‘Crash!’ A pile of garbage fell to the ground, and the scream of a young lady promptly followed. Emerging from the dark laneway in the middle of that still night was a mysterious figure. Hunched over and checking to see if anyone was around, when the moonlight caught the side of his face, it was shown that there was something different about it, something disfigured and foreign. Looking back at the laneway he had just emerged from, he smiled a sinister smile, and then ran off, hunched over, into the night.

It was one warm summer afternoon at Baker Street when I was called upon by my friend Dr. Watson. A heat wave had struck England; it was quite an odd event for the residents, especially those who had lived almost all their lives here. Normally the climate here consisted of heavy falling snow and bitterly cold winds. No one could understand the odd turn this weather had taken, but personally I took it as a sign that something odd was afoot in our town, as if a higher power was trying to warn us of something. The heat of the afternoon hung with the weariness of a long humid day, as if the air had been worn down by the day’s intense heat. Hot wind blew and the trees flopped away as if exhausted. The bird’s slow chorus added to the tired atmosphere of the day. I was in the middle of studying an array of newspaper articles for a case about a goose that had a carbuncle within its throat I was working on when Dr. Watson entered. He had a letter from Inspector Lestrade, informing me of a murder that had taken place down at the Thames docks at around two-thirty that morning. They were having difficulty solving the case and needed the help from someone with my expertise. I took the letter from him and examined it for myself as Dr. Watson left me to my thoughts. At first read it seemed a typical murder case, but after analyzing the letter further I realized all was not what it seemed. The letter described the scene of the crime ‘as if the victim was mutilated by some beast’, yet they are quite sure this was the work of one of our fellow human beings. I went slowly to my trusty companion Dr Watson, re-reading the letter as I went, to inform him of the situation. Dr. Watson has been by my side for years he is a person that understands and does not question my way of thinking or handling of a case, a person I can speak to in confidence that he will understand, a man I can always depend on. Dr. Watson himself is a quiet man, a man of few words as some might say, though this works quite well for me. A loud companion would not be as useful. He seems to never question the actions or thoughts I take, and though asks for reasons, does not become disappointed if he receives none. I believe over the years he has grown accustomed to my ways, and is now always ready for the unexpected, as am I, such as the time I was telling him of a recent case, one involving the mysterious disappearance of a Mr. Neville St. Clair, that had come to my attention and as we walked I asked him to join me aboard my horse and carriage. I did not tell him where we were going or why, not until we were on our way that was, yet he still came with me voluntarily without any questions or hesitation. I need someone like this with me, questioning my actions just takes time, time that I do not like to waste.
I entered the small, yet cozy living room to find Watson studying the morning paper. The room was full of newspaper articles and clippings, evidence from past cases and some for leisure time reading when I had the oft chance. The room was littered with various interesting miscellaneous items and scraps of leftover food items, newspaper clippings, and scrapbooks relating to past cases, encyclopedias and dictionaries, all strewn about the floor. There were gold snuff cases, a shoe filled with tobacco, a pipe rack and a chemical apparatus of mine that I had set up for my leisure time to fulfill my interest in chemistry, I was quite a curious man in relation to the way things worked. There were fascinatingly coloured rocks, a twisted hourglass and an oddly shaped piece of metal that I had not yet found any use for. The clutter made the room seem even smaller and cramped, but it was how myself and Dr. Watson were use to living, scenes like this made us feel at home. I took the newspaper from his hands and replaced it with the letter. With no outward sign of shock or surprise to the abrupt interruption, he immediately began to read the letter. His eyes moved quickly along the page and before a minute was up he put down the letter.
“Well Holmes, what do you think?”
“I think it’s an intriguing case. Describing it as if “mutilated by some beast” yet being certain it was committed by a human being, quite intriguing. I believe we will need to go into the field for this one Watson”.
After grabbing a stash of opium, my pipe and nothing else, Watson and I proceeded to Inspector Lestrande’s office.

Inspector G. Lestrade was a lean man with a ferret-like aura, he always looked furtive and sly, as if he was constantly plotting against you. He always had plenty of energy to spare, but lacked in imagination and very conventional, bad traits if you ask me. A man renowned for being one of the best detectives at Scotland Yard, despite the fact that a lot of this has come from taking credit for my accomplishments, but this doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I believe, though this man has no real crime solving skills of the sort. It is his determination that has brought him to these top ranks. I would not say that I loath the man, but I do dislike him.

