The Pumamouse Website: Stories And Sagas: My Sherlockian Saga Volume One Chapter Six

After spending a delightful afternoon in the company of Miss Trioni and Mycroft, I returned home that evening to find Holmes seated in his chair, exactly as we had left him. "How goes it, Holmes?," I asked.

"Where are they, Watson?," he returned.

"Oh, Miss Trioni and Mycroft decided to stop at the market on the way back. They should be following soon," I informed.

"Why the market?," Holmes asked.

"We were discussing Italian cuisine, and Miss Trioni offered to prepare us a meal of our choosing, Saturday evening," I explained. "Mycroft suggested she take a look at what we have to offer in the way of ingredients, so that, if she found our selection lacking, there would be ample time to place an order."

"And...what, exactly, is this meal to consist of?," Holmes pondered.

"That is the beauty of it, Holmes," I continued happily. "She has offered to make each of us whatever dish we like. We objected at first, it being so much work. However, she insisted, and I must admit, I am glad she did. My instincts tell me we are in for quite a treat. Mycroft decided on fettuccine primavera, while I opted for lasagna. What will you choose, Holmes?" He sat, staring blankly into space, and so, again, I encouraged, "Holmes?"

"Yes? Oh, forgive me, Watson," he returned with a start. "At present, I find the thought of food rather repulsive."

"What is it, old man?," I asked, realizing that he was in a bad way.

"It is her, Watson," he sighed. "Who is she? What do we really know of her? Is she what she appears? Can she be trusted? Is she friend or foe? And, why am I plagued by the thought of her when I should be concentrating on the case at hand?"

"I am afraid I can not help you with most of your questions, but an answer to that last one does come to mind," I offered in earnest. I looked directly into those steel-blue-grey eyes of his, and I saw a glint of recognition there, immediately followed by denial.

"Watson, do not be absurd," he scoffed as he quickly turned away. "You know of my aversion to the so-called "fairer sex". You are the ladies' man, not I."

"I will admit, I find her most charming," I said, freely. "But, alas, she is nearly sixteen years younger than I. I would not delude myself into believing she would ever offer me anything more than her friendship. Which, I might add, I would be most happy to have. But you, Holmes. You have a chance of catching her fancy."

"What makes you think I would hope for such a scenario?," Holmes retorted. "To be plagued by that demon named Cupid? Really, Watson, how could you wish such disaster on a friend?" His rebuttal only confirmed my suspicions. Holmes was falling, probably for the first time.

"Very well," I allowed. "If you tell me that I have deduced incorrectly, I must respect that. But beware, Holmes. You can not hide the truth from yourself for long, and it is doubtful you could hide anything from a woman like Miss Trioni."

"She has the ability to see into my soul," he said in a voice that seemed to almost tremble. "That is why I feel such danger."

"The danger only exists if you, yourself, are unaware of what lies there," I warned with a slight smile. He looked to be about to speak, but he was distracted by the sound of Mycroft and Miss Trioni in the hallway. Moments later, they entered the room.

"Good evening, Mr. Holmes," Miss Trioni offered.

"Good evening, Miss Trioni...Mycroft," he returned as he rose slowly from his chair.

"Dear me, Sherlock, have you spent the entire day cooped up within these four walls?," Mycroft asked. "You should have joined us, brother. We had a most enjoyable day. Didn't we, Mariana?"

"Indeed, we did," Miss Trioni agreed. Moving towards Holmes, she cheerfully asked, "Has Dr. Watson told you of our plans for Saturday's dinner, Mr. Holmes?"

"He has," Holmes answered cautiously.

"And, what is your pleasure?," she encouraged. Even from where I stood, I could feel the electricity between them. Seeing them, standing there face to face, I thought to myself, they could make quite a formidable team if ever they joined forces.

"What are my choices?," Holmes fumbled for a reply.

"Whatever you like, Mr. Holmes," she smiled. Then, taking a step closer, she offered, "But, please, do take your time. I have seen your local market, and I am pleased to say, it is quite adequate, so I need not make a special order. Just let me know by Friday afternoon, agreed?"

"Agreed, Miss Trioni," Holmes returned.

"And, please, gentlemen," she continued. "It is very kind and proper of you all to rise each time I enter or leave the room. However, it does make me feel a bit awkward. As I am to be here for some time, I think we may eliminate some of the formalities, don't you?" As she spoke, she looked to each of us, then turned once again to look into Holmes' eyes.

