The Adventure of the Manufactured Miracle (The Midwinter Mysteries of Sherlock Holmes Book 1) by Craig Janacek
Authors: Craig Janacek
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they can shed some light on our mystery.”
The man looked at Lestrade for instructions, who merely shrugged and nodded. The constable soon returned with two individuals in tow, the scruffy Wiggins and a slightly more properly-dressed lad of a similar age.
Holmes smiled. “Wiggins, were both tasks successful?”
“Yes, guv’nor,” he replied, handing Holmes a pale green envelope. “And this here is Ned. He brung the note for the doctor here two days ago.”
The boy identified as Ned looked at the constable and nodded nervously.
Holmes reached into his pocket and plucked out a guinea. “Do not be concerned, Ned. You are in no trouble. Can you please tell us who gave you the note for Dr. Lowe and the instructions to come to this house at precisely five minutes after three o’clock?”
“It was her!” he pointed to the maid.
Molly let out a shriek and collapsed. Fortunately, Dr. Braithwaite was standing nearby and caught her before she could hit her head. With some help from the constable, the limp maid was led to a sofa. After Wiggins and Ned were escorted out, a brief application of smelling salts soon brought her around. When she saw all of us gathered around her, she began to sob and wail piteously. “I didn’t poison them!” she reached out to clutch Holmes’ hand. “You must believe me, sir!”
“I do, Miss Hopton. You were given the note by your employer, Mr. Vaughan, were you not?”
“Yes, sir,” she sobbed, “that is correct.”
Holmes nodded, as if another piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. He looked up at the gathered company. “Dr. Braithwaite, thank you for assistance today. If you agree that Mr. Vaughan is on the mend, then I do not think we have any further need of your services.”
Braithwaite agreed and departed, the look in his eyes making plain that he was clearly still puzzled by the strange occurrences in the house and the miraculous recovery from certain death of its owner.
After the door closed, Holmes turned back to the maid. “Now let us come to the last item. In some ways it is the most strange of all. Please Miss Hopton, tell us what the burned note looked like.”
She described the mysterious note again, with its fragile paper.
Lestrade frowned. “I don’t see how that helps us, Mr. Holmes. As you yourself said, the note was completely burned.”
“Ah, but the ashes tell a story of their own. During my investigations, I carefully collected every last piece of ash from the table and the floor. I then weighed those ashes, comparing them to those from an envelope of the same size and containing a single sheet of standard paper. And the ashes from Mr. Vaughan’s study were too light.”
“Indeed, Holmes!” I exclaimed. “The note was not fully burned. Someone removed the remaining part!”
Holmes smiled. “Not quite, Watson. I believe that the note was indeed completely burned. And yet some ashes were missing. But why only remove some of the ashes, I asked myself? Why not remove all of them? No, it did not make any sense. Unless, these were all of the ashes!”
“But Holmes,” I protested, “you just said it was too light to make up all of the ashes!”
“All of the ashes of a normal sheet of paper, Watson. But not of a very thin sheet of paper!”
I frowned. “But who uses very thin paper?”
“Ah, here we come to the crux of the matter. The link that binds all of the mysterious aspects of this case. Mr. Vaughan, perhaps you know where paper was invented?”
“I am certain I do not, sir,” he answered huffily.
“It was invented in China,” Holmes replied, with a twist of his head and a lift of his eyebrow.
Lestrade had reached his boiling point. “Mr. Holmes! I fail to see the point of this conjecture. What possible relevance could China have to these deaths?”
“China is the linchpin that binds together much of this mystery.” He turned to face Mr. Vaughan. “I suppose you became interested in Chinese history from your working
The man looked at Lestrade for instructions, who merely shrugged and nodded. The constable soon returned with two individuals in tow, the scruffy Wiggins and a slightly more properly-dressed lad of a similar age.
Holmes smiled. “Wiggins, were both tasks successful?”
“Yes, guv’nor,” he replied, handing Holmes a pale green envelope. “And this here is Ned. He brung the note for the doctor here two days ago.”
The boy identified as Ned looked at the constable and nodded nervously.
Holmes reached into his pocket and plucked out a guinea. “Do not be concerned, Ned. You are in no trouble. Can you please tell us who gave you the note for Dr. Lowe and the instructions to come to this house at precisely five minutes after three o’clock?”
“It was her!” he pointed to the maid.
Molly let out a shriek and collapsed. Fortunately, Dr. Braithwaite was standing nearby and caught her before she could hit her head. With some help from the constable, the limp maid was led to a sofa. After Wiggins and Ned were escorted out, a brief application of smelling salts soon brought her around. When she saw all of us gathered around her, she began to sob and wail piteously. “I didn’t poison them!” she reached out to clutch Holmes’ hand. “You must believe me, sir!”
“I do, Miss Hopton. You were given the note by your employer, Mr. Vaughan, were you not?”
“Yes, sir,” she sobbed, “that is correct.”
Holmes nodded, as if another piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. He looked up at the gathered company. “Dr. Braithwaite, thank you for assistance today. If you agree that Mr. Vaughan is on the mend, then I do not think we have any further need of your services.”
Braithwaite agreed and departed, the look in his eyes making plain that he was clearly still puzzled by the strange occurrences in the house and the miraculous recovery from certain death of its owner.
After the door closed, Holmes turned back to the maid. “Now let us come to the last item. In some ways it is the most strange of all. Please Miss Hopton, tell us what the burned note looked like.”
She described the mysterious note again, with its fragile paper.
Lestrade frowned. “I don’t see how that helps us, Mr. Holmes. As you yourself said, the note was completely burned.”
“Ah, but the ashes tell a story of their own. During my investigations, I carefully collected every last piece of ash from the table and the floor. I then weighed those ashes, comparing them to those from an envelope of the same size and containing a single sheet of standard paper. And the ashes from Mr. Vaughan’s study were too light.”
“Indeed, Holmes!” I exclaimed. “The note was not fully burned. Someone removed the remaining part!”
Holmes smiled. “Not quite, Watson. I believe that the note was indeed completely burned. And yet some ashes were missing. But why only remove some of the ashes, I asked myself? Why not remove all of them? No, it did not make any sense. Unless, these were all of the ashes!”
“But Holmes,” I protested, “you just said it was too light to make up all of the ashes!”
“All of the ashes of a normal sheet of paper, Watson. But not of a very thin sheet of paper!”
I frowned. “But who uses very thin paper?”
“Ah, here we come to the crux of the matter. The link that binds all of the mysterious aspects of this case. Mr. Vaughan, perhaps you know where paper was invented?”
“I am certain I do not, sir,” he answered huffily.
“It was invented in China,” Holmes replied, with a twist of his head and a lift of his eyebrow.
Lestrade had reached his boiling point. “Mr. Holmes! I fail to see the point of this conjecture. What possible relevance could China have to these deaths?”
“China is the linchpin that binds together much of this mystery.” He turned to face Mr. Vaughan. “I suppose you became interested in Chinese history from your working
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