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!

Hello again! New information on the Verhaeren case and my word – it is intriguing! I went to find the receptionist who was there that afternoon, but found she was not there – she was fired from her job for negligence as a consequence of these events. Observe:

• At the hotel I discovered construction going on in the reception area – particularly around the grand centerpiece where multiple angels adorn an old-fashioned clock built into the south wall. Perhaps Saint-Jerome used the scaffolding to his advantage, and used it to hide himself in plain sight.

• That day, she was rather exhausted and took an impromptu nap, so she was unable to identify who was coming in and out of the hotel and identify the murderer (sounds like foul play to me). She can’t remember when, but she fell asleep sometime after her lunch break ended at 1pm, and was woken up around 2pm when Verhaeren himself woke her up to ask for the time, and she told him he might as well just look himself and pointed to the large public area clock – 2pm. Before she had fallen asleep again, our ‘Saint-Jerome’ entered the hotel asking whether or not Verhaeren had entered. She replied that he did and further told him what room he was staying in. She fell asleep again, and woke up just in time to see Saint-Jerome exit around 4:30pm when he got into a scrap with one of the construction workers.

By her account, Saint-Jerome spent two and a half hours in the hotel – ample time to commit the murder, move the body, wait for it to burn, and leave the hotel. Besides, there is little other reason to have spent two and a half hours in the hotel by himself. There are some logistical problems with the theory that I have not worked out however; the notion that he killed the man, took the body out of the room and moved it into the furnace without fear of being noticed is an act of almost unbelievable boldness, even recklessness. Yet how could he have done it? Did he cut up the body in the bedroom? No – not a trace a blood. He had to have dragged the body to the elevator all the way from Verhaeren’s room. It would seem too reckless for such a cleanly executed murder.

More research is to be done. I have seen a picture of the man for the first time – he is not a pleasant looking man; short and fat, nearly bald with one of the most hideous mustaches I have ever seen. We’ll see what my investigation turns up regarding him!

Yours Truly,

H. Hefner.

The best of news! A man has finally come forward with a case worthy of my intellect! He wished his name to be kept secret – upon hearing the description of the case you will understand why – but I can tell you that he was a man of the Netherlands, speaking with interest upon the death of a lad named Pieter Verhaeren. This Verhaeren was a Belgian man who was a semi-prominent intellectual, a former radical member of the Flemish Vlaams Blok political party, and an avowed Flemish separatist. The party dissolved after they were tried for institutional racism, and Verhaeren left the country around that time as connections between Vlaams Blok and the radical National Party in South Africa were apparently very close to him.

He was in the local London area to give a lecture on promoting the “autonomy of all cultural nations confined under the yoke of a greater country” – controversially including Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland, which he saw as not only seceding from the United Kingdom but founding a unified culturally Celtic state. While at the lecture a man, another Belgian, not Flemish but a Walloon – that is, a French-speaking Belgian – interrupted the lecture and verbally attacked Verhaeren for arrogant subversive treasonous efforts against his homeland. Four days later, Pieter Verhaeren – or what was left of him, as his body was burnt to the bones – was found dead, his remains in the basement furnace of the Hastings Hotel. It was a crime so cleanly done that it must have been done with foresight and coldness – meaning this was a crime of sheer malice. I have sufficient reason to suspect that the man who interrupted him, whose name I have learnt is Reynald Saint-Jerome, was the culprit in this crime – not the least reason of which my client has given me evidence that this Saint-Jerome met with Verhaeren the night before threatening to kill him, and was seen to be in the hotel during a particular period of time when it was possible for Pieter to be killed. The details which I have noted:

• The burning of the bones mean that Verhaeren’s body was segmented and thrown into the old-fashioned basement furnace of the hotel, his remains then collected later that night in a collection of ashes and thrown in the trashcan. He was identified by DNA evidence and a hip replacement that was marked for him, but there was little left to provide evidence for a cause or time of death.

• Though he exists and has residence in the local area, the paper evidence of the existence of a Reynald Saint-Jerome is extremely limited, and beyond two weeks almost completely null. He doesn’t appear in public records as either a British citizen or a working foreigner. These indications make it almost certain that “Reynald Saint-Jerome” is either an alias or is working as a phantom.

• Saint-Jerome (for I don’t know by what other name to call him by) had a strong motive insofar as he was an apparent Belgian patriot and a nationalist.

More to come whether or not he had the opportunity. This case couldn’t have come at a more opportune time!