"As you wish, Miss Trioni," he answered for us all.

"Excellent!," she smiled. "I would like to freshen up before dinner, so, if you will excuse me...," she explained, then she turned and left the room. Holmes seemed unable to move at first, then he forced himself to resume his seat.

"Would you care for some wine before dinner, Mycroft?," I asked. I was trying my best to distract him from his close scrutiny of his brother's actions and demeanor.

"Splendid, Doctor, yes...," he answered as he continued to search for a clue.

I opened the drawing room door and moved into the hallway to call to Mrs. Hudson below. Having requested a bottle of wine, I returned to view the two men, sitting in silence. Some minutes later, Mrs. Hudson entered with a tray of glasses and a bottle of port. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," I offered.

"You are welcome, sir," she replied, then, looking around the room, she added, "Miss Trioni will be joining you for dinner, will she not?"

"Oh, yes. She will be back shortly," I assured, noting her concern.

"Very good, Doctor," she smiled happily, then she returned to her kitchen.

I poured three glasses, and handed one to Holmes and one to Mycroft. Raising my own, I said, "Well, gentlemen, good health." They each raised their glasses and drank heartily. I sat upon the settee beside Mycroft, then he finally spoke.

"I am curious, Sherlock. What do you think of Mariana's story, so far?," he asked. "Are you disappointed, or intrigued?" He was treading on dangerous ground.

"A little of each," Holmes answered as he placed his empty glass down, upon the end table. "However, we should not be discussing the matter, according to your own rules, Mycroft."

"Quite right," Mycroft agreed. He paused to rethink his attack, then inquired, "What do you think of Mariana, then?" He was going for the throat.

"I do not yet have sufficient data with which to form a conclusion," Holmes evenly stated.

"Well, I believe I have," Mycroft advised. "She is a remarkable woman. Only so rare a lady could pull me from my normal routine. I deeply regret my schedule at Whitehall will not allow for as much leisure time as I would wish to spend with her. I have grown quite fond of her, and I would not like to see her upset in any way." His warning tone was unmistakable.

"Then, rest assured, we will do our utmost to ensure her stay is a pleasant one," Holmes pledged.

"No more interrogations, Sherlock," Mycroft cautioned.

"Of course not," Holmes conceded.

"And, no tricks," Mycroft added. His words visibly wounded Holmes, who closed his eyes at the sound of them.

Looking back on it now, I believe it is possible that Mycroft mistook his brother's awkwardness towards Miss Trioni for animosity. Or, perhaps, he had seen a brief glimpse of Holmes' true feelings, as I had nearly done, and was so shocked that he thought them to be a deliberate deception. It was totally out of character for Holmes to be so affected by a woman. However, she was a remarkable woman. With his eyes still tightly closed, Holmes nodded his agreement to Mycroft's demands.

The drawing room door opened, and Miss Trioni entered. I began to rise, out of reflex, but I stopped myself in time. She sat in the chair opposite Holmes', and I asked, "Will you join us in a glass of port, Miss Trioni?"

"No, thank you, Doctor," she declined. Obviously concerned by Holmes' appearance, she quietly urged, "Mr. Holmes, is everything all right?"

"Yes, of course. I was just resting my eyes," Holmes fibbed.

"Oh, I see," she said, still not completely convinced. "I thought perhaps you were bothered by a headache." She turned her gaze away from him then. Looking towards me, she continued, "Dreadful things, headaches. My father is sometimes plagued by them. I have been quite fortunate in being able to cure them, though."

"With what drug, Miss Trioni?," I asked, my medical curiosity peaked.

"Without drugs, Doctor," she smiled. "I have found, oftentimes, my father's headaches are caused by tension. He worries much too much about his family and his business affairs for his own good. As a result, I have become quite an adept masseuse."

"Do you mean to say, you are able to stop his pain without using anything but a form of massage therapy?," I pondered.

"Exactly," she replied.

"I would be most interested in witnessing such a treatment," I offered in earnest, unaware of the possible consequences.

"I would be glad to demonstrate, if someone would be so kind as to be my patient," she offered, smiling hopefully at Mycroft.

"By all means, Mariana, use Sherlock. He is the most tense man I know. If it works on him, it is infallible," Mycroft chuckled.

Holmes glared at his brother for putting him in a most awkward position.

"Would you mind, Mr. Holmes?," Miss Trioni asked.

