Deal 1163: Watson may have watched Cthulhu dressing

The wise man once said something about not remembering the past meaning you were doomed to repeat it. He wasn’t entirely wrong.

Although, “doomed” isn’t the word I’d choose. “Able” might be a better choice.

Repeating the past is our whole secret. And the ability to do so with open mind and a memory of what is or might have been to come. Because, while history has a certain weight and inevitability to it, nothing is writ in stone.

Another wise man said something about the moving finger writing. Probably not referring to the fickle finger of fate, of course. But he too had a finger on the pulse of truth. Perhaps he was one of us, I certainly don’t know us all. I don’t really even know how many of us there are.

Counting temporal technicians is tricky, of course. First, we must agree on a baseline timeline in which to do the counting.
But time isn’t so conveniently arranged. Another wise man wrote about the “trousers of time”, and perhaps getting both feet in the wrong leg. He wasn’t entirely wrong either, except of course that the trousers were made for a non-spacial many legged creature that might as well be Cthulhu. You really don’t want to look too closely at his legs without his pants on. Trust me on that.

Madness is too kind.

But I digress.

The phone rings.

An auspicious start. Or end. Either way, Watson answers. Is it Holmes calling? Only in a past where Holmes was real and the phone was invented before the gaslight. That is a very narrow leg indeed. No, this is Thomas Watson, barely remembered in most histories. And it might not be strictly correct to say that his phone rang. It was early days, and the operator hadn’t been invented yet, just the telephone.

And the wonders of the infinitely legged trousers unfolded in new and intriguing ways.

Just remember not to peek inside.

Because that way lies the kind of madness where people put oranges or even peanut butter in their beer.

Oh, that is already happening?

Maybe that really is Cthulhu wearing the trousers.

And maybe we are all mad here.

New plates?

No?

Well, then, time for a new phone.

Deal 229: The Mysterious Corpse, part 4

It was a long night indeed. I had a lot to stew about, while Holmes was off “interviewing” the horse, and the looming return trip by passenger rocket to consider. I knew I was going to have to put a good face on it in the morning, and take the rocket in stride. I vowed to myself to do that. At least our rooms were comfortable, not that I was going to actually get to enjoy them.

No, that would be far too simple.

I had just settled in when there was a strong tapping at the window. Naturally, it was Holmes.

“Watson. I assume you have your revolver?”

“Of course.”

“Get your boots and come out here. Now, before the trail cools too much.”

I had little choice. I knew from experience that if I tried to ignore him and get some sleep, that he’d be persistent all night, and peeved the rest of the day. It was better for both our sanity if I just admitted the inevitable and followed. So I found me boots and revolver, pulled on a coat, and climbed out the window. Luckily, the guest rooms were on the ground floor, so there was little danger.

Holmes signaled for silence, and led the way to the stable.

There, we found a hubbub of activity. Apparently after Holmes rather openly visited and inspected the stalls and horses a little earlier, the stable boys were frantic to make sure that whatever he found could not be shown to anyone else. They were spending the wee hours of the night scrubbing out stalls and sweeping the central area. I looked at Holmes, and he merely shrugged while trying to appear nonchalant. It wasn’t a good look for him, actually. But he was right, there was something amiss here.

He led the way to a small tack room just off the main stable. There, we found that what had appeared to be a mirror in the stable, was actually a piece of one-way glass, and there was even a shuttered grill allowing for easy listening. I was a little surprised that the stable hands wouldn’t be aware of this spyhole, but since Holmes had clearly picked a lock to gain us entry it was possible it’s use was reserved for an elite few.

Holmes opened the shutter on the listening grill.

“… the old git must know everything!”

“Well, we’ve scrubbed it all now. So even if he knows, he has no proof.”

“He doesn’t need proof. Don’t you read the papers?”

The last was in the voice of our host. I raised an eyebrow at Holmes, who nodded. When I moved toward the door, he stopped me, clearly wanting to save the confrontation for later. With that, we snuck back out of the tack room.

Deal 223: Mysterious corpse part 3

I was not at all surprised to find that we left the station and hailed a cab to take us to the estate. In fact, it was beginning to appear that one reason for this excursion was to prove that the round trip was indeed possible to make between breakfast and dinner, with time for lunch in the city.

Of course, if it were flat out impossible, then we could probably rule out the gentleman in question as a suspect despite the peculiar coincidence of his appearing to have been seen in town. Holmes hadn’t said it yet, but I myself was beginning to wonder if it was possible that the gentleman was being framed, using the improbability of events to make it seem all the more possible that he was involved. If so, that was a bit of a risky frame, since it couldn’t possibly stick if some sort of witness to his whereabouts between breakfast and dinner were to turn up that put him clearly not in the city.