Entering Scotland Yard, I was greeted respectfully by various officers and acquaintances, “Afternoon Mr. Holmes”, “How do you do Mr. Holmes”? With a nod of my head to everyone who passed by I headed to Lestrade’s office. Reaching the fine oak door that exclaimed ‘INSPECTOR LESTRADE’, in engraved gold writing. Ignoring common social conventions, as I was accustomed to, I opened the door and walked in.
“Ah, ‘course, Sherlock Holmes, should have known straight away it was you, who else doesn’t bother knock?” noted Lestrade as I entered the room.
“Inspector,” I said as I took a seat adjacent his desk,
“I received your letter about the murder. Are you suggesting it appeared to be the work of some beast, yet done by a human? I find this thought intriguing and wish to see the crime scene as soon as possible”.
Plain and direct orders I found had always been the easiest way to communicate; I wasn’t one for chit-chat. Lestrade looked at me for a moment, not surprised by my abrupt nature, but still a little taken back.
“Well of course, I can have myself or a few officers accompany you to the crime site if you wish” replied Lestrade.
“I’d much rather Watson and I attended the scene ourselves”.
“You know that can not be done; an officer must accompany you to the scene. It is merely precaution to make sure you do not tamper with the crime scene.”
“Honestly, do you believe me capable of such an act as stealing from a crime scene”? Lestrade looked at me, as if to imply he believed so.
“All the same, an officer must be present with you.” Giving up trying to get my way I groaned, “Ahh, if they must”. I raised myself from the chair and began to leave. As I began to close the door I turned to Lestrade and dismissed him, “Lestrade” I said with a nod.

The next day I, Watson and two police officers from Scotland Yard arrived at the crime scene, the Thames docks. This side of London was quite the opposite of the other, full of slums, poverty and filth. The dwellings were all closely packed together, with beggars, dirt and rubbish lining every laneway. Rats and stray dogs roamed about in search of food, as were a lot of the civilians. There was a constant stench of body odor, rubbish and human waste. It was probably not a shock to anyone that such a murder could occur here. Of course the body was long gone from the scene, but that could be attended to at another time, if even necessary. Entering the scene, to the normal eye, it looked just like a laneway that you would expect to find near the slums of London. Dirty, rubbish littering every corner, the brick chipped, missing and covered in God knows what. If there was a struggle you could never tell as rubbish was already naturally strewn all over the place.
I walked right to the end of the laneway to inspect it, Watson following. Traces of blood were evident on the ground; piles of garbage had knocked over with rubbish everywhere, possibly the sign of a struggle, or just regular activity for this area. Looking at the wall I noticed a brick seemed to place loosely within the wall. Pulling at it, it was easily removed. Looking at the end of the brick that had been within the wall, I discovered noticeable traces of blood; a smart but risky way of hiding the murder weapon, while it was tricky to uncover, it was not impossible. The murderer would have been better off taking the brick with them. I approached the officers standing down the end of the laneway.
“Did Inspector Lestrade decipher how the victim was killed?” I asked them. After a brief period of looking at each other in thought,
“Ahhh, I don’t believe he did Mr. Holmes” replied one of them. I smiled and thought to myself, “No of course not.” I walked back up the laneway to Watson.
“People say I’m quite the expert in finding clues others cannot, but I personally do not think this is beyond anyone’s ability to find” I said to Watson.
“Well, Lestrade is a man who tends only to look right in front of him for answers, and if it is not there he seems incapable of finding it” replied Watson.
I nodded and continued to investigate the rest of the scene. Looking at the dried blood, it was easy to locate where the victim had been lying when hit, near the largest dried pool. Kneeling down near the pool, envisioning the body lying there, I noticed a single strip of material, soaked in blood, some of it already dry. Carefully picking it up, I examined it. Due to its position of being exactly where the body would have been I had to conclude that it was the victims, and due to the nature of the evidence, the victim must have been a young girl. This if course was obvious to the human eye, but this single strip of material held a lot more information then noticed on first glance. The material itself was delicate silk, material only worn by those in the upper classes. This strip had probably been ripped off the young ladies dress in her struggle to escape the murderer. The pattern on the material, roses twined together, indicated that this would have belonged to a younger lady, a girl in fact. Older women tended to have plain strips of material draped around their dresses, while the patterns and designs were reserved for the younger girls. Once again, I approached the patient officers,
“The victim, was it a young girl, of maybe 16 or thereabouts?” The officers looked up the laneway to me, astonished,
“Yes I believe so Mr. Holmes” replied one. I returned to Watson.
“If they knew how you knew that, I don’t think they’d be so intrigued” said Watson with admiration. I smiled, but then frowned as I continued to look at the small strip of silk.
“It is so horrible that someone could target such a young and innocent being, and in such a way” I remarked.
