Elementary, My Dear Hudetz
The fog over London was as thick and foreboding as ever. I had come to the Baker Street office early to continue my research into the Austrian dignitary’s blackmail case only to discover Sherlock Holmes already at his writing desk with a cup of coffee and his pipe, scrutinizing a series of objects with his magnifying glass.
“Watson, I’m glad you’re here,” he said to me. “I have an idea that I suspect will benefit the both us. We shall call it on the job training. I believe it will help further develop your analytical skills as well as allow me to gauge how you are progressing as a partner and a detective.”
“With all due respect, we are quite inundated with so many other more pressing issues and I don’t believe a morning training session would benefit our outfit very well right now,” I countered. “Perhaps another time when we aren’t so overextended?”
At that moment there was a knock at the door that made me jump.
“Too late!” cried Holmes. “Come in!”
In walked a tall, relatively gangly man of about 24 wearing all wrinkled clothing, odd looking sandals, and a look of concern on his slightly sun burnt face. He stepped cautiously into the room, obviously a little confused about the pipe smoke, our various measurement tools, and the two men gaping at him.
“Is this…I may have the wrong apartment. Is this where I pick up the free laundry detergent?” the stranger asked in a somewhat nasally, midwestern accent.
“It is indeed!” Holmes said as he sprung out of his chair to shake the newcomer’s hand. He gave me a wink as he crossed the room and I knew he was up to something. “However, before we grant you this gift, would you be so kind as to humor two amateur detectives in a brief game of ‘Deduction’?”
“Well, I was planning on visitin—”
“Brilliant!” Holmes interjected. “Let’s begin. Watson, for your first ‘Pop Quiz’, please tell me what this young man has been doing over the last 4 days without asking him any questions.”
“Why hadn’t I stuck with accounting?” I thought to myself as I began to size up our visitor. I walked over to where he was standing and tried to reason my way through what sorts of activities would have led him here. What clues could I find to help end this asinine “Pop Quiz” and get on with my day?
“Okay,” I began. “To take him as a whole, he has obviously been out in the sun quite a bit before he got here. The color on his face is dark yet the redness on his arms seems like a fresh addition to his skin tones. So that would place him somewhere outside of London before today. His footwear and clothing make me think he was doing some sort of hiking or travel in general. Perhaps on a beach. And there is some sort of smudged stamp on his arm, I would guess from a trashy night club or something to that affect.”
“Hold on a second,” the traveler blurted out. “I don’t know if I want to be used for this exercise anym-“.
“That’s it?” Holmes asked. “Watson! Of all the time we’ve spent sleuthing together, that’s all you can tell me about our guest? He is literally a mountain of information that is just waiting to be whittled down to a molehill of truths by means of careful, scientific deduction. Please, try again. And be a little bit more specific in your hypotheses. Remember your training!”
I tried not to think of how much business we were surely losing by wasting time on this pointless drill, but I carried on. I looked closer and saw a ticket stub hanging slightly from his side pocket. There was Greek lettering on it.
“Greece. He has been in Greece. He doesn’t appear to be competent enough to know 
this intricate language so I would guess he was simply passing through the country for a short amount of time. Historically, when people travel to this country, as tourists, they feel it necessary to get their obligatory photos in front of the many important monuments. My guess is that this young man spent the first of his 4 days doing what he felt he required to do. I would go so far as to bet thirty quid and a pint of Boddintons that he has an over abundance of photos on his digital camera of him standing in front of the Parthenon or something equally as fatuous like a photo of his Greek Salad.”
“I think I might get going,” the visitor said. “I don’t know if this detergent is worth this kind of treat-“
“Brilliant!” shouted Holmes. “You have gotten the first day correct! Now, tell me more. I want to know it all.”
“Hmm…” I said as I scratched my chin. “There. The salt stains on the straps of his sandals. Those would have come from a day walking on a beach.
