Greetings from New York! While I am still recovering from considerable jetlag I believe I am ready to take on this fabulous modern city, and with no end of intrigue.

Now to the case; Richard Bingley, a well-established hundred millionaire in Wall Street investment, has gone missing and is assumed dead after a man of his description was seen jumping off of Brooklyn Bridge. However his old partner, James Spalding, who I met today, refuses to believe that ‘Dick’ was suicidal – even after he resigned from his firm in disgrace and with litigation following him after he was revealed to have committed massive accounting fraud.

If he was murdered, prime suspicion points to his bitter wife who to her knowledge was the beneficiary of the bulk of will, although the will was altered shortly prior and most of the money strangely went to his rather estranged daughter Jane. Jane now runs the Bingley Foundation, an organization which provides health services in impoverished nations but which caused a rift in the family; Richard, the primary beneficiary, saw the foundation as more of a ‘tax dodge’ while Jane insisted that it do its bidding and serve the local populations in Botswana and Costa Rica. The alteration of the will – done in secret – was witnessed by his son Rupert, a lawyer at the firm who attests that his father was depressed and possibly suicidal; he was willing to send me the details for the other witnesses to the will as well.

Soon I will meet with his daughter Jane because as the beneficiary she has the original copy of the will. She is in the process of receiving a public policy master’s degree in Global Health at New York University. To think she has all this newly acquired wealth and she lives in a humble student dormitory!

Holmes

Despite my great frustrations at the current moment I will do my best to tame my passions and recount to you calmly the occurrences of my meeting with Hercule Poirot:

To those among you who hoped that this meeting between Mr. Poirot and I would harken the beginning of complete reconciliation and friendship – a partnership even of great minds – I regret that I do not bring such good news. While we have removed our mutual suspicions of ill-intent, Mr. Poirot stubbornly refuses to trust even my own identity, let alone my worth as a contact or my usefulness as an ally. Therefore I decided not to further inflame our joint irritations and hence have decided to pursue little more than a tacit truce with the man.

Surprisingly, the conversation amongst ourselves started off rather well, if admittedly light. We both discussed amongst ourselves our favor for the city of Paris and the dreary drizzly weather we faced. We enjoyed some nice veal appetizers. He described to me the details of a fascinatingly complicated case involving a locally renowned family in which the murder of the patriarch Comte de Cavaignac revealed terrible scandal and viciousness among its parties. I decided in turn to discuss my own intrigue with Ms. O’Shea.

That was when the positive attitude of the conversation quickly reversed.

For Poirot sought to question me – not on the details of the case, but why I should take on a case at all! He asked me why I continued – why I should proceed in pretending to be Sherlock Holmes, a detective of fiction which he confessed that he greatly admired. He asked me whether or not I thought of it as some kind of ruse, some sort of personal nickname for myself, or whether I was deluded enough to believe I was in truth Sherlock Holmes. Upon tolerating this rather well, I told him that I am who I said I was – the famous detective Sherlock Holmes. And how I came to come into this world where people perceive me as being fictional and legendary I do not know, but calling myself by that name was no pun or jest but was the blunt truth.

He immediately scoffed this away and said that he had heard before of these rumors – “if we should call them so” by his words – that characters of fiction were roaming around the real world; he said that, though such claims were levied against him that he was fictional, he quickly convinced claimants otherwise by saying that he was real and somehow arrived in this present day and age by some method unknown to him. It was impossible that I – by which I mean, Sherlock Holmes – could ever be real as some sort of fiction suspended in fact.

With much irritation I angrily told him that I least of all wished to view myself as fictional – or so you call it – not merely for the severe moral and mental difficulties that come with such a revelation but also the punishing difficulties of logic that it presents. But, I told him, my tenet was to eliminate the impossible, and it was impossible, when I should enter mysteriously into a future day and age where people knew me as fictional and moreover could account for the author and his sources, that all society should be so mistaken and that I was in fact real, when I could not account for it. And it is my solemn principle that once I have eliminated the impossible, what remains – however improbable – must be true.

His unwillingness to listen to this further indicated that I could not persuade him, so I decided to leave before my main course, saying that judging by his build he was well suited to finish it for me. But I told him in leaving that I was disappointed that a man so perceptive would miss what was right before his face, and that perhaps he would see if he carried and wore his pince-nez more often! I also pointed out the luck that I was moving to New York soon, so that Poirot would never have to see me again.

