Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the mornings, save upon those not infrequent occasions when he was up all night, was seated at the breakfast table. I stood upon the hearth-rug and picked up the newspaper which our visitor had left behind him the night before. It was an Urdu daily called Siasat, published from Hyderabad. It was more than a year old issue.
"Well, Watson, what do you make of it?"
Holmes was sitting with his back to me, and I had given him no sign of my occupation.
"I think," said I, following as far as I could the methods of my companion, "that Siasat is well-esteemed by Hyderabad residents. Since I do not know Urdu, I cannot read it though.”
"Good!" said Holmes. "Excellent!"
“But, there is a report about the wife of Nizam whose property case is pending in a family court. Interestingly, the same article had appeared in HT of TOI. The author and photograph used are the same. Ironically it happens to be written by HT editor herself. The question is how can HT editor write the same article in another daily?” said Holmes.
“That is strange,” said I.
"And then again, the court verdict was in favour of the Nizam’s wife and she got property worth crores of rupees," said Holmes, pushing back his chair and lighting a cigarette.
“That’s quiet normal,” I said because I had often been piqued by his indifference to my admiration and to the attempts that I had made to give publicity to his methods.
“I had tried to sneak into the lady editor’s house in Banjara Hills one fine evening and dear Watson, I was taken aback to see the luxury the woman was enjoying at her capacious flat.” Then with an expression of interest he laid down his cigarette.
“Given the fact that she was an ordinary private school teacher a few years ago and taking into consideration the financial status she had those days, the whole chain of events turn very interesting,” Holmes was getting more complex.
“Has anything escaped me?" I asked with some self-importance. "I trust that there is nothing of consequence which I have overlooked?"
"I am afraid, my dear Watson, that most of the times your conclusions were erroneous. To be frank, in noting your fallacies I was occasionally guided towards the truth,” said Holmes.
“I, in the guise of a courier boy, frequented TOI office and counted the parcels that went to the lady’s cabin and I found them high in number and often big in size,” Holmes said with his inimitable smile.
"I enquired about her children’s lifestyle and honestly, they get everything free everywhere.”
I was getting confused.
“And what do you think of those pictures appearing in their Page 3 on and off?”
“They are very happening people in Hyderabad. They are the inner circle of the society,” I said.
“Oh, no Watson. They are not the elite people of this city. The elite never like to see the paper, leave alone being featured,” Holmes was really driving me nuts.
"You may be right," I said.
"The probability of this lady editor being very corrupt lies in that direction. And if we take this as a working hypothesis, we have to find out where she was most recently.”
“She can go on her personal works,” I was trying to defend the woman whom I always regarded as an eminent journalist.
"Well, then, that is why I say you are a moron. Leaving her husband and children, why did she go to the hot Turkey in this summer?”
Holmes was getting really serious.
"Do none suggest themselves? You know my methods. Apply your brain. I can only think of the obvious conclusion that the Princess she wrote a lot about in her paper belongs to Turkey. Now, if you think that you have little sense, try to link all these and come back to me tomorrow,” saying this, Holmes walked out of the room.
"Well, Watson, what do you make of it?"
Holmes was sitting with his back to me, and I had given him no sign of my occupation.
"I think," said I, following as far as I could the methods of my companion, "that Siasat is well-esteemed by Hyderabad residents. Since I do not know Urdu, I cannot read it though.”
"Good!" said Holmes. "Excellent!"
“But, there is a report about the wife of Nizam whose property case is pending in a family court. Interestingly, the same article had appeared in HT of TOI. The author and photograph used are the same. Ironically it happens to be written by HT editor herself. The question is how can HT editor write the same article in another daily?” said Holmes.
“That is strange,” said I.
"And then again, the court verdict was in favour of the Nizam’s wife and she got property worth crores of rupees," said Holmes, pushing back his chair and lighting a cigarette.
“That’s quiet normal,” I said because I had often been piqued by his indifference to my admiration and to the attempts that I had made to give publicity to his methods.
“I had tried to sneak into the lady editor’s house in Banjara Hills one fine evening and dear Watson, I was taken aback to see the luxury the woman was enjoying at her capacious flat.” Then with an expression of interest he laid down his cigarette.
“Given the fact that she was an ordinary private school teacher a few years ago and taking into consideration the financial status she had those days, the whole chain of events turn very interesting,” Holmes was getting more complex.
“Has anything escaped me?" I asked with some self-importance. "I trust that there is nothing of consequence which I have overlooked?"
"I am afraid, my dear Watson, that most of the times your conclusions were erroneous. To be frank, in noting your fallacies I was occasionally guided towards the truth,” said Holmes.
“I, in the guise of a courier boy, frequented TOI office and counted the parcels that went to the lady’s cabin and I found them high in number and often big in size,” Holmes said with his inimitable smile.
"I enquired about her children’s lifestyle and honestly, they get everything free everywhere.”
I was getting confused.
“And what do you think of those pictures appearing in their Page 3 on and off?”
“They are very happening people in Hyderabad. They are the inner circle of the society,” I said.
“Oh, no Watson. They are not the elite people of this city. The elite never like to see the paper, leave alone being featured,” Holmes was really driving me nuts.
"You may be right," I said.
"The probability of this lady editor being very corrupt lies in that direction. And if we take this as a working hypothesis, we have to find out where she was most recently.”
“She can go on her personal works,” I was trying to defend the woman whom I always regarded as an eminent journalist.
"Well, then, that is why I say you are a moron. Leaving her husband and children, why did she go to the hot Turkey in this summer?”
Holmes was getting really serious.
"Do none suggest themselves? You know my methods. Apply your brain. I can only think of the obvious conclusion that the Princess she wrote a lot about in her paper belongs to Turkey. Now, if you think that you have little sense, try to link all these and come back to me tomorrow,” saying this, Holmes walked out of the room.