There are over 6,000 islands that are a part of Greece. My guess is that he took a ferry to the first island he heard about and didn’t bother to research it. This would have led him to one of the more popular islands. Like Mykonos, Hydra or…”
I reached out my hand and touched the arm of our guest and took a brief sampling of the left over residue still clinging to his skin (from not showering of course). I rubbed it between my thumb and forefinger to judge its texture and quality. I next dabbed my findings on my tongue to see how salty it was.
“Ios! He was on the island of Ios. I know this for two reasons. First, the water there is exceptionally more salty and I can taste it here on his arm. Second, his sweat has the slightest traces of Ouzo, a black-licorice flavored liquor that is cheap and abundant in Greece. On the island of Ios this stuff is more readily available than water and judging by this guy’s character, he probably took full advantage of this fact.”
“I only tried it once! And that was on the first day! Your calculations are all off!” shouted our visitor, who was becoming visibly upset. “Could you please tell me where the nearest Tube station is? I am going to miss my ship if I don-.”
“Watson! A true student of mine afterall!” said Holmes with a big smile on his face. “Now, there is still at least one or two more details that we need in order to complete this exercise.”
I studied our guest for a few moments before launching back into my analysis. “The darkness of the color on the top of his hands and arms compared to the underside, as well as the visible tension in his forearms leads me to believe that he rented some sort of vehicle to travel through the island of Ios. His forearms would be tense from gripping hard to some sort of handlebars, so I’m going to rule out the possibility of renting a mule. A scooter perhaps? Hmm…no. Too risky for this delicate boy. I would say he spent his third day on an ATV visiting different parts of the island of Ios. Beaches. Bays. Mountains. That seems more up his alley. That’s my guess.”
“How could you possibly know this?” the traveler asked. “Is this some sort of hidden camera show? What is going on here?”
“A man after my own heart!” exclaimed Holmes. “Your deductive abilities are beyond impressive, my dear Watson. I would have judged by the matted down hair that our man here had worn a helmet for extended periods of time, but I like the angle you took. Top form!”
“And now finally, let’s see,” I spoke out loud as I paced around our flabbergasted, worried looking foreigner. “Judging by his anxious personality, more than one night on Ios probably would have been too much for this young traveler (Although I have heard some people will stay up to 5 weeks in this place). I bet that after the ATVs, he took a ferry back to Piraeus, the main port town out of Athens, and spent his 4th and final day wandering the city of Athens.”
I eyed him again, attempting to illuminate the necessary clues to crack this puzzle. “He seems quite competitive, judging by his frightened warrior stance, but in no way athletically dexterous. Then that leaves games. He likes board games. What sorts of games are popular in Greece?” I paused to let the answer speak to me, waiting for my “A-Ha!” moment.
“He would have surely wandered through the Agoras, a major shopping area in Athens, and caught glimpse of the backgammon boards. That’s it! He bought a backgammon board and then, feeling the rush of his last day, carried on to sample some Greek food. Judging by the stain on his t-shirt, he tried the eggplant salad and ate it with such speed and ferocity that he spilled it all down his front. Quite a specimen you chose for me Holmes.”
“It was delicious! If you had sampled it, you would have inhaled it in the same way!” cried the tourist defensively.
“A+ Watson! You have passed my impromptu test with flying colors! I knew you would live up to the challenge!” He shook my hand firmly and patted me on the shoulder. “There is, however, one last mystery that you have not yet solved. For extra credit, please tell me: What is that odor?”
“To be honest,” I began, “I have been trying to figure that out the whole time. In the back of my mind I ran through all possibilities: High School Locker Room? The essence of raccoon? Rotting pumpkin?”
“Chaco,” muttered the traveller.
“What’s that?” questioned Holmes.
“You are smelling my Chaco sandals,” he sheepishly declared.
“Oh my,” I gasped.
“Indeed,” said Sherlock Holmes.
(I have been reading Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s “The Hound of Baskervilles.”
Thank you for humoring this writing exercise.
Casey)