As soon as I got home I got into contact with my unnamed benefactor and requested to go immediately. He informed me that arrangements were already prepared for me to go to America and that I could leave that night if I should so choose. I gratefully accepted his offer, and am packing my meager materials for departure.

I do not know if Poirot will ever come to his senses or if I will see him again. Frankly I have decided that such a decision is not mine but his to make.

To the proud city of New York tomorrow!

Sherlock Holmes

P.S. I have just opened up a new website at holmesinvestigations.net; use it to send me a case or if I formally request your services. Otherwise continue to post your comments; it is the best way to informally get in touch with me.

Great news! Because of your help I was able to prove that the document that was originally attributed to Maureen had to have been altered, and in doing so I was able to devise a method in which it might have been done. It would be less obvious if inconsistencies lay in the specific financial information of a document, but even in the general information section, the background information about the country of Ireland, the information was blatantly false. It suggested that the document was almost blindly altered so that every instance in which a particular country’s name was provided it was changed to Ireland, and every time a particular name was provided it was changed to Maureen O’Shea. And though it seems strange it informed how such an alteration could have taken place.

The culprit here was none other than her rival Edmund Strauss, who showed Pierre the report in the folder as it was, unaltered since the day it was placed in the back up folder. However, Pierre saw the document before it was opened. Pierre turned away for but a minute or so, having been prompted to do so by Edmund, giving him the seconds he needed to change the subject of the document using this function called ‘find and replace.’ This way he replaced every instance of the word “Germany” to the word “Ireland” and every instance of the word “German” to the word “Irish” (I know it is Germany because I was informed only Germany was consistent with the general information). Finally he replaced his own name, Edmund Strauss, to the name of Maureen O’Shea.

Why did he do so? Simple – because it was his project that they were funding in Germany. Only he was not planning on investing; he was planning on embezzlement. And moreover in the process of covering his own crimes he also would get his business rival out of the way. So he altered information to imply that it was Maureen who misused the funds on a project in Ireland, not his own.

This was the information that I told her boss Pierre, and which was confirmed upon further investigation of the report. Maureen was quickly reinstated to her position (as long as she did not file for wrongful termination) and Edmund was promptly fired. When the boss asked me who I was, I replied, “Just a layman.” And I told him to tell Maureen that it was just a layman who came to her rescue; I thought she would appreciate that.

Sherlock Holmes

P.S. My next order of business is to come into contact with this Poirot. Any location suggestions on your part would be greatly appreciated.

I have come upon a case in a most impromptu fashion. I met a young woman in the bar of my hotel who was quite clearly distraught and – I was surprised to find – swearing in English! I introduced myself, and I discovered that the young woman was of all peoples Irish, and was working in Paris as some sort of finance called investment banking. I must admit I found it quite strange; as an Irish woman, I wouldn’t have expected her to be so intelligent and urbane, but that is beside the point; the point is she was clearly in distress and I thought it necessary to help her.

Only when I told her that I wished to help, she insisted there was nothing I could do. Her investment company, PNB Paris, accused her of misusing corporate funds supposedly after the money delivered to one of her investments disappeared. Only by her recollection she made no such call for an investment; in her mind this particular investment didn’t even exist. But they had proof in the form of a report that she had written requesting payment and detailing the reasons why. Her suspicion was that she was framed, but she was fired before she had a chance to retaliate. She said that her field of international finance was incredibly complicated and she couldn’t expect that a layman like me could understand it, particularly not enough to help her!

I was rather insulted by this remark, but luckily at that moment her manager arrived in the hotel – a Pierre Lafayette – who was there to meet with her as her final ditch effort to negotiate her job back. Yet the man continually suggested that the evidence was conclusive that she provided a report that advocated the purchase of 250,000 euros of Irish bonds. She asked to see a copy of this report, but he claimed that all copies were deleted and that only the back-up computer had them on file, which he printed out and showed her. Clearly, he said, Maureen’s investment in Irish bonds went bad, and she wanted to eliminate the evidence that she made the error. When she asked whether the report was altered, he said himself that he saw on the screen himself when showed to him by her coworker, a German investor Edmund Strauss, that when the document was put in the folder it was not changed since two years ago, 2010, the date it was entered. Therefore, the document as he had in his hand had to have been Maureen’s own official report.

Meanwhile, as they were talking I pretended to mind my own business as I slipped out two sheets of the report from his pocket. I could only get out two before I was in trouble of getting noticed, but I have often found that mysteries are built on top of trifles. Maureen O’Shea left in anger before I was able to tell her that I received a couple pages of the report, and alas! I do not know where to find her. However, if I can found definitive proof that the report was altered, and can come up with a theory how, perhaps we can turn the document into her company PNB Paris, and she might just be reinstated to the job!

