Photo Credit: Sidney Paget 1891
I had to act quickly, so I picked up the phone to call Inspector Edward Yates at Scotland Yard. Without my car, I would not make it to the face to face interview. As I spoke to Inspector Yates, I looked down at the sleeves of my blouse and noticed that there were blood smears on the forearms and on my hands. I dropped the phone to the floor as I let out a bellowing scream.
My nose burned from the smelling salts they used to revive me from fainting. I felt woozy and my whole body seemed to be moving. I tried to get up from what seemed to be a hospital bed when the nurse put her arm on mine and urged me to lay still. I felt very confused.
Reeling from the trauma, I gripped the sidebars on the bed and attempted to sit up. It’s then I heard Samantha’s voice which sounded as though she was underwater. Or maybe something was wrong with my ears. Then his smell permeated the room, adding to my wooziness. The odor was a cross between sweet smoky tobacco and sea salt. It had to be my friend Sherlock Holmes. I really wanted to open my eyes and talk to him. In an attempt, I blurted out a recount of the events in quick throaty whispers while Sherlock leaned close to listen to my words.
Holmes acknowledged my story with an occasional “um” and “very interesting” and “is that so?” until I finished recounting the whole sordid ordeal. You can imagine my surprise when he said “It’s all perfectly clear to me now.”
I thought, “What’s clear? I don’t know what just happened, so how could you?!” Samantha tried to reassure me in her confident way by patting my arm gently. Then she explained that she and Sherlock had gone back to the dock after Inspector Yates called to let him know that something terrible must have happened to you. We rushed to your house to look at the tire tracks and take samples of the blood spots on the ground. When you didn’t answer your phone we feared the worst and rushed to the dock where Sherlock went last night.
Samantha’s voice seemed to trail off as I faded in and out of consciousness. Each time I drifted I found myself back at the docks aboard that ancient ship staring at the odd yet fascinating machine. Then I remember getting in the seat and pressing some buttons. Suddenly, I found myself walking the streets of old London proper in the mid 1800’s. My coat was warm in the coolness of the evening and I put on a hat to keep the chill from my ears. The night was misting heavily and the smell of the old wood from the ships gave off that musty salt smell that had become so familiar to me.
When I looked down at my dress I noticed the fine silk fabric seemed fresh and clean and my shoes were comfortable enough. The last thing I remember seeing was the lamp post which dimly lit the dark street but I could read the sign post well enough. It read “Dame Street”.
The fog horn sounded so loudly that it drowned out the sound of my own scream. A wave of fog swept from the bay filling the street where I was walking so his form appeared like some phantom out of the misty dark night. I felt eeriness like never before.
As you probably guessed, I’m going to leave you with a cliff hanger. Don’t worry though, I promise to reveal the final story in part three of this Sherlock Holmes style whodunit. I’ll even tell you the real name of the mystery dancer found on Dame Street. Until then, see if you can put together all the clues and solve this mystery. Come back next week to find out if you’re deductions are correct.
So, who do you think “dunit”?