Walk your child everyday
The confidence that Hercule Holmes's name and outfit had instilled in the Griffins had finally started to wane.
He still sat there in the plush grey armchair, his legs outstretched close to the empty fireplace. His silver framed magnifying glass was gripped in his hand and he was looking at the cold coals in front of him. The tweed suit of the finest Irish wool had been donned. A silver swan walking stick, its shaft carved of black hardwood was perched against the wall. A dead rose, that Mrs. Griffin assumed to be a boutonniere peeked out of his pocket.
Mr. Griffin would have joked in his sophisticated manner that this guy slept with his suit on if he was playing the casual party host. But, today, he could only imagine his son sitting in that armchair. There would have been the soft cackling of his sobs if he was there, not the hollow weeps of his wife.
"Did you sleep well, Mr. Holmes?" Mr. Griffin asked, his voice weaker and even more prosthetic than usual.
The man looked up from his armchair and smiled. His canines were weird, they had popped on top of his molars and glared at you from both sides.
"Not at all." he said, grinning broadly. Before Mr. Griffin could utter his makeshift apology, he continued, "It is not your fault. Mr. Griffin, is it?"
He paused, as if he had deduced a long-lost secret.
"...Yeah" Mr. Griffin added.
"Yeah, thought so! Anyway, a detective cannot sleep, Mr. Griffin. I sleep like a wolf, with an open eye, looking for trouble. It isn't ideal, I agree, but it sure comes in handy when you have enemies like The Bloodwit. This one time, an assassin had sneaked in my motel room and would have shot me dead, if it wasn't for my-"
A snivelling of the nose and a high-pitched whimper interrupted the detective who sat back into his chair, visibly annoyed.
"My son, Mr. Holmes. You said you'd start the investigation in the morning." Mr. Griffin said trying not to bring up the snores he had heard last night.
"Ah, yes. Of course, that is why I am here. Let's begin with you, Mr. Griffin. What's the story. And before I can start, would you be nice enough to make me a cup of coffee, Mrs. Griffin?"
Mrs. Griffin got to her feet and walked away disappearing behind the wooden walls into the hallway.
"Now. What happened?" Holmes said, fidgeting around in his pocket. He took out a notepad, a diamond encrusted pen and a long-stemmed cherrywood pipe. He put the pipe in his mouth, grinning as he did so.
"It happened two days ago, Mr. Holmes. I was at my factory. Isabella, that's my wife's name, was in the hall on the ground floor, where we had dinner last night."
"We had dinner there, indeed. Absolutely delicious food, I must say." Holmes interrupted, breaking Mr. Griffin's flow and then going back to his pipe. He wasn't smoking it, it just sat there in his mouth, making his voice lopsided.
"Yes, Isabella was down there with her friends. And Johnny, that's my son was upstairs in his room with his tutor."
Holmes coughed as he finally smoked. An awkward silence followed as Mr. Griffin expected an artificial 'sorry' to follow, which didn't.
"Anyway, then, I think Isabella could tell you better, but then, the tutor came downstairs. He asked Isabella if Johnny had come down as he wasn't in his room. That is, I am afraid, all we know Mr. Holmes. No sign of the boy ever since."
Holmes put his pipe back in his suit pocket, grinning obviously.
"Yes, very interesting, Mr. Griffin. So you called the police I imagine?"
"Yes! Isabella called me up after an hour of searching. Johnny is a mischevious boy, Mr. Holmes. But... he has never pulled off anything like this before. I called up the station. The officers came and investigated the house. No sign of him."
"Well, well. It seems pretty obvious to me, Mr. Griffin. How thick could the cops be to not realise it's the tutor. I couldn't be more disappointed."
"The police has taken the tutor in custody, Mr. Holmes. He says that he had gone to the bathroom and when he came back, Johnny was gone. I personally don't think it is Clark. He has been teaching Johnny ever since he was a child. He even taught his elder sister."
Holmes glanced away, annoyed. Isabella Griffin returned at this time, a mug of coffee in her hand. She hands it to Holmes and wipes her tears aggressively.
"Hmm... so Mrs. Griffin. What happened?" Holmes asked slurping his coffee noisily.
"I had invited over a few friends. We were having tea and chatting when Clarke showed up. He said Johnny was gone. I-"
She broke down into tears as Mr. Griffin rose and comforted her.
"I like my coffee with milk." Holmes said looking down at the cup, his temples shrunk and his lip pulled into a spiral.
"I sent the servants to look. We looked everywhere, the house, the garden, I even sent the maid to his friend's house. No sign of him. No sign of my little boy!" she wailed as Mr. Griffin patted her back.
Hercule Holmes rose after setting the unfinished coffee cup down on the floor. He took out his magnifying glass from his pocket and grinned through it at the Griffins. Then he walked around examining the impeccably mopped marble floor. He stumbled at the stairs, regained control and went back to examining as if nothing had happened. He walked up the spiral staircase looking down at the wooden steps.
When Mr. Griffin climbed up the stairs, he found Hercule Holmes standing at the fork looking left and right and then left again. He pointed out his finger to the left, murmuring something secretively, then pointed to the right. After moving back and forth for a minute, he let out a squeak and went left. He looked at the walls and the floor and the gates and even his own feet with his magnifying glass.
