The Seismograph Murder
By Jamie Foster, 8th-grade student
Now that there is time to recount my adventures with my good friend Holmes, I will go into much detail. It all started on a late August afternoon when Holmes, feeling nothing to do, had taken up his violin, and was playing Bach's Minuet in D minor. Holmes then suddenly stopped abruptly.
"Watson, please get the door," Holmes said.
My friend had an uncanny ability to know the impossible, but how he knew we had a guest was unbeknown to me. He had the know how to solve the incredible, and when he became uninvolved in a mystery, he turned to less discernible ways to entertain himself.
"Oh, and Watson, please get a chair for the young lady. She will be needing it."
"Now, how in the world did you know that we were going to have guests, and that the woman needs a chair?"
" Simple observation, Watson. I noticed the carriage pull up outside, and that the woman inside was under great duress. That is all just common deduction."
There was then a knock at the door.
"Ah, and now our guests."
I proceeded to answer the door, but was stopped by Holmes. I quickly realized why I had been detained. There was a conversation going on outside.
"I told you not to come here. Now you are putting all our lives at risk," the mysterious male voice whispered viciously.
"Poirot, you are fool. You are much too proud for own good. Maybe we can finally get to the bottom of this business. You are to leave me, and be on your way."
"I will not leave. I will come with you so I can make sure you take precaution."
Holmes then motioned for me to open the door, before the young lady could say anymore.
"Good afternoon," the man with the heavy French accent greeted.
"I am Jaques Sulai, and this is my associate, Christine Tou. We come here on very urgent matters."
"Many years ago, when I was working on getting my doctorate in Geo-Physics, I needed a topic for my thesis. I met a man named Stephen Landavazo. He was an astute geologist that I knew could help me find a topic. We met several times before we could find a topic, but I finally decided on the type of work he was doing. The prediction of earthquakes. After I graduated college, we became very good friends, and I often visited him. During the time I spent with him, I learned that in his life many people were led to dislike him, or even hate him."
"Hate him enough to kill him," Holmes interjected.
"Yes, actually they would. That is why I have come to you," Jaques replied.
"After a time," he continued, " I got a job offering in Scotland. I moved and although we tried to stay in touch, we lost track of each other. One day, about three weeks ago, I got a letter in the mail. It was the notification of my friend's death. Apparently, the old fool had put me in his will as secondary recipient of his money and part of his estate in Newcastle. The first recipient was his daughter, Sara Landavanzo. I had no idea that he even had a daughter, let alone be able to find her. So I want you..."
"To find her and investigate the death of your friend," Holmes finished.
"Yes, please. I am willing to pay," the strange man commented.
"Well, Watson, we have truly an intriguing mystery," Holmes remarked.
" I believe it is time we leave the detective and his associate," the young women said.
"We take our leave. As of now I give you this perplexing mystery to please solve. I thank you, Mr.Holmes," stated the grateful Frenchman.
"Please do not thank me yet," replied Holmes.
Holmes and I were once again left alone in his room.
"Well, Watson, what do you think about this?" ask Holmes.
"Well,I think the man was not telling the whole story, and as for the conversation carried on before, that proves it. The Frenchmen thought that his life could be in danger if he wanted to find the murder.
"Wrong! Watson sometimes it amazes me how easily you miss important details. Now ponder, Watson, if the young women was the one to come to see me, why she did not say one word until the end of their visit? Also, the man was not French, but Belgian, and was none other than Hercule Poirot. The young woman was Miss Lemon, his secretary. Now, Watson, can you finish from here?"
"Holmes! Once again you have stumped me. Now if you would please tell me what a budding detective is doing asking for your services?"
"Simple, Watson. Poirot, having not lost a case so far, was completely baffled with this case and wanted me to solve it so he could take the credit."
"Will you allow it?" I asked, completely confused.
"Of course I will, but in the meantime I must solve the crime."
"Come, Watson, we must be off."
With that we took to the streets of London.
When we arrived at our destination, I instantly knew the place. It was Soho, the pub that we have gone to many times on our adventures. We knocked on the heavy door, beaten and dented from so many bar fights. The man who answered was a gruff looking fellow in about his mid thirties with three-day old stubble. The man scowled at us at first, but when Holmes asserted himself forward, his frown soften into a smile.
"Well, pleasur' seein ya, Mr. Holmes. How are you doing today."
"Just fine, thank you, Tonno. How are your children and Addy?"
"Oh, they're just fine, thank you."
It never will cease to amaze me, Holmes's ability to live in two worlds at the same time.
"Good afternoon, Harry." Holmes was speaking to the bartender.
We had just stepped into the roughest place I had ever seen, but I was used to it by now.
"I'm looking for information," Homes continued, "about a man named Stephen Landavazo. Know anything about him?"
"Why, yes. Usually I have to dig up dirt, and look high and low to find the people you need to find. I actually have his diary entrusted to me. Poor chap. He had a history of being ill. He wanted me to have it for safe-keeping," the bartender said.
"Thank you." said Holmes, and with that we were off again.
The next thing I knew we were at 221b Baker Street, and Holmes was sitting in his overstuffed wing-back arm chair reading the diary. Then suddenly he took the pipe from his mouth and spoke.
"Watson, it is time we call upon our employers."
It took over a half-hour for Poirot and Miss Lemon to arrive. In the meantime, Holmes just sat there smoking his pipe and reading the same passage over again. The diary was entirely in German so I could not make heads or tails of it, but I reasoned that that part had something very important. Our callers finally arrived with a loud thunk.
"Hello. Do you have the mystery solved?" questioned Poirot.
"Yes, I do," Holmes replied confidently.
"Well, will you tells us, please," Poirot said, anxiously.
"To begin with, Mr. Landavazo was not murdered. He worked with many seismographs that Radon is the key ingredient. He complained of many side effects related to radiation poisoning. Also his daughter was just a made up being to get you to not spend your money all at one time. It is all in his diary. So there you have it. It is solved within a matter of hours."
"Thank you very much, Mr. Holmes. Here is your fee."
" You are very welcome, Mr. Poirot."
"But how did you know it was me?"
"Your cigarettes are Belgian!"