The Killer Chocolate
Holmes smoked peacefully at his pipe, while reading the morning's paper. Casually, he said, "Watson, old chap, will you please welcome our visitors?"
"But no one has knocked," I replied. Holmes raised his eyebrows and gestured toward the door, as I heard a knock. AS I walked to answer it, Holmes told me that upon opening it, I would find two English gentlemen. One would be tall and jumpy, and the other would be short and stout, with a bushy moustache.
I opened the door and found the two gentlemen Sherlock Holmes had described. Without introduction, they hurried inside to Holmes. "Is this Mr. Sherlock Holmes, 221b Baker St.?" the tall fellow asked, consulting a small piece of paper.
"Yes, yes, my good man. What can I do for you?" Holmes replied.
Immediately after this assurance, the tall man launched into his tale. "We are physicians to the queen. Latte last night, her younger sister, Annabelle, went to the kitchen for something to eat. She had an upset stomach, you see, and had just taken some Maalox. She wanted to eat something with the Maalox. She had a small snack, consisting of one orange segment, hot chocolate, and a small glass of milk. Then, she retired for the night. In the morning, when Betsy delivered her breakfast, she found that Annabelle was cold and would not stir. Coming to us with her fears, we determined that she was, in fact, dead. Her face was contorted, as if she could not breathe. We do not know what could have caused such a death, as she was well above her covers when we found her. The queen herself has asked you to investigate Annabelle's terrible death," the gentleman concluded.
In reply, Holmes thoughtfully smoked at his pipe, then said, "Thank you, sir. I will accompany you back to the palace. First, Watson, if you could welcome LastradeŠ"
A knock at the solid oak door sounded in the silent, waiting room like the deep tolling of a death bell. I moved to the door and opened it to find a sweaty, red-faced Lastrade. He rushed into the room and burst into a stammering account of Annabelle's death. When he spotted our visitors, he mumbled something unintelligible to the tall fellow. Then, he sat down with us to discuss the details.
Soon afterward, we all climbed into the carriage of the physicians and made the journey to the palace. When we arrived, the queen rushed out to meet us. Teary-eyed, she led the way to Annabelle's bedroom. Lastrade carefully inspected the area around Annabelle's bed, hoping to find a clue. Holmes scanned the room, nodded twice, and asked to go to the kitchen. After receiving directions, Holmes and I made our way through the gloomy-walled corridors, down the rickety stairs, and through the small doorway.
Then, we entered the kitchen. Spices and vegetables hung from the ceiling. Barrels surrounded the dank walls. A small table, apparently for the cook's meals, stood in the corner. Holmes approached this and examined it, evidently searching for something. His search stopped immediately when he came upon a dried out, not quite whole orange. He pulled on his gloves and held it up to the light, inspecting it with great care. I could not think what could be so engaging about an orange, but Sherlock Holmes was very absorbed. Then, he picked up a mug with a small amount of chocolate in the bottom, and he wrapped both the orange and mug in his jacket and swiftly retraced his steps to Annabelle's bedroom. He announced, "I have need of a laboratory. Do you have one here?"
The queen looked questioningly at the stout physician and then answered affirmatively.
Lastrade gleefully said, "Stumped already, are you? Can't figure it out by yourself?" he chuckled. Then he declared, "Just as I thought, there is nothing suspicious about Annabelle's bedroom. However, I have some doubts concerning the milk she drank. Being the hardworking, clever police officer that I am, I will trace down the cow that gave the milk and thoroughly study her to find her health conditions. I am quite sure that I will find the cause of Annabelle's death in that milk. So, I shall be leaving you. Adieu."
The queen, rather glad to be rid of Lastrade, bid him farewell. After that, the stout physician led us to a secret door leading to the underground laboratory. Then, he left us. As we walked through the dimly-lit corridors, I could only wonder what Holmes was thinking.
After looking through several drawers, Holmes pulled out a well-plate and squeezed some remaining juice from the dried orange. Then, he pulled out a bottle clearly labeled Indophenol C12H6Cl2NNaO2. Holmes added one drop of this blue liquid to the well-plate. The orange juice turned a beautiful, brilliant purple-blue. Then I knew that Holmes had found what he had been looking for, and I wondered what he would do next.
To my surprise, he did not do any more tests. He ran up the stairs to Annabelle's bedroom just as Lastrade was returning. Lastrade, disappointed, announced, "The cow who gave the milk was perfectly healthy. The milk did not cause Annabelle's death."
The queen, rather disappointed, turned her hopeful gaze to Holmes. Holmes said, "I have reason to suspect that the hot chocolate Annabelle drank was one cause of her death. Lastrade, if you would like to test some of it, you may have a small portion."
In reply to his generous offer, Lastrade said boastingly, "I was about to test the hot chocolate myself. If you wish to deprive me of most of it, so be it." Following this, he, the queen, Holmes, and I walked to the secret laboratory. Lastrade insisted on performing a flame test. Holmes objected, but Lastrade would not give in. Holmes evenly divided the hot chocolate between them, and Lastrade exited into a small storage closet, with the queen watching him.
Then, Holmes spent several long minutes searching until he found a test tube hidden in a cabinet. He mixed a small portion of the remaining hot chocolate with another chemical. To my surprise, the solution changed color to an off-white. "Just as I suspected," said Holmes.
I was about to ask what he had discovered when we heard a scream. The queen had followed Lastrade and was staring with horror through the window at him. Holmes and I raced to her assistance. Through the window we saw Lastrade, dead. The physicians had also heard the queen scream and ran up behind us. The queen, stammering, said, "He told me he would perform a flame test to find what the poison was. He mixed the chocolate with something else and held it above a flame. The flame burnt a beautiful color. Lastrade smiled at me with a grin of success for a few minutes, basking in his achievement. Then, as he was about to come out, he fell over dead."
Holmes announced to everyone "I know who committed this murder, yes, murder, and how. The murderer knew that Annabelle had an upset stomach and would want something to eat. The murderer also knew that Annabelle was partial to hot chocolate and oranges, so the murderer put a deadly poison, arsenic, into the hot chocolate. Arsenic, when heated, will change from a solid to a gas without first becoming a liquid. The hot chocolate provided the ideal place to put the Arsenic in. The orange contained no vitamin C, but was almost entirely Arsenic as well. Arsenic also smells of garlic, so the hot chocolate and orange, each with a strong smell, helped to cover the Arsenic smell. The fumes from the hot chocolate, almost entirely arsenic, and the solid arsenic Annabelle ingested killed her. The fumes from the flame test killed Lastrade. The question remains; who did it? Each of you had a motive, and easy access to arsenic. Which one of you killed Annabelle?"
"It was you," Holmes said, pointing.
Another impossible mystery solved by the brilliant Sherlock Holmes!