rarely would I see the exterior. I would always meet her after finishing her shift at Rachels Deli. Just as I expected; she has been keeping you a secret for all this time. Each of her two lives was kept
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completely separate from the other until Peter found the letter you sent to her while hunting for the perfect house in Paris. Peter sensed her strong connection to you so they packed up things of value to sell, leaving the unnecessary, opulent things behind. With no intentions of coming back, and after dying her hair dark brown for disguise, Ms. Goldstein left with her husband to return to Manhattan. After leaving the photograph in the bedroom, she had sadly regretted it; she returned to retrieve it. She, having fallen in love with you, could not return to her husband or the gang, but also knew the danger she would put you and herself in if she tried to find you. She resulted to taking her own life, freeing herself from a life of crime and saving you from harms way. The knife lying next to her had fingerprints of a dried, dark brown substance which I suspect is the dye she used on her hair. There was one print missing on the knife, right her pointer finger shouldve left one. I examined her hands to find her right pointer finger wrapped in a bandage now soaked red with blood. The bandage explains the void on the knife. She must have cut herself when emptying out our house earlier in the day and covered the wound after dying her hair. Upon leaving, she grabbed her scarf off with her right hand, leaving the red stain on the corner I determined was blood earlier. The cologne radiating from the article was Peters; I experienced a similar smell while searching the cupboards in the bathroom. Detective Sliving, Mr. Hallinan, and I were astonished at the description of the crime my companion gave us. It was outrageous; but all his accusations were supported by evidence. The detective, dumfounded, believed his story and left in the absence of a murder. He did however, mention to us that someone in charge of robberies would be in immediate contact with Mr. Hallinan. Thank you for your help, Mr. Holmes. You are truly remarkable, said he as he handed over his payment. Holmes took the money and we left our client to his thoughts to catch the 7:10 train back to London.
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XII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE RING ROBBER
I arrived to our apartment a little later than usual one evening, but I could tell Sherlock Holmes had already had dinner, as our Baker Street home smelled of fresh biscuits, and meatloaf. I went into my room to change before joining Holmes and looked out the open window at the gloomy weather. The breeze coming in was fresh though and I hoped that this promised warmer weather and clear skies in the coming days. I walked out of my bedroom and sat down at the table across from Holmes who was casually reading the evening paper. Without looking up he said, "You better go ahead and eat. I received a telegram this afternoon and we should be expecting our guest anytime now." "Have you got another case so soon? You only just wrapped up your previous case the evening before last," I replied, and isnt it a little late for a client? "My dear Watson, you cannot expect me to determine how often I will have cases; I go through dry periods just as often as I am overwhelmed by clients asking for assistance to their often simple and trivial cases. However, I have a feeling that this case should be far more interesting, and it may be late but this was the time our client requested. Ah, I think our visitor has arrived." A few moments later we heard a knock at our door and a young woman, I'd say in her late twenties, or perhaps early thirties, walked through the door with such grace that it almost appeared she was gliding. She had long hair that reached her lower back and fell with gentle waves over her shoulders. It was so blonde it was almost white and seemed to glow. Our guest was wearing a somewhat revealing, fitted red dress that showed off her hourglass figure and black patent leather shoes. I must say the outfit seemed a little over-the-top and perhaps even inappropriate for a consultation with my friend Holmes, but I said nothing as she was heaven on the eyes. Her lips were coated in a lipstick that was the same striking color as her dress and added to her overall appearance. Placing his paper on the table, Holmes stood up without the slightest look of surprise at the way his newest client was dressed, then he introduced her. "This, Dr. Watson, is Shannon Eagan. She urgently telegrammed me this afternoon about her missing wedding ring." "Oh Mr. Holmes, my ring has not just gone missing, I believe it has been stolen!" she exclaimed in a distinct but charming Irish accent. "Alright Mrs. Eagan," Holmes said quite calmly, "We will get to the bottom of all this. Please recount for us what happened the evening you found your ring to have gone missing." "Just the last night, I was doing the dishes, as is my usual routine before my husband Henry returns home from Thursday night poker with his friends at their favorite bar. I am sure you are wondering why a woman like me does not have someone to do the dishes for her, and we do have a maid, but I like to give her Thursday evenings off since I am the only one home and am quite able to manage on my own. I had removed my engagement ring, something I always do when washing the dishes, and placed it on the windowsill behind the sink. I realized I had no hand towel with which to dry the dishes so I walked to the hall closet to find a clean one. As was my luck, there were no clean hand towels left in the closet, so I walked to the bathroom to look for a towel in the cabinet. This entire ordeal could not have taken me more than two or three minutes, but when I returned to the kitchen, I found the window to be slightly ajar and my ring missing. All that remained on the windowsill was this short note." She turned to Holmes and handed him the small piece of cream colored paper. It read: What goes around comes back around "How curious," Holmes stated, "Are these all the details you have to share with us?" "Yes, I believe so," responded Mrs. Eagan. "Well, then I must only ask you one more question, do you have any enemies?" "Why yes. I guess I should have mentioned something about my past. I shall explain now. You may be unaware that Henry is my second husband. We have only been married for two months now and it would devastate me if he knew my engagement ring had been stolen. I feared he would notice that I was not wearing the ring so I told him I was having it cleaned and resized so he would be none the wiser. "That should give us a few days to sort this all out then, Mrs. Eagan, so fear not. Now if you don't mind I am quite interested in hearing of this enemy of yours" Holmes interjected. "That is what I hoped Mr. Holmes, and yes, my enemy. Well as I said I am in my second marriage, but my first marriage did not end well. About five years ago I married a man named Frank Lennon, we were madly in love at the time, but the love quickly faded and I realized we were no good for each other. At the time, Henry was a close friend of mine, as well as a close friend of Franks, and I confided in him about my marriage woes. He helped me end my marriage by convincing Frank he would be better off alone or with someone else. I needed Frank to end the marriage so we could divorce and I could try to move onto the next phase of my life. We truly were only friends at the time, but after the divorce, Henry and I
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began spending much more time together, and a year later he was proposing to me. As you can see, this looked quite suspicious in the eyes of my ex-husband, and I fear he is quite bitter about the situation. It is because of this, and the note, that I believe Frank is the one who stole the ring." "If your facts hold to be true I think this should be quite a simple case Mrs. Eagan. If these are all the details you have to share with us I would like some time to think it all over. Dr. Watson and I will be around tomorrow at ten to examine your home and look for more clues if that is acceptable with you." "Henry will be at work until five. Thank you so much Mr. Holmes, I really do appreciate your assistance in this case." With that, Mrs. Eagan turned and left Holmes to mull over the details she had provided. "Mrs. Eagan seems to be quite comfortable with herself based on the way she dressed for her consultation with you, Holmes," I remarked. "My dear Watson, I would agree that she is comfortable with herself, but I think her revealing attire more importantly suggests an air of confidence and mischievousness she has. I have my reservations about everything she told us being true, but we will have to wait to view the scene of the crime for ourselves tomorrow. Now let's have a look at the note the thief left in place of the ring on the windowsill." Holmes carefully placed the note on his desk and immediately began examining every inch of the paper. He took out his glass to get a better look at handwriting, and then he turned to me and asked, "Do you remember the case of the Scandal in Bohemia and the Reigate Puzzle?" "Yes I believe I do, but Holmes, I'm not sure what those cases have to do with this one." "Watson, these cases all have something important in common, they all required us to examine the handwriting on the notes left at the scenes of crime. You know how my deductions work, what can you infer from this note Mrs. Eagan found?" I started looking over the note hoping to remember everything we learned from previous cases as I desperately wanted to impress Holmes with my growing observation skills. The note was ivory, cream color and appeared to be written on parchment paper "Well," I began, "the paper is appears to be parchment, which is quite strange, but perhaps it was on the counter when the thief took the note." "Yes, I would agree. Now go on." I began to examine the writing and noticed it was quite small and somewhat messy, like the writer had been rushed or had not learned proper penmanship. I looked up and saw that Holmes was staring at me impatiently so I began to think out loud. "Hmmm, I think the writer has a sharp intellect and is secretive for the size of the writing is fairly small. I would also guess that they have a tendency to be bossy as the "g" seems to take up much more room than the ascenders."
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"You have done a fairly good job, Watson, but you failed to mention several important, singular facts. I was quite disappointed when Holmes said this, but I have grown accustomed to missing things he makes look so simple and obvious. The writer is clearly left handed as the writing is a little smeared to the right, which occurs when the hand is dragged across the paper. In addition, the lines of writing appear to slope slightly downward implying the purposefulness of the writer. It is difficult to judge the gender of the writer, but it appears to me that they were trying to disguise their handwriting as there are some spots of ink that suggest a pause in the writing. Also, if you take my glass, you will see there is a bit of red there in the corner. It appears to be a waxy substance, but I will need to do some tests before concluding what it is. For now, I think this is all we can deduce Watson. You should get some rest as tomorrow will be a full day as I think we will be able to solve the case." "How can you already be so sure with such little information?" "I have my provisional theory and I shall be surprised if it does not hold true after collecting more clues tomorrow. Now get some rest Watson." Holmes and I woke early as we had a long day ahead of us. The weather had finally cleared and the sky was a crisp, clear blue, and I could hear the birds chirping outside our window. Holmes began to read the morning paper, as he does every morning, and I ate my warm breakfast and drank the fresh coffee we had been served. After we had finished, Holmes and I decided we would walk to Mrs. Eagans home as the warm sun was almost begging us to fully enjoy the outdoors, and she only lived a 30 minute walk from our Baker Street apartment.
