Unfortunately, I own nothing except Hassleton. Felix Massey Petty is actually my great-great-great-grandfather, and most of the facts pertaining to he and his family are true. Please read and review!
"My dear Holmes, do please stop brooding and find something constructive to do!" I cried, for my friend had deeply irritated me with his complaints and sulkiness. It was a gloomy day in '83 in which he was between cases, and as always it was not affecting him positively, nor I. These spells of boredom taxed both of us heavily, and they were the worst part of my sharing a room with him. For both of our sakes I always hoped that times like these were few and far between. Thankfully, owing to Holmes' exceptional record as an amateur detective, cases were nearly always arriving on our doorstep. This day was, however, or so I thought at the moment, unfortunately not one of our customary days.
My reprimand did not improve Holmes' temperament, and I began to think that I would rather take a walk outside in the rainy weather than stay cooped up in the same room with my morose companion. However, at that moment, a ring at the door below drew our attention to the window and the two men standing in front of our door. They were nearly the same height, but one was most definitely an American, while the other looked to be a respectable Englishman. I looked aside at Sherlock Holmes, expecting to see his eyes alight with excitement. Instead, I was surprised to see him watching the men despondently. I surmised that he knew something of their case, and did not consider it interesting in the least. Catching my eye, Holmes sighed and said,
"I thought we might have had a case worthy of my skills when first I heard the doorbell ring. Sadly, I know that Englishman, Jeremy Hassleton being his name, and I fear he has brought me another completely commonplace crime that any petty busboy could solve. He has brought me that sort in abundance." I was sorry to hear this, for I had thought our dull day may be brightened. My happiness generally depended upon that of my companion's.
Steps sounded on the stairs, and presently the two men entered our quarters. Holmes hardly glanced up at them. The American was a tall, thin man, but thin in a way that made him look hardened and wiry. His sunburned skin testified to a hardworking, outdoor life. Though the other was also thin, it served to brand him as a delicate being. The American was noticeably disturbed, and his English companion was no less. As I saw that my friend was in no mind of doing so, I showed our guests to a seat. The American looked at me after a moment of silence, questions in his eyes.
Finally, Holmes raised his head and asked languidly, "Well, Hassleton, what have you brought me this time?"
The Englishman winced at the tone of the detective's question and replied, "How do you do, Mr. Holmes? I fear my name does not bring pleasant memories to your mind." My friend made no move to contradict him. Hassleton paused to see Holmes' reaction, and when none was forthcoming, he resumed.
"Would you be of a mind to consider attempting to solve my friend's case? I apologize for my latest consultations, but I do believe this case shall turn out to be more promising." Sherlock Holmes grunted.
"You asked me to come examine a supposed murder at your house, only to find that a fox had made a meal out of one of your chickens, and had left a trace of blood as some evidence. I am truly sorry, Mr. Hassleton, that I was not able to catch the culprit and put him on trial. He would have been hanged for sure!" I couldn't help but smile at my companion's humour, but Mr. Hassleton did not think it humourous in the least.
"This is not a laughing matter, Mr. Holmes! There is danger here!"
"Oh, I'm sure. As a matter of fact, Hassleton, there is danger in Tennessee, to be more exact."
The American rose to his feet. "However did you know?"
Holmes waved his hand. "Never mind that now. If you insist on telling your story, please begin." He leaned back in his chair and put his fingertips together.
The American was still curious, but he began his story in his Southern-American drawl as he reseated himself. "Well, sir, my name is Felix Petty – or did you know that already? You seem to have magical powers, from all I have heard and seen. At any rate, my tale must begin with my enlightening you to the fact that Mr. Hassleton and I were good friends when we were young boys, for he lived in the States near my family. However, because of financial problems, his family was forced to move to London where his mother's brother lived quite comfortably." Hassleton nodded, affirming Mr. Petty's account. Seeing this, Felix continued. "I married a girl named Elizabeth three years ago. We have two sons, Leonard and Landy. Mr. Hassleton, with whom you appear to have an acquaintance, traveled down to visit me in Tennessee this past month, where you in some way surmised I live. My home is located in a very out of the way place there. My mother and father live near me and my family, not 3 miles away. My mother's health has not been kind to her these past few years. As it so happens, she died nearly a month ago. The doctors examined her and concluded that she passed of natural causes, as would be expected. But," here our American's voice sank to a scarcely audible whisper, "I have reason to believe otherwise."
Sherlock Holmes finally looked up, the familiar gleam in his eyes, indicating he was growing interested in our friend's case. I confess that the tone of Mr. Petty's voice sent a tingle down my own spine. There was no denying that he was utterly convinced of his statement's authenticity.
"What reasons have you?" asked Holmes.
After a pause, the American replied, "I suppose one could hardly call it evidence. It's really more closely akin to foreboding. The night before Hassleton left to return to England, he stayed me after supper. My wife had left the room, but he touched me on the arm and said, 'I should like to have a word with you briefly.' I did as he requested and reseated myself. He told me- Well, I assume he can tell you himself exactly what he told me."
We all fastened our eyes upon Hassleton, who spoke with a slightly quavering voice. "It was around seven o'clock that evening, and I had wandered out into the yard to take a casual stroll. It being the new moon, all was dark, and I had to strain my eyes to make out the path in front of me. Suddenly, I was startled by a rustle in the bushes to my left. Turning just in time, I caught a glimpse of a figure hurrying away. He was a short, agile man, very skinny, and light on his feet."
"Light on his feet?" Interrupted Sherlock Holmes with a note of jealousy, "How on earth were you able to deduce that?"
Here Mr. Petty answered. "It was simple, sir – the intruder left no footprints, albeit the ground on which he had been sighted was quite soft."