“Some people’s minds work very differently to our own” said Watson. I put the strip of silk in my pocket. Watson and I walked down to the entrance of the laneway where the two officers were still waiting for us
“I’ve seen all I need to see. Thank you for your time”.

Back at our apartment on Baker Street, there came a knock at the door. Dr. Watson answered it to reveal my good old friend Henry Jekyll. Henry Jekyll was an elderly man whose figure was as if it had been worn down over the years. He always looked tired yet always had enough energy to make it through the day and keep a happy face to the world. His body, small and twisted looked so fragile that if a single strong gust of wind struck him, his bones would crumble. Yet, he was a lovely fellow who always had others best interests at heart. He seemed to me, a very curious and nervous man, he could also be found looking around the room for something else to focus his attention on, and was constantly twiddling his thumbs. Dr. Watson let Henry in after a brief greeting and I motioned him over to a low brown lounge chair that had become flat and sagged with age. Henry’s aged and wrinkled face smiled over at me.
“How are you my old friend?” I asked of him.
“I’m feeling well Holmes, a bit more tired everyday as age starts to catch up with me, but I’m still here, surviving each day” he replied with a sincere smile. We sat in silence for a moment in which I noticed a look on Henry’s face, as he looked toward the ground. His face told me something was bothering him, bothering him quite a lot in fact. I’d never seen worry such as this cross his face before.
“Is something wrong? What gives me the honour of your presence this evening?” I asked him. He looked up at me. For a moment he looked at me, like a little child scared of what could be hiding in his closet, as if to alert me that something really was bothering him, but then he threw that look away and plastered an insincere smile on his face, as if warning me to keep it all a secret.
“What? I’m fine, never felt better; I just came along to have some company, even if it is only for a little while. Of late I’ve been feeling quite lonely in my lab, bring there by myself day after day” he replied, “so…. had any new and interesting cases of late?”
“Well, I had an old lady who was struck ill, tell me about a mysterious lodger she had whose face she said was hideously mutilated, quite like the description of this case, and was sure he had committed some kind of murder or other foul act. Then there was the man whose wife had disappeared, but most recently, just yesterday in fact a murder was brought to my attention.”
“Murders aren’t your usual calling”, Henry pointed out.
“Yes, this is true, but the letter I received about the murder described it as ‘as if the victim was mutilated by some beast’. I think the odd nature of the case has dumbfounded the police at Scotland Yard and Inspector Lestrade, and when they have no clue what to do next they usually come knocking on my door” I explained. Henry looked a little taken aback by the description.
“As if mutilated by some beast? That sounds completely awful!” he exclaimed.
“Indeed it does, but I was fortunate when I went to the crime scene that the body had already been removed. Though in some instances the presence of the body would have been beneficial in providing me more clues for my investigation.”
Henry nodded in agreement. I noticed as he looked around his gaze became locked on the strip of lace that I had found at the crime scene, that was positioned on the armrest of my chair. The look was one of uncertain familiarity with the object.
“I found this strip of silk at the crime scene when I went to investigate. It clearly points out that the victim was a young girl, which is a terrible shame. Does it look familiar to you Henry?” I asked. Henry continued to stare at the strip of lace for a few moments when he shook his head.
“No”, he replied while still staring intently at it. I wasn’t convinced.
“Are you sure Henry?” I asked, keen to hear the truth.
“Well….” He hesitated, “for some reason it does seem familiar to me, extremely familiar. I’m racking my brain over and over again to try and place it but I’m coming up nothing. Nothing except that I’ve seen it before” he stated, now, that I believed.
“Interesting. Well be sure to contact me if you do remember won’t you” I told him. He nodded his head.
“Well. I think I should be going now. Henry said hurriedly as he got up from the sofa. I stood up with him and shook his hand.
“But, I thought you wanted some company?”
“I most certainly do but I just remembered some chores that need attending to.”
“Well it’s always a pleasure to see you Henry”. He nodded. Dr. Watson opened the door for him. They said their goodbyes and Henry left. Once Dr. Watson had closed the door I sat back down. I picked up the strip of silk in my fingers and examined it, looking, as if I would find the reason for Henry’s familiarity with it the more I looked at it.
“Odd that. There’s something going on there that I don’t know about, and it would seem neither does Henry” I said to no one, but Dr. Watson replied as if it was directed at him.
“Yes I did catch that. It was quite odd”.