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We went back inside and Holmes looked around for a few minutes and then said, Just as I suspected, nothing is amiss. Watson, I think we have almost got this case cleared up. Now let us go and find Mrs. Eagan and head back to Baker Street so make our final assessment of the case. We walked down the hall to the sitting room and found Mrs. Eagan reading a book. She was sitting in a large brown leather chair and turned around and closed the journal she was writing in quickly when she heard us. Have you learned anything new Mr. Holmes? Oh please tell me you know who has my ring! Im afraid, Mrs. Eagan, that our search has not brought us to a conclusion, but I have learned a few valuable things. I was puzzled by Holmes statement as I thought we had both agreed there was nothing to be found, but Holmes always had a way of knowing more than I did. Watson, I think it would be best if we headed home and did some more research. Mrs. Eagan, I will telegram you with any new information we may find. Thank you again for all your trouble Mr. Holmes.
Dont you just love this change in weather? I asked Holmes as we casually walked towards Mrs. Eagans house. Its just such a wonderful change and I think the weather has affected my mood and I feel youthful and energetic! Holmes laughed at me, Now Watson, dont get too excited, this is London and you know the weather has a mind of its own and we never seem to go more than a fortnight without rain. But you are right, the warm sun and clear skies are most certainly a nice change from the cold dreary days weve been experiencing. I agreed with Holmes but wished he wouldnt be so cynical sometimes. After walking in a comfortable silence for about five minutes, just enjoying the birds singing, we arrived at Mrs. Eagans home. The house was situated on a corner lot, allowing for a much larger yard than the surrounding houses. The house was of a deep red brick with a small front porch and cream colored shutters, and on one side there was a large garden and I could see some of the flowers were starting to bloom; it almost appeared as if it was from a fairy tale. Holmes and I walked up to the front door and were greeted by Mrs. Eagan who was dressed similarly as the evening before, but her dress was a rich lavender color and she looked as if she couldve blended in with garden. Thank you so much for coming Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson, is there anything I can get you? I gave the maid the day off and have tried not to move anything so you can see everything as it was last night. Holmes looked pleased, That will be of the utmost help to us Mrs. Eagan, thank you. The inside of the house had floors of mahogany and they looked recently polished. Mrs. Eagan showed us to the kitchen and Holmes told Mrs. Eagan he would call for her when he was done, and with that she left us to our work. I noticed the window above the sink looked out on the garden and Holmes must have too for he suggested we go out the back door and look below the window for any clues. The garden had a sweet flowery smell and the ground was still wet from the previous days of rain. I watched as Holmes closely examined the ground beneath the window. It is quite curious that there are no footprints Watson, as we are leaving footprints as we walk through the garden. And the window appears to be about six feet off the ground so I would assume most men would have to stand on their tip toes to reach into the window so there should be some deeper impressions in the ground. I looked at the ground near Holmes and agreed, That is quite strange, perhaps they raked over the mulch after they had taken the ring? I thought of that possibility, but there is no rake to be found and the shed is locked with a padlock and I doubt any thief would think to bring a rake with him. Let us go back to the kitchen and see if we can find anything there.
With that, Holmes took Mrs. Eagans hand kissed it, and we turned to leave. We showed ourselves out and headed back to our Baker Street apartment. The sky was still clear and then sun shown warmly on our backs. We walked slowly and quietly, as Holmes appeared deep in thought. I just dont understand why she would lie about her ring being stolen, and why she would go through all that trouble to write a note Watson. You mean to say she has had the ring the whole time?
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Why yes Watson, it was quite obvious. First, there were no footprints under the windowsill, and then, there was nothing out of place in the kitchen. However, I noticed that the parchment paper used for cooking was sitting by the windowsill near a tray. It may all be a coincidence, but I think not. I am not sure I am following you Holmes. There is more. We surprised Mrs. Eagan when we entered the sitting room and she quickly closed her journal. You may have noticed she was writing with her right hand, but when I kissed her left hand, I noticed there was some ink on the side of her pinky finger as well, as if it had been dragged across the ink. In addition, there was a small amount of what I assume to be red lipstick on her left thumb. Dont you see Watson? Im not quite sure I do. Oh it is quite clear! Mrs. Eagan wrote the note herself. She has been practicing in that journal of hers and the red spot we found on the note is lipstick from her thumb. And the most singular clue is that the note was written on parchment paper used for cooking. Mrs. Eagan must have grabbed that in order to write a note and I wouldnt be surprised if we could find her ring in that journal as well. Well, Holmes, that does all appear to make sense, but you still have answered the question why? Why would she fabricate the robbery of her own ring? Holmes shrugged his shoulders as we ascended the stairs to our apartment. As was his usual custom, he grabbed his pipe and a pouch full of tobacco and receded into his silent world of thought. I sat by the window and watched as people walked by outside. Holmes sat thinking for over an hour when I suddenly saw someone running towards our front door. Holmes! I believe that is Inspector Lestrade I see rushing to our apartment. I wonder what case he has for us this afternoon! I exclaimed excitedly, as I had gotten quite bored sitting while Holmes smoked an unhealthy amount of tobacco. Holmes had no time to respond to me for moments later, Lestrade had burst through the door and was breathlessly trying to explain what had happened. Therethere wasa, a murder! Sit down Lestrade and catch your breath, then explain what happened to Frank Lennon, Holmes said as he suddenly seemed more interested in this new development. Lestrade and myself both looked utterly shocked at what Holmes had said, but we had grown accustomed to Holmes always being one step ahead of everyone else. Lestrade calmed down and began to explain what had occurred. Mr. Lennons maid came rushing to the station this morning and said Mr. Lennon had been stabbed in the back and was dead. We immediately followed her to the house and inspected the scene of the crime. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary except for what was on the wall. And what was that? Holmes impatiently asked.
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On the wall, written in blood, was Revenge is sweet. Holmes stood in silence for a minute and then said, Are you certain it was blood? Lestrade looked confused, Well what else would it be Holmes? I have a theory. Let us go to Mr. Lennons house immediately and I think we can have this case, and our own Watson, completely sorted out. Frank Lennons house was only a mile away so we walked. I was glad to be outside again as the apartment was quite stuffy from Holmes persistent smoking. In about 20 minutes we had arrived and were shown into the small white house and into Lennons study where he had been stabbed. Holmes immediately went to inspect the wall with the writing on it. Just as I suspected! This in not blood Lestrade, this is red lipstick. See how has a waxy appearance? Why yes Holmes, you appear to be right, but what does that mean? It means that Shannon Eagan is a murderer. I was shocked at Holmes quick conclusion and he could tell. But before he explained everything, we left to arrest Mrs. Shannon Eagan. When we arrived and had Mrs. Eagan in custody, Holmes began to explain what had happened. Mrs. Eagan, correct me if I am wrong, but I believe I know exactly what happened to Frank Lennon and to your ring. Mrs. Eagan was hoping to set up Frank Lennon, her ex-husband, so that he would be arrested. I looked into their marriage and found that Lennon had discovered Mrs. Eagan was having an affair, and therefore wanted a divorce. Henry Eagan of course had agreed to help Shannon by convincing Lennon that he should divorce his wife, but what Henry was unaware of was that Shannon was in fact having an affair with another man. Lennon had just recently learned that Henry had helped Shannon but was unaware of the truth and he had confronted Shannon and told her he was going to tell Henry next week at Thursday night poker. Shannon of course begged Lennon not to say anything and said she would do anything for him. She offered to give him her engagement ring so the he could sell it for money, but he said he did not want her money, he wanted his old friend Henry to know the truth. Furious Mrs. Eagan began to plot a way to get Lennon arrested and decided that she could easily convince someone that he was jealous of her new marriage and wanted revenge. However, when she realized that she had not done as good of a job setting up the crime as she thought, she took to more extreme measures. She knew that I had not fallen for her tricks because even after she suggested who had stolen the ring, I was not able to come up with evidence against him. She then took measures into her own hands and walked to Frank Lennons home, which was only a mile from her own. He of course let her in, assuming she wanted to discuss the matter again, but when they reached his study and he turned his back to her, she stabbed him with the
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Mr. Holmes, sometimes it is better to do what you want and get caught than to not do it at all. I guess you are right Mrs. Eagan. Revenge is the most satisfying of poisons.
knife she had brought from her kitchen. Satisfied with her revenge she wrote one final note on the wall, in her red lipstick, the one thing that had given her away before. My only question for you Mrs. Eagan, is why did you kill Frank Lennon if you knew that I had already figured out it was you who wrote the note?

