Thanks to all reviewers, I love you all and thou shalt be rewarded! With
Cookies and more.
Chapter Two- When Evelyn and Holmes cross paths and minds.
Holmes was busy for the next week, visiting other diners, and looking up evidence, but to my amazement, Miss Demarcier paid me a visit on Thursday morning. We sat chatting for quite some time, and I formed the opinion that Holmes was most definitely wrong in his thoughts that beautiful ladies could only be dangerous, weak, or stupid. Miss Demarcier was none of the above. She left me with a smile, a curious message for Holmes, and a riddle to solve. When Holmes returned later on, he was in a genial frame of mind, which meant he was getting somewhere with the case.
"Good afternoon, Watson. Anything of interest?" He looked pointedly at the paper I was reading. I shook my head, and stood to get a piece of scented notepaper from the mantle.
"Holmes, Miss Demarcier visited earlier and asked me to give you a message. She said she knew and could prove it." Holmes ignored this, and picked up the paper after thanking me. "Do you know what this means, Holmes, for I confess I am at a loss" Watson handed Holmes a piece of paper.
I begin a Lady and am also a Loss, And I know who I am Because I am my own Boss. Really a Red Rose carries no thorns, As many as Any other Attacks a thumb. Ruby blood can't be spilt by a thorn, You might want to think so or not.
(A/N: Take a moment and try and figure this out.We'll see who Holmes would have approved of!)
Holmes read this, a small smile growing on his thin lips, which transformed suddenly into an expression of delight. He leapt up and shook hands with his bemused friend violently.
"Very well done, Watson, excellent, absolutely excellent." Watson looked puzzled. "Thank you Holmes, but what does it mean?" The great detective sighed. "It's elementary, my dear Watson. I know who did it!" Watson smiled ruefully. He wasn't going to press his friend, who was clearly thinking deeply now, but he did wish he understood the riddle.
"I'm going out, Watson. Care to accompany me and discover the meaning of this mysterious mystery?" Holmes was in a jovial mood and so, they walked, taking the scenic route. Watson had no idea where they were going, beyond the fact that they were heading closer into town. As Holmes made a sharp right, they arrived at their destination. "Public Library?" Watson made the name a question, but Holmes merely smiled sardonically and ushered him inside.
Inside, there was a great marble atrium, where we enquired if a Miss Demarcier had left a message. She had, we were informed, in the form of a note- containing yet another riddle. I groaned slightly as I spotted the scented notepaper, and read over Holmes shoulder.
They dance in lines of uneven length, And are all different in feeling and strength, Laurel leaves and honor bound, I'll see you where words are on the ground.
In my opinion, it was even more difficult than the last one. My friend, however, did not seem to feel the same way. "Come, Watson, the lady awaits!" He seemed almost eager?
Five minutes later, we were in the poetry section, by the works of our present poet laureate. That much, Holmes had explained to me. The last lines were giving us problems though. "I'll see you where words are on the ground." Holmes muttered to himself, ignoring irritated looks from other readers. Suddenly, he smiled and looked down. A clue so obvious we had trodden on it. Literally. We stood upon a marble slab engraved 'In nomine Domine'. "Aha. Any minute, Watson." A librarian approached us as we waited, and calmly told us that the library was to shut later this evening, at eight. Over Holmes tall shoulder, I spotted Miss Demarcier gliding towards us. "Holmes." I gave my gaunt friend a warning word, and he turned to see what had attracted my attention. "She certainly is pretty, Holmes, but not very dangerous, I think." He didn't deign to answer.
(~ Point of view switch! ~)
"Hello Gentlemen, I see you made it here- any trouble?" Watson hastily spoke up; he could see his friend was about to make a sarcastic remark.
"Indeed! I could not interpret your message, but Holmes understood immediately, well done, Miss Demarcier!" Holmes was back to the businesslike detective that didn't stoop to petty games he normally was, and spoke with polite interest. "You know what happened, Miss Demarcier?" It was her turn to become almost coquettish. "Indeed I do, Mr Holmes. Why, don't you?" If you did not know Sherlock Holmes, you could never have spotted the concealed pleasure at the clashing of intelligence in the air. "I have the answer- I wish to check that we have the same culprit. I find it is always advisable to follow up every loose end before informing the authorities. Don't you?" His echo of her words made her smile, and she led the way to a talking room, throwing the question 'am I just a loose end, then, Mr Holmes?' over her shoulder.