The next morning Watson and I ventured down to Scotland Yard again to see Inspector Lestrade, this time to inquire into viewing the young girl’s body. I wished to see if the letters description was correct. As we entered the police station, the officers all seemed to be very distracted and concerned by something, not even one greeted my arrival. Reaching Lestrade’s office, Watson and I walked straight in. The Inspector was quickly addressing a letter and seemed to have a concerned look about his face as he wrote rigorously, something was definitely happening to have cause for concern. The Inspector looked up at Watson and I and motioned for us to take a seat. A few moments later Lestrade had placed his letter inside and envelope, sealed it, placed it to the side and then addressed us.
“Good morning Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson” Lestrade greeted us. “I’m sorry about that but it seems there has been yet another murder, one very similar to one you are investigating presently” Lestrade explained. “The victim, once again, looks as if they have been attacked by an animal of some kind, and it’s another young girl. Our officers have checked and the girls had no relationship of any kind between them, so we cannot find any connection between the murders, therefore we have come to the conclusion that this is either a mentally ill man roaming the streets of London, or it truly is some animal attacking these ladies, in which case it needs to be found”. I stood up and Dr. Watson followed my action.
“I will go to the scene immediately.” I declared, and after gathering information from officers outside Lestrade’s office, Dr. Watson and I headed for the crime scene.

After reaching the crime scene, Watson and myself immediately walked in. The crime scene was yet another laneway in the poverty stricken side of London. Once again, rubbish strewn everywhere, the entire place dirty and grimy, with pieces of clothing throughout the laneway that were so old and worn that it was difficult to identity what article of clothing they were, numerous brown paper bags ripped to shreds, with dirt, mud and sludge covering most of the laneways gutters, making it unclear what else lay behind it all. The girl’s body was still there, and it looked as if the officers had not done much investigating as of yet. This meant that not much of the crime scene had been touched; this evoked some hint of joy inside me. This meant that concluding this case should be a lot easier.
“Detective Holmes, Dr. Watson, how are you this morning?” an officer asked as we walked by.
“Well thank you kind sir” I replied and continued to walk on.
We reached the body of the recently deceased girl. The body was located closer to the street to which the laneway joined compared to last murder, where the body was found around about the middle. Her brown hair was strewn across her face in a bloody mess, her face hidden from view. Her arms, and from what I could tell, her face, was full of scratches and bites. I knelt down and brushed some of the hair from her face. Dr. Watson had to turn away from the sight. Her face was much disfigured. She was also only a young girl, most probably around the age of sixteen. Along with scratches, her face was torn away in some parts; it would have been unrecognizable by even the ones who knew her best. I now understood the description “mutilated by some beast”. All the scratches, at first glance, did indeed look like they had been done by an animals, but when I looked closer I noticed that the scratches were not perfectly straight and clean cut, as you would except if it had been done by an animal’s claws, a big feline animal. These scratches were very jagged and rough, as if done by a human’s nails. In fact, I was almost certain I could see tiny traces of human nail left in some of the scratches. I brushed the hair back over her face and Watson was able to look at the body again.
“This is truly horrific.” exclaimed Dr. Watson. I continued to examine the body. The girl’s dress had been ripped and scratched; such like would occur if an animal had attacked her. Most of the front of her dress had numerous scratches, running from the middle to the bottom, where pieces of the dress threatened to disconnect themselves. The scratches were also not cleanly cut, looking as if someone had horrifically attacked the dress with a pair of extremely blunt scissors. This girl’s dress was also made of quality material, lace this time instead of silk; clearly she was not from around these parts of London. I tried to make the connection between why a brick would have been used in the last case and scratches were predominating in this one. There was no sign this young girl had been attacked with a brick, and I had the feeling I wouldn’t find any traces of that on the other victim’s body either. After staring at the body for a few moments it occurred to me, the brick must have been used by the victim in order to try and protect herself. Then why would the murderer place it back in the wall, why make it look like the brick was the weapon used? This case was turning out to be quite odd, not that that was unusual for cases I was involved in. I knew I would have to see the other victim’s body.
Standing up I looked about the laneway and the other features nearby. I felt that the fact that this body was found closer to the street was a sign of something. That the murderer was becoming more careless, that this person had no real motives except that they were mad in the mind. There were a few houses nearby. They were very neglected and run down to say the least, but I found it interesting that no one from these residences had come forward with something to say. I walked out of the laneway and headed to the house straight across from it, Watson followed. This house was extremely small and looked like it could fall down at any minute. I knocked on the door and as I waited I could hear the small pit-pat of footsteps nearing the door. When it was opened the first thing that hit me was the horrible smell that emitted from inside the house. It was the smell of unwashed bodies and indisposed human waste. I looked down and saw a little girl peeping from behind the half opened door. She would have had to be only ten years of age. She had no shoes, she looked like she hadn’t had a good bath in a few weeks, her hair was extremely ratty and she looked extremely underfed. There was nothing of her except skin and bones.
