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

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