"Not at all. What would you have me do?," Holmes allowed.

"Remove your jacket, please, and loosen your collar," Miss Trioni encouraged. She rose from her seat and moved to stand behind Holmes' chair. Reluctantly, he did as she had requested. "Now...just relax," she soothed.

At the first touch of her hands, Holmes visibly tensed. However, a change quickly occurred. I moved to stand beside her and watched her manipulate the muscles of his neck with such dexterity as I had never before seen. Holmes again closed his eyes. She gradually worked her way to his shoulders, then back to the base of his skull, then on to his temples, and so on, until his entire body appeared quite limp. The expression on his face had also changed, from one of initial apprehension, to one of sheer ecstasy. I envied him at that moment, for it was clear he had found his own small piece of heaven, however brief.

Slowly, she moved her hands from his shoulders, down his arms, towards his elbows, then back up his arms again, to end where she had begun, at the base of his neck. Quietly, she pulled me aside.

At first, he appeared not to realize that she had stopped. Eventually, he opened his eyes to find her seated before him. "Well, Mr. Holmes...did it help?," she asked with a hopeful smile.

"Miss Trioni, you are truly amazing. Thank you for a most enjoyable experience," Holmes offered in earnest.

"Anytime, Mr. Holmes," she smiled more fully. Then, turning her attention from him, she continued, "That goes for you, also, Mycroft. And you, Doctor. Perhaps sometime, you would like to examine the effects, firsthand."

I was about to accept her generous offer when Mrs. Hudson entered with our dinner. "Ah, perfect timing, Mrs. Hudson," Holmes stated. "I believe I have regained my appetite."

"Is that a normal side-effect of your massages, Mariana?," Mycroft jested.

"I suppose, it could be," she answered happily as we sat at the table.

Holmes replaced his jacket and joined us. We began to feast on an excellent leg of lamb when, suddenly, Holmes announced, "Veal parmesan, with spaghetti."

"Holmes?," I offered, quite perplexed.

"That is my choice, Miss Trioni," he explained.

She laughed out loud. The warm, sweet sound was infectious, and Mycroft and I soon joined her. Even Holmes had to chuckle at himself. "Of course, Mr. Holmes. Veal parmesan it shall be, then," she agreed.

"With spaghetti?," he urged.

"With spaghetti," she assured with a warm smile.

The rest of the evening was spent quite pleasantly, discussing possibilities for sight-seeing on the next day. Finally, Mycroft headed for home. Miss Trioni, Holmes, and I each exchanged our good-nights, and retired.

As I put out my lamp that night, I considered carefully the events of the day. Though I never would have admitted it to Holmes, as a physician, and as his closest friend, many of the concerns he had expressed that morning reflected my own. In truth, my assurances had not been supported by my beliefs. His recent indulgence in his cocaine addiction had, indeed, left him much worse for the wear. It would take some time before he would again be in full form.

In addition, Miss Trioni's obvious effect on him would not help him in his cause. I had no doubt that, given time, he would fully recuperate from the lingering effects of the drug. Yet, I seriously doubted if he would ever fully recuperate from Miss Trioni. As I drifted off to sleep, I wondered how long the former recovery would take, and how long the latter affliction would last.

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The Personal Journal Of John H. Watson, M.D.
Volume One
A Record Of The Events Which Occurred
March-May 1897

Copyright 1998

CHAPTER SIX

The next morning, before breakfast, I found Holmes in the drawing room, pacing like a caged animal. "Good morning, Holmes," I greeted.

"Ah, Watson, good morning," he returned.

"Did you sleep well?," I asked.

"As well as could be expected," he replied. "I am afraid the anticipation of the hunt outweighed my desire to gain a few extra hours' sleep. But, not to worry. I have rested too well these past few months." He never stopped moving, all the while he spoke.

"You do seem a bit agitated," I noted. "Is everything all right?"

"Of course," he assured. "I am anxious to begin, but other than that..." His words faded as his eyes met mine. "Oh, Watson. It is no good," he admitted as he slumped into his chair. "You know me too well for any attempt on my part to hide the truth."

"What is it, Holmes?," I asked with open concern as I sat opposite him.