“Hello, my name is Mr. Holmes and this is my friend Dr. Watson, is your mother home?” I asked of the young girl. I could see Watson looking over my shoulder, out of the corner of my eye, trying to get a closer look at the inside of the residence.
The girl replied with a simple shake of her head, she looked quite scared.
“Do you know when she might be home?” The girl replied by shaking her head again.
“Are you home alone then?” The girl looked to within her house, causing her to open the door a little further as she did. Looking inside, I saw there were two younger children, playing amongst themselves. She must have been the oldest, looking after them while her mother was out.
“I see. Did you hear anything odd last night? Anyone scream, perhaps from that laneway over there?” The girl looked around me to the crime scene across the way.
“No sir” she replied quietly.
“Somebody has just been hurt, did you see anything then?” Watson leaned over to my ear.
“Is it really worth asking this young girl? She wouldn’t understand what has happened here and we certainly can’t explain anything to her. I think we should try another residence” he said. I continued to look at the girl as I replied to Watson.
“Young children notice more than adults do, and can usually remember what they see much better, they can give a more accurate description”. At that moment the young girl’s small voice began to talk.
“Well…. I did this odd scurrying noise outside, and I thoughts it was a rat maybe. Mother told me if I saw a rat outside our house I should get the broom on it, let them know their not wanted here. So I looked outside the window to see if it was a rat, mother also told me always check out the window before you go outside. When I looked out the window I didn’t see any rat but I saw an odd man. He was all hunched over. He was scurrying in circles about where all those people are over there. I watched him and he did that for a little while and then he left. When he turned around his face didn’t look right and I saw a black shadow of something where he had been. I figured it was a pile of rubbish and he was one of the scavengers we have about.”
This interested me a lot, I was certain this was the killer.
“What do you mean by his face didn’t look right?”
“It wasn’t like ours. It looked all sloppy and…… scarred and….. scratched.”
“It was disfigured?” She nodded
“Well, thank you very much for telling me that, now you go back inside and look after your brother and sister.”
“Bye Sir” said the girl and she closed the door. The smell that had been emitting from the house was now cut off.
“That smell was awfully dreadful, how could anyone live like that?” commented Dr. Watson.
“The girl’s that have been murdered, they definitely don’t live like this, which begs the question, why would two wealthy girls of such a young age be strolling the streets of London’s slums at such a time of night?”

The next morning, at 221B Baker Street, Dr. Watson brought in the daily ‘Times’ newspaper. After quickly flicking through and examining the pages of the newspaper himself he handed it over to me. I gave it a quick flick and smoothed it out on my leg as I sat in the sofa. The article detailing the recent murders read;






























After an hour’s ride on a horse and carriage, with Dr. Watson uninformed of where we were headed, we arrived at the mansion of the Croth’s, the parents of the first girl who was murdered. Their house was as beautiful building, white in colour with huge white pillars running from the bottom floor, almost to the roof. The gardens surrounding the house were immaculate and gave meaning to the word perfection. The grass was the greenest grass I had ever seen before, and all the bushes, hedges and flowers were trimmed and all in neat form. The house itself was a while building, and it was clear whoever the architect was paid attention to detail as various patterns and engravings were noticeable on every piece of frame and wood that lined the structure. The path leading from the garden to the house was filled with the finest stones, with not one out of place. The Croth’s evidently had hired some gardeners and caretakers to look after their home, and no doubt they had a few butlers and maids about the place as well. After walking up the front entrance, knocking upon the door and waiting a few moments, a stout butler with an impressive moustache answered the door.
“Yes?” the butler asked looking up at Watson and I, with no emotion on his face, though I detected a hint of boredom.
“My name is Sherlock Holmes and this is my trusted companion Dr. Watson, I was hoping I could speak to the Croths”.
“In regards to what matters?” the butler asked.
“The recent murder of their daughter”.
“The Croths have informed me that they do not wish to answer any questions in relation to that matter, I am sorry you spent your time travelling here but there is nothing that can be done for you here. Good day gentlemen”. The butler went to close the door but I placed my foot in its way. The butler looked up at me, face still expressionless.