The difficulty is, I know next to nothing about the subject matter contained in the report. I know almost nothing about this bizarre institution the European Union – I didn’t know until I came to Paris what a euro was! Also I am rather incompetent on doing research on this internet though doing so would get me that information faster. However I will do what I can to figure out what whether or not information was false and added in haste. With your help I might just be able to help Maureen.

Yours truly,

Sherlock Holmes

With luck I have managed to come here under the benefaction of a man who big fan of my ‘work’ (a rather strange reason, I admit – I did not create the work he is referring to, and shouldn’t thank me for it – but I have no qualm and am most grateful for his contribution!). I have come to the land that is as beautiful as its people are distrustful and pretentious. No success to report on tracking down the whereabouts of Hercule Poirot – he would appear to be working on another case, rather than trying to escape me, which I find quite disturbing – not for him but for myself.

I never heard of Hercule Poirot; you seemed to know of him, and insisted on his good intentions and his detective background, but indeed I let my initial ill-favor of this man cloud my judgment, and I shoved off your requests that I make peace with him. I went after him distrusting that he was of good intent; when he escaped to Paris I believed that it had to do with some machinations against me. But to hear of him spending his time… on a case? If he was a detective, it would make perfect sense, but if he was a man of gambit and malice, it would seem a strangely wasteful and unrewarding activity simply to maintain an identity.

As a result I have decided to change my approach and tactic in approaching Hercule Poirot, although I am less concerned now whether or not he can trust me as opposed to me trusting him. I have not figured out how but I hope to find some way of contacting this man in good terms in the not too distant future.

Holmes

Aha! So just as I was outsmarted by this Hercule Poirot he was outsmarted by me! For if the Poirot was clever enough to foresee my venture to his apartment he could have followed me home, discovered where my hideout was, and used the information to advance against me! Upon uncovering this strong possibility I quickly moved to pack up all my materials and moved to a different apartment, leaving but one shred of evidence behind: a note that read, “You think me a fool to not recognize my own tactic? You will have to do better than that! Sherlock Holmes”

And sure enough, who should I find coming to my original place at a late, ungodly hour but that Belgian oaf! I would have approached him but I confess that without the proper protection I was unwilling to meet him face to face without the protection of witnesses, since I did not know how he would react. So instead I waited for him to search in vain and leave; then in disguise as a drunk party goer I followed him to his next location. I expected him to go to a new hideout, but alas I must have stunned him so; he instead followed the Thames to Wapping where a ship hoisting a French flag was docked. Understanding the predicament I tried quickly to change into the outfit of a harborman and perhaps sneak on to the ship, but it was in vain; by the time. By the time I was outfitted Poirot had been outfitted in one of the cargo crates!

Nevertheless I happened to catch an argument between Poirot and the captain of the ship, where he complained about the dirty state of his vessel, saying that he did not want want his clothes to be dirty, he was ‘going to Paris after all’! Aha, Mr. Poirot, I know where you are headed!

Luckily – though I am bound from giving details – arrangements have been made to allow me to go to France. Poirot seems to believe, or so I infer that I will be less potent in a foreign country, particularly where he speaks the language fluently. Do not be so hasty in assuming, Mr. Poirot! I have been employed by French aristocracy before and you will find me just as quick-witted and steadfast whatever side of the channel I am standing on!

Holmes

I am sending this post to address the queries that some of you have made which in the impending difficulties I had not discussed properly, so let me be clear.

First of all, some of you seem to believe that my client was called Arthur Moore, but he was not. He was a Dutchman, not an Englishman, and he spoke in a capable accent. I addressed him as Mr. Stein, although I recall his first name to be Elias. I met him only once, as he directed me to meet him in the Cheshire Pub. The lighting was poor and his features were obscured with his dark clothing, bowler hat, tinted spectacles and a great orange beard. He did not go into many details about himself, and I must confess at the time I didn’t care to discover them; I was desperate enough to trust this man and come upon a case of some intrigue. More than that upon meeting me he was clearly frightened despite a demeanor which struck me as usually calm and collected, so I trusted he was in some duress.

