The Case
of the Burning HousesIt was nearing the end of April when I was visiting my friend Holmes at his house on 221B Baker Street. The landlady, Mrs. Hudson, had just let me in. Holmes was lighting up his pipe when I walked into the parlor. He shook his hand rapidly to extinguish the match, then, flicked it into a corner.
I cleared my throat, "Hello there, Holmes my good fellow, how are you doing this fine day?"
"Ah Watson," said Holmes pleasantly, "I'm glad you decided to join me, you see, my friend, I have been contemplating a particular bamboozling case."
"And what may this case be about," I inquired curiously.
"Well, it seems that a Victorian house down on East 32nd street exploded yesterday. I am not sure if you read about it in the Evening Standard. But anyway, the house is part of a chain of many houses that have suffered a similar demise."
"If I may step in," I interrupted, "what is this 'demise'?"
"It is very curious Watson. I will explain in the most detail that I have at the moment. What happens is a series of events. The owner of the house had come home every night and finds a large bouquet of flowers on the table. Next to the flowers, sits a large barrel of molasses. The homeowner smells the flowers and then the molasses. The molasses smells very sweet. They might go for a walk outside the house, strangely enough, the sweet smell remains. 'Hmmm,' they might think, they go back into their house and sit down in their parlor and maybe they take out the newspaper to catch up on some news. Then, always, they hear a loud 'boom' and the whole house bursts into flame. With all three attempts, the owner survived, but not the house. The owner of each house has managed to escape the flames very narrowly."
"Hmmm, some case of arson, perhaps? Were the victims specific?" I asked.
"One was the very respectable Mr. Wilson, owner of the bank Branch on 33rd street, he was the victim who was publicized in the paper. The other two were miscellaneous bank owners."
"It seems that this arson, or arsons, as the case may be, are after the bank owners, the bank, and the most probable, money."
"Yes, elementary Watson, but that is the least of the case, the first step I took was to find what could have caused the house to explode and at the same time be unnoticeable to a normal human being. Then, after a couple hours of research in the library, I found my answer. The homeowners said that the outside of their house had a sweet smell, like that of the molasses. So I came to the conclusion that it could be none other than the highly flammable substance nitroglycerin. Nitroglycerin has the molecular formula C3H5 (ONO2) 3. It has high nitrogen content of 18.5 percent and contains sufficient oxygen atoms to oxidize the carbon and hydrogen atoms while nitrogen is being released. This makes it one of the most powerful explosives known. Detonation of nitroglycerin generates gases that would occupy more than 1,200 times the original volume at ordinary room temperature and pressure. Moreover, the heat that is released raises the temperature to about 5,000° C (9,000° F). The overall effect is the instantaneous development of a pressure of 20,000 atmospheres; the resulting detonation wave moves at approximately 7,700 m per second (more than 17,000 miles/h). Nitroglycerin is extremely sensitive to shock and to rapid heating."
"So these bank owners survived by a sheer miracle," I exclaimed, in awe of this chemical's powers.
"Yes, but who could have obtained such a substance," Holmes mused to himself.
We sat there for a few moments, Holmes puffing his pipe and rocking in his chair, and me, staring blankly into the fire.
Suddenly, Holmes leapt up. "Come Watson. Please accompany me to West 31st Street."
We got into a taxi and rode in silence to West 31st street where Holmes jumped energetically off the cab and started walking brusquely towards a small grocery store. I ran to follow him. We stepped into the store. It seemed deserted. He rang the bell once. An assistant dashed out from a back room.
"Good evening," said Holmes, "Do you carry barrels of molasses?"
"I'm sorry sir," replied the assistant, "they are currently reserved for someone."
"I see," said Holmes, "Do you mind letting me look at a barrel of molasses even if I don't buy?"
"Well, sir," said the assistant, keeping his cool, "I can't let you in the backroom because it is off-limits to customers."
"Then," said Holmes, beginning to lose his patience, "bring it out here."
"Very well," the assistant agreed reluctantly. He disappeared behind the door.
Presently, he came back with a large barrel of molasses. Holmes turned around from the store's large collection of tobacco and fixed his attention on the barrel. He felt it with his fingers and sniffed inside.
"My work is finished here, come Watson." He walked out of the store with me following him. "Now Watson, what do you see across the street here?"
"Uhhh, a florist, a branch of offices, a chemical supplier, a&endash;"
"Yes, that will do. Now come Watson. To East 32nd street, we will walk."
We walked quickly, and arrived in a couple of minutes.
"You see, this is the place of the wreckage. Scotland Yard has not done a detailed report, just the papers." Holmes walked around the house. He took out a match, lit it and threw it on the ground. A small fireball leapt up. Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. "Just as I had expected. Let us now go to 34th street and wait; I have a feeling something is going to happen tonight.
Bewildered, I followed my friend to 34th street where there was a smaller house yet, two stories and a chimney merrily puffing its fumes into the air. Holmes walked up and knocked three times. An elderly gentleman answered the door. Holmes held a brief whispering conversation with him, and then came over to me. "Watch over this gentleman. Make sure nobody approaches you. I will be out in an hour." Then Holmes walked into the house.
The stranger was very sweaty as I could see by the shininess of his hands. I decided not to enquire why. An hour passed which seemed like six. Finally, Holmes burst out of the house dragging something limp behind him. "Watson!" he exclaimed, "run to Scotland Yard. I have the arsonist!"
I ran as fast as I could and brought two officers back. "We'll take it from here," one of them said.
"All in one evenings work, eh Watson?" Holmes said slyly.
"B-B-B," I stuttered.
"I see your simple mind has not contemplated the wonders I have this evening. Come, I will explain to you in the cab."
He hailed a cab and we stepped in.
"You see Watson, it is as simple as this. When I learned that there was nitroglycerin involved, it threw me off a bit. I immediately suspected the first person who might have direct access to that chemical. When I located such a man through the London directory, the address did not fit the venue, so I turned to the second thing. The barrel of molasses. The reason that the molasses was next was because it is very out of place. Would you give your wife flowers and a barrel of molasses? Of course not. So I looked around for a baking store in town, the closest match to East 32nd street was the grocery store. I went to the store to see what I could find. All the barrels of molasses were reserved, you see, not taken. Who would reserve barrels of molasses? A barrel is quite enough as it is and a store normally carries around 10. When I asked the assistant for a barrel, at first, he was reluctant. He did not want to look suspicious, so he brought it reluctantly out. When I felt the barrel, I tilted it a little. I noticed how the liquid moved with ease around the barrel. If it was pure molasses it would hardly have moved at all since molasses is a thick substance. Then, we walked outside and noticed the florist across the way&endash;the source of the flowers. Then, we walked to the nearest bank-owner's house, the one I had you look after. Just as I expected, the arson came from the back of the house. He had poured out half of the barrel of nitroglycerin around the house, a little bit is sufficient for such a powerful substance. Then, he was going to light it and the point is to burn the house and with little hope, get inside, and ignite the barrel and explode the whole house. The arsonist's mistake was to light it from the back. If he had lit it from the front, it would have provided fewer venues for the owner of the house to escape. He wanted to be discreet though, and lit the house from the back.
In conclusion, I have caught the arsonist, who requested to remain anonymous."
I walked home last night, in awe of Holmes' brilliant mind.