XIII. THE ADVENTURES OF THE MISSING PAINTINGS
Our friendly but casual conversing was halted as soon as the exit door of the tavern was opened. The immediate feeling of gushing wind that plastered our faces was numbing and our minds were anywhere but focused on the day that soon awaited us. We both took an additional moment to button up our coats and put on our leather gloves. With one last zip of his boot, Holmes walked out onto the sidewalk and led the way. Well, let us embark on this walk home before the weather continues to worsen, stated Holmes. I have a feeling we will have a long day ahead of us. The blistering cold made the walk home from lunch at Tapes Tavern miserable. The comforting feeling from the warm drinks and delicious food that had settled well in our stomachs was now completely gone. As we briskly walked down the local roads, not even noticing the new broughams that lined the streets, the clouds become drearier and light drops of precipitation began to dust the earth beneath our feet. When 221-B Baker Street became visible to our eyes, amidst the deterring weather, a sudden sigh of relief overcame the both of us. Yet, as we approached the front door, we couldnt help but notice that a visitor had dropped by and, to our dismay, had left before we could encounter them. Not only did this person stop by, but they had also left items for us to ponder over. The first item to catch our eye was taped to the door. Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I am in grave need of your assistance. Please read the following excerpt from yesterdays paper. Your help would be greatly appreciated. I shall return later this evening. If you are to be unavailable, please send a telegram and make me aware of a more appropriate time to visit. Sincerely, Patrick Doyle This visitors handwriting was neatly scripted. The paper of the note was on stationary from the local art museum, The Museum of Beauteous Collections. A picture of the museum and caption were located in the bottom right corner, but were extremely faded. It appeared that this stationary had most likely been brought out of storage and attempted to be put towards good use. The note was hastily taped to the door. Underneath the note was an excerpt from the local paper. It looked as if it had been cut out by a young child, for the edges were jagged, but Holmes did not seem bothered by it whatsoever. As I peered over his shoulder, it looked as if the excerpt was most likely taken from the front page. It read: HISTORICAL ART MUSEUM CAPTURES ATTENTION Just two days ago, two major art pieces from the local and infamous art museum, The Museum of Beauteous Collections, were stolen. The pieces were believed to have been taken sometime between 2 AM and 4 AM, during which the night guard had apparently dozed off on duty. This thief is expected to be a professional, for there was no evidence of broken glass or struggle in obtaining the art. These pieces have remained in the museum for over 65 years and are a prized possession to this town. This museum, having declined in attraction over the past few years, has now gathered the attention from a majority of the citizens, who have expressed their concern over this matter. Any known information or suspicions, please contact Patrick Doyle. 324 Baker Avenue. Reward 50.
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After only a few moments, Holmes finally addressed the situation: Well, it looks like we have a new case on our hands, Watson. I just knew that something would come up today. At least we have something to occupy ourselves on this rather depressing day that lies ahead. That is true, old chap, I replied. And with a nod of his head, as if he were confirming his own thoughts, Holmes opened the door to the rooms and sat down, deep in thought. As if on cue, Mrs. Hudson entered with some hot tea and biscuits. Mmm, nothing like hot tea and cookies to revive a man as he is presented with another case. Thank you Mrs. Hudson, Homes noted. It is always a pleasure, replied Mrs. Hudson. Mr. Holmes, I do hope that you saw the note your visitor left you. I also believe that this person dropped this strange looking key as they were departing from the door. I will give it to you so you can return it to whoever it may be. I will make sure to do so, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you. Holmes continued to eat his biscuits and sip on his tea, deep in thought. I watched as his eyes gazed out the window and crumbs from the biscuit fell haphazardly from his lips, as I knew he was making deductions about our current case. Then, surprisingly, he turned to me and asked my thoughts. Well, Holmes. I believe that Patrick Doyle appears to have a strong connection to the art museum and is desperately looking to us for assistance. The museum has probably been run within his family for many generations and he wants to solve the crime as soon as time permits. This can be concluded from the fact that he came to our door and also sent out an ad in the local paper. There isnt much else that can be deduced from the little known facts that we have so far. I replied. What do you make of the key, Watson? I believe the man dropped his key. He probably dropped the note or the ad and when he bent over to pick it up, it must have fallen out without him noticing. The key is probably to his house so I suppose he will be back within the hour, for he probably left our place and did some errands before he would return, I hypothesized.
Well, you still have a long ways to go in learning about the art of deduction, was all Holmes had to say. With that response, I knew Holmes had a differing and more detailed deduction. So, I asked him what he could make of the situation. Well, Watson, you did not analyze the note, as I thought you most definitely would. So I will start there. First, this neatly scripted penmanship shows that Patrick Doyle works in a very prestigious position at the museum. He most likely makes the titles and descriptions that hang near the paintings. This job is very important and one must have excellent handwriting in order to do so. Additionally, he appears to be a respectful man, based on the fact that he referred to me as Mr. Sherlock Holmes. However, I believe he tried too hard and had precontemplated how he would phrase his message. Anyone in a hurry and deep concern would not have had as neat of handwriting and included as much detail. Therefore, this leads me to be slightly suspicious of this Patrick Doyle character. Also, the attached excerpt from the paper makes him appear a little too eager. He strategically had this note written and will be running errands long enough for us to return and he will come back within an hour. What do you think about the key, then, Holmes? I further questioned. I was intrigued by his deductions thus far and encouraged my dear friend to continue. The key, well, this is an interesting twist. As you can see here, the key is very old. It is rusting along the edges and not made of steel, like most keys are nowadays. I believe this key has been passed down among generations. The key was, like you correctly deduced, most likely kept in his pocket at all times. This key opens something very important and possibly very secretive. The unusual shape of the mouth of the key implies that it most likely doesnt open an ordinary lock, either. The thin composition of the key makes me believe that the lock isnt one of high caliber, Watson, and is therefore, hidden from the common eye. I think Patrick Doyle has something he is hiding, such as being the comrade in this case. Before my dear friend could conclude his deduction, and within the hour, we heard a knock at the door. Mrs. Hudson opened it and expectedly, Patrick Doyle was at our doorstep. He was dressed in trousers and a jacket, completed with a tie. Holmes was, of course, correct. He does appear to be a man of high standards and of high status. Good evening, Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. I hope my presence isnt interrupting anything too important. I am just in need of your infamous detective skills, said Patrick Doyle. Good evening Mr. Doyle. Watson and I are always available to put forth our efforts, although I do not make any promises. Why dont you come in and explain more of the case to us? replied Holmes. Patrick Doyle made himself at home and sat down at the table adjacent to Holmes. He reached for a biscuit and then soon began to tell his story.
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quickly arose and dressed myself. I then proceeded to the sitting room and joined my dear friend for breakfast. Good morning, Watson. Good morning, Holmes. It seems to me like we have quite a day ahead of us, I replied. Yes, I would agree. We mustnt hesitate any longer. As soon as you have finished that piece of toast, let us begin our way to the museum. Ill send for a cabbie. When the cabbie dropped us off at the curb in front of the museum, I couldnt help but be surprised at the sight that awaited us. The museum was quaint and old, but you couldnt help but notice its beauty. The way the moss traveled up the sides of the building was enchanting. The path of stones had overgrown flowers covering it. The shutters, although chipped, added a natural feel the museum. It was definitely a hidden gem of London. As we walked through the entrance of the museum, Patrick Doyle was to our right, being questioned by the press. Standing alone in the far left corner stood a hefty man looking exhausted and concerned. This man could be no one else but Matthau the security guard. When he noticed our presence, a frightened looked crossed his face. Holmes approached him and I followed closely behind. Greetings, are you the security guard, Matthau? He questioned the man. Yes, yes, sir, Matthau replied. I would just like to ask you a few questions regarding the past 24 hours if that would be alright with you. I am just trying to gather as much information regarding the case as I possibly can. Matthau nodded in compliance with Holmess request. Would you mind telling me what happened in your eyes the night the two paintings were stolen? Holmes interrogated. I followed the proper protocol like I always do. I carried my flashlight with me, taking a lap around the museum every 10 minutes or so. I shined the beam back and forth across the floor and ceiling, looking for anything that might appear suspicious. And did anything appear suspicious to you that night? Uhno, sir. You are positive? Uh...yes, sir. Alright, well thank you for your time. With no further leads to the case, we decided to leave and return to 221-B Baker Street. I was surprised that Holmes was so willing to depart from the museum after only talking to Matthau for a few short moments. When I questioned his reasoning, he said, Now, Watson. Everything I do has a purpose. Dont be elementary, Watson. What was the purpose for leaving so abruptly? I prompted. It is clear to me that Matthau is hiding something. He definitely noticed something was off that night, based on the way he hesitated and said uh before answering
Well, my night guard, Matthau, was on duty the other night. His routine has always been consistent and he has always been one of my best guards. He does laps around the museum with his flashlight every 10 minutes. For some peculiar reason, he claimed he had dozed off because he had to work two night shifts in a row. He said it was around 2 AM 4 AM. Between those two hours, someone had managed to come in and remove two of our most prized paintings. When Matthau awoke from his slumber and immediately took a lap, he realized what had happened and sent for me immediately. And what did you do when you heard the news? Well, of course I was in shock and rushed to the museum as soon as the cabbie could take me. I observed what happened and realized we werent dealing with an amateur here. I had always wanted the museum to be more popular and attract more attention, but I never intended for this to be the cause of the attraction. Oh, my. Was anyone else in the museum at night that would have been another set of eyes to see something unusual happening? No, Mr. Holmes. I only have the master key and Matthau. No one else has access. Can you personally confirm Matthaus character? Oh, yes. I would not even consider him an offender in this case. He is my best employee and I know that he cares just as much about the museum as I do. Interesting... Well, this case seems like one Watson and I will be able to involve ourselves in and put our skills to use. Is there any way we could stop by the museum tomorrow and speak to Matthau? Of course. That will not be an issue. You are certainly welcome. I have meetings with the press in the morning. Shall we say to meet around noon tomorrow? That shall be fine. We will plan on meeting you at the museum tomorrow. Please have any blueprints of the museum and the master set of keys with you at that time as well. I will be sure to do that. Thank you for your assistance with this important matter. But of course. Have a good evening Mr. Doyle. I look forward to further communications with you tomorrow. Good evening Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. After Patrick Doyle had left 221-B Baker Street, Holmes turned to me and stated, Well, there are certain aspects of this case that do not exactly coincide with each other. Tomorrows meeting shall be very interesting. And with that, I knew Sherlock Holmes was already onto something and I could not wait until tomorrow to see what would await us. I knew Holmes was already prepared for the day when I awoke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and toast. Holmes never failed to keep anyone waiting. I
