Chapter 1
"Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies," said the Greek philosopher, Aristotle.
The year was 1904. Streets were bestrewn with pale snow which danced the waltz down from the heavenly sky, creating a picturesque scene for the Christmas eve. Inside my cosy abode, the laughter of my daughter pervaded throughout the rooms and hallway as she dashed toward me with his tobacco pipe within her tiny hands.
“Are these yours, father? I found them in the study room,” she told me in a gentle tone. Her cheeks were rosy while her zircon- like eyes shone with joy.
“No, it’s your uncle’s,” I replied while she handed me the pipe made from briarwood.
“Every time he solves a case, he would use a pocket knife and make a straight mark as if this is his laurel wreath which he adds leaves upon during victory.” As I uttered the explanation, I could almost feel his lanky figure, who was holding a magnifying glass upon his hands, at presence- the memories of him appeared in my mind again.
My brother’s stint as a detective never seemed to end and had halted only during the very moment a bullet penetrated his brain, and due to the severe injury of his health, with, unfortunately, no remedy for, it would have been miraculous if he ever made upon a recovery. He had to stay inside the hospital until it was possible for any activities requiring physical strength. Pigheaded he was, and without listening to the doctor’s advice, he tried to resume his study on a stern case which he had later featured to me.
It was during the middle of December when I received a letter from my brother, who had addressed that I shall head to his old flat instantly and begin my investigation immediately after necessary preparations and his instructions. Due to his sudden and rather unreasonable request without any elaborated explanation of the situation, my career of teaching courses at the university had been revised into a personal helper of his who was summoned to the apartment of remarkable untidiness. Through a journey of approximately an hour, I had made upon my arrival from the outlying village to the dispiriting city. On the train, I gazed out the window at the view of the green, undulating plains with emerald-coloured grass and later the rugged mountain with pale peaks. Soon, the smattering of towns with miniature-sized churches and villagers clad in red and white traditional costumes transformed into grey coloured dwellings with people pacing their way through the streets. While jostling through the crowd of pedestrians, I hired a hansom cab with the destination set as my brother’s abode.
As I arrived at the building of the plainest exterior design and with windows covered by a thick layer of dust, greased walls, and stained floors, I began to regret my decision of becoming a temporary assistant for him. It was for his own sake and our rapport that I had chosen to do so. In his letter, he mentioned how worthy and helpful I’d be due to my career as a professor of botany which had trained me to be as alert, cautious as any masters in the study of criminology. I am, needless to say, not the most remarkable one of my family when coming to the subject of observation and deduction. Since our youth, my brother embodied a detective close to reaching perfection due to his acute senses which allowed him to discern the tiniest details and the organised, intelligent mind of his which was a potential that helped him during many previous baffling adventures. Unlike being articulate as him, I was rather terse and easily engrossed in novels than mysteries during my youth. My brother, whose physical appearance was akin to mine, had blue eyes similar to the prepossessing zircons, a bald forehead, pitch-black hair, pointy ears, and a neatly shaved chin with only a tinge of a moustache.
As I stepped into the ancient building, I found myself blocked by a small desk with a chessboard game positioned on top. Frowning slightly for my brother’s bizarre organization of his processions as he always did and his obstinate refusal of hiring a caretaker for his accommodation, I entered his room. The whole accommodation consisted of only two floors. The first one included his study which dozens of novels piled and papers accumulated among the shelves. Connected by the wooden hallway, his kitchen and living room was designed in the recessed corner of the flat. Even when the lights were opened and illuminated the flat, the demoralizing atmosphere was still intense and would be a perfect working environment for anyone fascinated by the darkest and most abstruse crimes.
After treading up the rickety stairs, I found myself in front of a lab where various bottles containing chemicals were positioned. On a mahogany table were several hypodermic syringes, a graduated cylinder, and a dropper. The next room served as a library in which numerous encyclopedias addressing the topic of criminology, history, and philosophy were placed upon the shelves. Finally, as I made upon my arrival to his bedroom where a massive map of the world was put on the wall, I smiled at the sight of my brother’s passion and his peculiar studies.
On his desk was a letter, writing, “if you, my dear brethren, read this letter, it must be the time my inevitable fate had arrived. I must have previously told of my injury, but you shall not be grieved. If I am not wrong, your first client should make his advent during a quarter past nine on the 16th of December. Send my regards to him as well- I trust you.”