He sighed heavily, then solemnly informed, "I am not a man easily given to insecurities, Watson. Quite frankly, I believe I have proven that, without a doubt. However, I find myself very aware of my present situation. It has been several months since I have had a case. In that time, despite your constant warnings, I have abused myself badly. At first, I thought this whole charade would be a trifle. However, upon learning more about my opponent, I believe there may be some cause for worry. There is a possibility that she could defeat me. And, what is worse, I may be my own worst enemy in the matter."

"Sounds to me like a classic case of cold feet," I offered lightly. "But, why should this case be different from any other? I will admit, I was worried during your last depression, but I have no doubt that the damage you inflicted upon yourself during it has had no permanent ill- effect. You are as diligent in your thinking as you ever were. Why should you feel like your own worst enemy?"

His voice grew very low as he explained in earnest, "It is her, Watson. I do not understand why, but she has an effect upon my thinking. I can not explain it. From the first moment I met her, I have felt a constant undercurrent of tension. It was most obvious when I lashed out at her, that first evening. Since then, although it would probably seem more subtle to your eyes, the feeling of anxiety has increased every time she has entered the room. I have never felt so vulnerable in all my life. Even Moriarty did not evoke this sense of...apprehension. What is it, Watson? Is there some logic behind my fear?"

Shocked as I was by his candor, I was about to offer my answer when the door opened. "Oh, excuse me, gentlemen," Miss Trioni apologized. "I did not mean to interrupt. I thought the room was empty." She began to close the door.

"Not at all, Miss Trioni. Do come in," Holmes encouraged. The transformation was remarkable. Within a second, he had changed from a man in shambles back into the persona known as Sherlock Holmes.

"Are you certain?," Miss Trioni hesitated.

"Yes, of course," he assured. "Dr. Watson and I were just discussing...the weather."

"Yes," I floundered. "It is a fine day to begin an adventure. Wouldn't you agree, Miss Trioni?"

"Indeed, I would," she smiled.

"Did you sleep well, Miss Trioni," Holmes casually asked.

"I must admit, I was a bit preoccupied, thinking about today," she replied. "In fact, I spent most of the night reviewing my own manuscript and making notes for our first session."

"Did you? Well, I am sure they will be most helpful," Holmes returned, very amiably.

"Shall we begin breakfast?," I asked, trying not to reveal my surprise at Holmes' behaviour.

"Yes, Dr. Watson. I believe some of Mrs. Hudson's coffee is just what I need to get me started this morning," Miss Trioni said as she began to pour.

"Nothing for me," Holmes informed.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, you really should. My mother always says, breakfast is the most important meal of the day," she encouraged.

"With all due respect to your mother, I am not hungry," Holmes declined.

"Very well. Will you join me, then, Doctor?," she asked.

"Yes, of course," I said as I extended my cup for her to fill. Holmes lit his pipe and stood at his favourite window, near his file cabinet. Miss Trioni was seated at the table, with her back towards him, and I took the chair opposite hers. I then witnessed the most incredible chain of events.

Holmes turned from the window and stared at her back. After only a moment or two, she began to shift uneasily in her seat. It was as though she could feel his eyes upon her. Finally, he turned back towards the window. Instantly, she visibly became more relaxed. Subsequently, every time Holmes would repeat his actions, Miss Trioni would repeat hers. I believe Holmes was quite unaware of the change which was taking place in her, for he only saw her from behind, where as I had the advantage of watching her face and, more importantly, her eyes. We ate in silence for the most part, which I think added to the feeling of tension already present in the air. Thankfully, the silence was finally broken by Holmes.

"Tell me, Miss Trioni, have you given any thought as to which aspects of English life you would like to acquaint yourself with first?," he asked.

"I have, Mr. Holmes. However, I am finding the choosing most difficult," she replied.

"Well, would you prefer to start by viewing the countryside, or by exploring the city of London?," Holmes encouraged.

"Both sound so appealing...which would you suggest, Mr. Holmes?," she countered.

I was not aware of it at the time, but, apparently, the game was beginning. Each of them was trying desperately to obtain some clue as to the character of the other. Holmes conceded.

"I believe I would choose the city, since we are already here," he offered. "Perhaps this afternoon, Dr. Watson and I may have the honour of accompanying you to the museum. Or, perhaps the zoo would be more to your liking?"

"Actually, I would like to see Scotland Yard, if that is possible," Miss Trioni returned.

"I am sure it can be arranged," Holmes smiled, amused by her ability to read his motives.

Noting this, she, too, relaxed her guard a bit, and advised, "Mr. Holmes, your brother knows you well."