When we reached the estate, we found another mystery waiting our arrival. A package had just arrived, posted from the city sometime earlier in the day. It must have taken an earlier rocket, though, since it didn’t seem possible to have arrived at the estate ahead of us.

The package had been preserved unopened, and the gentleman (who turned out to know we were coming) had deliberately awaited our arrival before opening it. Holmes was quite interested in the handwriting on the labels, at least until the package was opened. It contained a smaller box, and a letter.

The letter said, simply, “Lord M___, We have something that you value, as the enclosed record will prove. It is in fine condition, albeit slightly bruised in handling. A telegram will provide further instructions. We strongly suggest you listen to the record before it arrives.” The accompanying small box contained a wax record cylinder.

Before he allowed any further handling, Holmes went over everything with his lens. He paid particular attention to the labels, the letter, and markings on the small box and the end of the cylinder. While he worked, the gentleman arranged for a machine to be brought out that could presumably play the record. It consisted of a wind-up arrangement to turn the cylinder, a needle to drop into the groove, and a bakelite horn that would amplify any sound produced by the needle. This was the latest model, usually found in business establishments, allowing busy business men to dictate letters and reports for later transcription.

Holmes noted that the letter had been produced on a mechanical type writing machine also of very recent design and of much demand in business. At first glance, this eliminated any chance of recognizing handwriting, but he was quick to point out a few quirks and glitches in some of the letter forms that he averred would prove as unique as a fingerprint.

The recording was of a young woman speaking. I couldn’t help but notice that the gentleman turned white as a sheet as she began to speak.

“Well,” said Holmes, “that appears to answer that question. So you do vouch for this being a recording of a young woman you know particularly well.”

“Yes.”

“There is no chance it is a ruse?”

“No.”

“And we know it was made today, as they had her read some headlines from today’s Times, along with their demands. To be clear, were you in the city for lunch yesterday, but here for breakfast and dinner?”

“No. I was out riding all day. I do that when I have problems to ponder. I have been greatly concerned about some details of the tunnel project of late, and yesterday’s favorable weather provided a chance I could not pass up to consider them away from my study.”

“You were here for lunch and dinner?”

“Yes.”

“And only your horse knows for sure where you were in between?”

“Yes, I’d imagine so.”

“Then I will need to interview your horse.”

“Naturally.”

Holmes turned to me. “The plot thickens. I am glad we did not make this trip entirely in vain. Although I think we can return to the city by more traditional means tomorrow, I’m not looking forward to a second flight.”

At that point, the bell rang. The butler brought in a telegram for the gentleman.

“Interesting,” he said. “They are not demanding a ransom. Rather, they want my presence at a meeting tomorrow. In the city. The last train has long since left, so that leaves the morning rocket as our only option. You will, of course, accompany me.”

“Of course. Well, then, I must see to a quick interview with a horse before bed. Watson will deal with any trivial items that turn up in the mean time. Until breakfast, then?”

With that, Holmes left me with our bags to find our rooms and settle in for the night. As has too frequently been the case, I was left with the feeling that the puzzle was getting more complicated with every new fact, and was beginning to wonder when we’d finally see the solution. Now we had a dead girl who had clearly died yesterday just after noon, and who equally clearly was alive today. And tomorrow, we were going to have to take that infernal rocket back to the city. It was going to be a long night.

Deal 221: Mysterious corpse part 2

“The puzzle is, did she love him?”

“Did he love her?”

“Or was there some other meaning behind their noontime tryst?”

As usual, Holmes was paying no attention to me. We’d just boarded the afternoon rocket headed north, and I suppose I was chattering a bit since I’d never actually ridden one before. Holmes, of course, was his usual cool and collected genius in public, leaving me to do enough fussing for both of us.

“What tryst?” Holmes asked.

Aha. He had been listening after all. “Between our gentleman and the victim. Lunch out, but without her usual companions. What else was it if not a tryst?”

“What else indeed, my good doctor. That is what we need to discover. For it is, as I often say, a mistake to reason before we have all the facts at hand.”

He fell silent, and as the crew had just closed the doors and departure was imminent I followed suit. Passenger rockets were rather new, having been introduced to the city just a year ago. The cabin was nicely appointed, with comfortable seats that seemed rather sturdy when we filed in and settled down. I did wonder at the tracks in the floor, but that was explained once we boarded.