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my questions. However, it was also clear that he was not going to reveal anything to us in the museum setting and with Patrick Doyle only a few yards away. So how are we going to know what actually happened? When I shook Matthaus hand after he spoke with us and thanked him for his time, I slipped him a note with our address on it and with a request to meet us here later. I am guessing he will be arriving soon. Holmes has proven that things are certainly not always as they appear. Before I could further analyze what he just told me, there was a tap at the front door. Mrs. Hudson rushed to get it and not to our surprise, in stepped Matthau. Thank you Matthau for your prompt return. I appreciate you coming back to see us. Certainly. Now, would you mind elaborating on that night a little more? I got the feeling that the circumstances prohibited you from revealing the full details. Yes, Patrick Doyle mustnt know what happened. I am afraid that I will lose my job for not reporting this, although it seemed so slight to me at the time. When I was walking around the rooms and taking a lap, I noticed that the beam of the flashlight caught something draped behind the paintings that attached them together and to the back of the wall, as if they were hooked onto the wall, rather than being attached to them. I brushed it off, though, because I didnt see anyone on the laps I had taken before and the few laps I had taken after that encounter before dozing off. Holmes sat quietly as he processed what he just heard. Are you certain you did not hear any noises or see anything else unusual? Well, come to think of it, I did think I heard a door shut, but the only door to the museum that we have is the front entrance because it is so old and historical. But, I guarantee you that is the last thing I can recall regarding that evening. Thank you for your time, Matthau. Hopefully this case will be closed soon and we can clear your name as a suspect. And with that, Matthau left. Holmes continued to stare out the window. I knew better than to interrupt his thought process, for I felt that my dear friend was preparing to solve the case. Moments later, Holmes instructed me to wear nothing but dark clothing, for we would be going on a midnight adventure. With such a strange request, I couldnt help but ask him why. Watson, you must always be using clues to form deductions, even though they might mean taking risks. You see, it is clear who the culprit is in the case already. I was perplexed at that statement. I did not comprehend how Holmes could deduce who had stolen the paintings already. It appeared to me that we had little to no leads. You see, Watson, as we had previously deduced from the note and key, Patrick Doyles character was
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questionable. The entire situation seemed so perfectly executed and planned that I couldnt help but deem the culprit to be someone close to the museum with a hidden agenda. Patrick Doyle mentioned that he wanted more publicity for the museum. It has been kept up by his family for generations. The lack of visitors and funds put the survival of the museum in jeopardy. By stealing the paintings, the museums popularity would be revived and attract the attention of the locals. But how would he manage to steal them? What would account for the noises Matthau heard? You see, Watson. Creativity goes a long way. He used a clear rod to attach the paintings together and hooked them behind the wall. In doing this, he could move them both at the same time. The area behind the wall is hollow and the wall does not reach the ceiling. When we went in to question Matthau, I noticed that there was space between that wall and the ceiling, which isnt found anywhere else in the museum layout. The key we found opens the door that leads to the room behind it and the paintings were hung from. By going into the room, he could use the hook and support to pull the paintings up and bring them into the back room, where they would disappear from the museum and be stolen. The noise Matthau heard could have either been the door being opened and Patrick Doyle stationing him or the paintings being taken away. It took me a few moments to process all that Holmes had deduced in such a short time with what appeared to me to be such little evidence. And then I remembered his request to dress in black and I further questioned him about that. Paintings that are very old must be kept up on a daily basis by being dusted and sprayed to keep the color vibrant. Patrick Doyle is going to have to go in at some point tonight to upkeep the paintings because if they are as precious as he makes them to be, he wouldnt want to actually destroy them. We will sneak in before the museum closes, and hide in the bathroom. Once the museum shuts down, we will await Patrick Doyles arrival and catch him in the act. And something else is telling me that Patrick Doyle is hiding something else from us Later in the day, Holmes and I, dressed in our appropriate gear, went back to the museum. With all the commotion going on around the museum and the different presses still interviewing Patrick Doyle, we were able to sneak into the museum without being seen or heard. What seemed like hours later, we heard the museum being closed for the night and the lights being turned off. A little while later, we heard the sound of a door opening and with that signal, we crept out of the bathroom and into the main show room of the hotel where the paintings were stolen. As we peered around the wall, we faintly saw the outline of the door that led to the room behind it. Holmes confidently rapped at the door and we could hear Patrick Doyles shriek, as we caught him red handed. He had no choice but to open the door. When he opened it all the
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Patrick Doyles explanation would have seemed logical, if only the paintings on the table werent taken apart and being soaked in solvent that removes paint. Once he saw Holmes and I glance at the process he was orchestrating in the room, he changed his story. Mr. Doyle, you know as well as I do that that is not the full story. You could have easily had someone else take the paintings or have gotten Matthau in on what was planned so it didnt make him look bad. Why are you destroying the paintings as we speak? Well, you see. As I was going through old records to see how much our funding and visitor visits have gone down and I was devising an event to resuscitate the popularity of the museum, I came across an old box that was locked. I thought the key I always keep with me only opened the door to this room, but I was wrong. The lock looked like the mouth of the key, so I gave it a try and to my surprise it unlocked it. In it were notes from ancestors many years ago with notes about each painting in the museum. These two paintings were noted to be the most expensive and on the back of the description card, I found directions to make a solvent and to soak the canvas of the paintings in it. I realized, that the reason the paintings were worth so much was because money was used to act as a sealant to the canvas. There is over 50,000 found between the two paintings, which is enough to keep the museum running for many more generations. Once I realized this and I could obtain the money, I decided I would steal them, get the money, and then return the paintings. With the addition of the money found in the paintings, the museums existence would never be threatened again. I think Holmes was just as dumbfounded as I was. The twist in the crime was unbelievable and since Patrick Doyle had come clean and no one was wrongfully arrested or hurt, Holmes agreed to let Patrick Doyle continue with his plan and have the paintings be returned. Yet another case my dear friend solved. As we left Patrick Doyle to finish his business and for us to pretend we didnt know what actually happened, Holmes stated, Well, Watson, each case has its own surprises. It shows that you must always keep your mind open. And with that, I could only nod in agreement.
way, a guilty look was spread wide across his face and his jaw was dropped, speechless. It took him a few moments to catch his breath and realize what had happened in just a few seconds.
I, I, I can explain Patrick Doyle began. Holmes was silent as he waited for him to continue. I had no choice but to create an event to get the museums attention again. It was going to go out of business and the townies fail to realize how important the museum is to our history. I didnt mean to cause any trouble. I planned on mysteriously returning the paintings in a few days, after we had gotten the most attention from the event as possible.
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XIV. THE CASE OF THE SATANIC MURDERS
The drops of rain rapidly pounded against the window, the sound of the pattering echoed throughout 221-B Baker Street as Sherlock Holmes sat in his armchair, eyes closed, and apparently unperturbed by the thunderstorm taking place outside our small space. It was not until the howling wind outside managed to put out the rustling fire in our fireplace for the third time this evening did Holmes open his eyes and glance at me. I myself lay slumped in my chair, peering back at Holmes and exchanging general sentiments of annoyance. Lestrade made his way into the room, bringing in a flurry of water with him. I apologize for my state and for the hour, Mr. Holmes, but I must inform you that the City of London Police Commission, Commissioner Charles C. Cunningham and his family, have been murdered, Lestrade let out, a noticeable quiver in his voice, given the high profile nature of the case, I ask that we make post-haste to preserve any and all clues left at the crime scene. Of course, right you are, Holmes agreed, reaching for his cap and raincoat from the hook of the door, you must brief me on the way. No sooner had Holmes threw on his coat did he look at me and exclaim, the game is afoot Watson, let us make haste! We both hurried after Lestrade into the waiting carriage as he barked a quick order at the driver, Wood Street, London Police Headquarters, quickly! Holmes sat back in the carriage and crossed his legs, staring intently at Lestrade and awaiting the facts of the case. Lestrade sat for a moment, allowing him to compose himself, and then continued, Commissioner Cunningham was just recently appointed by outgoing commissioner, and he had not served more than a month in office until he was murdered. Prior to this position, Cunningham had an esteemed record in British India, and he had worked to formulate and enforce the Criminal Tribes Act in 1871. I was informed that he had a particularly large caseload this week, and his wife, Mary, had chosen to accompany him as he finished up for the weekend. About an hour before midnight, Assistant Commissioner George Rutherford went to bid the Commissioner and his family good night. It was then that Rutherford discovered their bodies and the gruesome crime scene, and immediately locked down the building and called Scotland Yard for assistance. And this Rutherford fellow, is he lucky enough to have an alibi? Holmes interjected. Yes, in fact he was working with a team of several officers that Cunningham himself assigned that night. His whereabouts that evening can be accounted for, Mr. Holmes. And, what of the crime scene? Holmes responded, tilting his head back and closing his eyes in preparation to imagine the crime scene. Well, Mr. Holmes, neither I or my colleagues have been able to make complete sense of it. Although, it appears that the murders may have been religiously motivated, perhaps even satanic in nature. One could make the conjecture that the murders themselves may have been a ritualistic sacrifice of some sort, given that there was an array of candles around Cunningham, Lestrade said as the carriage came to an abrupt halt.
This bloody weather! I ejaculated, Naturally, the first time in weeks that we have had a break from work, the weather seems to occupy my time with this constant shuffling back and forth to light the fireplace. I stood up mechanically and began to head over to the fireplace before the cold from outside overtook the warmth in the room. Please, leave it, Watson, Holmes said, Rest assured, by the time those new flames manage to mature to the point of being capable of blanketing our bodies with warmth, I shall be fast asleep in my bed. I smiled, giving into Holmes logic. Well then, Holmes, if you put it that way, I suppose sleep is beginning to overtake me. I closed the matchbox and aimed to set them down on the table in front of me, though I nearly dropped them after I heard the loud rapping on the door. Holmes stood up and headed to the door, turning the knob with the fist still banging against the door on the other side. There stood Inspector Lestrade clenching his raincoat with his fists, drenched from head to toe, and fighting to stand up against the hurdling wind. Please, make your way inside from out of those extremities, Inspector! Holmes offered, stepping aside to let Lestrade into the room.