“I am Detective Sherlock Holmes, could you please inform the Croth’s that if they wish to obtain more information on their daughter’s incident then they should invite me in”. The butler continued to look at me for a few moments. He then let go of the door, leaving it open, and proceeded inside to inform the Croths of our arrival. Watson and I let ourselves in. The house was as beautiful inside as it was out. The place was full of pieces of furniture and random knick-knacks, it was quite crowding with it all, reminded me of my home. There were statues and figurines of various famous politicians and animals, various antique clocks and furniture pieces, as well as even an old carriage from a horse ands carriage in the corner of the huge entrance hall. Turning to my right, through the partially closed sitting room door, I saw the back of the butler as he informed the Croths. He turned around and motioned us into the sitting room. Watson and I entered, closing the sliding door behind us. The Croths were what you would except of an upper class couple. Dressed in the finest clothes and extremely neatly presented, despite not going anywhere for the day. Mrs. Croths face looked drawn and pale. The heavy black bags under her eyes indicated a severe lack of sleep of late, the murder of her daughter was taking its toll on her. Her husband, while he looked like he was constantly off in thought, was a lot healthier and stronger than his wife as present. This was probably because it was what society expected of him, to look after he fragile wife. The sitting room, just like the rest of the house, was full of furniture and knick-knacks that weren’t really necessary. Mr. Croth stood up and shook hands with Watson greeting us, and motioning for us to sit down in two sofa chairs opposite them.
“I’m very sorry for your recent loss” Watson said. The couple just looked down at the floor and nodded. It was time to get down to business.
“Did your daughter venture out much?” I asked them.
“No, she mainly just stayed within the house and its ground, her room most days” replied Mr. Croth.
“Did your daughter have any aspirations, anything she really wanted to achieve?” I asked. This time Mrs. Croth replied.
“She said she wanted to travel the world, see other countries. She would bring up the subject once a day at least. I told her over and over again that travelling wasn’t for ladies, that we weren’t meant to venture out on our own into unknown places, that it was too dangerous for us. That was why we were meant to learn the ways of the home and stay there; serving our husband’s, that was our life’s plan”. She began to tear up and Mr. Croth placed his arm around her.
“How long have you had your present butler?” I asked. The Croths looked at me in confusion.
“Winston? He’s been with us for a number of years now” replied Mr. Croth, “but I don’t understand what that has to do with my daughter?”
“Do you trust your butler?” I asked
“Yes, of course we do” replied Mr. Croth still in a state of confusion.
“Did you’re daughter get along with Winston?”
“She didn’t really talk to him much from what we saw. She didn’t talk to any of the ground staff that often really. Are you accusing Winston of what has happened?”
“Winston would not have done this” Mrs. Croth said through a mumble of tears.
“I am not accusing anyone I am merely asking some questions” I replied, “Did you’re daughter have any friends she frequently saw?”
“Not really. She would associate herself with the children of the other neighbours who would come around from time to time, but apart from that not really. We didn’t send her to school, we didn’t see the point if her life was going to place her as a woman in her mansion, staying at home and wasting her time away reading and sewing, so she couldn’t make friends that way. She didn’t go into town much, except when we went as a family, and then we often only browsed the stalls and then returned home. Most people find it odd for people like us to do this, but unlike other wealthier families, we don’t like to isolate ourselves from the rest of the community, we don’t see ourselves as so superior to everyone else that we shouldn’t associate with them.” Mr. Croth answered.
“Where did you mainly frequent when you would go into town?”
“Any stall that was set up on those days really. My wife in particular would like to visit the antique stalls, ‘Jeffery’s Finest’ in particular.”
“Any stalls you’re daughter was particularly interested in?”
“Not that I noticed, sometimes at the antique stall she would find items that interested her, but other then that she would just casually look around. Nothing seemed to really catch her eye and she never mentioned a favourite”. I nodded and Watson looked me, wondering if I was going to proceed.
“Well, thank you very much for your time. Watson and myself need to be going now”. I stood up and Watson followed. We exited the sitting room and as we went to exit through the front entrance which was held open by Winston, Mrs. Croth came running out of the sitting room, crying.
“Is that it? Aren’t you going to tell us what you’ve found, what you know? What happened to my precious girl?” Mr. Croth came out of the sitting room and held his wife in his arms, restraining her in a way. I looked at the scene of the hysterical Mrs. Croth and her worried looking husband.
“We do not know much yet Ma’am, but I promise to schedule another visit” I replied, and with that, exited with Watson.


Back in the horse and carriage, I informed Watson that we were now heading to the other side of London, to visit the home of the Marths, the parents of the second girl murdered. The trip there was a silent one, as I sat in thought over the case and evidence I had just gathered, and Watson stared ahead at the road, leaving me to my thoughts.
It was getting to be late afternoon as we arrived at the Marth residence, the sun was setting on the horizon, and there was a slight breeze. As we walked to the front entrance of the home, Watson commented on the atmosphere.