My friend's scathing wit was about to come into the arena. I could see him bite back the first choking comment that came to mind, and go with the second. "Of course, Miss Demarcier. But an intriguing one, all the same. I will have this end tied up very soon." He was staring at her back with a look, I in all my years of companionship, did not recognise, or understand.
We sat in the talking room, where a pleasant low hum of conversation pervaded the very air we breathed. She picked a table with three comfortable armchairs positioned in the corner of the room. It was almost ideal. "So, Mr Holmes, I expect you wish for me to tell you who and why first?" He nodded as he waited for her to sit, and then we sat down. "If you would be so good?" I winced at his tone of forced politeness.
"Very well. The conclusion came to me the morning after you visited. It must have been the girl reading the book." Holmes looked bemused, and a condescending feeling emanated from his steely eyes. "Why do you suspect that young lady?" "She was reading 'Beekeeping for pleasure and interest'." "If I may be so bold, what does that have to do with the matter at hand?"
Holmes was clearly onto a totally different scent. I felt sorry for our female companion, Holmes hated guesswork, and she would feel his patronising tone very offensive. He was really so difficult, but only with some women. Some he charmed easily, with his words and gestures. I felt he liked those less, though, as it was obvious that they were boring and unintelligent in his view.
"She was only nineteen, and dressed fashionably. Do you understand now?" She was becoming almost as irritable as Holmes, but her last statement had rung bells in my head. "Why was a girl that age reading that sort of tome? Is it not unusual?" I asked curiously. "Bravo, Watson! Exactly." She turned to my curious friend with a patronising look of her own. "Perhaps she is well read? I know that it is an unusual trait these days, but it is hardly evidence for an arrest." He asked nonchalantly, with a sting of sarcasm in his voice.
She raised an eyebrow. "Well then, Mr Holmes, I would be glad to hear your suspect and reasoning." Holmes was offensive in his superiority, but I shared a glance with Miss Demarcier, and was reassured that his tone and actions did not in any way upset her. I had no idea why- he was not this bad, even with me, most of the time.
"First, I thought as you did, that the girl must be involved, as she was very close, but the other day I returned to the scene of the crime, and discovered it was impossible for her to have reached the plates. They were a good foot too far away for me to reach, and I have long arms.
So I moved on, and remembered that the man eating the steak (a Mr Donnelley) had passed the table on his way to the bar at the end of his meal. It would have been easy for him to do this, so he became a suspect, and I ascertained it was most likely he had done it. However, it could also have been the waitress or cook, so I eliminated them from my enquiries.
. The waitress had, luckily for her, moved straight from the kitchen to the table on account of the business of the restaurant, and it was unlikely that she had the opportunity, carrying six plates, as she was. The cook could also be dismissed from the investigation, as he served the same dish to another table, made at the same time, only divided into two portions, and the other dish was fine."
I applauded my friend, and to my surprise, so did Miss Demarcier, to my surprise. He inclined his head in thanks, and sat back. "If you don't mind, Mr Holmes, I would like to mention one point. I never said she had to be within arm length. What makes you think so?" Holmes head shot up, and he stared at her. I fought to hide a chuckle, not since the case of the Yellow Face, had I seen him so perturbed.
"Of course! How facile I have been!"
She agreed by nodding, but he wasn't looking at her any more, thank goodness. He had sunk deep into thought. I knew that he would not take kindly to being interrupted and glad of the respect Miss Demarcier had just won, tried to help her keep it by distracting her from my friend
."I still don't understand. How were they poisoned?"
She leant my way, and began to speak quietly. "I believe that a poisonous powder was placed on the pages. Each time the girl sighed, I remember noting her book was dusty, as a small amount of dust blew towards her victims. In the steam of their hot meal, it disappeared. Unfortunately, I cannot prove it as I have not found the book. That is why we are at the library. Either the book was thrown away, or it is here, I think."
We looked at Holmes as he stood up. "Precisely, Miss Demarcier. Your reasoning has been almost impeccable. However, why did you ask us, then, to meet in the poetry section?" I choked back a laugh, as she replied simply: "I could not think of a rhyme for entomology."
That's it for now! Hope you like it, r&r! C3 up asap, entitled: 'To find a book in a library is not as easy as it seems'.. In which Holmes and Watson discover that Evelyn has an unusual past.