"So he does, Miss Trioni," Holmes admitted. "And, it would appear, so do you."

"Not as well as I would like to," she said, rather candidly. Then, in a voice no louder than a whisper, she added, "...or hope to." I believe she did so involuntarily, for, when she observed that I had overheard her, the colour rose slightly in her cheeks.

"Ah...Mycroft has arrived," Holmes noted. Looking at his watch, he added, "And, a few minutes early, at that."

Mrs. Hudson entered to clear away our breakfast dishes, then she swiftly departed. Moments later, Mycroft entered the drawing room.

"Good morning, all!," he greeted. He seemed in very good spirits. "Miss Trioni...I mean...Mariana, how are you fairing, my dear? Has my brother been pestering you, or has he behaved himself? No need to answer. The guilt is clearly written upon his face. And you, Doctor, how are you this fine morning?"

"Very well, thank you. And yourself?," I asked.

"Splendid, just splendid," he offered. "I have been looking forward to this morning with great anticipation. I see it is nearly ten o'clock. Are we all ready to begin?" He took a seat upon the settee.

"One moment, please, Mycroft," Holmes said as he walked to my desk. He returned to the table with my notepad and pencil. "Watson, I do believe you will need these," he explained, then he moved to sit in his chair, by the fireplace. He took up his pipe and lit it. Staring intently at Miss Trioni, he stated, "I am ready."

"Mariana, do come sit by me, and make yourself comfortable before you begin your tale," Mycroft encouraged.

"Thank you, Mycroft, but I believe I will stay seated here for a few more moments, while I finish my cup of coffee," she declined. Holmes smiled at her then, for he realized, as did I, that by remaining where she was, she could observe my notes with ease. She returned his smile, then rose with her cup in her hand, and continued, "On second thought, the settee does look more comfortable." She sat next to Mycroft, knowingly relinquishing her vantage point.

"Well, gentlemen, here it is, then," she began. "Mr. Henry Dobish was a man in his mid-fifties, and a banker by trade. He was married and had two adult children, a son and a daughter. He was well-loved by his family, and, in general, well-liked and respected. On the morning of Wednesday, August the twenty-third, he was found dead in a pool of water, half a mile from his home. The cause of death was determined to be drowning. Who killed Mr. Henry Dobish, how, and why?" She stopped then and casually took a sip of her coffee, showing no intention of offering any more.

Holmes sat up straight on the edge of his chair and, with obvious shock, asked, "Miss Trioni, you can not possibly be serious?"

Mycroft began to chuckle as he advised, "There you have it, Sherlock. The rest is for you to uncover."

"You give me scraps with which to build!," Holmes snarled.

"Beautiful quilts may be made from scraps, Mr. Holmes, if one has a talent for piecing them," Miss Trioni smiled.

An expression of total amazement replaced the anger that had been on Holmes' face. "Very well, Miss Trioni. Watson, take note. Who found the body?," he began.

"A police officer."

"Had Mr. Dobish been missing long?"

"He was found at half past seven in the morning. No one had seen him since nine o'clock the night before."

"Not even his wife?"

"No."

"Where, exactly, did he live?"

"In a comfortable home, in the city of New York."

"How was it determined that he was murdered at all? Could it not have been an accident?"

"The pool of water was, in fact, a fountain in a nearby park. There were several bruises on his upper body. It was not a natural death."

"A common mugging?"

"His wallet and watch were not taken."

"Had he a will?"

"Yes."

"Who gained by his death?"

"His wife and children inherited everything, with the exception of a few nominal contributions to charities."

"Which charities?"

"A Christian church, and a homeless shelter."

"Was he a wealthy man?"

"Upper-middle class."

"And, was his life insured?"

"Yes."

"For how much?"

"Fifty thousand dollars."

"Whew...," I whistled, despite my efforts.

"By whom was he insured?," Holmes continued.

"He was, himself, the policy holder. The Metropolitan Life Insurance Company was the insurer."

"What reason did he give for the elaborate amount?"

"He wished his family's future to be secure in the event of his death."

"For how long did he have this insurance?"

"He purchased the policy two years prior to his death."

Holmes paused for several moments, then, a bit reluctantly, asked, "Miss Trioni, was he murdered for his insurance money or his estate, by anyone, including a family member?"

"No, Mr. Holmes, he was not."

"Was he murdered by a family member for any other reason?"

