Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Ransacked
Recipe
It had been a very quiet afternoon on Baker Street that
day. Business had been very slow lately and as a result my friend
Holmes sat puffing his pipe as he read his daily newspaper.
"Well, anything of interest today, Holmes?" He folded up the newspaper, and leaned back in his chair.
"Holmes?"
"Just a moment, Watson, I've been thinking of something."
"What is it Holmes? Is it a case?" I asked eagerly as Mrs. Hudson brought in the tea tray. There were several delicacies on it. Her gold bracelet tinkled as she set the tray down on the table. The bracelet had been a Christmas present from Holmes for her service, and she had exclaimed over the 18 karat (75% gold, 25% copper) piece of jewelry.
"Watson, why would anyone steal a recipe for blackberry jam?" Holmes wondered aloud, smoking long and hard on his pipe.
"What do you mean, Holmes?"
"This," he replied, and handed over the morning paper. I glanced quickly at the headline.
FAMOUS CHEF IS GIVEN THE LEFTOVERS
Following this was an entire article about Chef Levin, who ran a large restaurant famous for its desserts on the other side of London. I had been known to frequent it myself, as I was particularly fond of the orange cinnamon cakes that were a featured delicacy of Levin's. Apparently, someone had broken into the restaurant and stolen his recipe for the blackberry jam that he used. The blackberry jam was a part of the tarts that were also a favorite of mine.
"Doesn't it appear odd? Blackberry jam is a common recipe, easy and simple to make."
"It does seem rather peculiar, Holmes. Would you care for some tea?" I asked, pouring a cup from the tray. There was also a pitcher of water there, to dilute the tea, although the tea could only barely be considered an acid on the pH scale.
"Yes, I think I will have a cup, Watson. I say, aren't those his blackberry tarts now?" Holmes said, looking at the tray of food.
"Why, Holmes, I believe they are Levin's."
"Mrs. Hudson could you come here a moment," Holmes stoop up and shouted. She rushed into the parlor.
"Where did you get those tarts?"
"Why Mr. Holmes, I purchased them from Levin's Bakery. Why, is there something the matter with them?"
"No, no, but that wouldn't explain it either, would it, Watson? After all, his chefs memorized the recipe, didn't they? Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." He began to pace, puffing once more on his pipe, his tea completely forgotten. Just then the bell rang. Mrs. Hudson floated to the door, and talked for a moment with the person outside. It was obviously a man, from the timbre of the voice. She nodded once, then turned back towards the parlor where Holmes and I were.
"Mr. Holmes, there's a visitor for you," she pronounced formally, then proceeded to let the man in. He was wearing a black suit that ill fitted his large body, and his boots were hastily shined by the look of it, for spots of white powder could be seen occasionally. His bowler hat was crammed thickly onto his round head, pushing wet black hair down around his face and ears. Mrs. Hudson removed his coat and hat and set these down next to the coat rack in the front hall. The shadows from his hat had hidden the deep creases of worry in his forehead.
"If I am to guess right, you would be Mr. Levin," Holmes stated calmly.
"Why, yes, how did you know?"
"That powder, from your shoes. It's either flour, baking soda, or salt that fell there during a cooking expedition. Perhaps even a mixture of all three. Not to mention the fact that they are work shoes, to tell by the chunk that's missing from the left heel. Only a famous chef would have a busy enough schedule to have to wear work shoes and not have time to shine them, and only one chef would have cause to come to me. A Mr. Levin, who has just had one of his recipes stolen."
I had never seen Mr. Levin before, but his watery eyes and pointy nose, combined with his large gut, made him appear as a rat, and my stomach flopped at the thought that this overgrown being had made all those delicacies that I was enamored of. I quickly regained my composure as the man began to speak.
"You must be Mr. Holmes. Yes, it's my recipe for blackberry jam. I have come to beg your services as an investigator into this, and so I will tell you all I know.