They boarded us in the cabin from the back end. The cabin was a cylinder about ten feet in diameter with two rows of seats and an aisle up the center. As we boarded, we were strapped securely to our seats. Once all were aboard, the floor of the aisle was withdrawn, and the cabin was tilted back to point at the sky. The seats slid forwards on the tracks until we were all packed at the front of the cabin. Some of the seats rotated so our heads were offset from the seatback in front, and avoiding claustrophobia by giving everybody a view forwards for several rows. As we were packed into the nose, the engine pack was rolled in place behind us, and slotted neatly into the space in the cabin that had been occupied by seats while we loaded.

The whole process was handled quite efficiently, although it did make the passengers feel a little like the shot in a shell.

A metaphor that soon became all too apt as the engines fired up behind us and we lifted off.

The flight itself was uneventful. A loud roar at the beginning and an elephant sitting on my chest, followed by twenty minutes or so of nearly weightless ballistic flight, and then the jolt as the parachute ejected and we settled neatly into our assigned spot in the busy landing yard. After a short ride back to the terminal during which the engine pack was removed and the seats returned to their passenger friendly configuration, the cabin was set back down and a aisle inserted. The passengers disembarked with some relief.

So we were back on terra firma safe and sound. As we disembarked, the crew handed out carrots to the passengers. This had become something of a tradition, the comparison between the pointed root and the rocket itself was too obvious.

We collected out bags (which had not been permitted in the cabin for obvious reasons) and caught a cab to our lodgings.

Deal 220: The mysterious corpse part 1

“Well, Watson, it appears the game is once again afoot.”

I looked up from my book to find my eccentric flatmate had returned. He went on.

“A gentleman of no small repute in his community stands accused of a crime. He was seen by his household staff dressing for breakfast, then by the stable hands taking his horse out. None of this was the least bit unusual, either for the typical country gentleman or for our client. He was seen again just in time to change for dinner. Dinner was a bit of a local event that had been in the works for some time and was attended by a veritable who’s who of the county. All of whom vouch for the gentleman’s attendance at dinner.”

“That hardly seems sufficiently consequential to involve your particular talents,” I said.

He continued, “and yet here in the city, we have an unexplained death of a young lady apparently known to our gentleman, and evidence suggests she died sometime after lunch that same day. She was seen at breakfast, and did nothing out of the ordinary that morning. She left her flat mid-morning, claiming to be going to the shops and expecting to take lunch while out. Her flatmates have little to add beyond her failure to return for dinner. This didn’t cause immediate panic, but her failure to send word that evening, or to be present at breakfast the next morning caused them to call upon authorities.”

I started to ask a question, but he plowed on. I sat back, resigned to let him finish reciting the details so far.

“The authorities did have a body of a young woman that they had not finished identifying. On a hunch, her flatmates were brought to the morgue and they confirmed that this was their friend. Subsequent examination of her purse which was found, unlooted, under her body provided all the confirmation that anyone needed.”

I nodded. While not the sort of conversation held in most flats around town, this was rather conventional for us.

“Interrogation of the flatmates led to classmates, one of which thought he had seen her taking lunch in a cafe, with a gentleman unknown to him, but matching in every detail the appearance of the gentleman as described by multiple impeccable sources. The same gentleman who had both breakfast and dinner at his country estate.”

By this point I was getting interested. This was developing into a potentially interesting case to investigate.

“And therein lies our conundrum. The authorities are discounting their only lead on the premise that the gentleman cannot have been in the remote country at both breakfast and dinner while still managing to murder the young woman at noon. Merely a few years ago, it would be quite impossible for someone to wake up in the country, take lunch in the city, and return to the country in time for dinner. Of course, the rail system had already made that possible for locations up to perhaps sixty miles away. But the new passenger rocket increases that range to several thousand miles.”

Again, I tried to interject, but was prevented.

“The authorities don’t credit the classmate’s testimony. He was apparently a frequent visitor to the flat, ostensibly due to courting one of her flatmates, but everyone in the flat knew his true interest was with the victim.”

“But you do?”

“Yes, he described a particularly ugly cap and scarf that match the cap and scarf the gentleman was last seen wearing. That is the kind of detail that usually is not made up.”

“What do we do next?”

“If you’re up for the adventure, I think we need to visit a few locations in town, then hop the afternoon rocket out to the countryside to have a chat with our possible suspect. Do be sure to bring your revolver, and plan to spend the night.”