I have found where he has sent me. It turns out that if I had bought two baklava it would have been 3.99 by one and the sales taxation rate of .088 (don’t forget your duty – cheeky) by two, which is 8.68; We take a cent off, we get 8.67. And then by intuition the mad avenue of New York is Madison. And then if we observe, there is a clothing store at the address of 867 Madison Avenue known as Ralph Lauren Polo where – it is clear – they sell men’s ties. I entered into the shop and found in the dressing room area a stall labelled number 4 which I entered into, and indeed good observation led me to a string attached to the last wrung of my seat. I pick it up, and I observe what is on the end. Strangely, it seemed to be a price tag, only it was covered on both sides with a piece of masking tape. On the masking tape was written:

“You have come far, and are so close; but don’t forget that more is meant than what is said on the face of it. With that said there’s someone I wish you to know of; seek him out at 25 5th Ave #201, and after meeting him your puzzle is done, and you can go home.”

Strangely direct for him so far; I am quite cautious but in faith I am too close not to go. I’ll be with you shortly.

Holmes

P.S. To see if there was a double meaning I peeled back the tape and revealed something on the inside of the tag; it was naught but the apparent logo of the Ralph Lauren brand and the clothing item and price on the other (Black Label, Fine-Check suit, $2095.00), with one exception: an ink circle drawn around the horse on the first, and around the item type on the other. Curious – another clue?

Hello Again;

I am speaking to you again from the restaurant. It seems our invitation was not to a conversation but to a hunt; for sitting in the restaurant for a good time I looked upon the coupon message again and with observation realized it was leading me to a piece of scenery. In the restaurant was a multitude of pictures about the Turkic world and culture but only one of them was a picture of horizon – specifically the horizon of Constantinople at sunset. Quick logical deduction observed that ‘find was lies just beyond the horizon’ was not said in idiom but in instruction; whoever sent this wished me to find what was just beyond the horizon – or in other words, just beyond the photograph of a Constantinople sunset. I reached up behind it and I found another clue:

“Did you enjoy your sweet? And for your good savings here’s another Turkish treat:

39.957719, 26.238588

For had you bought two of what you got for free it would have been one cent more than the address on the mad avenue you should go to next – and mind your duty! It is the place if you fancy the tie… now enter through the fourth and find the string beneath the surface.”

This one seems much harder to figure out. The coordinates do not help; they lead to some bizarre location in Turkey, so I will have to follow the rest of the riddle. I can only infer that he is speaking about the price of the baklava, which normally would have cost 3.99 on the menu. I must act quickly however, before it is too late.

Holmes

After several days of being confined to this vast concrete prison and casually and impractically investigating seeming nonsense, I was wishing desperately for some intrigue, some mystery that I could solve easily. Yet today, by an act not dissimilar from providence, my wish was granted. For delivered to me today was… a coupon. A coupon for a free baklava with the purchase of a doner kebab at a Turkic restaurant called Parsa.

But that is not all that is intriguing about this coupon; for on the back of the coupon was written in thick marker was the following message.

“I know who you are, what you do and who you work for. Remember what you told your moustached friend? What a shame you had to part so soon after, by the order of your employer. With a benefactor like this, who needs an enemy?

But as I know you are man who does not conclude before he has the evidence, I have just what you need for your methods… that is, if you are willing to use them. This is my special offer; accept it and find what lies just beyond the horizon.”

Fascinating! I will take up his special offer with haste! If I can I will speak with you again from this very restaurant, and I will tell you who, or what, I find!

Holmes

Hello, followers -

I have been passing my time confined to New York exploring a couple of cases with varying degrees of casualness. Most pressingly, by your recommendation to try and come upon this Cinderella of which spoke. I tried multiple methods of tracking with the devotion of a bloodhound, but it was as if the moment I left my hotel the trail ran cold.

But on the trail which wasn’t I came upon something else; strange reports of a woman (entirely different in nature and temperament) making a mockery of herself in Times Square. Intrigued I went there to see what I could find and discovered in one of the local rubbish bins a whole green folder just thrown away. Contained in it was a collection of legal forms for finance regulations that were of a completely inconsequential nature, but there was one item which was intriguing; it appears to be some kind of incomplete professional letter.