"As all of London has heard, Chef Falipe and I have often had bitter quarrel and rivalry. I never dreamed he would come so low as to, well-
"Two days ago, I received a telegram from Mr. Falipe, saying that he wished to meet with me on Friday, which was yesterday, at two o'clock. He mentioned putting away ill feelings, and so I hastily sent my boy with an affirmative answer. Well, Friday at one thirty, I set off in a hansom to his restaurant, where he said he would meet me. I arrived only to find the place deserted. Hurriedly, I returned to my office, located at the back of my restaurant, only to find it had been broken into. The office is where I keep all my important papers, and the money collected from the restaurant daily. I searched through my recipes and found my blackberry jam recipe was missing. Naturally, I did not accuse the esteemed Mr. Falipe, but you must understand I had my doubts. I immediately called the police and they bordered off the area. I would be most indebted to you, Mr. Holmes, if you could help me." He gripped nervously at the edge of his suit.
"Where did you keep the recipes?"
"In my desk. You will take the case, won't you?"
Holmes looked at him for a moment, studying him, then nodded.
"Oh thank you, Mr. Holmes, thank you!" the man exclaimed. "Perhaps you would like to see the site of the crime?" he asked eagerly.
"All in good time, my dear chef, all in good time. I shall meet you there in an hour." The man grinned, retrieved his belongings from beside the rack, and then exited the apartment.
"He did seem rather eager for me to come, didn't he? What's this?" Holmes brought a magnifying glass over from his table of instruments. Mr. Levin had left footprints on the carpet, white with powder. Holmes took a strip of tape and placed it on one of the prints. Just then the bell rang. Mrs. Hudson entered the front hall but gasped as she saw the prints on her nice new rug.
"Mr. Holmes, I must-"
"The door if you would, Mrs. Hudson." She turned and opened the door. It was Inspector Smity of Scotland Yard.
"So you've taken up the case, 'ey, Holmes?" the Inspector asked, standing in the doorway.
"In a moment, Inspector."
"Holmes, what are you doing?" I asked. He was busy holding a sample of the powder from the print over a candle. The flame turned orange for a second, then returned to the pale yellow color that was normal. Frowning, he placed a different sample of the powder into a beaker, then added some water from the spare pitcher next to the tea. Holmes dropped in small amounts of two different chemicals, one that looked very much like water, and the end result was a green liquid.
"Aha, just as I suspected. A mixture of salt and baking soda!" he exclaimed.
"How do you know that Holmes?"
"By performing a titration with hydrochloric acid, and a flame test as well. Do come in, Inspector."
"Thank you, Holmes." He stepped over Mrs. Hudson, who was busy scrubbing the footprints of Mr. Levin off the wood in the entrance hall.
"What were you saying, Inspector?" Holmes asked as he began to wash his hands with the left over water from the pitcher.
"I said, have you taken up the case?" He pointed at the newspaper page he held in his hands.
HOLMES TO LEAD INVESTIGATION OF STOLEN RECIPE
The article was from today's newspaper, but it was not the newspaper Holmes had been reading.
"We bordered it off, but we haven't had a chance to look at it thoroughly yet."
"But Inspector, he only accepted the case about-"
"Yes, Inspector, I have taken up the case. Tell me, when did you get a report first about the missing recipe?"
"Why, this morning, at around five o' clock. Why?" the Inspector asked.
"Oh, it's nothing. Well, I shall tell you what I find. Good day."
"But Mr. Holmes, didn't you want to know-"
"Oh, and would you meet me at Levin's restaurant in forty minutes? There's a good lad." The Inspector was pushed out of the apartment and the door was closed.
"Watson, put on your coat, we are going out." With that, Holmes grabbed his coat and hat and we exited the building. I saw Inspector Smity stare at Holmes as he walked right past him and to a waiting hansom. We climbed in, then made our way to Mr. Levin's restaurant.
The restaurant was located on the corner of 5th and Copper, and it took a good half-hour to get there. When we finally reached our destination, Holmes paid the driver quickly then motioned to the dark restaurant. It had been closed because of the break in, but his connected bakery was still actively running.