"No, Mr. Holmes."

"Thank God for that," Holmes muttered with a heavy sigh, greatly relieved that the obvious was not the answer. He refilled his pipe with fresh tobacco, then lit it, and resumed both his seat and his questioning with visible enjoyment. "Aside from banking, what were his interests?," he proceeded.

"He was a collector of Oriental art, an avid swimming enthusiast, and he was quite fond of fish."

"Do you mean, as a meal?"

"No, as a source of amusement. He kept several rare species."

"Was there anything odd about his death, save its premature occurrence and cause?"

"Yes, though I believe you may think it nonsense," Miss Trioni warned.

"Pray, continue," Holmes urged with a smile.

"Two days prior to his death, Mr. Henry Dobish acquired what would prove to be the final addition to his collection of rare fish. Some say it was because of this fish that he died," Miss Trioni explained.

Holmes' eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her every word. Finally, he asked, "Tell me, Miss Trioni, you speak as though these events really occurred. Did they, or is this part of your game?"

"I fail to see the relevance of that question, Mr. Holmes, and, therefore, I shall not answer," Miss Trioni informed.

Holmes went completely stiff. "You what?!," he asked indignantly.

Mycroft laughed out loud as he stated, "Ah, Sherlock, she has the right. And, I quite agree, my dear. It is completely irrelevant."

Holmes rose from his chair and walked angrily to the window. "This is impossible!," he spat. "How am I to proceed if she can refuse to answer my questions, fully and honestly?"

"Mr. Holmes," Miss Trioni said in a soothing tone. "I have no doubt that, in the course of your vast adventures, you have, on occasion, questioned witnesses or suspects who were totally uncooperative. And yet, you did manage to solve the case...am I correct?"

"Of course, but...," Holmes began.

"Then, please, tell me why this instance should be any different?," Miss Trioni continued. "In all fairness, if I am obligated to answer every question, fully and honestly, I might as well tell you the solution. All you would have to do is ask the murderer's name, method, and motive." Again, Mycroft laughed.

Holmes looked at her coldly, at first. However, as she stared back into his eyes, I saw his expression soften until, finally, he urged, "Very well, Miss Trioni. Please give me a full account of why a rare fish should be blamed for this man's death, and be precise as to detail." He returned to his chair.

"Of course," Miss Trioni smiled. "The previous owner of the fish was a man named Kwi Chin. He owned and operated a Chinese restaurant, at which Mr. Dobish frequently ate his lunch. The fish was on display in the restaurant, which is how Mr. Dobish first came to see it. Although Mr. Chin only had the fish for several days, he wished to sell it."

"Why?"

"Mr. Chin was an older gentleman, and quite given to superstitions. Several occurrences since the arrival of this rare fish had led him to believe that it was a cause of evil, cursed in some way."

"What type of fish was it?"

"A lion fish."

"And, what were these occurrences?"

"On the day it arrived, one of the cooks was distracted, and nearly lost a finger while cutting vegetables. The next day, a shipment of imported tea was missing. On the third day, several people became ill after eating the pork-fried rice. And finally, on the fourth, one of the waiters was found dead in the basement."

"What was the cause of the waiter's death?"

"Apparently, he had fallen down the stairs and suffered a fatal blow to his head."

"How did the fish come into the possession of Mr. Henry Dobish?"

"Mr. Chin confided in Mr. Dobish, him being a frequent customer and acquaintance, and Mr. Dobish leapt at the chance to purchase what he believed to be a thing of beauty. He was a logical man, not given to fears of the occult, and, therefore, made no hesitation. The fish was in his possession that very evening."

"Was that the day of the murder?"

"No. A day passed, and no ill-effects befell Mr. Chin or Mr. Dobish. Both were quite pleased with the arrangement. The next night, Mr. Dobish was murdered. Upon hearing the news, Mr. Chin sent message to the police and told them of the fish. The police thought the old man insane, at first. However, after the autopsy was performed, they were not so sure."

"What did they find?"

"Well, it seems the fountain in which Mr. Dobish was found contained fresh water. However, traces of saltwater were found in his lungs. The fish was a saltwater type, and this discovery, coupled with Mr. Chin's ravings, soon caught the fancy of the local gossips. But, the really bizarre thing was what happened on the day of the funeral." Miss Trioni paused to sip the last of her coffee.

"Pray, continue, Miss Trioni," Holmes urged, visibly intrigued.