H. Hefner

P.S. This case came at a particularly useful time to cheer me up – I have been so insulted by that West African man, I will never enter his establishment again!

Two more cases have been brought to me for investigation by people who have heard of my success with our Sharon; somewhat to my irritation they are upon similar lines of Sharon’s earlier requests – concerns of infidelity, no less – but they shall pay handsomely. Indeed one “Tracy” took me around to her house and within fifteen minutes of entry into her premises I found… well, let’s call it a used male contraception device. I solved the case with such haste in fact that I hesitated to request payment for it – but she offered it anyway.

The second one was perhaps stranger; a man – Paul, let’s call, him – had asked me to investigate the infidelity of his partner – who I found out was another man! And I was stunned that he showed only pride and grace in his affliction – a vast cavern’s distance from the mores I am used to where I am from. Paul suspected his ‘partner’ of engaging in particular debaucheries of the night at some cabaret establishments, though he made his partner promise not to, since Paul declared his intent to ‘settle down’ with this man – even, though I am astonished to hear it, marry the man. I knew of men who were tried and sentenced to labor in Ireland for even entertaining such thoughts! 

I still have not decided whether or not to take this case, though nothing more palpable and intriguing arises. Oddly I had thought of myself as a man rather unaffected by mores of social conduct, but this case has taught me differently. Perhaps it shall serve as good teaching of the morality which has evidently progressed along with the society around it.

H. Hefner

Success to report! Not particularly satisfying success, I will grant, but success nevertheless. The man whom I will reveal is called ‘Trent’ (a hideous name for a hideous soul) wasted no time upon our Sharon’s leave to contact his mistress and arrange a meeting in a ‘motel’. His ill-fated brashness and, quite frankly, his utter foolishness made the case utterly easy – I would almost say disappointingly easy; I took on a disguise as a hospitality attendant of the motel, and he was completely oblivious such that I could gain irrefutable evidence. Sharon thanked me and paid me in accord with the agreement. Thank you to my current roommate James for making the connection!

Yet I would also like to end by levying a brief levy a complaint against one of my readers jmartysknight2e4 who responded to my request for an apothecary and sent me to the address of some vile opium den led by a West African street vendor! A most malicious prank, I find!

H. Hefner

I am glad to announce that I, H. Hefner, have obtained my first client. I shall call her Sharon, and she is a lady in some minor distress of her male acquaintance.

Details to note: Sharon is in courtship with a “gent” and she has heard substantial account of gossip that he is an adulterer; he denies it but he has been distant and kept longer fewer hours away from Sharon, making odd excuses on particular occasion. Sharon is going away this weekend and upon telling him he seemed unusually keen and loving – perhaps artificially so. She has requested that I play a phantom; to follow him as a spy as her disappearance plays a honey trap. It is not what I am used to; it is not exactly a murder most complicated, but business is business, and rent is rent.

On another note, I must comment that the phrase “chemist’s shop” is very confusing to me; I went to a chemist’s shop and found it to contain nothing useful to a chemist; it is rather something of a bazaar of basic simplicities. I was told that the phrase chemist refers to the pharmacist in the shop, and yet the store manager was rather rude to me when I asked to buy some surely reasonable treatments. I still don’t understand how that could insult him!

H. Hefner

I am announcing with this publication the opening of my brand new private inspector services to any and all who are stalked by crime and need my help to bring criminals to justice! And to all who care to acquire my business, I am also writing to inform that I am looking for certain equipment that would serve me in my business ventures. I would be most grateful to find these items served locally at a reasonable price. While many are general, some are particular and would require a shop of particularity.

First, a simple magnifying glass – any metal used for lens would suffice.

Second, an optical microscope – preferably with filament image and at least 10x magnification.

Third, a solution of solvent and alcohol that could be used for chemical separations.

Fourth, a good tub of black ink – which, I am stunned, is hard to find in a tub.

Fifth, a recent volume on toxicology, with information from heavy metals to the poisons of the most exotic animals of the orient.

Finally, a good revolver for the sake of protection against brutes.

In the meantime, however, do not underestimate the ability of an experienced and inquisitive mind; for there is no tool greater for the detective than that of the mind’s logical powers of deduction!

Sincerely,

H. Hefner

P.S. In addition, I am seeking a good local apothecary from whom I can obtain good pipe tobacco from the Colonies and a seven per-cent solution of cocaine – even morphine, if it should be available.