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said, pointed to multiple areas of the pentagram that seemed to have been redrawn and corrected, at one point appearing as if someone had drawn the pentagram with six points instead of five. And let me draw your attention to these candles, Watson. If they were instrumental to a Satanic ritual, why does it appear as if they were only lit for a few moments time? Holmes asked as I peered closer at the candle wax, and it became quite clear that they had not been burning for more than a few minutes. These knife wounds and the pool of blood around Cunningham are interesting as well, Watson. You deduce that Cunningham must surely have been stabbed to death as part of the ritual, though there is very little blood that appears to have spurted from these wounds. Rather, these cuts must have been made post mortem, and I believe that Cunningham was killed by strangulation, Holmes said, pointing to a light, red bruise on Cunninghams neck. Holmes made his way over to Mary, pointing out the same feature on her neck, as well as the same limited blood pool emanating from the cut in her wrist. Something worth noting is this cream, light yellow strand of string in between Marys fingers, Holmes said, pulling the string into his fingers and peering at it with his microscope. So then, tell me Holmes, what do you think happened here? Lestrade asked Holmes, having curiously, yet silently, stood in the doorframe watching the scene unfold. After a few moments, Holmes turned to Lestrade and said, I deduce that the Sanistic ritual is a guise meant solely to throw us off the perpetrators tracks. Instead, Cunningham and his wife were murdered by strangulation, and the perpetrators entered and exited by the open window behind the desk. The two victims must have been threatened with murder early on, and thus did not make a sound for fear of their life. As for the motive and who could have committed such a crime? I do not yet know. It is a capital mistake to theorize before you have all the evidence. It biases the judgment. Lestrade listened to Holmes and then gazed over the scene with wonder, clearly doubting Holmes reasoning. I stood silent, pondering on the efficacy of his words. Just as Lestrade was to open his words with a reply, Rutherford burst into the room and exclaimed to Lestrade, Sir! We sent a telegram to Commissioner Cunninghams brother, Clive, alerting him of his brothers death, only to find that Clive himself has been found dead in the woods by his home. My God! Lestrade exclaimed, looking over at Holmes and I. Tell me, Rutherford, was Clive found in the same fashion as his brother? Was there a pentagram at the scene of the crime? Holmes quickly asked. Yes, Mr. Holmes. Preliminary reports state that Clives wife, Alexandria, found her husband with multiple stab wounds lying on a pentagram drawn on the foliage, Rutherford said.
We stepped outside of the carriage only to be met by a storm of reporters and policemen. Coming through, coming through! Lestrade yelled, pushing through the crowd and making way for both Holmes and I. The level of noise and chatter was almost unbearable, as it seemed that all of London had transplanted themselves to the police headquarters. The environment changed as we entered the building, and a solemn silence overtook our surroundings. No reporters could be seen, and a handful of police officers were littered throughout the building guarding key points. Lestrade cleared Holmes and I with the guards and made our way to the door of the Commissioners office. As Lestrade opened the door, an officer burst out and vomited uncontrollably on the floor of the lobby, only inches away from Lestrades feet. I-I-I-Im sorry, Sir, the officer began to say as Holmes handed a handkerchief to the officer. Lestrade opened the door to the office and beckoned us in, and it was then that I understood why the young officer was sick to the stomach. I shall never forget the scene that laid before me. Cunningham laid spread eagle in the center of the room on top of a pentagram drawn out of his own blood, multiple deep stab wounds in his back, and five candles surrounding his body. Cunninghams wife lay off to the side of the room and appeared to have only a slit in her arm. The window behind Cunninghams desk stood open, with the cold wind blowing into the room. I stood at the front of the doorway, unable to move or speak until Holmes retorted, You have a grand gift for silence, Watson. It makes you quite invaluable as a companion! Holmes moved into the room, bending next to Cunninghams body and observing his wounds, paying particular attention to his neck and wounds on his back. After a few moments, Holmes got up, walking around the body and observing the pentagram. After spending a few moments looking at Mary, Holmes returned to me and asked, So then, Watson, what do you make of this scene? I myself had been perusing the crime scene as Holmes made his round, and so I offered, Well Holmes, it seems as if Lestrade is right. Though I did not come across any Satanists in my profession, it appears that this is a textbook case ritual of some sort of sacrifice? To the untrained eye, perhaps that is what it may seem like, Watson. But to the one who has the powers of deduction, this crime is anything but, Holmes said as he bent down next to Cunninghams body once more. Tell me, Watson, is the pentagram not a standard symbol that any Satanists worth his grain of salt knows how to draw? asked Holmes, as he pointed to the pentagram under Cunninghams body. Why yes, Holmes, I do imagine that it would be some sort of requirement for entry into the life style, I quipped back. Then, explain to me Watson, why our alleged Satanists struggled with drawing this pentagram, Holmes
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I must speak to Julia at once! Holmes quipped, as he pulled out his pipe and began to make his way downstairs to the carriage. Lestrade and I quickly trailed behind Holmes as he exclaimed, the game is afoot, yet again! Approximately two hours elapsed as we travelled to Cambridge. Holmes looked quietly out the window, lost in his thoughts about the case. Lestrade appeared to busy with administrative work. It was another hour before we boarded our carriage and it arrived at the home of Clive and Alexandria Cunningham. Several people carrying lanterns could be seen off in the distance. Alexandria is inside the house, Holmes, would you like to see her now? Lestrade asked. I would like to see the crime scene first, Lestrade, Holmes said, making his way over to the crime scene. The crime scene resembled almost exactly the scene found in the Commissioners office. Clive lay on the floor on his stomach with stab wounds in his back, and on top of the poorly drawn pentagram. Holmes never the less bent down next to the body and went over every detail. After a few moments, Holmes said, Clive appears to have the same marks of strangulation on his neck, Watson. That is interesting, Holmes, truly interesting, I said. Shall we make our way to the home? Lestrade asked. Very well, said Holmes. We made our way to the small, one story home and found that the window at the front of the house had been smashed open, and that there was a piece of light yellow cloth that clung to the edge of the broken window. Holmes stopped to observe it for a moment, comparing the piece of cloth to the strand, nodding his head after a few moments. We entered the home and were beckoned to be seated by Alexandria, who herself was shaking and was visibly upset. Before sitting, I handed Alexandria my handkerchief. Thank you, Sir, she said, blowing into it and trying not to shake, And thank you for coming at such a late hour, Mr. Holmes. I truly do not understand why this has happened, or why anyone would want to harm my dear Clive. I have lost a husband, a brother and sister-in-law in one night! she exclaimed, breaking out in a sob. After a few moments, Holmes asked, I understand this must be difficult for you, Alexandria. But it would be a tremendous help if you could elaborate eon what has occurred here. Alexandria nodded, and then began. Near midnight, Clive roused out of bed and said he could not sleep. He sometimes has night terrors of when he used to be a military officer in India serving at the same time his brother was there training the police force. I myself could not sleep so I watched through the window as Clive walked the normal path by the house. After some time, we both heard high-pitched chirps emanating from the woods. It sounded as if a bird was maimed. Clive walked
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into the woods and I grew suspicious after he had not returned for sometime. I grabbed a lantern and made my way into the woods where Clive had entered. Not far from the entrance, I saw the outline of Clives body and at least three people kneeling around him. It was only a moment later that they noticed my presence and broke with a run after me. I immediately ran back into the house and almost did not make it inside the house. I locked the door and immediately grabbed Clives hunting rifle, though I must admit I had no the faintest idea on how to use it. The three men came to the window at the front of the house and punched into it, but I pointed the gun at them and then they ran off. Did you get a look at their faces? Holmes asked. Why yes, I did. They seemed as if they were Indian, though I did not recognize them. They had a strange light yellow cloth that clung to their hair that somewhat obscured their faces, she said. Was it this same cloth, Alexandria? Holmes asked, presenting her with the piece of cloth that was stuck at the window. Yes, thats it! Alexandria exclaimed. One of the men wrapped it around his hand to punch through the window, I said, peering at the drops of blood on the cloth. Right you are, Watson, my sentiments exactly, Holmes said, What exactly did your husband do in India, Alexandria? Charles was assigned to British India to quell the underground organized crime rings that had erupted in recent years, and he requested that Clive be sent down to provide him with military support while he trained the police force. After a year, they both agreed that force and their typical methods were not working successfully. It was a special band of criminals that were causing major disruptions I believe they were called thuggees she said. Thuggees? The organized band of professional assassins in British India? Lestrade interjected. Yes, thats them, Alexandria replied. It was then that Charles decided something had to be down at the policy level to eradicate these murderers. With Clives help, Charles helped draft the Criminal Tribes Act and gave police the tools needed to bring the criminals down. How did the Criminal Tribes Act work, Alexandria? I asked, my curiosity piqued at the policy term. Clive had created a network of informants that informed him on thuggee movements. But, because the thuggees themselves traveled in packs with their family, they typically turned on their own family members to save themselves, Alexandria replied. Would they have worn or carried these yellow cloths? Holmes asked, now focusing intently on Alexandria. Yes, in fact, now that you mention it they were known for them, Alexandria said.
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Tell me, Alexandria, was there anyone else that your husband and Charles worked with? Holmes asked. Why, yes. There was one other person: Deputy Arthur Rowling. Clive had planted him at the forefront of the police force and was his right hand and in combatting the thuggees. He recently came back from India and lives no more than a few miles away from here, Alexandria replied. Holmes stood up at once and exclaimed, Quickly! We must make haste to catch these criminals at once! We thanked Alexandria and bid her good night, and then followed Lestrade into the waiting carriage to the home of Rowling. I believe these men are playing a game of revenge, Holmes said as the carriage took off. What ever do you mean? I asked Holmes, pondering on what had occurred in the home. These men appear to be seeking revenge for the work that the Cunninghams and Rowling did in British India. Given the proximity of Rowlings location to the crime scene, I imagine that they will strike next at his home. We must wait in the shadows and catch these elusive murderers in the act! Holmes said. A few moments later, the carriage arrived near the home. Driver, let us off here, just before the house, Holmes said.
We walked off the carriage and made our way to the trees by the home, being careful not to make much noise. We perched behind a group of trees, hiding ourselves from view. Lestrade and I drew our guns when we heard a crash and a scream inside the home. The three of us ran up to the home with Lestrade pushing the door open. There stood five men around who appeared to be Rowling, with one man strangling him with a long, light yellow cloth. Upon seeing us, the men raised knives and began to rush towards us. We each fired our weapons into the men, being careful not to hit Rowling. Four of the five men slumped to the ground, apparently dead from the gunshots. One man stood still behind Rowling, having dropped the cloth he was using to strangle him. Please, do not shoot me! the main exclaimed in an Indian accent. Hold it right there, you, Lestrade said, coming up behind the man and handcuffing him. Holmes looked at the man and said, Explain yourself at once, guy. The man gulped and began in very slow, yet clear English,, My name is Khan. I had five brothers before Charles and Clive Cunningham, and Rowling, destroyed our bond and turned one of us against the rest of us. My brother gave us up and then committed suicide in prison from the shame. I and the rest of my brothers were just released from prison, and we promised to make our way to Britain to exact revenge on those that had wronged our family. I am part of the thuggees, a band of assassins that is known for our ritualistic murders. We decided to create a Satanic display to throw the police off of our trails. Holmes nodded and looked at both Lestrade and I. Well Watson, perhaps it is time we both head back home, shall we? I agreed, following alongside Holmes to the carriage that had been with us the whole night. It is sad, isnt it, Holmes? The case? I said. Yes, Watson, it certainly is, but that is the life they chose, Holmes said. And, with that, we boarded the carriage and left the scene.
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XV. THE ADVENTURE OF THE STRICKEN STRIKER
