The Wall Lake Mystery

Chapter 1: The Game's Afoot in America

I implore you, Mr. Holmes. This was no accident, and I want whoever is responsible brought to justice.

Sincerely yours,

Ernest Anderson

I looked up from the letter to see Sherlock Holmes watching me.

"I believe I have something," said Holmes.

"As have I," I returned. "What's yours?"

"A safe robbery and jewel theft under some unique circumstances. Yours?"

"Murder of a young law officer in a small American village."

Holmes leaned intently forward. "The name of this town?"

I glanced at the letter to be sure, and replied, "Wall Lake."

Holmes long arm flashed across the table and he snatched the letter from my hands.

"The name means something to you?" I asked.

"Not until two minutes ago," he replied. "Watson, both of these letters are from the same little Iowa town, postmarked on the same day."

"What a strange coincidence!" I exclaimed.

"Perhaps..." Holmes slowly rose and retrieved his pipe. He struck a match and lit it. "But it is quite possible it is no coincidence at all. I shall take the case."

"Which one?"

A smile spread across his thin features as he brought the pipe to his lips. "Both of them," he replied, through the pipe between his teeth.

"Tell me more about this robbery." I moved from my seat at the breakfast table to my armchair by the blazing hearth.

Holmes tossed me the letter and began to pace.

I was first struck by the quality of the stationery; our two prospective clients may have written from the same locale, but they were of vastly different means.

Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes,

I have a pressing need for your assistance. A substantial collection of my diamonds, pearls, and other jewelry has been stolen, the value of which is nearly eight thousand dollars. Among these is a diamond necklace dating back several generations, which alone is worth nine hundred dollars. I am willing to pay whatever necessary for travel and living expenses as well as a sizable reward. I am told you are the best detective there ever was.

I retired young from a successful acting and singing career to marry my childhood sweetheart of Wall Lake, James Blomberg. During my working years, I purchased and acquired most of this jewelry and it was kept in a secure safe in our bedroom. My brother Albert, still pursuing his acting career in Chicago, came to visit us on the 8th of this month, and that night, my jewelry was taken from the safe without a trace, save a red handkerchief on the windowsill. Sheriff Sweet took one look at the handkerchief and told us it "means trouble". The state is sending a detective, and the Sheriff believes they can solve it. But Sheriff Sweet is growing old, and good detectives are few and far between here.

Please, Mr. Holmes, I implore you to help me and prove that you really are the greatest detective upon the earth.

Sincerely yours,

Mrs. Clara Blomberg

I could see why the case held Holmes' interest: not only was there the strange handkerchief and the words of the Sheriff to consider, there was both a compliment and a challenge, and as long as the case was of some interest to him, my friend's vanity and pride made it nearly impossible to resist the power of either.

"Well, Watson," said Holmes, when I looked up from the letter. "What do you make of it?"

"It's curious," I replied.

"Indeed," said he, and in four long strides he had crossed the room and was rummaging through his catalog of all notable criminals and celebrities from the past quarter century. He muttered something I could not quite hear, clenched his pipe between his teeth, and began to make rather a mess of the papers through which he was searching.

"Ah! Here it is!" exclaimed Holmes.

I breathed a sigh of relief; the quicker he found something, the less tidying required later.

"The notorious Jesse Cleveland Wright, known to many as 'Cleaver' Wright," said Holmes.

I shook my head. "The name is unfamiliar."

Holmes' jaw slackened as he stared at me with abject shock.

I laughed. "You must remember that you are the criminal expert, not I."

Holmes scoffed. "You shall have to keep amassing your knowledge. Let us begin with Mr. Wright, the most deranged murderer the American Midwest ever produced. He has been at his trade for nearly thirteen years though he has not yet walked this earth thirty."

I raised an eyebrow. "Terrifying, but I am afraid I fail to see the relevance."

"All in good time," said Holmes, puffing on his pipe. "Wright is allegedly responsible for eight known murders and dozens of thefts. His particular calling card, as of the last four years—" he shot me an intense glance, eyes bright with excitement "—is a red handkerchief."

"Ah!" I exclaimed.

"There is our connection." Holmes turned to the door. "Mrs. Hudson!" he shouted as the door opened to reveal our estimable landlady herself, clad in an apron and an exasperated expression.

"There is no need to shout," said she, bustling past Holmes to collect the breakfast things. "I am not yet so old as that."

"Watson and I will be leaving you for at least a month, perhaps as long as two," said Holmes.

"Where?" she asked, stacking dishes upon the tray. "Somewhere warm, I hope?"

"America," Holmes replied, "to a remote village in Iowa."

"Exciting!" Mrs. Hudson replied, "Though no warmer than here, this time of year."

"Quite so," Holmes replied, with a sideways glance at me. "But Watson has always wanted to be a swashbuckling cowboy."

If Holmes had been closer at hand, I would have elbowed him.

Mrs. Hudson made no attempt to hide her smirk. "Unfortunately for you two potential cowboys, my understanding is that Iowa is not far enough into the Wild West for that." With that, she swept from the room.

Now it was my turn to smirk.

"Remember, Watson, I am not the expert in romantic fiction!"

I grinned outright. "You shall have to keep amassing your knowledge, then."

Holmes growled something rude, then tossed a couple sheets of foolscap before me and dictated replies to both letters, and a telegram in case we arrived at the same time as those missives. Sealing them tightly, he informed me he was off to purchase tickets for the next ship bound for the United States.

Little did we then suspect the fantastic and horrific developments that would occur before our adventure's conclusion.