Other than that I can see nothing. Did I miss anything?”
Holmes almost snatched the letter back from
me. “The aggressive, well-formed letters imply that this was
written by a middle aged man, a person who thinks he has no need to
disguise his handwriting as he will not be caught. The style of
writing is strong as you say…and confident. He owns a cat, probably
a black domestic short hair breed. There is a single, short black
cat hair attached to the gum of the envelope. The envelope has the
smell of fresh paper meaning that it is quite new but there is also
something else…a faint odour of tobacco. The paper is cheap,
commercial quality that can be found at any stationers and bears no
watermark.”
Holmes
paused, placing his index finger to his lips as his mind sifted the
facts. “It is, however, strange that sealing wax was used to seal
the envelope even though it is a pre-gummed envelope. The postage
stamp has been cut perfectly square from a sheet and has been
placed precisely with the sides equidistant from the corner of the
envelope. This infers that the person doing this is most meticulous
in their actions, bordering on obsessive in their behavior. Other than that, I can form no firm
opinion." As ever, I was amazed at my friend's powers of
observation.
Chapter
2 – Truro.
“Truro!” Holmes suddenly seemed galvanized
and cried again, “Truro! Watson, pack a Gladstone!”
Seizing a railway almanac, he quickly thumbed
his way through the pages and found the timetable for Truro. “Ha!
We have just enough time to catch the six o'clock Cornish Express
from Paddington!” I quickly packed my bag and we both hurried down
the stairs to hail a Hansom and head for Paddington. With five
minutes to spare we arrived at Paddington station. I bought two
first class tickets whilst Holmes dived into the telegraph office.
I took the bags to the train and hardly had I stowed them when I
heard the guard shouting for any last passengers to board the
train. I leaped to the door and saw Holmes running like a gazelle
toward the train.
“Holmes! Holmes! Over here!” I cried and
waved frantically from the doorway. Holmes ran towards me and
bounded aboard, closing the carriage door with one swift
movement.
We quickly settled down into our seats and
caught our breath. “To whom did you send the telegram, Holmes?” I
asked.
“Mycroft. I advised him of our departure to
Truro and asked him to contact the local constabulary to arrange
rooms for us at a local inn.”
With a shrill whistle from the guard, which
was echoed by one from the engine, the train eased its way out of
Paddington Station. I looked across at Holmes and saw that within
moments he had drawn himself into a corner of the compartment and
closed his eyes. I knew that it was pointless to ask anything
further of him. He was now withdrawing into that contemplative
state which I had seen so often over the years. His deductive
powers could then be concentrated upon the meagre facts that we had
gleaned from Mycroft's visit. For myself, I opened my bag and took
from it my copy of ‘The Lancet’, published in August. As the train
rumbled on towards Truro, I began to look through some of the
submitted articles.
I must have dozed off as I was awakened by a
tap on the knee from Holmes. “Come on, old fellow. Let us go over
the case as we know it."
Gathering up my fallen copy of 'The Lancet',
I blinked and sat back in my seat. “Well, speaking purely as a
medical man, my interest is in the agent used to create this
illness and the way it has been administered."
Holmes’ brow furrowed. "Yes, what might be
the toxin and, more puzzling, how is the killer able to target his
victims with some accuracy? It cannot be in the water supply or
everyone would be affected. He must be able to select victims or
expose specific groups to the toxin... but how?”
“Could it be the ingestion of specific
foods?” I suggested. “Perhaps he has access to a bakery and
Holmes almost snatched the letter back from
me. “The aggressive, well-formed letters imply that this was
written by a middle aged man, a person who thinks he has no need to
disguise his handwriting as he will not be caught. The style of
writing is strong as you say…and confident. He owns a cat, probably
a black domestic short hair breed. There is a single, short black
cat hair attached to the gum of the envelope. The envelope has the
smell of fresh paper meaning that it is quite new but there is also
something else…a faint odour of tobacco. The paper is cheap,
commercial quality that can be found at any stationers and bears no
watermark.”
Holmes
paused, placing his index finger to his lips as his mind sifted the
facts. “It is, however, strange that sealing wax was used to seal
the envelope even though it is a pre-gummed envelope. The postage
stamp has been cut perfectly square from a sheet and has been
placed precisely with the sides equidistant from the corner of the
envelope. This infers that the person doing this is most meticulous
in their actions, bordering on obsessive in their behavior. Other than that, I can form no firm
opinion." As ever, I was amazed at my friend's powers of
observation.
Chapter
2 – Truro.
“Truro!” Holmes suddenly seemed galvanized
and cried again, “Truro! Watson, pack a Gladstone!”
Seizing a railway almanac, he quickly thumbed
his way through the pages and found the timetable for Truro. “Ha!
We have just enough time to catch the six o'clock Cornish Express
from Paddington!” I quickly packed my bag and we both hurried down
the stairs to hail a Hansom and head for Paddington. With five
minutes to spare we arrived at Paddington station. I bought two
first class tickets whilst Holmes dived into the telegraph office.
I took the bags to the train and hardly had I stowed them when I
heard the guard shouting for any last passengers to board the
train. I leaped to the door and saw Holmes running like a gazelle
toward the train.
“Holmes! Holmes! Over here!” I cried and
waved frantically from the doorway. Holmes ran towards me and
bounded aboard, closing the carriage door with one swift
movement.
We quickly settled down into our seats and
caught our breath. “To whom did you send the telegram, Holmes?” I
asked.
“Mycroft. I advised him of our departure to
Truro and asked him to contact the local constabulary to arrange
rooms for us at a local inn.”
With a shrill whistle from the guard, which
was echoed by one from the engine, the train eased its way out of
Paddington Station. I looked across at Holmes and saw that within
moments he had drawn himself into a corner of the compartment and
closed his eyes. I knew that it was pointless to ask anything
further of him. He was now withdrawing into that contemplative
state which I had seen so often over the years. His deductive
powers could then be concentrated upon the meagre facts that we had
gleaned from Mycroft's visit. For myself, I opened my bag and took
from it my copy of ‘The Lancet’, published in August. As the train
rumbled on towards Truro, I began to look through some of the
submitted articles.
I must have dozed off as I was awakened by a
tap on the knee from Holmes. “Come on, old fellow. Let us go over
the case as we know it."
Gathering up my fallen copy of 'The Lancet',
I blinked and sat back in my seat. “Well, speaking purely as a
medical man, my interest is in the agent used to create this
illness and the way it has been administered."
Holmes’ brow furrowed. "Yes, what might be
the toxin and, more puzzling, how is the killer able to target his
victims with some accuracy? It cannot be in the water supply or
everyone would be affected. He must be able to select victims or
expose specific groups to the toxin... but how?”
“Could it be the ingestion of specific
foods?” I suggested. “Perhaps he has access to a bakery and
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