The oppressive summer heat had just begun to bear down upon the bustling city of London, and the papers were all abuzz with the spectacle of the coming Games and the fine attitude of the Olympic spirit that was to descend on London in short order. Many in the hoped that the Olympics would provide a welcome distraction from the problem posed by the dry summer air. Upon picking up the paper one day, I saw an article in the paper: ENGLISH NATIONAL FOOTBALL TEAM IN JEOPARDY FOR OLYMPIC OPENINGS Early reports from the training grounds of the English national football team have been quite unsettling. It is common knowledge to followers of the team that a rift between the captain, Vivian Woodard, and Roger Chapman, a key striker for the side, has emerged recently over a yet unspecified training ground issue. Rumor has it that the feud is largely triggered by personal differences between the two, although both sides have been relatively quiet so far. The general public is waiting with bated breath, as this internal team issue could cause a significant drop in form if it carries onto the pitch. The team opens its Olympic play against Sweden on October 19th. Troubled by the news, I decided to visit my good friend Holmes at his lodgings on Baker Street to see if he could shed any light on the matter and perhaps further the cause of our country in the Olympics. Upon arriving, I found my friend comfortably reclined in his armchair, puffing away at his pipe. Ah Watson, he said, come on in. What brings you to my humble abode today? Holmes, I started, I was wondering if you could shed a little more light on the situation regarding our countrys football team. The news in the paper greatly worries me. The silly squabble? Hardly worth my time or attention. I have little interest in the realm of grown men kicking a ball around or other athletic folly, save for when it brings me one of the intellectual problems I am so fond of. You may remember the incident at the Norwich Country Club involving the illustrious Peter Lampard, which involved the singular use of a cricket bat as a catalyst for crime. The culprit was quite the wicket man, I nodded in agreement, but surely you must have something to say on the matter. The Games are so much more than a simple athletic event. It is about the spirit of competition and international brotherhood. I have no use for these sentiments, Watson. You should know me to be better than that by now. Besides, I find myself quite busy with a smattering of cases throughout London at the moment. Scotland Yard has engaged me once again with the arduous process of helping clean up the streets of London. I was about to open my mouth in protest when the bell rang downstairs. A moment later, a tall, dark-haired man of athletic build and a fine moustache was shown into the room by Mrs. Hudson. He was of proud bearing, but at the moment appeared to be haggard and worn, with a frown creasing his face. He was dressed in very casual clothes that suggested that he had just come from his daily excersize.
Ah, come in and have a seat, Holmes began, perhaps you could help us shed a little light onto this little footballing dispute that has caught the fancy of the London papers these days. It is not often one of the principal actors in such a high-profile story deigns to grace us with their presence. The client gave a start. How did you know that I was one of the footballers involved in the dispute? I have yet to offer you any information on myself or my problem. It was quite an elementary deduction. As one can clearly see, the tan line on your calves is quite unique; it is only usually observed in those who wear long socks. In
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have likewise revealed our secret. I hope that you can help us find the culprit behind the assault. Holmes brow furrowed. Im terribly sorry, but I cannot take on any cases at the moment. As I was telling my friend Watson shortly before you arrived, I am currently very busy dealing with a wide variety of cases pertaining to Londons seedier elements. As this case is just a simple assault, I must refuse and recommend that you go to the police. Vivian rose out of the chair, moustache bristling and face flushed with color. Surely you must reconsider, Mr. Holmes. You are the only one who can help us, and they told me that you were a man of the highest class who could solve crime as easily as a fish swims in the ocean. I am truly sorry for your plight, Mr. Woodard, but your problem is simply not important nor interesting enough for me to take on at this moment. What if I told you that this crime was impossible, Mr. Holmes? Holmes chuckled and sat back, lighting then smoking his pipe. There are no impossible crimes, Mr. Woodard. It may seem so to the casual observer, but there is always an explanation. It is the job of such trained men as I to spot them, and I suspect that it would be quite easy to in this situation. Mr. Holmes, there were no weapons at the scene, and a discreet search on the part of myself failed to turn up any possible weapons at all. Holmes shrugged dismissively. That is easily explained away; the murderer could have easily carried the weapon away with him, or any number of other circumstance could have occurred in order for the weapon to disappear. This is especially easy since it seems that anyone could have walked onto the training grounds and attacked Roger. But thats the thing, Mr. Holmes. Our training ground is surrounded by high walls, and it is nigh impossible to get once the ground is locked save for through the air. Holmes stopped smoking his pipe and sat back, thinking for a minute. He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. This is most interesting, Mr. Woodard. What you are proposing is a locked-room crime. You may remember Watson, he said, turning to me, the accounts you have written titled the Valley of Fear and the the Adventure of the Dancing Men? Ah yes, I responded, those were the most dreadful cases; murder is never something that one looks forward to seeing. But that was not the important part, Holmes explained, eyes lighting up. It was the fact that they featured instances where it was impossible for anyone to have access to the victim at the time that they were murdered. It appears that we have something in the same vein here. He turned to Vivian, rubbing his hand together excitedly. I will admit, this case seemed very simple at first. However, I am glad that you mentioned this
your case, its quite obvious because of your gender and age that the most likely conclusion would be that you are a football player. Furthermore, the fact that your legs are quite a bit more muscular than your arms is quite suggestive; I have found that comparing the body parts of a person in proportion can provide very helpful information as to the nature of their activities. In your case, the favoring of the development of the legs implies that you make your livelihood with your legs; as such, the conclusion that you are a football player is further supported. Also working in this conclusion is the efficiency of your movements, which is indicative of an athlete that seeks economy of motion in order to gain a competitive edge. As for the conclusion that you are one of the footballers from the story, it was quite easy to see from your lined brow that you have had many years of experience playing football; when coupled with your authoritative carriage, it is also quite easy to conclude that you have been placed in a position of responsibility and power, in this case, the captainship of the English football team I see, said the football player, when you put it that way, it does appear quite obvious that I do ply my trade as a footballer. Obvious indeed to those trained to see things as I am. Perhaps you could illuminate further for us. Very well, the client began, I guess I shall begin. My name is indeed Vivian Woodard, and I am graced with the honor of being named the captain for our nations football team. I came here to seek guidance in terms of something that has troubled our team. Are you familiar with the reports of unrest between myself and Roger Chapman? I have heard of it, Holmes replied, although I am altogether uncertain of the details. He then reached from his armchair where he perpetually resided and picked up the newspaper. After quickly scanning the article, he stated, I see that the press is yet again long on sensational reporting and short on the facts. It is of no fault of their own, Vivian replied, Roger and I have been at odds for a while over how the teams preparation for the Olympic Games should proceed. Coming from different clubs, the dispute was foreseen, and is of no real consequence for either of us or the team. Then it so seems that dispute the papers are promoting is not the real problem at all, Holmes said. Correct. Ive come to you with a problem of a different nature; a few days ago, I discovered Roger on the training ground in the morning. I suspect that he was assaulted, but am unsure as to who was responsible for the wrongdoing. Because the tournament starts very soon, I made the quick decision to hide him at the house of our athletic trainer in hopes of hiding the news from the press so that news of his injuries would not reach the press and subsequently our opposition. After a few days, I decided to finally seek your help, as going to the police would
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additional complexity. This instance of a locked-room mystery makes the case something that I am very interested in. He paused, organizing his thoughts. When can we meet Roger? I would like to ask him and see if he has any information for us. Vivian smiled and shook Holmes hand enthusiastically. Thank you very much, Mr. Holmes. I knew that I could count on you to take on my case. I think it would be best to visit Roger tomorrow morning at Stevens house on Hightower Street. Very well. Good day, Mr. Woodward, we shall meet you tomorrow and visit Roger Chapman and see what he may have for us. The next morning, after having eaten an early breakfast, Holmes and I called for a buggy and made our way to Hightower Street. Upon disembarking and knocking, the door opened to reveal Vivian standing in his nightshirt, looking haggard and worn. Ah, come on in, he said, right this way. Vivian led us down a dimly-lit hallway, stepping over some clothes strewn about. He then paused to put the keys down on a wooden table decorated with a picture of a couple smiling under a tree. Holmes stopped, examining the dusty surface. Vivian, he started, bending down to look at the photo, who are these people in the photo? Vivian picked up the picture. I believe that this is Steven and his wife, Laura. They have been married some 10-odd years, although recently Mrs. Laura has fallen ill with a most terrible case of consumption. She has been hospitalized for quite some time now, which is why the house has regressed to a less well-kept state. Nodding our agreement, we continued down the hallway and into a cluttered bedroom. Immediately upon entering the room, we saw that Roger was in his bed, asleep. Vivian walked over and gently shook Roger awake. His head was swathed in bandages nearly soaked through with blood; the bandages covered a large, angry gash on the left side of his head, and he also bore a fearful cut that ran diagonally down his left arm. Upon checking on his wounds and making sure they were attended to correctly, I turned to Holmes as I quickly corrected the mistakes I observed in his bandaging. Mr. Chapman appears to be in stable condition; I would say that this athletic trainer of theirs is adequate at treating trauma, but this bandage on his arm is done rather poorly. If this had been left as is, I would guess that gangrene would have likely developed in the near future. Holmes received my report with his usual lack of emotion, and then took it as his cue to begin questioning. Now Mr. Chapman, is there any information you could give us about the assault? Roger slowly sat up slowly in obvious pain. He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his arm and wincing at the pain. I havent got much that I remember about the attack. Due to the upcoming competition, I was training late that night after everyone else on the team had made their way home, when all of a sudden I heard a sound
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behind me. I think that the bloody tossers had snuck up on me as I was fetching a ball. All I remember was a blow to my arm and then a great big whack on the top of my head, and coming to the next morning when I was discovered by Vivian and our athletic trainer, Steven. Vivian quickly decided that I my injury was to be kept hidden from the world, and thus Steven quickly treated my wounds and took me to his house. Vivian interrupted, We thought it would be best for our team morale if we kept the incident a secret from them as well; the only people that know about this incident are Roger, Steven, and myself.
Holmes sat down upon a chair and lit his pipe, puffing away in silence; the smoke curled upwards and lingered in the air as the scent of tobacco slowly permeated the room. Seeing him stare off into the distance, I chose to step in and ask some questions of my own. Well, I started, can you think of any enemies you might have that might have been responsible for this attack? Surely if you have a possible suspect, then it would be easy to track him down and see if he is responsible. Roger shook his head. I can think of people that have a bad view of me, but I hardly think that they would go as far as to attack me physically; theyre mostly competitors and people related to football. While Vivian gave me the names of some of his less friendly acquaintances, Holmes interjected. I suppose
