Twas’ the evening of 31 October 1900 when Jones woke me from my peaceful dose in front of the charring wood of the crackling fire. He shook me gently and asked in a familiar English accent, “Travis ... Travis? Rise and shine my dear, we have a client.” I opened my eyes to the sight of his greying curls and the silhouette of his slim body, shining in the inadequately lit room. Next to him stood a short, stout woman with piercing blue eyes, whom had clearly been weeping.

 “We were expecting you madam” said Jones.

“Oh please, call me Dominique” she sniffled in a vacantly French accent.

“Travis, dear, would you be kind enough to grab madam,” He paused, “excuse me... Dominique, a cup of tea?” I heard my father enquire.

On my trip to the kitchen I overheard the conversation. I heard some disheartening tales...

“Dearest Dominique. Please take a seat. Now, tell me of your troubles.” He said in a calmly comforting voice.

Dominique found it hard to progress yet she did.

“Oh Jones, the demoralizing tale, I do not wish to tell, breaks even my strong heart. On Monday the poor little Missy Darlington, only eight at the time, joined our school. We were obviously delighted by her passion for school. Not many children have passion for school these days. That afternoon Missy joined me in the group conversations about North American Tribes. Not that this would interest you as it did to me but her great grandfather was a descendent of one of the six of King Numitor’s sons.” Dominique said with slight query in her voice.

“As a matter of fact it would. Now tell me, where exactly was the... the...loss?”

“Precisely in front of the locker I assigned her a few moments before... the next minute... she was dead. The strange thing about it was that she never had any visible signs of the cause of her death, possibly something that happened at home? Unless.... no.... maybe..... Well there was a slight rash on her hand... highly unlikely. However there seemed to be strange misfortune in the class, I could tell that something was bound to happen. But what... this is what troubles me.”

“Hmmmm. How about I visit the exact place where it happened. I could question the possible answer all night, yet still find none. This troubles me greatly as it does to you.”

The next morning we visited the ‘L’Cole Primaire’, the place of... happening. The secretary directed us towards Room 21 down the left corridor. Jones and I soon understood that other top detectives were at the case. Stealthily I thought in my mind ‘none of these obstructive detectives were as good as my father’, and I, in next to no time, concluded that they weren’t!

“Good morning madam” I spoke politely to Dominique.

“Bonjour Jacque, was it?”

I was consequently disturbed by her bad memory of names yet I carried on.

“We are here to observe the crime scene.”

“Oh yes, of course!” she retorted waggling her finger towards a small, dark corner laden with posters of French movie stars. The diminutive locker hung meaninglessly on the lime green wall next to the picture of the class of 1900.

I read the typed names of the students...

Front row: Elise Danvers, Charlotte Alicia, Missy Darlington, Emily Brute

My father noticed that Missy was proportionally more ‘petite’ than the usual 8 year old girl.

Jones spent three hours deducting clues until he finally spoke to his trusty partner, me.

“Travis, my dear, I take it that our ‘madam’ here is waiting for an answer. She will have to wait until tomorrow to distinguish the truth.” he whispered.

“Of course,” I mouthed.

Twas that day, the day to ‘distinguish the truth’ (as father says). Dominique was waiting patiently at our blood red office door, 88 Peniment Court, wondering about the strange murder of Missy. Papa opened the creaking door to find the pale faced Dominique.

“Come in my dear, take a seat.” Jones directed her over to a plush, royal blue armchair which she sat contentedly into. He laid out a bag of lumpy green, mouldy looking, liquid and an ordinary Yale key. “I have genially established the form of evidence for Missy Darlington’s death. You are correct in some way that it was a very unusual case yet still unbelievably simple to work out! I will explain this once, and only once, for you to fully understand. You hear?”

“Yes sir.” Dominique alleged.

“Right, here goes. From my valid evidence,” he prodded forcefully at the pouch and key, “I have concluded that Missy Darlington died of Stachybotrys infection, which is also known as Greens Disease. Missy was generally an undersized girl meaning she was just about too small to reach the locker you had assigned her. The key to her lockers lock was exactly the same make, and shape of the one below her, she must have opened the locker lower than hers and placed her sandwich, which we took for DNA scans and showed her DNA. Miss Darlington had obviously not checked the contents of the locker before making a fatal mistake. This gooey green substance,” he prodded gently at the tightly sealed packet, “is the fatal mistake. Stachybotrys will easily contaminate the closest object to it, in this case the cucumber sandwich! This mould can cause instant death, as it did to Missy, if swallowed leaving no time for emergency help or assistance.”

“So... so... that’s it?” she sniffled, troubled she carried on, “Well thank you for explaining yet I wish to heed no more. I hope to leave this place with no sin or fear of the becoming depression.”

“Why, it’s my pleasure to help.” Sir. Jones said in that same, familiar accent.

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This piece was written by me - Lisa Mae - after studying the detective stories of Sherlock Holmes. Being a "Literary Detective......"