My colleague, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, has been called upon many peculiar cases. But non the more peculiar then the case I am about to write to you. I mean he has been called upon for mistaken identity, missing people, strange mishaps, and even the curious case of the sealed room. But this case is even more the strange.
It started off in our small room, in 221B Baker, when a telegram was delivered to my friend. He read it over and tossed it aside and went back to looking through his index. I was curious enough so I picked it up and it read so:
'Sir, I wish to speak to you about a matter in private. Will visit shortly after tea time.
- Randy Porter'
"Holmes, it seems you may have a case on your hands."
"What? You really think? Alright, tell me what you can about our man. Apply my methods, apply them!"
"Well! I see it is a man since the writing is very rough. I also say our man is of some age."
"Why so?"
"His writing is very shaky and can't stay very much on the line. I also can see, yes! I can see his matter is of importance to him since he wants to keep it private! and because he wants to keep it private it must mean its something about a person whom he trusts! By Jove I've got it."
"Tsk, Tsk. You were on the trail but sadly went astray Watson."
"But I swear that's what it is. Then where did I go wrong?"
"You are right about our man being older. But I fear I can only tell it's about something he's lost. I can also tell by the sounds of the bell, our client has arrived."
At that moment there was a clamor at the door and a knock at our room. Holmes bid the man to enter and in came a very old man, wrinkles across his forehead, and a hunch to his back that went very deep. His bushy eyebrows hid his eyes, but I could see some light coming from them. He had his bowler hat in his frail, thin hands. He wore a jacket a bit too big for him, but hardly noticeable, and dirty trouser pants, along with some muddy shoes.
"You have to pardon me, I didn't know you had another client Mr. Holmes." The old man said hoarsely, speaking in my direction.
"No sir, that is Dr. Watson. Pray sit, it looks like you've one heck of a walk through east London. Yes there you are now. Tell me, why you are here?"
"Aye sir, t'was a long walk. How did you know what side of London though?"
"The mud on your shoes is the only mud found on the east side. Now do tell me. What was stolen from you?"
"Oye! It's like you've read through my mind or something. No wonder people come to you. Yes something was stolen from me, but listen before you speak. I have a tooth ache."
I could clearly see Holmes face drop with depression of the thought. "Sir, if you've come for medical advice, talk to Dr. Watson."
"No sir that's the thing. What was stolen from me, has caused me a ache in my mouth. I have a hunch that my golden tooth was taken from me."
"Watson, I know you are no dentist, but can you take a look?" I looked to the man, and as he opened his mouth, sure enough there was an empty place with holes where a tooth should of been.
"Holmes he is missing a tooth."
"I knew it! I knew that scoundrel would take it!"
"What do you mean?" Holmes said in a very calm, but impatient tone.