He opened the first door ajar and then walked in. A tiny bed rested in the middle, tagged along the wall. It was littered with toys and playing cards and books. In the other corner was a study table and two chairs sat facing each other about it. The window was closed. He looked down from the window and examined its frame.
"This could be the answer to our problems." he muttered to himself, though it was loud enough to be audible to Mr. Griffin who had entered the room as well.
"How could he go down from there, Mr. Holmes?" Mr. Griffin asked. There was a little relief in his voice now that Holmes had finally gotten to work.
"It's narrow enough for a child. I get your concern, but it's good enough even for that child." he said pointing to a photo frame that was hung from the wall.
"No offence, Mr. Griffin, but I think you should walk your child." Holmes added, chuckling to himself. Mr. Griffin didn't seem to find it funny. His face had turned a robust pink. A cracking of the knuckles was the only sound that left him.
"Well, well, well." Holmes said walking around the room, his eyes glittering, like he could see things other people didn't.
"I think there is nothing to look around here. I might have been of more use if I had been here before the police. They have tampered with everything. They are husky fellows, Mr. Griffin, the cops, they can't really comprehend the delicacy my field of work requires. I am afraid our only hope is to see the tutor. Mr. Clarke, I suppose?"
He grinned again.
"You knew his name was Clarke..." Mr. Griffin said, still unsettled by his kid's obesity.
"I will be back before nightfall, sir. With answers."
And with that, Holmes walked out the door, stuffing back his magnifying glass in his pocket, fidgeting with his walking stick and grinning broadly as he always did.
#
The Griffins sat at the dining table in silence looking up and down at each other and the grandfather clock. It was 9:17. Night had fallen. Mr. Griffin was almost sure that Holmes had no intentions of returning. He had asked the agency for the best detective they could spare. And all they could do was this guy?
So, it came as a surprise when a young, 'healthy' boy ran down the hallway at 9:20, whimpering with annoyance that only kids can manifest. Isabella almost fell out of her chair, her arms widening. She clenched Johnny in a bear hug, not letting go.
Hercule Holmes walked down a moment later, the pipe in his mouth, a fresh rose for his boutenneire and his wide grin profuse as always.
It was a few minutes before everybody settled. Mrs. Griffin sat in a corner, Johnny sitting on hee lap, still whimpering. Mr. Griffin sat next to her glaring at the grinning detective. The servants kept finding excuses to walk into the hall.
"A cup of coffee, with milk as you like sir. That's the least I could do" said the nanny, an even more artificial smile on her face. If vanity meant money, she would have out-riched the Griffins in a blink. Holmes took the coffee and began to sip. He was stomping his shoe against the floor in excitement. But he was waiting for something.
"HOW?" Mr. Griffin asked at last when he was sure it was indeed his child.
"It was a very boring case, Mr. Griffin, as I already told you. It's a shame that the police couldn't figure it out. I was outside just now, examining the garden. Fortunately the police hadn't tampered with the footprints yet. I got a very clear picture, I must say. There were two pairs of them. The first pair were deep and had tramped the grass harder. It was for sure a bulky man. The other, were, longer and faded. The size of the stride of a person's foot is a clear indication of his height, Mr. Griffin. It was all that I needed. I had there faces in my mind, as clear as day. I followed the trail further. I wouldn't reveal my methods completely, but I did find the culprits where I thought I would. I have informed the station. They would be getting handcuffed as we talk. The lanky guy was four feet longer than me. And I am rather tall myself Mr. Griffin. Wouldn't you say. Yes I am of course. I mean, yeah, 5 and 8 inches isn't short. You are what? 6 I think?"
"What happened after that?" Isabella said. She had found her voice again, the whimpering was trailing. It was a great story to tell her friends. Who in their right minds would one up a kidnapping?
"I tracked down the house. My hypothesis was confirmed when I saw the lanky guy leaving the house. I thought of getting the police involved. My expertise is the deduction, you see. But I decided to linger a little more. I climbed up the pipes and found a little hiding spot in the balcony. After half an hour, when the lanky fellow returned, I could easily listen to their conversations. The lanky fellow had indeed come here to ask you for ransom. I think you would find the letter sitting in your letter box if you look for it. But little Johnny here had sneaked under them too. What a little devil you have here, Mrs. Griffin! Thank the gods that I got to him before they did. I found Johnny's footsteps. I can tell a man from his footstep, Mr. Griffin. Doing it the other way round is child's play for me. The thick and bulbous footprints could only belong to your son here. Now, I would like to take your leave. You can talk to the agency regarding my finances."
He set down the coffee cup, grinned his browned coffee-breathing teeth and set out. The Griffins came out to see him as he walked away into the sunset, his hands in his pockets and a deer-stalker hat on his head.
Over the next week, The Griffins would often walk in the gardens trying to find even the slightest remnants of the footprint trail that Hercule Holmes had described 'as clear as day'. They never found it.
But there was no denying that all he said was true. The letter demanding a hefty ransom was there, written in a loopy, cursive writing. The police found the kidnappers where Holmes told them they would. They looked exactly how he had described. Their story matched Holmes's version for the most part.
"Yes, I had gone to sneak a letter to the Griffins for ransom! But I could never do it. There was a crazy guy standing by the street all the time. He was dressed in a suit in the scorching heat and smoking a pipe. I thought of him nothing more than a cosplayer. But I decided to drop the letter late in the night. You guys showed up before I could do it. All thanks to this Hercule Holmes you people keep talking about."
