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The Case of the Dangerous Balloon

 By Tara Crown, 8th-grade student

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    Eyes fixed upon the mantel, he paced, stroking his pipe

with wiry fingers and every so often releasing a puff of

smoke from the corner of his curved lips. The crooked half-

smile twisted as perhaps fond memories found their place in

the great mind of Sherlock Holmes. I sat, legs crossed, on

a red chair. My raised shoe barely grazed the glass table

housing our tea and crumpets from earlier in the evening. I

curiously studied Holmes. My wish was not to break the

soothing silence but only to ask of the origin of my

companion's evident smile.

    "Sir, to what amusement do you grin?"

    "No amusement, Watson, only a fondness."

    "For whom?" I wriggled out of my lips.

    "For our visitor. Please answer the door. 'Tis my old

childhood friend, James Snozgrass."

    A heavy pound was received at the door just at that

moment. The pound was a simple knock, but must have

belonged to a gargantuan. Holmes read my fearful

expression.

    "A large man, indeed, but merely a child's clown in

occupation."

    I quickly stood from my half-raised position (which was in

place due to the sudden knock). My nerves brought me

swiftly to the door. I planted my legs in front of the door, a

little too close together for true sturdiness. I grasped the

golden lock and relieved it of its duties. I wrapped my plump

fingers around the knob and twisted my wrist. The door left

its post and glided towards me. A tightened open hand

sliced the air no more than a nose length from my heaving

chest.

    "James Snozgrass," the owner of the hand boomed.

    I slid my timid fingers into the palm of the vertically

stupefying being. I cringed as he trapped four of the white

appendages in his firm grasp. My plumpest of fingers stood

alone as it was whipped up and down by the movement of

Snozgrass's arm. He finally release me, and I found four of

my stiff fingers as white as ever.

    "W-Watson, John." My feigned casualty was most

identifiable. I looked at the ground and let my brown shoe

slide back on the wood flooring. My other soon followed, so

as to be parallel with the wide-open door. Eyes still

admiring the wood, on which I had lived for years, I raised

my arm, sweaty palm up, white fingers together, plumpest

slightly separated from its brothers. My limb, parallel with

my narrow shoulders, signaled towards Holmes. I peered

towards my friend, only moving my beady eyes, not my

head. A grin rarely used on the face of Holmes quickly

enjoyed its shining moment, but then gradually decreased

in intensity. The red lips opened, then closed. Once again

opening, the lips finally called for the tongue's help. An

unexpected list of words was released.

    "What 'tis the matter?"

    An assumption of foul play the analytical mind surely

made. The assumption was enhanced to reality as

Lestrade, the police detective, appeared at the side of

Snozgrass. Possibilities and guesses, none faintly correct

as to the troubling news Lestrade would bring, were

welcomed to my mind.

    "Your good companion, here," Lestrade said skeptically

as he cut off Snozgrass in the doorway, entering the room

first. "Is being accused of placing a child in the hospital.

The mother, who happens to be Misses Gooey, is suing for

thousands&endash;".

    "And I don't have that kind of money, Holmes,"

Snozgrass cut in. "You know I don't. I'm innocent, too!" The

strong giant had transformed into a frantic little being.

Superiority in intellect and wealth got the better of me, and I

looked up. For the first time since the arrival of our visitors, I

looked into Snozgrass's blue eyes. They were truly

desperate.

    "He wants you on the case. How he's going to pay your

expense, I have not a clue, but money matters are yours to

handle. All I need to know is whether you'll accept the

case." Lestrade paused, waiting ever so patiently for

Holmes to stroke his pipe in a repetitive motion (completing

the same cycle three times) before answering.

    "I will take the case. Details are now welcome. Please,

gentlemen, take a seat."

    And so, the mystery began. Snozgrass and Lestrade

both knew the story well, and I, and surely Holmes, let the

information seep into our every pore. A fascinating story,

indeed, was in front of us.

    Misses Gooey held a birthday party on the evening of the

seventh for her young son. Twenty-one children invited. A

magician and two clowns were hired, one of which being

Snozgrass. Each was paid seven fifty an hour. Full payment

came in advance, a risky business to pull off, certainly. A

wonderful evening was shared by all, according to the

Misses, until the junior Gooey pricked a balloon

accidentally while playing "Pin the Tail on the Donkey."

Snozgrass agreed with all given information thus far, to the

best of his knowledge. Misses Gooey claims the balloon

held a harmful substance, which caused the immediate

placement of the junior Gooey in the hospital on 34th Street.

Snozgrass has yet to formally testify in court or in a written

statement to the police.

    At the conclusion of the retelling, I found it odd that

Holmes felt no need to question Snozgrass.

    "I know his position, and I know it well," Holmes stated

defensively. I dared not become offensively inquisitive again.

    "I would find it most helpful, however, to speak with

Misses Gooey. Still located on 28th, I presume?"

    "Indeed, Holmes. I will accompany you, of course," was

Lestrade's reply.

    "Of course," Holmes sighed.

    Snozgrass and I naturally followed the two leading

gentlemen to the police detective's automobile. I was piled

into the backseat with the accused. Lestrade took on the

role as driver. Holmes slid into the left side of the vehicle

beside the detective.

    With surprising speed, we reached the Gooey residence.

Received by a respectable butler at the entrance, our

company was led to a splendid living area. I admired the

candlesticks and incense spread about the room. A family

portrait loomed over the fireplace, and a chandelier expertly

arranged, shed a magnificent light about the three figures of

the portrait. A gray man, a striking woman, and a proper

young lad with eyeglasses, formed what seemed to be a

lovely family. My attention was dragged away from the

portrait by the entrance of the Misses, looking quite like

herself in the portrait.

    "Hello, madame," Holmes and Lestrade acknowledged

the woman, nearly simultaneously. Quite a proper woman,

Misses Gooey daintily sat herself on the edge of an empty

velvet couch. The questioning began, only by Holmes.

Lestrade let him work.

    "Tell about your planned evening of the seventh," Holmes

started.

    After a few more basic inquisitions, Holmes began

digging into details.

    "Describe how you set up 'Pin the Tail on the Donkey.'"

    "I do not quite understand your question, I'm afraid."

    "What were your preparation? For instance, to be more

specific, explain . . . hmm, let's see. Explain how your son

came to be playing, and how you started him off."

    "Alright. Well, I called him over from the refreshments

and told him he should start the game. So, I set up the

donkey. I blind-folded him, spun him around, and set him

off." She shrugged, rather unladylike.

    "Okay. Now, where were the injuries?"

    The Misses handed Holmes medical documentation.

Holmes skimmed them for just a moment.

    "It must have been difficult to place a blindfold on with the

child's eyeglasses," Holmes said conversationally.

    "Oh, indeed," the woman said, nodding.

    "Thank you very much, madame. You were most

pleasantly helpful."

    Holmes led a procession out the door.

 

    "Well, Holmes, I figure I should include this in your

gathering of information," Lestrade replied upon reentering

my shared residence. He had just stopped by the police

headquarters after dropping his three companions off at the

apartment earlier. "Police have finally uncovered the

substance contained in the balloon." He paused

dramatically. "NaHCO3, which is also known as sodium

bicarbonate, and CH3COOH, also known as acetic acid."

Lestrade glanced around the room very pleased with

himself. "So, obviously, we can conclude that this man

ought to be locked up for&endash;".

    "You fool," Holmes chuckled. "You have no idea what

any of that means, do you?"

    Despite Holmes accurate assumption, Lestrade puffed

out his chest and pulled back his shoulders. Nothing came

in reply, however. Holmes continued.

    "You have simply come to the conclusion that

Snozgrass filled the balloons with baking soda and vinegar,"

Holmes shared a good laugh with himself.

    Until now, Snozgrass had remained silent. "Yes, that's

all it was. I don't know any of those fancy science terms,

but I just needed to find an alternative way to fill my

balloons," Snozgrass said, almost excitedly.

    I squeezed in a question. "What do you mean

'alternative?'"

    Holmes sighed with vexation. "My dear friend has

respiratory complications. Ever since we were children,

James had to sit out while we ran and played." Holmes

cleared his throat. "I knew immediately that he filled his

balloons with an alternative substance to his own air,

although I'll admit, I did not know the nature of this

substance. But now Lestrade has informed me that the

balloons contained merely baking soda and vinegar. Those

two products produce carbon dioxide, a completely safe

gas in such little quantity."

    Holmes looked around the room, meeting everyone's

eyes. "I knew all along, of course, my good friend would not

harm a child on purpose, but I questioned if perhaps an

accident was caused. My question was answered, however,

by the beautiful Misses Gooey. I had previously known that

the Misses claimed injuries to Junior's eyes. This struck

me odd when it was presented that the game being played

required a blindfold. I questioned the Misses and found that,

indeed, a blindfold was in use. Such a strong acid to burn

through a blindfold would do damage to such a great extent

as death. Therefore, the child could not have been wearing a

blindfold (if at all injured that is), meaning he would have

seen what he was pricking, which would bring about many

further questions of motive. I then proceeded to double-

check the medical records. The eyes were marked 'injured

due to a burning sensation.' I made one last attempt to

possibly correct myself. I raised a conversational question

about the child's glasses. The Misses did not correct the

use of glasses with a blindfold. Why would one bother? The

answer: she didn't even bother with a blindfold. I reached a

conclusion. Misses Gooey, incredibly greedy for money,

must have staged the injury. Her replies to many of my

questions were too bizarre, as I have explained. Her child

must have been told to prick the balloon because his

mother was taking advantage of her clown's unorthodox way

of filling balloons. Furthermore, I call for an investigation on

the doctor who treated the child because I sense a

conspiracy. Until an investigation is in place, remove the

Misses from her home. She belongs down at the station."

    I stared at my friend in triumph. Holmes once again had

solved the unsolvable.