“Something about this place instantly puts me at ease, as if nothing horrible ever happened to the family inside.” I knew exactly what he meant. I knocked on the front door and when it opened a young lady, probably in her mid 30’s answered.
“Yes?” she asked us in a small voice.
“Hello Ma’am. My name is Sherlock Holmes, and this is my companion Dr. Watson, I was hoping we could speak to Mr. and Mrs. Marth about the recent incident involving their daughter.” The woman looked at me, unsure of how to answer.
“Just one moment please” she replied and left the door, with it still slightly ajar, as she went to find the owners of the residence. She returned a few moments later, opening the door wider and motioning us in. The inside of the house reminded me a lot of the Croth’s home. There was, once again, a collection and clutter of furniture and random knick-knacks; it seemed a common occurrence for people of upper class to have a lot of useless clutter about the place. There were items such as hundreds of books from everything on cars to household plants; there were lots of figurines and porcelain dolls, and in the corner a large and rusty old cog wheel. The lady who had answered our call at the door, lead us through the house, past the kitchen where hired maids and kitchen hands were busy at work, to the back terrace of the house. Here, Mr. and Mrs. Marth were sitting at a small table and chair arrangement, reading the paper and settling down for the afternoon. The young lady left us once she had led us to the Marth couple. They both put down their papers and looked up at us. Mr. Marth stood up and shook our hands, greeting us, and motioning us to sit down at the other small table arrangement. Sitting down I examined the couple. Mrs. Marth was a small, petite lady. She looked very fragile and though the depression of her daughter’s recent death was not as evident on her face, and did not look as if it had worn her down as much, there was still evidence there that showed something terrible had happened to her recently. The fact that she never smiled, not even when we entered which would have a been a polite and custom thing to do, and the fact that not once since Watson and I had arrived, had she lifted her head up even though she was no longer reading her paper. For Mrs. Marth, her body language was what gave away her inside emotions. Mr. Marth looked a lot stronger than his wife, being the male of the family it was his duty to remain strong, but in his eyes I could detect that hint of melancholy and weakness inside. The couple did not seem as if they did not want us there, but the atmosphere gave me the feeling this couple did not wish to answer question regarding there daughter if they could avoid it, so I got straight to it.
“Mr. and Mrs. Marth, my name is Sherlock Holmes and this is my companion Dr. Watson. As you probably know we are here in concern about your daughter’s recent death”.
“Yes” Mr. Marth replied, with Mrs. Marth not nodding, looking up or even moving at the sound of our voices.
‘I just have a few enquiries” I told him. He nodded in reply. Before I undertook my inquiry I had one question to ask first.
“Where is your butler today?”
“Oh, Fredrick, he has unfortunately come down with an extremely terrible flu. I am quite worried for him. We have let him go home to his family to be taken after and had a replacement brought in until he has recovered, who you have already meet.” I nodded and then began the questioning just the same as I had at the Croth residence.
“Did your daughter venture out much?” I asked Mr. Marth.
“She would every few days, just into the local town. She wasn’t one to enjoy being indoors for days at a time” Mr. Marth replied.
“Did your daughter have any aspirations, anything she really wanted to achieve?” I asked.
“She never really expressed any major interest in any field in particular in which she wanted to lead her life. My wife did try to instill in her that it was normally a woman’s job to be a housewife, rather than have a profession career. I think this didn’t extremely please my daughter, but she took it into consideration. I think she had a fancy for doing Annette’s job” Mr. Marth told me.
“Annette?” Dr. Watson asked.
“Our housekeeper, sorry, the one who brought you in.” Watson nodded in understanding.
“How long has Annette been with you?” I asked.
“Well Fredrick has been sick for a number of weeks now, at least 6 weeks.”
“Did you’re daughter and Annette have any kind of relationship?”
“Yes, they were great friends. Annette and Jessica seemed to form a great friendship in the few weeks Annette was here. I think having another woman in the house to converse with appealed to Jessica. Annette will greatly miss Jessica I imagine”. I was beginning to develop a theory in my mind of why these two girls could have been in the poorer parts of London at the times that they were killed. I was not completely certain of my theory, but I intended to get my answer here.
“Your housekeeper, Annette, does she live here on your premises?” I asked the couple.
“Yes she does, in a separate building close by in the back garden” Mr. Marth answered.
“Does she have any days off?”
“Yes, most weekends and at least one day during the week. We try to give her time for herself if we can, let her go into town have some leisure.”
“Do you know what she would do on her days off when she was in town?”
“I’m not one to pry into the leisure time activities of those who I have employed Mr. Holmes”.