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Watson, I mean to ask you, Holmes started, did you happen to find any results from your inquiries yesterday? I didnt, I responded, but I feel that if we continue investigating them then- I think not, Watson, Holmes interrupted as he stepped past me briskly, it is quite obvious that that track would have produced results if one of his enemies was indeed responsible for the attack, as rumors would have quickly worked their way back to us through the football community. I followed him, disappointed in his quick dismissal of my honest work. We were met by Steven, the athletic trainer, who opened the gate and let us in. Steven was a solidly-built man who bore the look of a former athlete who has just left his sport recently; there was still the imposing frame and muscled physique, but one could also see the beginning of a more sedentary lifestyles effects in the rounded belly and the way he seemed content to keep a lazy, unhurried rhythm. Good to see you Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson; I am glad to know you are on the trail of whatever is causing trouble to our team. I happily report that Roger is rapidly recovering from his incident, and should even be fit and available to play for our team should we advance far enough into the tournament. I am truly glad to hear that he is recovering so well, I said, I hope that we will be able to do our part and help find whoever is responsible for this act. We turned our attention to Holmes, who was lost in his own train of thought as he swept over the training ground with his eyes, taking in the imposing brick walls that surrounded the fields on which the team trained. The only entrance in was the impressive wrought iron gate behind us that towered above our heads. The area could not have been much larger than 3 acres, and there was a building located right next to the gate. I see youre impressed by our facilities, Mr. Holmes, Steven grinned, Our team has trained in the best facilities available to us, and we think that it will help us to produce a good result at the Games. I care little for how the quality of the facilities are here, Holmes stated briskly, I would ask about how secure it is and if anyone would be able to get in. Oh, I would doubt anyone being able to get in, Steven stated, gesturing towards the brick walls that ringed us in. The walls as you can see are a formidable height, and they are smooth enough that even the most experienced burglar would be unable to climb them. In addition, the walls have barbed wire on top of them to deter anyone who reaches the top. He gestured to the top of the wall, where we could see the spiked wire looping around the crown of the wall. As for the gate, I assure you that it is sturdy and the only way is with the key, which Vivian and myself have access to. Members of the team may also have access to the key if they request it, although no-one except for Roger has requested use of the key in the last week.
you could go and see if any of his known enemies are somehow involved, but I doubt it. Do you have any ideas as to who did it? asked Vivian, Im familiar with who dislikes Roger in the realm of sports, and I would tend to agree with what Watson thinks about this situation. I have several theories about who has perpetrated this crime, but I think that I will require more information in order to narrow down my hypotheses and come to the correct conclusion. He turned to Vivian, Would it be possible for me to come and investigate the training ground where the attack occurred tomorrow? It is my hope that we may discover some useful information upon which to shed light on this case of ours. Of course, of course, Vivian assured us, but you must come only after the team has finished training for the day; otherwise, your presence there might cause some to wonder why Englands greatest detective is paying our football team a visit. Certainly, that would be no problem, Holmes responded, and I will also need to interview this athletic trainer as well. It may be that he holds some clues as to the nature of this crime. I can arrange for that as well. Can I expect you gentlemen at the training grounds tomorrow afternoon at 7 oclock? 7 oclock it is then, Holmes replied, pipe still smoking in his hand as he rose out of the chair, Im afraid I must take my leave of you gentlemen now, as the day is only beginning and there are many other cases that are pressing for attention. I shall see you all tomorrow afternoon then. He bowed his head, and then swept out of the room quickly, with the pipe smoke lazily trailing behind. I guess that I should be going as well then, I said as I rose, I shall check up on the list of names you have given me Roger while there is still time today; it is my hope that this lead which Holmes has ignored may prove useful. I then spent the rest of my day traveling around London and following up on the names that Roger had given me, but was disappointed to find no information of real consequence. Exhausted by the fierce summer heat, I returned to Baker Street in the early evening covered in sweat and dirt picked up during my exhausting exertions. Holmes had already retired for the evening, with the heavy odor of burning tobacco coming from behind his locked, wooden door. I likewise settled in for the evening, looking forward to a busy day tomorrow. The sun had just begun to set as we arrived at the training ground, and the oppressive heat cooled off as the sky changed slowly to a dusty pink. The city surrounding the park likewise slowly wound down as people returned to their homes for the evening; As Holmes and I disembarked from our cab, we stepped in front of the gate to the training ground as it cast a lengthening shadow across the street.
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Thank you Steven, Holmes said, if you will excuse me, I wish to investigate where the crime occurred. Of course. We found Roger right over there, Steven pointed with his left arm at a spot near the goal. Holmes stepped over to the goal, and carefully looked over the well-worn area, combing the area for any potential clues. He picked some of the grass, and rolled it in his hand, carefully examining it. He then placed the grass down, and carefully examined the surrounding area as well. Having finished his examination, he stood straight and dusted himself off. Approaching us, he began to talk again. Steven, what has the rest of the team been told regarding Rogers absence? I imagine that team has hardly failed to notice the fact. Well, Vivian has told the team that Roger has fallen ill, and has returned to his family in London to rest and recuperate. Very good. I expected no less from Vivian. I have no more questions for you, save for what you were doing at the time of the attack. Steven thought for a second, and replied, Well, the day of the attack, I had left the training ground with the other players. I did pass Roger on my way out; he was still very busy practicing by himself even though the dark was fast approaching. Very well, I expected as much, Holmes said, Watson, I believe that we have gathered everything of note here that this crime scene offers us. Thank you for your time Steven. Steven thanked us, and walked us out of the training grounds. As the imposing gates closed behind us, we set off into the dark that had descended to find a cab to take us back to the comfortable confines of Baker Street. As we walked, I could see Holmes was deep in thought. Holmes, I began, what do you make of this situation? I feel as if our visit this evening didnt help us at all; I feel that we are no closer to solving this case than we were before. On the contrary, Watson, Holmes responded, I think we have got all the pieces to the case laid out before us. I must look into matters further and confirm some things on my own before I can be sure, but I am hopeful that we can find the wrongdoer. But how? Were you able to find anything of note during your investigation of the scene? The investigation proved to be of marginal use, although I was not able to discern much at all; it was quite unfortunate that the crime occurred on the playing field. It seems that the other players have stepped all over it in the days after the crime and disturbed the dirt, thus destroying the vast majority of evidence that it could have offered us. Here is our cab. We each spend the ride back to Baker Street in silence, Holmes merrily composing music for his violin in his head, while I worriedly turned over the facts in my
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head, trying to find something in what we had observed that could help us solve the case. When the day of the first match came around, I decided to go and watch the match. After our fruitless visit to the training ground, Vivian had requested that Holmes and I attend the first match in the event that the culprit tried to cause any more problems. When I asked Holmes if he was going, he chuckled to himself. As much as I would like to wile away my afternoon watching the frivolous play of adults, other pressing matters call for my attention. The match was thrilling, with a large crowd assembled in the blazing summer heat to cheer on their national team with patriotic pride. The game itself was thrilling; led by Vivian, the English team controlled the ball with ease and dominated the flow of the game; they passed the ball back and forth, and Vivian did touch the ball on offense, he nimbly danced around the Swedish defense as if the ball was glued to his foot. As the game went on, everyone was well in the spirit of the Olympic Games and heartily cheer for their countrys success. As I excitedly watched the game, my view was suddenly blocked by a drunken lout. He was dressed in the clothes of a working-class man who had been given the day off to attend the Olympics and take in the spectacle. It was obvious to me and the spectators around us that he had also taken the opportunity to partake in some strong drink; he was rowdy and acted with overexaggerated movements. After attempting to lead a chant in a very loud voice, it was apparent that he was greatly annoying the surrounding crowd. In an attempt to spare the people around me from further rowdy behavior, I approached him and strongly grabbed his shoulder in an attempt to calm him down. Sir, I said, would you please calm down? You are causing a great amount of stress and difficulty for the people around us. He laughed loudly at my request. Now Watson, why would you try to berate me when all I am trying to do is solve the crime? I performed a double-take. Before my eyes, the drunken workman suddenly transformed into my friend Sherlock, who laughed again. Watson, I once again seem to have fooled you with my knack for disguises. As you can clearly see, actually believe that we have the real opportunity to end the case today; I have been doing some work behind the scenes, and believe that we will finally bring the culprit to justice today. I just ask that you keep an eye on the game so that we can ensure the team remains safe. Holmes then disappeared into the crowd, blending in. Moments later, I could hear the loud, rowdy shouting of Holmes as he once again resumed his disguise. Returning my attention to the game, I realized that the game had reached halftime. The crowd, taking advantage of the break in the game, chose to sit down and fan themselves in hope of escaping the hot summer air. As I looked at the field, I noticed a hooded figure
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who ,if you remember, pointed to the spot of the crime with his left arm further confirmed my suspicions that evening at the training ground. My investigations on my own did indeed reveal that his wife was in the hospital for a case of consumption, and the doctor confirmed that Steven was paying the bill, which is clearly outside of the means of someone like Steven, who works as the athletic trainer for the football team. At this point, Holmes turned to Steven, who was sitting dejected on the ground with his arms behind his back. Is there anything wrong with my deduction? Steven sighed. No, you are indeed correct Mr. Holmes. I was indeed responsible for the attack on Roger, although that was not my original intention at all. When my wife first fell ill, I lacked the means to pay for her medical bills. Having been a former football player myself, I had contacts in multiple national teams. When the Swedish team heard of my plight, they approached me with the opportunity to earn enough money to pay for the bills if I was to sabotage the English team in the upcoming Olympic Games. I tried my hardest, but under the watchful eye of Vivian, was unable to make any real progress. Frustrated, I was leaving the training ground one evening when I saw the opportunity to make good on my promise. I saw Roger training hard on the pitch, with his back turned to me. In a moment of madness, I had attacked him from behind, and knocked him out. Today was simply another attempt to sabotage the team, but I see that it has been my undoing. Steven bowed his head and sighed. I suppose I am in trouble now. Holmes smirked. Indeed, here are the police, coming to investigate the disturbance. I imagine that they will find something much more exciting than your garden variety rowdy sports fan.
approach the bench. I found it very suspicious that someone would wear a hood on such a hot day, and watched as he made his way to the English bench. I carefully approached the bench as well, and was horrified to see that the figure was tampering with the English teams cleats. Giving a cry, I leapt onto the figure, trying to stop him from his wrongdoing. He threw off my grip and dashed away, quickly scattering into the crowd. I quickly took up pursuit, and we soon made our way away from the field. Despite my best exertions, he was slowly pulling away. I began to despair of ever catching him when suddenly, a figure stumbled out of the crowd and knocked him down. When I caught up the pair, I saw that it was Holmes in his disguise as he wrestled the culprit to the ground. As I approached, Holmes pulled the hood off of the culprit. I gasped in surprise. But Holmes, I proclaimed, this is Steven! It cannot be! Ah, Holmes said, but it can only be him. All clues point to Steven as the only possible culprit for the crime. I dont understand. Why would he be the one responsible? He works for the team! Well Watson, he said, tying up the perpetrator, while I was initially reluctant to take this case on, the interesting point of the case being a locked-room mystery caught my attention. Because it was such a crime, and as the grounds were secure, it means that no one else but Roger had left the crime scene. When we verified that the training facility was indeed secured from outsiders, it became a logical assumption to assume that it was an inside job. Assuming that no one else asked for the key for after-hours access, and that Vivian would not be responsible for such a crime, it was simple to assume that the only party would be the one with access to the key, Steven. The blow to the left side of Rogers head and arm suggests that someone who had snuck up behind had have to have been left handed to strike the left side, so Steven,