I decided I would post it online, and for this I would like to thank the help of a room servicier and attendant of the hotel, whose name I have learned is Sandy. My ability to take a photograph of the document was hindered, and she allowed me to scan it on the hotel’s personal machine. You may see it below.

There is much that I find interesting about it; it seems the man in question is applying for some kind of job, although his eagerness to do so bewilders me; it is clear that he has no qualifications to speak of. In his defense, I had a good argument about it with the attendant Sandy who disagreed; she was rather charmed by his apparent desperation and believed having the dream and wishing for it so sincerely ought to be qualification enough.

His lack of any qualification and unwillingness to discuss prior history made me consider that it may be useful for your purposes. I hope you can find something in it.

Holmes

The next morning, I arrived early and sat collecting my thoughts about the extraordinary amount of work I have done in but a week it seemed*. Poirot came on time by the second, and I was impressed how well kept he managed to keep himself despite the fact that I could deduce he had a very long and perhaps tempestuous night at the Plaza party. I thanked him for his punctuality and we began to have our first real conversation assuming each others as equals – in trade, if nothing else. He talked about his own past – that is, his fictional past – and I was thoroughly impressed by some of his amazing exploits around the world, including a particularly fascinating case where he uncovered a plot on a train. I offered to discuss my own history to him, but he said it was not necessary, for even in his fictional world I was myself still regarded as a fictional character, and he had read my many stories – or those stories which I presumed to be Watson’s accounts for the magazine. I admitted I found this to be rather confusing and slightly disconcerting, but I accepted it nonetheless.

Beyond fuller introduction, however, he discussed his own mysteriously arrival into our present day and I noted that his was very similar to mine, so indeed we likely had the same fate. He talked about his humble days in hiding under the rroof of rich widow named Madam Widdecombe, and I discussed my own sponsorship of the lad James Raikes (he incidentally had a brief encounter with the chap himself, as apparently Widdecombe is related to James. How strange!). As we provided our honest testimonies our observance of each other revealed that the incidents that led to our mutual encounter appeared more than inconvenient but in fact contrived, ominous and even malicious. It was clear that somebody who most likely cared not for our wellbeing wished for us to be fearful, distrusting and in retreat. I said since it was clear whoever did this act was not our friend, and that his intention was to keep us apart and working against each other, that the most sensible thing for us to do at the moment was to join forces and work together for our mutual safety. Luckily Poirot said that he had a case in Boston that he wished to research; a man who confessed to being a serial killer in a drunken mania but without proof to any crime committed in the area. Gladly I agreed to go with him and I told him I would meet him at the New York Grand Central Train Station.

I go back to my hotel, I pack my bags and I prepare to check out. All that I need to do is to indicate to my benefactor with a call that this is what I wished to do, and he surely he would agree. After all, why shouldn’t he?

Or so I thought.

Upon hearing my request he coldly impassionately forbade me to go to Boston and research this case with Poirot. I was in an utter outrage. I asked him why, wished him to provide his reasons after my thorough cooperation with him; he said only that as long as I wished to work with him and for him, he needn’t provide his reasons but his orders only. He only replied that I should enjoy my stay in New York, and with that he hung up. I scarce to believe I was ever treated so insubordinately in my life.

To make matters worse, I tried to rebook my hotel room, only to discover that the room where I was staying was already booked, along with every hotel room in the area, which meant that I had to move to a new hotel! And I had to go through the process of moving all baggage into a new hotel with vacancy and unpack, and in such a rage that I neglected the time. Upon seeing the time was close to five I rushed down to the station, hoping he was patient enough to tolerate lateness on my part, but as fast as I tried to get there it was for naught; it was too late. Poirot left without me, and without my explanation why. I fear he may think my gesture rude, and in truth I do not blame him.

So for now I am staying in New York. To make the best of the situation, I have decided to commit my energy to trying to deduce the reason for my being here, but it is a poor substitute; I know not where to start, nor what to look for. Unable to move and with nothing to do in New York, it might as well be a veritable concrete prison – my Scotland Yard.

I can only wish Poirot the best of luck in his case in Boston.

Poirot

*By a strange coincidence, I happened to catch a glimpse of that same lady who was attempting to enter into the ball the night before. She was wearing the same large flowing dress but it was well dirtied and she herself seemed to be in a great daze. She seemed to be eating some pastry and a coffee, looking into to the window of a jewelry establishment longingly.

