Mystery of the Summer

"Holmes, put on your coat and hat, we're going outside for some fresh air" I demanded to the silhouette of the detective framed by the light of the fireplace.

"This room is dreadfully smokey and you haven't taken one step outside for weeks" Our doorbell of 55 Baker Street hadn't been disturbed for almost three weeks. I took it as a blessing of two folds. First, no new cases meant that I could finally catch a break from the breakneck pace of my eccentric partner and manage to write these memoirs and case papers that have been piling up recently. Secondly, no new cases meant that all was well in the world of lawfulness and justice. Holmes felt differently than I and he had caught a case of crushing boredom.

"You really should read today's paper Watson," Holmes said finally after an hour of silently staring at the roaring fireplace.

"Page 7, lower left corner"



"By what sort of clever means did you discern I haven't read it already? Something about my sleeves? Do I not have ink on my fingers or the look of a well kept-to-date man?" I inquired, hoping to coax Holmes into displaying one of his great feats of deduction which he had been missing since the last case.

"No Watson, your paper is sitting on the dining table in the exact location Mrs Hudson dropped it off this morning." Grabbing the paper in his lanky hands, he tossed it over to me and I flipped to the article in question.

Lord Wemberly Found Dead in Hotel
Lord Wemberly of Wemberly estates was found dead Wednesday morning in the prestigious Royal Crown Hotel. The bachelor Lord Wemberly had of course been the subject of the famous Summer Feast scandal when he was accused last week of fixing the Summer Feast horse race, one of the biggest races in the month of July. The Lord was reported as being agitated and withdrawn at a dinner party attended Tuesday before he rented a room at the hotel. The fifty four year old lord was found shot in the head with a revolver in his hand, a note was found on the bedside table. With no evidence of any foul play, Scotland Yard has deemed the death as a suicide.

I had heard about the now infamous Summer Feast Scandal in the papers last week but I gave it little notice as these kind of scandals were not rare these days.

"Well Holmes, what do you make of this unfortunate incident? I have never strayed from the notion that if we stopped putting so much attention on these poor souls, such events like Lord Wemberly's death could have been easily prevented"

"Yes, I have a good feeling about this one. Something about the whole scenario just doesn't sit right with me. Why would a lord accused of scandal attend a dinner party before killing himself? Why would he do it at a hotel? I believe there is more to this story than meets the eye Watson."

"Didn't Scotland Yard find a revolver in his hand and a note nearby? Seems like the evidences in the paper all point towards suicide. Besides, suicides regarding scandals is hardly unheard of. Lord Pennington hung himself last month didn't he?"

"Dead men are notorious tricksters. I wouldn't count this one out at all Watson. In fact, I'm sure that something is wrong here..." Holmes trailed off mid-thought. Knowing better than to disturb his concentration, I turned back to my paper to continue reading the news of the city.

Suddenly, Holmes snapped back to attention like a hound picking up the slightest of scents. Excitedly he turned to me with a great hunter's grin on his hawk-like face.

"Watson, can you help our visitor up the stairs? I would do it myself but I have some things to prepare for their arrival"

"Visitor? We're not supposed to be having any - "

My words were cut short by a frantic ringing of the bell. I arose from my chair and opened the door to one of the most haggardly looking man I have ever seen. He was in his early twenties but everything about him was a picture of disorder and chaos. His tie was undone and hanging loose like a scarf around his neck providing a stark contrast to his ashen, pale face. His hair was in disarray and he was starting to grow a dirty stubble but the thing that struck me the most was the expression on his face. It was one of pure fear and sorrow, his eye-brows twisted and contorted in wondrous directions I had not thought possible. His eyes were frantically darting about, scanning artifacts in the hallway, one microsecond at a time. He looked to have some strange brown markings on his hand that looked as though he had spilled something on it, adding to the state of disarray.

"Holmes," he whispered as he collapsed into my arms.

"Mrs. Hudson! A little help please!"

After labouriously carrying the man up the stairs and into the armchair by the fireplace, Holmes began to inspect the man in his usual fashion. A flash of annoyance crossed his face and his brow furrowed deep in thought.

"Mrs. Hudson, this man is exhausted, can you fetch him a cup of water?"
Holmes began to pace the room, lost deep in concentration.

"Percy Wemberly at your service sirs" the man croaked after drinking the water provided. "Son of Lord Wemberly. I- I didn't know where else to turn to Mr. Holmes. I have suspicion to believe my father was - "

"Murdered," Holmes interjected while pacing impatiently. "Yes, yes that's unimportant as of now. The most important question is, why were you in India on a business trip without your father?"

"I- I beg your pardon sir!? How could you have possibly known that?"

"Oh please Master Wemberly, if we must explain the logical steps behind every deduction we make in this case, the killer will be long gone and out of England before we even get out the front door."

"Yes... Of course..." Percy looked at his shuffling feet, embarrassed.

Holmes sat in the other armchair, fingers clasped in front of him.

"Only this once Master Wemberly will I explain my process in this detail at a time of such grave importance. Once and no more! Your travels and actions visible and clear on your person as if you handed me your dated plane tickets and itinerary. It's two in the afternoon now, approximately four hours have passed since Lord Wemberly's death and yet your stubble growth indicates that you did not wake up in the morning and shave before learning of your father's death. Which means that when you were alerted of Lord Wemberly's passing, considerable time had passed since you awoke. This probably meaning you are suffering from travelling across time zones. After the hint that you have been travelling, finding that you were in India at one point during your travels was simple. Your right hand Mister Wemberly, bears the faint outline of the dye from the lawsonia inermis plant, otherwise known as henna."

I glanced at Percy's right hand to discover what I had thought to be spill marks were actually intricate and delicate tattooing of flowers and vines.

"Judging from the fading of the tattoo, since henna starts fading in approximately two weeks, I determined that since the Indian festival of ________ started 13 days ago, that is where you went. India in July is a very hot and sunny place and yet you seem as white as if you has barely stepped foot from the mother country MasterWemberly, which leads me to two conclusions: one, you have been back for more than a few months or the very much more probable, you have been indoors during most of your stay, leading me to believe it to be a business trip rather than that of leisure. Your father was in London two weeks ago preparing for the Summer Feast race, so I return to my previous question: why were you in India while he was in England for the big event?"

The man sat, mouth agape in speechless wonder at my eagle-eyed friend.

"Oh please Mister Wemberly, it really was simple logical deduction and we really must know more details about this case."

The stunned man's eyes focused again and he cleared his throat to talk. "As you know, my father died this morning, and I feel quite strongly that it was not a suicide as the police have stated, but rather a murder."

"Master Wemberly. With great dread and reluctance, I believe you are absolutely right"

Holmes grinned from ear to ear as stark juxtaposition to his words. I could see the look in his eyes that would appear whenever he accepted a particularly interesting case. The look of churning gears and pure excitement shone behind his eyes as he bounded to his feet and fetched his coat. The chase was on.

END PART I