In retrospect perhaps I should have been more suspicious; I recognized that his suit was bought perhaps the day before and that his hands were gloved. But my capacity of suspicion has been terribly harmed in the week or so of forced habituation with your future society. The only further detail I noticed was his occasion to wipe his lips with a napkin from the Cafe Nero. Had I been wise I would have asked my roommate James whether he recognized the man; yet what more could I have done? Accuse the man before his face and cause him to run off? Again, I only succeeded in meeting him once; he told me that he was properly busy and was going to fly to America in the next couple days on more official business, that this case was only to avenge a friend and colleague.

Yet it is one thing to say that this man is suspicious and another to accuse him of being the infamous Professor Moriarty! I do not know by what method I have come into your world, but to believe that such a method would pick up Moriarty as well indiscriminately? And that he should have collected himself well enough to commit such a plot the likes of which you have described… I find it rather unbelievable myself! I have sat around wondering – wishing even – to find a face that I recognize, but believing so has led me only to be disappointed. My brother Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, my friend Dr. Watson – I found satisfaction only in admitting to myself that they are back where I came from and that I must commit my energy to returning where I belong!

And let me further the point; even IF I was eager after your queries to follow up on this Mr. Stein, even if I was convinced of the possibility that Mr. Stein was Professor Moriarty in disguise and to believe that it was worth a follow-up, such a concern would be for naught. The man has left for America, and I am stuck in London. I am wanted by the police, and I have neither the legal nor the financial means to follow up on such an investigation. It is a dead end, and I must move forward, and the only way forward is with this man Poirot, who seems as keen to evade me as I am to find him. His efforts to evade me however have only emboldened to find out more about him!

So unless you happen to know some sort of benefactor, some powerful figure who can transcend the rules and has the capacity to deliver me across country borders in the interest of discovering more about who this Mr. Stein is, I have only one path forward, and that path is Poirot!

With great annoyance,

Sherlock Holmes

So our friend “Reynald” is cleverer than we thought; last night I used the address information provided for me to loot his apartment for information. Sadly, it was a decoy apartment, and ‘Reynald’ as he is known left a mocking incitement in the form of a note “This is not my real apartment, Mr. Hefner”. Do not think this has dissuaded me!

And what is more, I have discovered his real name, that he signed at the bottom of the letter – Hercule Poirot. A strange name – I never cared for the Belgians or their politics. Of course, I never cared for politics at all – that was Mycroft’s field of focus – but I do care for getting to the bottom of this, Mr. Poirot!

Ladies and Gentlemen, for all those who were worried about what happened to me over the past two days, I’ll have you know that I am well and safe hiding in the East of London. However there is something of more gravity I wish to tell you.

I have made a decision (not lightly, mind you) to reveal my true identity to you, which you in jest told me. You will probably not believe me, and it will seem that I am mad but I assure that is true; for you all know me better as the famous consulting detective Sherlock Holmes. I have been transported to this realm by some means unknown to me which I am thoroughly devoting my efforts to solving. I have since discovered that I am transported not only through conventional time and space but to another dimension of reality where my existence is regarded as a fiction – that is, an element of the popular culture which, though people may access it, their ignorance leads them to maintain a shallow and most flawed impression of me. And for all of you readers who have heard of me but are not well familiar, those who have decided not to observe me well and draw their own conclusions of me out of sloth – oh, you future Lestrades, you! – I would like to inform you of the following.

• I do not frequently say “Elementary, my dear Watson”; to my knowledge I have never said it once. I do speak of the elementary details to my comrade, but only to imbue him with a particular philosophy of observation, and never merely to gloat!
• While I am not known to display it frequently in the crowds I am a tasteful, sensible dresser. I wear a well-tailored suit around town and in my abode I enjoy donning a nice smoking jacket with a pipe of tobacco smoke. I would never wear a deerstalker hat and tweed cape anywhere but the far-reaching countryside; to wear such an outfit otherwise around my well-to-do acquaintances – some of whom are friends of the royal courts of Europe – I would positively look like an ass!

I could go on about how my story has been reduced to a shallow caricature – I imagine to be compatible with your odd social mores – but I have made the mistake in the past making a qualm about your absurdities. For my outburst I have been accused for a crime against some bottom dwelling panderer. I move on to this business.

You have all spoken of this Reynald St. Jerome to me… or Hercule Poirot which many of you wish to call him.  By good chance, I happened to have received information of where he is hiding on the east end of London. I shall go to his apartment and figure out who this person really is and what he wants from me. Tonight I shall settle the score!

Yours Truly,

Sherlock Holmes

Oh God no; I have little time! My roommate James has informed that authorities are looking for me. I cannot stop; I must fly! Forgive my rudeness!