I must confess that over the past several days I have been ill-inclined to update my blog; fortunately I have come upon much free time.

I begin where I left off; upon arriving at the Plaza, I realized that I was going to have difficulty finding my way inside as the security was very tight. Luckily patience brought the opportunity when a young lady adorned in a flowing gown made a great commotion over not being let into the ball. She distracted the guards as I made my opportunity to grab a mask sneak into the ball undetected beneath her cries that she ‘deserved to go to the ball’. Though I am not an aesthete first I will confess she was thoroughly dressed for the occasion.

Given my status as a non-invitee, I decided it inopportune to attract suspicion even in the case of investigation, so I had to spend much of my time trying to blend in with the party goers. I confess I found this rather difficult, as the vast majority of the guests seemed to be… well, I might say as the young man Paul who approached me back in London. To make matters more difficult, I found that a large number of the guests were dressed as women – and quite convincingly, I might add – but my process of deduction quickly revealed them to be men in disguise! It was as if I had to face every inversion of our Victorian politeness. Nevertheless against my better inclinations I discoursed with them to keep my cover. (As a side note, I found myself simultaneously flattered and uneasy by their many complimentary remarks about me and particularly my height. I of course accepted them, but I fear to believe they were actually interested in me in such a way!)

Yet not long after entering I saw a familiar face – though the expression doesn’t fit, for his face was obscured – but I saw him. A short fat man with a waddling gait and but the slightest hint of a limp from an old wound, and the moment I saw him despite my inability to see his face I knew exactly who he was.

Poirot!

At this felt quite an inexplicable rush of anger, irrational enough in its scope that I profess some shame. But it seemed that I was being played with! This man scorned me in Paris, followed me to New York and who decided instead of facing me personal tried to lure me in with a riddle! I tore off my mask and walked over so his face could be revealed to me. It took… a couple tries but eventually he was revealed; the man was indeed Hercule Poirot. I expressed my anger at him, and though he took it calmly at first he soured and became angry at me for being distrustful, arrogant, selfish, etc. In fact, had it not been for a most diffusing statement by a young gentleman dressed as lady, for us two to ‘Get a room and make out already’ (I do not understand what exactly he was saying) our confrontation may have occurred all night.

So indeed, we moved our conversation to a more private area in a storage closet which Poirot knew the way to, and calmly but still assertively I expressed my dissatisfaction with Poirot’s erratic behavior, and while he still seemed quite perturbed he admitted his wrongdoing in the past to trust me, explained that at the time he was rather confused and did not know who he truly was inside. Fortunately he had an epiphany and knew once and for all that I was who I said I was and that he was too, and upon finding himself he had reconcile himself with me. Hence he apologized to me directly and asked for my understanding. Charmed, I forgave him, and apologized myself for my confessedly distrustful and arrogant behavior in the past.

Sadly this productive conversation was interrupted by the entrance of two more young men, who saw fit to barge in on our conversation. One of them, a scraggy blonde, swooned with sentiment and said “How sweet the two of you are.” And the other, a dark mediterranean with a palpable Iberian accent, commented “I like your taste Monsieur Poirot!” We immediately were taken aback. Poirot knew these men and tried to diffuse the situation by introducing us – Daniel Hendrickson, I recall, and Esteban Morena – and then indicated that he and I were friends. He looked me to confirm that we were indeed friends and I, knowing that he wished to know I was no longer his enemy, obliged. Sadly, the young men Daniel and Esteban seemed to be taking our comments as irony, as the coyly waltzed away. I told Poirot that I was finding the circumstance to be must unproductive, and he agreed. He suggested that we could meet at a cafe instead and chat in good faith, and I agreed. I suggested a typical unassuming Starbucks nearby Madison Square Park – incidentally near where I happened to live – and he agreed. We shook on the deal, and thanked each other for our cooperation in duress.

That is enough for a first post; I will provide a second soon.

Holmes

Best of news! Thanks to the help of the visitors of my website, holmesinspection.net I was able to prove that Rupert was guilty of the murder of his father! You must be asking how; he was seen jumping off of Brooklyn Bridge after a state of melancholy! But indeed Richard’s suicide was itself a ruse; he planned to fake his death by jumping off of Brooklyn Bridge, such that he would be intercepted by his son Rupert and taken to shore where he would have changed identities and go to Costa Rica with a fake passport. While he was there he would be able to access almost all of his money.