Chapter Two- When Evelyn and Holmes cross paths and minds.
Holmes was busy for the next week, visiting other diners, and looking up evidence, but to my amazement, Miss Demarcier paid me a visit on Thursday morning. We sat chatting for quite some time, and I formed the opinion that Holmes was most definitely wrong in his thoughts that beautiful ladies could only be dangerous, weak, or stupid. Miss Demarcier was none of the above. She left me with a smile, a curious message for Holmes, and a riddle to solve. When Holmes returned later on, he was in a genial frame of mind, which meant he was getting somewhere with the case.
"Good afternoon, Watson. Anything of interest?" He looked pointedly at the paper I was reading. I shook my head, and stood to get a piece of scented notepaper from the mantle.
"Holmes, Miss Demarcier visited earlier and asked me to give you a message. She said she knew and could prove it." Holmes ignored this, and picked up the paper after thanking me. "Do you know what this means, Holmes, for I confess I am at a loss" Watson handed Holmes a piece of paper.
I begin a Lady and am also a Loss, And I know who I am Because I am my own Boss. Really a Red Rose carries no thorns, As many as Any other Attacks a thumb. Ruby blood can't be spilt by a thorn, You might want to think so or not.
(A/N: Take a moment and try and figure this out.We'll see who Holmes would have approved of!)
Holmes read this, a small smile growing on his thin lips, which transformed suddenly into an expression of delight. He leapt up and shook hands with his bemused friend violently.
"Very well done, Watson, excellent, absolutely excellent." Watson looked puzzled. "Thank you Holmes, but what does it mean?" The great detective sighed. "It's elementary, my dear Watson. I know who did it!" Watson smiled ruefully. He wasn't going to press his friend, who was clearly thinking deeply now, but he did wish he understood the riddle.
"I'm going out, Watson. Care to accompany me and discover the meaning of this mysterious mystery?" Holmes was in a jovial mood and so, they walked, taking the scenic route. Watson had no idea where they were going, beyond the fact that they were heading closer into town. As Holmes made a sharp right, they arrived at their destination. "Public Library?" Watson made the name a question, but Holmes merely smiled sardonically and ushered him inside.
Inside, there was a great marble atrium, where we enquired if a Miss Demarcier had left a message. She had, we were informed, in the form of a note- containing yet another riddle. I groaned slightly as I spotted the scented notepaper, and read over Holmes shoulder.
They dance in lines of uneven length, And are all different in feeling and strength, Laurel leaves and honor bound, I'll see you where words are on the ground.
In my opinion, it was even more difficult than the last one. My friend, however, did not seem to feel the same way. "Come, Watson, the lady awaits!" He seemed almost eager?
Five minutes later, we were in the poetry section, by the works of our present poet laureate. That much, Holmes had explained to me. The last lines were giving us problems though. "I'll see you where words are on the ground." Holmes muttered to himself, ignoring irritated looks from other readers. Suddenly, he smiled and looked down. A clue so obvious we had trodden on it. Literally. We stood upon a marble slab engraved 'In nomine Domine'. "Aha. Any minute, Watson." A librarian approached us as we waited, and calmly told us that the library was to shut later this evening, at eight. Over Holmes tall shoulder, I spotted Miss Demarcier gliding towards us. "Holmes." I gave my gaunt friend a warning word, and he turned to see what had attracted my attention. "She certainly is pretty, Holmes, but not very dangerous, I think." He didn't deign to answer.
(~ Point of view switch! ~)
"Hello Gentlemen, I see you made it here- any trouble?" Watson hastily spoke up; he could see his friend was about to make a sarcastic remark.
"Indeed! I could not interpret your message, but Holmes understood immediately, well done, Miss Demarcier!" Holmes was back to the businesslike detective that didn't stoop to petty games he normally was, and spoke with polite interest. "You know what happened, Miss Demarcier?" It was her turn to become almost coquettish. "Indeed I do, Mr Holmes. Why, don't you?" If you did not know Sherlock Holmes, you could never have spotted the concealed pleasure at the clashing of intelligence in the air. "I have the answer- I wish to check that we have the same culprit. I find it is always advisable to follow up every loose end before informing the authorities. Don't you?" His echo of her words made her smile, and she led the way to a talking room, throwing the question 'am I just a loose end, then, Mr Holmes?' over her shoulder.