XVI. THE MYSTERY OF THE DOPPLEGANGER
It was a frigid Winter morning, I watched the snow fall gently to the untouched ground, which created a sight that I couldnt help but get captivated in. Holmes sat to the right of me but paid me no mind as he read his newspaper. I turned my gaze from the pureness outside to watch him in his dark purple robe, he held the paper in his left hand and his pipe-rack rested on the oakwood table by his right, his face looked somewhat perplexed as he read every single word on each page. It never failed to amaze me how everything to Holmes had some sort of underlying message. He took his attention from the paper and turned to me, before he could speak we heard a loud crash from outside. What in the heavens was that? Holmes gathered himself quickly and headed toward the stairs. I followed him, as I was too curious what happened outside. He opened the door and looked down where we both saw a woman unconscious right at our feet. From what I saw the woman was beautiful, she was tall and slender with gold hair and curls flowed to her shoulders. She looked frozen with her cheeks flushed red and her lips a tint of blue. She was wearing a long blue dress with a blue hat that matched her dress and yellow flowers on top.
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Holmes had already picked the woman up and started carrying her up the flight of stairs, I assisted him and we laid her down on the couch in the living area. I walked up to her and noticed the multiple cuts on the palms of both her hands. She tried to catch herself when she fell, I remarked to Holmes. She must have been in quite a hurry to get here if she slipped on the small amount of ice outside. Holmes replied back. Holmes mind was reeling with information about the woman, but I was more concerned about her injuries than why she had arrived at our place. The woman was knocked out cold and I rubbed my hand around the back of her head, where I found a knot the size of a golfball. She hit her head pretty hard, I turned to Holmes. Lets hope she wakes up soon so I can get some medicine in her. Holmes focused his gaze on the woman with a peculiar look on his face, he turned back to me and relayed the information he had discovered while I had examined the woman. This woman came to see me and with her missing heel on her left shoe, I can determine that it was in quite a hurry. She is distraught for the bags under her eyes are dark and deep. However because she is shy and unconfident, she second guessed herself when she got here and made a quick turn around and her heel-less shoe caused her to slip on a small patch of ice and hit her head. Her wrinkles on the sides of her eyes are minor, her age is around 28. She is in a unstable marriage and her husband has a reasonable amount of money, for her dress is that of remarkable fabric and her hat is a bit outrageous. I stared at Holmes with my mouth open in shock, I could not comprehend how he could deduct all that information out of examining this woman. I was just about to pick his brain more about her when I heard her start to stir. Lets get her this woman some brandy and then she can tell us her story, Holmes said. Holmes walked out of the room to pour some brandy for the mysterious woman and I was silent as I watched her open her eyes and slowly rise in an upright position as she focused her blue eyes directly on me. Are you Sherlock Holmes? she asked quietly. No mam I am not, I replied. Holmes then stepped into the room with the brandy in his right hand and handed the glass to the woman. This is my good friend, Dr. Watson, I am Sherlock Holmes. You had quite the fall Ms.... Walker, Bethany Walker, she replied quickly. Well, Ms. Walker, like I said you had quite the fall. He paused for a moment as he watched her take a sip of the brandy, could you tell us why you landed at the front of our doorstep? Ms. Walker took another sip of her drink and set it on the mahogany table in front of the couch and gazed up at both of us. She then began to speak, I read earlier this month about a mystery you solved, Mr. Holmes. She
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took a deep breath and continued, it said that you are the best of the best when it comes to solving murders, and that is exactly what I need you to do for me. She paused once again to take another sip of brandy and steadily rubbed the back of her head, she winced when she found the gold ball knot that I had uncovered earlier. I had realized what Holmes had meant when he said she was shy and unconfident, it seemed as if each sip of brandy was slowly helping her get the courage to talk to Holmes. I glanced over at Holmes who had not taken her eyes off of her, I could tell he had sympathy for her pain but she had already captured his mind with the possibility of another mystery in his grasp. I noticed the tear drops forming in the corner of her eyes as she continued to tell her story. I have been married to my husband, Scott Walker, for 5 years. We fought often and I couldnt escape the unhappiness, I would do whatever he asks and I have been so miserable. My closest friend, Mary, knew about my unhappiness, but thats it. I was woken up this morning with a loud bang, I rushed downstairs and found my husband laying on the floor dead with a gunshot wound to his head. I was so shocked that I almost missed the note tucked into my husbands front shirt pocket. The note read, TO A NIGHT THAT ILL NEVER FORGET. Right after I found the note, I called the police and ran here as quick as I could to come find you. Bethany lifted her shaky right hand, reached into the side pocket of her dress, and pulled out a small white sheet of paper that was folded in half and slowly handed it to Holmes.
Holmes carefully took the paper from her frail hands and unfolded it to study the message written inside. I peeked over Holmes shoulder to see the note, written in all caps without a signature. The man who wrote it is presumably well to do, I remarked to Holmes, trying to imitate my companions reasoning. The penmanship is superb, he took into consideration every detail in each letter, which could only
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here. Holmes focused his attention on me and said, Come, Watson, lets go back. Good night Mr. Holmes, Mr. Watson, Mrs. Walker said as we walked out the door. I left with him to the cab as we left Mrs. Walker at her doorstep. Holmes and I rode in silence the rest of the way back home. As we walked through the doorstep, he raced straight to his lab where he remained for the rest of the night. Early the next morning, I saw in the paper that the police had no new information on the murder, nor did they have any witnesses or suspects. I went to Holmes study to tell him the news and I found him still going through his mess of papers and studying the message on the note Mrs. Walker had found. His desire for cocaine kept him up and and I could tell that he was getting close to finding the answers he needed. My dear Watson, you will never guess what I have found. Holmes said with his back to me. I cant imagine, but Im sure it will be quite intriguing, I replied back. It is indeed Watson, you see this calligraphy here on this note, I knew that it was odd from the moment I saw it. I couldnt pinpoint it right at that moment but I figured out that there is only one place around this area that teaches this certain penmanship. William Ledge School of Fine Arts. So our murderer went to school at this William Ledge? I answered. Holmes turned his chair around and answered. Follow closely Watson, this particular school only allows foster children into their system. We are looking for a man with no family at all, we must go and search their records to figure out who this D.M. is. Come! Come! We took a cab and arrived at the school, Holmes had already prepared us two outfits to wear dressed as the food workers throughout the school. We walked up and down the halls until we found the main office, I watched Holmes quickly open the door and head straight to the filing cabinet with the schools past records. He was in the Ms before I could blink, he paused for a moment and pulled out a file, I was glancing back and forth between him and the door doing my best to keep guard but yet pay attention to what he had found. Watson, this is incredible, truly incredible! he exclaimed. I heard footsteps coming from the outside hall, Holmes heard them as well, we both darted into the closet in the left corner of the room and we heard the administrator sit down at their desk. Holmes looked at me then at the window a few inches above my head, we pushed it open and we helped push and pull each other through the small opening, careful not to make too much noise as we did it. Holmes got out first and jumped down to the ground, I jumped right after him and was anxiously
mean he had a finer education where he learned to write like this. Quite so Watson! But you have missed much on this peculiar note, look closer my dear friend. I looked closer at the note and noticed a set of initials in the corner of the paper labeled D.W. What do you suppose this initials mean? I asked Holmes. The man who wrote this note is wealthy indeed, for that is his own personalized paper that he writes all of his messages on. Because of this, he owns his own company, started it up himself. His penmanship is very precise, as you said Watson, as well as all of his letters slant to the right. This shows that he writes with his left hand and is extremely confident in himself. He knows you quite well Mrs. Walker, this note was meant for you to find. I glanced over at Mrs. Walker and saw her eyes widen with curiosity, I could only wonder what was going through her head at that moment listening to Holmes speak. I am clueless as to who of acquaintances would ever murder my husband and this night they are referring to in the note, I just dont understand it. Mrs. Walker cried. It must have been quite a night, Holmes remarked. Could you take us to your house? he asked her. She nodded quickly and Holmes led her out the door while I was trailing right behind them. We called a cab as Mrs. Walker directed us to her house on the other side of town. I could see Holmes out of the corner of my eye, I could tell that his mind was racing and he was ready to get to the scene of the crime. The ground was still moist with pure snow and the sky was a hazy gray, every now and then the sun would peak through the clouds. We pulled up to her house and she slowly stepped out of the cab, we followed her into the doorway and stepped into the hall. The house caught my attention for the walls were painted with bright and vibrant colors and the furniture old and mystic. It was an odd combination that seemed to fit Mrs. Walker. She led us into her husbands office where the murder took place, I figured that it was the only room in the house without any color. The walls were a dark brown with mahogany furnishing throughout. The police were still investigating the house and were examining Mr. Walker who was lying in the middle of the floor with a single bullet through his head. They all looked up as we stepped through the door and nodded at Holmes, all of the officers around our area were extremely familiar with Holmes and his work. The floorboards creaked as Holmes approached and studied the body, he checked every pocket on the mans body, as if he knew Mrs. Walker or the police would miss something. He searched behind the desk, curtains, and bookshelf for evidence. I myself examined the room and tried to uncover some clue that I could input of my own. Holmes turned to Mrs. Walker and told her, I need to go home and process the information Ive gathered
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awaiting the incredible news he was going to tell me earlier in the room. Watson, we must get to Mrs. Walkers house immediately. We dont have much time! Holmes exclaimed. Why is time so valuable Holmes? I asked him. No time to explain now, we must get there as quickly as possible! We took a cab together to Mrs. Walkers home as quickly as we could and as we walked up to the doorstep, I noticed that the door was slightly ajar. I thought Mrs. Watson had forgotten to close the door earlier in the day. Someone picked this lock, Holmes whispered. Do you see the scrapes on the side of the hinges? Lets go! I followed Holmes into the house and up the stairs, the house was eerily quiet until we heard a faint weeping noise from inside Mrs. Walkers master bedroom. Holmes glanced at me and we entered the room where we saw Mrs. Walker on her knees beside a man with a dagger through his heart. I looked at the man in shock. Is that Mr. Walker? I turned to Holmes then back at Mrs. Walker completely confused, It cant be, for I saw him with a gunshot through the head just yesterday. This is surely not the same man. The man that laid on the floor next to Mrs. Walker was completely identical to the man that I saw the previous day in the middle of the study. His hair was gray and features strong, he looked about the same height and with the same body structure. I had no idea if my eyes were fooling me or the death the previous day had been a lie, I looked to Holmes for answers. I never meant to hurt him, Mrs. Walker weeped before Holmes could get a word out. He came into my bedroom and he looked just like my husband. I thought I was dreaming, for I knew that my husband was dead. He just came in here and stared at me, as if I was the most marvelous thing he had ever seen in his life. He asked me if I remembered, if I remembered the night we kissed. I answered that I had no idea what he was talking about and he got so angry. He pulled out a knife from behind him and started yelling How could you not remember? Ive loved you for years over and over again. I grabbed the lamp next to me and hit him with it as hard as I could before he could reach me with the knife. The knife went flying and when I went to reach for it he jumped on top of me and I put the knife in between us. What have I done?! Who is this man?! His name is Don Walker. Holmes said to Mrs. Walker. She looked up at him stunned and confused, her eyes were red from her tears and I could tell she still had no idea who this man was. Don Walker, youre husbands identical twin who was sent away at birth. Holmes continued, I knew that something wasnt right at the crime scene when I studied your husbands body. His face had somewhat of a shocked look, he had no markings on him to show that he put up a fight whatsoever. This showed me that he was
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too stunned to do anything before the murderer shot him point blank. And as I was walking around the room I noticed a picture of you and him on his desktop, it was at a formal ball and he had his arm around you. However, the peculiar thing about the picture that would go unseen to the normal eye was that there was man right behind you, glaring at you as a couple, dressed exactly like your husband. When I found out about the William Ledge school for orphaned children I was intrigued. When I found the last name Walker in the old files at the school, I immediately pulled it, he was from the same region and abandoned by his mother and father. On the file it said that he has been giving thousands of pounds to the school every year and I also saw a letter written personally to the school on the same paper written to Mrs. Walker. Holmes paused for a moment to look up at Mrs. Walker. Mrs. Walker, do you remember that night at the ball with your husband? Why of course, it was a wonderful night, there was a particular moment where my husband pulled me off to the side and told me how beautiful I was, he had never done that before. After that we shared the most passionate kiss, he hadnt kissed me like that in years.... She stopped and I could see by the way her face dropped that she remembered exactly what Holmes was thinking.
She spoke once again and saidAfter the kiss, he said to me, I will never forget this night. Precisely what I thought! Don has been following you and your husband for years, after he left William
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I could only stare at Holmes, this had to be one of the most bizarre cases we had ever seen. Mrs. Walker continued to weep as we heard the police make their way inside the house. Holmes left the room to explain to them what had happened and I checked on Mrs. Walker to make sure she wasnt hurt. When Holmes came back inside the room, I looked at him and said, I wish I could understand how you knew that Mr. Walker was going to come back for Mrs. Walker right at that very moment. Ah Watson, Holmes said, smiling. I knew because what lover wouldnt come back to the women they had been tracking for years, the sooner her could get to her, the better. Now I believe if we leave now, we can make it in time for dinner.
Ledge he started his own company which supplied him with enough money to track you both where ever you went. Your husband would have never known about his twin, for parents back in that time believed that if they born twins the youngest one was an evil doppelganger of the first born. Don got lucky in a foster home and was sent to a finer school, rather than an usual run down one. Parents do not ever speak of the doppelganger to the other sibling, but Don took it personal that his brother never reached out to him. While tracking you and your husbands life, his jealously burned against his brother almost as much as his love for you. That night at the ball, while watching your husband ignore your existence, he swept in hoping to win you over. When he realized you couldnt tell the difference between him and his brother, it was clear that he decided to take matters into his own hands. Once I found his file in the drawer, I knew he would be back for you tonight.

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STRAN S ND MA AGAZ ZINE "Th he Fur rther A Advent tures o of Sher rlock H Holme es"

THE STRAND MAGAZINE

The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

THE STRAND MAGAZINE

The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

THE STRAND MAGAZINE

The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

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The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

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The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

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The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

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The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

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The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

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The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

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The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

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The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

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The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

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The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

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The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

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The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

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The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

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The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

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The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

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The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

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The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

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The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

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The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

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The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

THE STRAND MAGAZINE

The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

THE STRAND MAGAZINE

The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

THE STRAND MAGAZINE

The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

THE STRAND MAGAZINE

The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

THE STRAND MAGAZINE

The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes