The Case of the Golden Coins It was a cheerful and sunny afternoon as I walked toward the home of my friend, Sherlock Holmes; however, my mood was quite the opposite of the day. I wished for a type of precipitation to fall on everyone else's parade. Today was the day the winner of the lottery drawing was announced, and I, sadly, had paid 30 dollars for a ticket, and did not win the 200 dollars in gold coins. Holmes always told me how the probability of winning the money was low, but I had argued fiercely that I had a good feeling to win. I dreaded the expression he would have when I tell him the news. I trudged on through the crowded streets of London until I reached his home, 221B Baker Street.
I walked slowly up to his door, putting together in my head the words I was about to say. Upon my arrival at his door, I counted to ten in my head, and instantly the door was flung open with Holmes standing in front of me with an odd little smile on his face. You see, this used to puzzle me too, for I would always be amazed by how he always knew when I was there, but nothing is common in the world and mind of Sherlock Holmes. I have longed to follow his analytical skills and ways of thinking, but I have once again learned that the unimaginable can only be done by the extraordinary.
"Why hello, Holmes, how did you know I was here?" I asked with no shock in my voice, following the usual routine.
"Good day, Watson, I simply heard your footsteps, and I can always tell by the sliding of your feet that it's you. Now, you look a little down; lost the
lottery, I assume?" Holmes stated.
I, one ashamed of forgetting to make my footsteps lighter and unnoticeable, for it has become one of my goals to open Holmes's door and surprise him one day, and two, I was terribly shocked that he knew of the drawing's results. I instantly knew what his little smile was about.
I blushed horribly and said, "Why yes, I cannot believe I lost. Now wipe that smile off of your face. I know, you were right, but how did you know?"
Holmes chuckled and replied, "Oh, Watson, the lottery has been the only thing you've talked about for weeks. Don't you think your dear friend would remember the day of the drawing? Of course, I was waiting for your arrival to see if you've won, but as I saw your disconsolate expression, I immediately concluded that you did not win the money."
Now, you the reader have just witnessed the brilliant deductive skills of the great Sherlock Holmes, and I, embarrassed because of being proven wrong, remained silent. I thought to myself about how I really wanted to win the lottery. Sure, I would have loved to have more money, but I really wanted to prove Holmes wrong by beating all odds. As I sat there quietly thinking, my mood became worse and worse, but Holmes was completely unaware of this, for he seemed deep in his book.
Moments later, a knock interrupted the awful silence.
"Watson, please let Inspector Lestrade in. We'd hate to keep him waiting. The new mystery cannot wait to the solved." Holmes said without looking up from his book.
I snapped up and walked to the door. You and I both know that Holmes
had once again figured out who was at the door. I thought to myself, the lottery usually did cause issues, and Inspector Lestrade's footsteps are very distinguishable: fast stomps. I didn't bother ask Holmes, for I was pretty proud of my own theory.
Inspector Lestrade hurriedly walked in. "Good day, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson."
"Hello, Inspector, what's the case this time?" Holmes asked.
"Well, it is a peculiar one, I must admit. It involves the lottery, as you probably know, but the weird thing is that this time, it's not the winner that has been murdered, but his toddler son, and only a couple of his gold coins were taken. The details are quite simple: Mr. Wilson won the 200 dollars of gold coins, took then home, put them on the table, and an hour later, some of the coins were gone, and his son, Marshall, was found dead in the bedroom with ho physical marks on him. This one really happened fast; an hour after the winning of the lottery! Now, this truly stumped me, there was no motive for the murder. We assume, that someone, who did not win but participated in the lottery, was mad, and decided to harm Mr. Wilson's son. It must be a murder done by poison. Mr. Holmes, what do you think?"
Holmes pondered the question and considered the facts given. I on the other hand, could not think of anything.
Holmes replied, "Inspector Lestrade, I have a few ideas on how this could have happened, but please, I would first like to investigate myself."
Holmes's private investigation instantly began as we started for the crime
scene, the mansion of Mr. Wilson. Mr. Wilson was a wealthy man, and I, only
mere human, felt a sudden rush of resentment towards him, for such a rich man
didn't need to win the lottery, and I, on the other hand could have used the extra 200, but as I saw his face when he rushed up to greet us, I was overcome with sympathy for the poor man.
"I don't know who would've done this!" Mr. Wilson ran up to us.
"We are here to help solve the case. Everything will be fine," the Inspector reassured him.
Holmes and I greeted Mr. Wilson warmly, and then, the search for clues began. Holmes carefully studied the bag of the gold coins, and weighed a couple of coins in his hands, the dead body of Marshall, the toddler boy, and sat down on the couch.
"Well, what is it Holmes?" Inspector Lestrade asked impatiently.
Holmes looked at Mr. Wilson, "Sir, it has come to my attention that you do not use coins often. Is that correct?"
"Why yes, ever since paper money and bills have been out, all I've used are those. Coins are just too hard to carry around. Why do you ask?"
Holmes replied, "You, sir, have just helped me solve the case."
"Wh&emdash;wh&emdash;at?" I managed to stutter.
Mr. Wilson and the Inspector both looked confused as I did. Holmes smiled and said, "It's not actually a murder..."
"What! Why that's impossible!" the Inspector rudely cut in.
Holmes calmly said, "It's hard to believe, yes, but it's actually just a
trick pulled by the lottery man. See, as I examined the house, nothing seemed to be misplaced, so if a murderer had come here to kill Marshall in a hurry, something would be messed up, but nothing was. Then, my attention went to the coin bag. Only a couple of coins were taken, so obviously, no one stole money. I felt a couple of the coins, and they were extremely light. I then walked over to Marshall's body, and realized that even though there was no blood or bruise on the outside of the body, he could have died from internal bleeding. My attention turned to the coins again, then it all clicked into place."
I was so lost and confused; I didn't know what to say. All of us just sat there with blank expressions.
Holmes continued his explanation, "See, gold is a very dense and heavy metal, and you, Mr. Wilson, do not use coins often, so you do not know what the weight of gold should feel like. Your bag of money is extremely light, for it is not gold."
Mr. Wilson gasped, "It's not?!"
"It isn't, in fact it is brass, the type of alloy made by combining zinc and copper by melting the zinc onto copper with NaOH. It's quite a simple process, and the lottery man must have done this. He must have taken copper and zinc disks, and heated them in zinc and NaOh, and then put them on a stove until they turned golden to look like gold coins. The lottery has tricked you, and the others who have bought the lottery tickets, Mr. Wilson!"
Mr. Wilson was very shocked, and I, felt horrible for participating in
the lottery once again.
"But-but-but, what about the murder?" the Inspector asked.
"Oh now, I wouldn't call it murder, but the lottery man is responsible. See, little Marshall must have taken a few of the gold coins and accidentally ate them. Now, zinc is a very reactive to hydrochloric acid, the acid found in human stomachs, and when zinc is in HCl, it reacts and begins to form rough, scraggly edges. The coin will go through the stomach and intestines, and since the coin has rough edges, it has torn the inside of Marshall's body. See, it all comes down to the lottery man making those brass 'gold' coins." Holmes explained.
Mr. Wilson was speechless. The Inspector thanked Holmes, and Holmes and I began to walk to his home. The next day, the story became news. The lottery man could not be found anywhere, and charges of unintentional murder and fraud have been filed. I learned much from this mystery, for I don't think I would ever buy a lottery ticket again. Holmes, the modest man on earth, retired to his velvet chair and waited for a new day and case to come.