"Hurry, Watson, we have ten minutes before Mr. Levin and the Inspector arrive." He pulled out three bottles, two small, one large, from his coat, which I had not noticed him slip in. They were bottles of the same two chemicals as before, and also, undoubtedly, a bottle of water. Clasping them in one hand he opened the door of the building and proceeded past the dining area to the office. He broke the tape across the door, and stepped inside.
On first sight, it did indeed look as if someone had broken in, for the window was broken. However, there were no signs that the door to the alley had been forced, and there was a span of five feet from the broken window to the lock on the door. The cabinet and desk drawers were all in disarray. That was when I saw the footprints on the floor. They traveled from the door to the desk, then back to the door. They were white powdery outlines that looked strangely familiar with that one area that was missing from the bottom of the shoe. In fact they looked exactly like-
"They're Levin's all right, Watson. If you had looked closely at his shoe, you would have seen white powder on the bottom. Also, the hunk missing from the bottom of his left shoe is responsible for the parts with no powder. But to prove my theoryÉ" Holmes hastily exited the room, and returned with a candle, two matches, and a clear measuring cup from the kitchen. He then lit a candle and set his three bottles on the desk. Holmes pulled out gloves and placed them over his hands, then pinched up a sample of the powder from the floor. He poured some of the powder into the cup, along with the water. He then added ten drops of liquid from the first small bottle, and then fifteen from the second, to come up with the same green liquid. He then separated out some clear grains from the sample and dropped them in the flame. An orange spark went out.
"Exactly the same mixture of salt and baking powder that were left behind by Mr. Levin in Baker Street. But why would he be wondering around in a crime scene, especially if the police had already bordered it off? But why don't you tell us yourself, Mr. Levin, so we aren't kept guessing?" He turned and looked at Mr. Levin and Inspector Smity, who were standing behind us.
"Perhaps it's because he staged the stealing of his own recipe?"
"What do you mean?" Mr. Levin asked, white-faced.
"It was so simple, really. I know for a fact that Mr. Falipe's restaurant was open yesterday, since I ate dinner there. I know for a fact that the police were not contacted immediately about the case, and that they did not find such obvious clues as footprints when they bordered it off. I know for a fact that your business has been doing poorly lately, although Dr. Watson enjoys your pastries very much. What would help business more than publicity in the local paper by saying your rival had stolen a recipe and Sherlock Holmes was looking into it? You made a couple of mistakes though. Firstly, and most important, your story. You already knew when you returned that a recipe had been stolen."
"Yes, because Falipe had set me up to steal one," he stammered.
"Yes, I thought of that. But if he were going to steal a recipe, why wouldn't he steal some cash, too? After all, he was there already, why wouldn't he take some money from the cabinet? But you reported no money missing. Secondly, why would he steal the blackberry jam recipe? Mr. Falipe is the best producer of blackberry jam in all of London. Why would he need to steal your recipe for something that is already a success?
"Also, you clearly state that you called the police immediately, but Inspector Smity here did not receive a call till 5 am. Now as we all know, the newspapers print their stories at 11 PM the night before the paper is printed. Why would you call the newspapers before you called the police? Also, you had already told them I was investigating the case before I even knew about it.
"Lastly, why would you be wandering around a crime scene before both the police or myself had a chance to inspect it? There is no doubt that those footprints are yours. You see, after you had taken out the drawers of the desk and broken the window, you spent a nice morning cooking in your bakery. You then changed and came to my apartment, but had forgotten to wash the bottom of your shoes. But you realized, afterwards, that you had failed to take the recipe from your desk. You were in such a rush to steal it that you once more forgot to wash your shoes, even after I commented on them. You wanted get everything perfect for my arrival and consequently left clues behind, clues that pointed toÉyou. Inspector, if you please," Holmes nodded.
"Right," Inspector Smity responded, placing cuffs around Mr. Levin's wrist.
"I think false testimony, and insurance fraud should do it- that recipe was insured, wasn't it?" Mr. Levin made glared at Holmes. Then Inspector Smity led him out of the restaurant. Holmes and I followed, and he waved down a hansom for the ride home.
"I must say, Holmes, that was fast figuring, even by your standards."
"Elementary, my dear Watson, elementary," he replied as he climbed in.