"Well, Mr. Chin insisted on engaging an alchemist to dispel any lingering malevolence from the home. A ceremony of sorts was to be conducted while the family was at the funeral. After the services, when the family returned home, they found the fish dead in its tank, without a single mark upon it. Mr. Chin was convinced that the alchemist had performed a miracle of sorts. The family was just happy to see an end to the sensational stories, and to be allowed to grieve in privacy."

"The alchemist could easily have poisoned the fish," Holmes noted.

"No, Mr. Holmes," Miss Trioni advised. "The ceremony which he conducted was not held within the house, but outside it. The servants all gave witness that he never entered the home at all. He could not have had any direct physical contact with the fish."

Holmes paused again in his questioning to collect his thoughts. After several moments, he continued, "What events followed these?"

"None to speak of. Mrs. Dobish and her children collected their insurance money, and lived their lives out in comfort. Mr. Chin continued his restaurant business with success, and Mr. Dobish's death was declared, by the police, to be a common mugging that went wrong. They concluded that the thief panicked after unintentionally killing his victim, and thus, neglected to take Mr. Dobish's valuables."

"But, the saltwater, found in his lungs, Miss Trioni?"

"The police attributed it to Mr. Dobish's fondness of swimming. He was in the habit of swimming several laps every evening before retiring. Mrs. Dobish had seen him making ready to do so on the night he died."

"At what time?"

"Nine o'clock. She went to bed without him, and was not alarmed until she woke the next morning to find he had never followed her."

"Where, exactly, would he perform this routine?"

"There was a swimming pool on his property. He had, in his youth, lived near the ocean, and as an adult, his love of the water continued."

"And, this pool contained saltwater?"

"Yes, it did. Mr. Dobish had allergies, you see. He believed that the saltwater had a beneficial effect on his sinuses. Therefore, he arranged that the pool be kept filled with saltwater, rather than fresh water, at all times."

"A bit eccentric, wouldn't you say, Miss Trioni?," Holmes cautioned with a slightly teasing smile.

"Mr. Holmes, we all have our little peculiarities, do we not?," she grinned.

"What became of the alchemist?," he continued.

"At first, his popularity rose among the Oriental sect, as a result of these events. However, as the gossip died down, so did his business. Eventually, he opened a small apothecary shop and made a meager living," Miss Trioni informed.

"That's time, Sherlock," Mycroft advised, fingering his watch.

"My goodness...already?," Miss Trioni asked, seemingly quite regretful.

"I am afraid so," Mycroft returned.

"There are several questions which I still wish to ask," Holmes stated. He was greatly annoyed by his brother's intrusion into his train of thought.

"They will have to keep until tomorrow, Sherlock," Mycroft stated lightly. Then, turning towards Miss Trioni, he asked, "Now, Mariana, if you have no previous plans for the day, might I interest you in a visit to our museum? There are several exhibits which I believe you would find most fascinating."

"Well, we were discussing where to begin sight-seeing, earlier this morning, and the museum was mentioned...," she began, reluctantly.

"Splendid," Mycroft declared before she had a chance to graciously decline. "Will you be joining us, then, Doctor? Sherlock?," he encouraged.

"Why, yes, of course," I said, sensing the awkwardness of the situation. Then, with a bit of hope, I, too, encouraged, "Holmes?"

He moved to fill his pipe with fresh tobacco and lit it, then he inquired, "Miss Trioni, would you think it terribly rude of me if I declined? Your story has sparked several theories in my mind which I wish to test before our next session."

"Of course, Mr. Holmes. I understand," she smiled. "May we look forward to seeing you this evening, at dinner?"

"Yes, you may. And, I do promise to make the necessary arrangements, pertaining to your tour of Scotland Yard," Holmes offered.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes. I do hope you will be able to join us on that excursion," Miss Trioni said candidly.

"Miss Trioni, I would not miss it for the world," Holmes admitted with far more honesty than I would have expected.

"Come, Mariana," Mycroft called on his way out the door, swiftly curtailing my private thoughts. With that, we three headed for the museum, leaving Holmes alone to brood and deduce...two things at which he was quite an expert. I could not help but wonder which of the two would occupy more of his afternoon.

NOSTALGIC
OLD-TIME RADIO

MOUSICAL
COMPOSITIONS

STORIES AND SAGAS
My Sherlockian Saga Volume One Chapter Six