28.10.2004 - 10:31 a.m.

And now, the next thwilling installment of... DA DA DAAAAAAAA
( dramatic voice over )
"The Un-mystery of the Orange Heart"
( it's like those old radio plays from the forties ain't it ? )

The first part can be found Here

That grinding sound is Conan Doyle rotating in his grave, but unless he jumps out of it and threatens me personally I'm not stopping....

Holmes' dutch was marginly better than Watson's frenchified pigeon dutch, finding a cab had been easy but the driver was clearly from the countryside and with an impenetrable accent to boot, Holmes eventually made himself understood and they were en route to the home of Mr Van Der Foook. His home was a large, three storey town house in the wealthier area of Rotterdam, Holmes rang the bell and presently a short, well fed woman opened the door. Holmes introduced themselves, she ushered them into the hallway and took their coats,

"I am Mrs Van Hoodjiimiflipp. I am, was Mr Foook's housekeeper, Mr Foook spoke very well of you Mr Holmes, both you and Dr Watson are welcome to take rooms here while you make your enquiries, if you will follow me please." She led them up a central staircase and into the roof space, which had two well appointed rooms, one on either side of the stairs,

"Dinner will be served at eight pm" she said "I also have a message from Dr Luuk Teugals this morning that you should visit him at the morgue" Holmes thanked her and then Holmes and Watson took some time to tidy themselves before dinner. Dinner was eaten with only light conversation between them, once over and the table had been cleared they relaxed in their chairs, Holmes lit his pipe and drew on it gently,

"We should make an early start tomorrow, I hope to gain enough insight at the morgue so we can return to London quickly" said Holmes,

"Pity" said Watson, "It's nice here, provincial but close to the heart of things, I may return on holiday some time."

By the time Watson arrived for breakfast, Holmes was already up and wandering around the garden inspecting the flowers, he ate quickly and within a half hour they were in a cab going to the morgue.

The morgue was deep in the older part of town, the streets were narrow and dark, as they pulled up another cart was just leaving. Two men were carrying a corpse wrapped in sackcloth through a set of heavy double doors and down some stone steps into the cool, dark interior, Holmes and Watson followed them. The corpse was ungracefully dumped on a long table and the two men went back up the steps and closed the doors behind them. Watson lifted up a corner of the sackcloth and peeked in,

"Unlucky fellow" he said "had his head caved in" he then turned the head slightly "I'd say it was a shovel or similar, made bit of a mess really"

Holmes was studying rows of jars and containers on a high shelf when a smaller door in the other end of the room opened and a short, round, pale man came in drying his hands on a cloth.

"I am Dr Teugals" he said outstretching his hand "And I would guess you are the famous Mr Holmes, no ?" Holmes shook his hand firmly,

"I am indeed, and this is my companion Dr Watson"

"Ah yes, it is a pleasure to meet you both, please Dr Watson, what do you make of our new arrival ?" he walked round to the body and withdrew the cloth to the waist,

"A large flat object to the back of the head, not very sophisticated but effective" Teugals was nodding his head,

"Another mugging in the docks last night, I get a few of these every day."
He recovered the body in the cloth, "I think you are here to see Mr Foook are you not ? a most interesting case I must agree, please follow me."

He led them down a corridor and down another flight of steps, it was noticably colder in this part of the building, the corridor opened up into a large room with a low ceiling, there were a series of stone tables around the perimeter of the room and a few in the middle, only one had a body on it. He drew back the cloth and they gathered round.

"You will notice that there are no marks on him save the scar to the chest, we're not sure how he was killed" Watson had rolled up his sleeves and was peering over the body intently,

"This scar happened after the death didn't it ?" he said as he poked at some of the encrusted blood around the scar,

"Yes, I came to the same conclusion, but that is not the end of it, I have left the body as it was brought to me so you can also see.....this" using a set of retractors he forced open the cut in the chest,

"Remarkable" said Watson, he pushed his hand into the chest and grasped something, there was a sucking sound as he pulled out a smallish round object covered in congealed fluids, Teugals passed him a cloth and Watson wiped it down,

"Well I never" said Watson,

"Indeed" said Teugals,

"An orange. How interesting" said Holmes. Watson perched the orange on the chest of Mr Foook, while Holmes started to pace round the cellar staring at the floor.

"I think we're done with Mr Foook now, but i'll make one last check before we finish" said Watson, Teugals nodded and left the room to clean up. It was another half hour before Holmes finished pacing and by then Watson had also cleaned up.

"Did your examination reveal anything else Watson ?"

"Nothing groundbreaking, there was a slight dusting of pollen around his nostrils, but I think it's local, I took a sample anyway."

"I think we now have a lead on our madman Watson, we need to return to London and confirm a few suspicions I have."

That evening Holmes and Watson were waiting at the harbour, the boat they would be taking was still loading its cargo and as the sun dipped in the west over the outer harbour wall Holmes relaxed a little into the pile of tarpaulins they were sat on, he held the pipe in his teeth and clasped his hands behind his head and blew out a cloud of sweet smelling smoke, Watson was idly throwing small pebbles at a group of seagulls resting on a mooring post across the water,

"What was your suspicion Holmes ?"

"My thought was this. Where would Tutoris get an orange, at this time of year, in Holland ?" a look of concentration wandered over Watson's face,

"Well there's plenty of oranges in spain, and this is an international port, maybe it was brought in by an importer ?"

"That was my first thought also, but did you take a good look at the orange ?"

"Well, er, it was orange, and a little small, and....and.."

"Indeed Watson, it was a little small wasn't it. Spanish oranges, this late in the season are much larger, and generally rounder than the example we have in Mr Foook, it bears a closer resemblance to tropical oranges in the far east..."

"And we know that Tutoris has come from the far east, but how could an orange stay fresh for that long ? surely over a journey of months it would either be eaten or go rotten, the one we have is less than two weeks old."

"And that's what is taking us back to London Watson, where outside of spain or the mediterranean are there orange trees ?"

"Well, none that I can think of....apart from some private collections maybe ?......ahhh" Holmes smiled, Watson was obviously feeling very good about himself at this point, Holmes went a bit further,

"There are two collections in London of tropical fruits, the first belongs to the King and is under royal protection, even Tutoris would have trouble getting into the palace. The second is the forced fruit gardens at Kew, i feel that a visit to the gardens may provide us with some fresh information."
Watson was now up to speed with the idea,

"But there must be hundreds of people visiting Kew every week, Tutoris may have been just one of many"

"Possibly Watson, but I think we should have a look and rule it out." Watson nodded and went back to annoying the seagulls.

After another hour the first mate, a tall glaswegian with a terrible scar across his forehead, leaned on the side rail and shouted over,
"There's a room aft, we'll be sailing within the hour" and with that he went back to whatever it was he was doing. The night was cold and they spent it laying in hammocks in the small cabin, Watson fell asleep almost immeadiatly and snored loudly the whole trip, Holmes awoke after an hour and spent the rest of the journey pacing on deck turning over the thoughts in his head.

Good isn't it ? The tension, oooooo the tension, the next bit ( hopefully ) is writing itself......