My friend's scathing wit was about to come into the arena. I could see him bite back the first choking comment that came to mind, and go with the second. "Of course, Miss Demarcier. But an intriguing one, all the same. I will have this end tied up very soon." He was staring at her back with a look, I in all my years of companionship, did not recognise, or understand.
We sat in the talking room, where a pleasant low hum of conversation pervaded the very air we breathed. She picked a table with three comfortable armchairs positioned in the corner of the room. It was almost ideal. "So, Mr Holmes, I expect you wish for me to tell you who and why first?" He nodded as he waited for her to sit, and then we sat down. "If you would be so good?" I winced at his tone of forced politeness.
"Very well. The conclusion came to me the morning after you visited. It must have been the girl reading the book." Holmes looked bemused, and a condescending feeling emanated from his steely eyes. "Why do you suspect that young lady?" "She was reading 'Beekeeping for pleasure and interest'." "If I may be so bold, what does that have to do with the matter at hand?"
Holmes was clearly onto a totally different scent. I felt sorry for our female companion, Holmes hated guesswork, and she would feel his patronising tone very offensive. He was really so difficult, but only with some women. Some he charmed easily, with his words and gestures. I felt he liked those less, though, as it was obvious that they were boring and unintelligent in his view.
"She was only nineteen, and dressed fashionably. Do you understand now?" She was becoming almost as irritable as Holmes, but her last statement had rung bells in my head. "Why was a girl that age reading that sort of tome? Is it not unusual?" I asked curiously. "Bravo, Watson! Exactly." She turned to my curious friend with a patronising look of her own. "Perhaps she is well read? I know that it is an unusual trait these days, but it is hardly evidence for an arrest." He asked nonchalantly, with a sting of sarcasm in his voice.
She raised an eyebrow. "Well then, Mr Holmes, I would be glad to hear your suspect and reasoning." Holmes was offensive in his superiority, but I shared a glance with Miss Demarcier, and was reassured that his tone and actions did not in any way upset her. I had no idea why- he was not this bad, even with me, most of the time.
"First, I thought as you did, that the girl must be involved, as she was very close, but the other day I returned to the scene of the crime, and discovered it was impossible for her to have reached the plates. They were a good foot too far away for me to reach, and I have long arms.
So I moved on, and remembered that the man eating the steak (a Mr Donnelley) had passed the table on his way to the bar at the end of his meal. It would have been easy for him to do this, so he became a suspect, and I ascertained it was most likely he had done it. However, it could also have been the waitress or cook, so I eliminated them from my enquiries.
. The waitress had, luckily for her, moved straight from the kitchen to the table on account of the business of the restaurant, and it was unlikely that she had the opportunity, carrying six plates, as she was. The cook could also be dismissed from the investigation, as he served the same dish to another table, made at the same time, only divided into two portions, and the other dish was fine."
I applauded my friend, and to my surprise, so did Miss Demarcier, to my surprise. He inclined his head in thanks, and sat back. "If you don't mind, Mr Holmes, I would like to mention one point. I never said she had to be within arm length. What makes you think so?" Holmes head shot up, and he stared at her. I fought to hide a chuckle, not since the case of the Yellow Face, had I seen him so perturbed.
"Of course! How facile I have been!"
She agreed by nodding, but he wasn't looking at her any more, thank goodness. He had sunk deep into thought. I knew that he would not take kindly to being interrupted and glad of the respect Miss Demarcier had just won, tried to help her keep it by distracting her from my friend
."I still don't understand. How were they poisoned?"
She leant my way, and began to speak quietly. "I believe that a poisonous powder was placed on the pages. Each time the girl sighed, I remember noting her book was dusty, as a small amount of dust blew towards her victims. In the steam of their hot meal, it disappeared. Unfortunately, I cannot prove it as I have not found the book. That is why we are at the library. Either the book was thrown away, or it is here, I think."
We looked at Holmes as he stood up. "Precisely, Miss Demarcier. Your reasoning has been almost impeccable. However, why did you ask us, then, to meet in the poetry section?" I choked back a laugh, as she replied simply: "I could not think of a rhyme for entomology."
That's it for now! Hope you like it, r&r! C3 up asap, entitled: 'To find a book in a library is not as easy as it seems'.. In which Holmes and Watson discover that Evelyn has an unusual past.