“Of course not. Well thank you for your time Mr. and Mrs. Marth. It was nice talking to you and I’m sorry for your recent loss”. As I said this Watson and I stood to leave. The Marths stood as well, with Mr. Marth shaking Watson and I by the hand.
“It was a pleasure talking to you both and I sincerely hope you can find something out so we can know what happened to our daughter. At the present time the police still have nothing at all to tell us, it’s quite frustrating”
“I can imagine” I replied. Mr. Marth called for Annette to take us to the front door. Leaving behind the couple we were lead to the door by Annette. I studied her as we were escorted. As we walked to the door, I noticed she would steal glances at Watson and I. As she opened the door for us and we began to leave I turned to her before she closed the door on us.
‘Is something bothering you Madam?” I asked Annette.
‘Why would you ask such a thing sir?” she replied. She had a foreign accent, Spanish I believe.
‘I noticed you’re constant glances myself and my companion here, is there something you wanted to add about the case?”
She looked hesitate, playing with the locket that hung around her neck, but then she said, ‘Well, I happen to be friends with the butler of the other girl who was murdered. His name is Winston.”
“Yes, I have met and talked to him, but he did not mention anything about you.” I told her.
“No Sir, he wouldn’t. We try to keep our friendship a secret, we believe it wouldn’t be taken well by our employers, and we can’t afford to lose our positions.”
‘Well thank you for letting us know this, and thank you and please once again thank Mr. and Mrs. Marth for their hospitality.” As Watson and I went to leave she called, “So I am not in any trouble then?”
I turned and looked at her, ‘No, of course not”.

Watson and I arrived in the local town that the girl’s families talk of visiting during their leisure time, Brick Lane Market. This local market was a bustling place, with antique stalls in every direction you could look. From stalls with antique books and statues, ones with random and pointless brick-a-brak, and even a stall selling nothing but rusty cog wheels. I could know understood why so many people spent hours of their leisure time browsing through here, there was just so much to look at. I remembered that Mr. Croth had mentioned his wife particularly enjoyed browsing the antique stall, and I had been hoping to inquire with the stalls host, but with this place full of antique stalls and a huge buzzing crowd, how was I ever to find the one Mr. Croth had particularly mentioned, ‘Jeffery’s Finest’? I studied the particular wares of these various stalls. Having seen no presences of rusty cog wheels within the Croth’s home I believed that was not the host I wanted to be talking to. I studied the contents of this place closer. As I carefully examined all the stalls within the street my eyes came across one I had not noticed before. It was at the end of the street, partially tucked behind the store next to it. I walked closer towards it. It was a lot smaller than any of the other stalls present, a lot darker in colour, and displayed a banner at the top of the stall stating, ‘Jeffery’s Finest’. I didn’t see any customers approach it either, which didn’t surprise me, unless you were looking for this stall you would never notice it. I approached the stale and examined its owner. He was a small man, much like his stall. Sitting on a stool playing with some of the wares, he looked very bored and run down. His face seemed almost a grey colour, with stubble appearing on his chin, he was a very informal and careless man I believed. I examined the particular object he was fiddling with closer. At first glance it seemed to be a useless piece of nothing in particular, nothing easily identifiable, yet on closer inspection it could be seen that this unrecognizable object was in fact a very small locket. In fact, it seemed to be a replicable of the one Mrs. Croth had been wearing and holding so tightly on to upon my visit. I approached the man who looked up at my approach but continued to play with the locket, entwining it in his fingers.
“Good afternoon sir. Is there something in my stall that holds some sort of interest for you?” the man asked me as I got closer.
“Nothing really, except that locket you are fondling” I told the man. The man looked down at the locket and then held it up so I could obtain a better view.
“Ah yes, this fine piece of jewelry is quite the eye-catcher, I’m sure a special lady friend of yours would love it”.
“I do not intend to buy it, but I must ask, have you sold a locket that is a replica of that one to anyone else of recent?” The man stood in thought for a moment.
“This is an odd question but no, not recently, I did quite a number of months ago to a man. He was a small man, but had the most exquisite moustache I’ve seen in a long time.” I concluded this must have been Winston.
“Did the man mention who he might give it to?”
“Yes, he said he had a special lady that he wished to have it. Personally, I imagined someone his age, but as he walked away I saw him give it to quite a young lady, probably only a girl could have been his daughter or relation I suppose”. After running a few descriptions by him, I concluded who this young girl was. It was in fact Jessica Marth. So, the girls, well Jessica Marth at least, were a part of this secret affair between the butler and the maid, now it made sense as to why these girls would be in such a place at such a time of night to be murdered, they were there in relation to the affair between these two.