THE PAINTED MISDEMEANOUR

CHAPTER III

When we made it out of the mansion, officers were still doing their thing. Everyone glanced over from the sound of our footsteps approaching. Mr. Holmes didn't bother stopping to answer their questions, even when they started circling us. We squeezed through their barricade to the street, wasting no time. I glanced back, seeing the officers watching us cluelessly, I didn't know whether it was rude to leave them like that. Regardless, they didn't even try to stop us in our tracks. Mr. Holmes then started observing house

numbers throughout the neighborhood. The row of mansions were almost identical; the only thing that set them apart were the golden plates in front of their gates that had different numbers. He began to smoke his pipe while clouds of oxide blew in my direction. I blocked my nose and side stepped to avoid it.

"0291...0291...0291," he muttered, with each exhale of tobacco.

I attempted to keep track of the house numbers we passed until Mr. Holmes unexpectedly stopped, his eyes lighting up. And lo and behold, the house we'd all been hunting for: a gleaming engraving of the number '0291' on a gold plate.

"Here we are, only a few houses away, yet it felt like we had been walking for a long time," he stated after a while of silence.

These mansions are large, thus they would obviously require more land space. I wouldn't want to point out the obvious to him; perhaps he was trying to get me involved into his own universe.

I nodded after his statement, "yes, the suspect might be hiding here-"

Almost immediately, Mr. Holmes welcomed himself into this home without allowing me to finish. I followed him as I usually did. The front garden was a bleak, desolated garden with a pebbled path leading right to the entrance. Mr. Holmes knocked once; there was no response. He knocked again, this time more forcefully and demanding. We could hear footsteps approaching the door, followed by the sound of it being carefully unlocked. The door then swung open halfway revealing a tall man.

"Good morning sir, I'm Sherlock Holmes and this is my sidekick, Ms. Julie Watson," he greeted, showing his detective badge, "I apologize for disturbing you quite early in the day but we are here to inquire about a murder that took place in your neighborhood."

The man jumped back a little, petrified, "there's been a murder?.."

I wasn't sure whether he was lying or actually clueless.

"Unfortunately, yes, but we have yet to determine whether it is true or not. Evidence from the crime scene has led us here, so you should be well aware of the situation," Mr. Holmes purposefully stared coldly at his four eyes (he was wearing glasses).

The man gulped.

"What's your name sir?"

"It's Alexander Smith.."

Bingo.

"Are you living alone?"

"No, my sister is living here with me..."

With each sentence, the crack in the door became smaller, as if he did not want us to enter. Mr. Holmes' hand flung forward to block the door just as he was about to completely close it.

"Do you mind if we come in for a quick inspection?" He asked with an annoyed grin.

The man sighed, knowing he couldn't go against Sherlock Holmes, "sure.."