What he did not count on was that his son, his lawyer and his supposed co-conspirator, was not on board with his plan. With my pressing he confessed to the police that he agreed to help his father arrange his will and intercept his father after he jumped off Brooklyn Bridge to help fake his suicide; Richard – a former swimmer in High School – was able to swim to the bridge supports and be intercepted by Rupert in a speedboat. But for Richard the help of his son turned on him, as Rupert took his father far enough out to sea that he was able to push his father back into the waves and die! And no one would have been surprised seeing as the man who jumped off Brooklyn Bridge washed ashore one day, having apparently committed suicide!

As to the detail of how the testament – which was what led me to this shocking development in the first place – featured into Rupert’s plot, sadly I have sworn myself to be silent. I have recorded it in my notes, along with his confession, but in order that he may come cleanly I have engaged with great frustration in a deal. It is for Rupert and I (and my benefactor, whom I have sworn to give details) to know only.

Yet to make up for it there’s more great news; you helped me . I will be attending this Masquerade Ball and I am going to guess that the person who sent the invitation will be attending as well… let’s see who he is.

Yours Truly,

Sherlock Holmes

I was just on my way to meet with Rupert for the final time when I was told that a message had been delivered to me at the front desk. I took it, and I discovered an ‘invitation’ in two documents. Yet strangely about this invitation is I am at a loss to know where to go. And most strangely, I am led to believe that while the invitation once told me where I was supposed to go, such information has been forcibly removed, as you shall see when you observe their pictures:

Whoever sent it to me did not wish me to know; however from the information provided the sender appeared to wish me to find out. Unfortunately I am about to head out to meet with Rupert Bingley to confront him about his father, and I scarce have time to figure out the location myself. If you, however, can figure it out in my absence, please tell me with great haste and however you can!

Thank you all and wish me luck against Rupert!

Holmes

Hello followers!

I have little time for I need to confer some information to some people quickly, but you would be interested to know that I have indeed found something amiss in the testament, yet I am not sure what to make of it. It seems that a specific clause was eliminated yet I cannot comprehend a conventional reason of greed for why such a provision was removed.

Simply stated, the provision required that all the funds received by the Bingley Foundation be required to go through a a specific bank account labelled by the ending number 3704 – and, coinciding with the report given to me by Miss Bingley and Spalding, it may be the exclusive account that Richard used to control her funds. Yet somebody must have gone in and altered the will such that the requirement of this account was removed so Jane’s access was virtually unlimited. Why? And who, since it could not be Jane herself.

Come to think of it, why was such a requirement placed in the will in the first place? Granted it seems an unnecessary piece of red tape but why remove it so secretively?

Sherlock Holmes

Hello again! I am returning with an update on the Bingley case. First, an update: the nature of the case has been altered from disappearance to death, as just this morning the identified body of Richard Bingley washed ashore in the New York harbor. Yet while the police are looking to close the case as a suicide in my mind the investigation is ever more dire.

I have returned from meeting Jane Bingley in New York University; I found her a charming young woman, fabulously intelligent and very committed to her work. She was still stunned about her father’s apparent suicide, and I caught her at a particularly pressing time because she was contacted by the police about her father’s body. She was especially surprised that her father’s final act in the will was to provide her with unlimited access to his finances for the foundation, since – as she attested – he was tyrannical in the uses of his finances in any respect. He had no particular concern for the cause, she thought, beyond the ability of the foundation to give him good press and receive a break in taxes, so her efforts to expand the operation were usually thwarted. It got to such a point that all of his money to the foundation he put into his own special account that only he and his son Rupert could access so that even while his daughter ran it he could control the funding near completely. By her account it was not his particular inclination to feel guilt, which is strange considering his death.

Simply to check, I asked her for her time and location at the time of her father’s demise. She told me that she was at a newly opened restaurant called Rosemary’s with a college friend called Daniel who asked her out on a date. After following up later today the manager of the restaurant confirmed she was there with a man for the whole night. She willingly gave me a copy of the testament to analyze.

I will do what I can to see if there were any alterations or forgeries. If everything checks out alright I will have to come up with some new lead to follow.

Sherlock Holmes