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Steven
Ward
mystery
writer
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A
Foreign Experience
Chapter
5 - Breakfast
Once safely behind
the locked door of my suite, I donned my
smoking jacket, lit another pipe, and
threw myself into my chair to ponder this
newest outrage. What struck me with the
fullest force was the conviction that I
was no victim of bizarre happenstance.
There was an intelligence behind all that
had occurred, I was now certain, and I
resolved in that moment to expose whoever
was responsible, before the voyage
terminated. I made this pledge as the
shadows of dusk gathered about me and, in
the evening stillness, felt anew that
curious fluttering sensation in my bosom
which I believe I correctly identified as
excitement.
I felt a burst of energy, both physical
and intellectual and, spurred-on by this,
sat at the desk which was positioned
beneath the porthole to plan my strategy.
I located Ships' paper in the desk-drawer,
took out my pen and wrote the following,
in bold strokes, across the top of the
page:
"Where are my brogues?"
With these provocative words emblazoned
before me, I undertook a process of
deliberation. It seemed to me unlikely
that the thief, having risked a great deal
to obtain my shoes, would forthwith
dispose of them, so I concluded that my
brogues were still aboard. If, then, they
remained in the possession of whoever had
appropriated them, where might be the most
effective place of concealment? The thief
would doubtless surmise that my first
action upon noticing my loss would be to
report the theft to the ships' captain.
He, in turn - given the seriousness of the
offence - would initiate an immediate
search of the ship which must lead to the
discovery of the missing items, so the
obvious places of concealment - wardrobe,
suitcase etc - must be ruled out. So what
would my clever thief do, I mused, what
would he do...?
It was at this point that Fate, or that
mysterious force to which I allude at the
beginning of this narrative, took a hand.
As I sat musing, my eye fell upon the
leather-bound book resting on the
night-stand by my bed. This was a
collection of tales penned by the popular
American author, Edgar Allen Poe, which I
had made it my habit to peruse immediately
before retiring each night. These were
fanciful, some might even say grotesque,
stories but they were undeniably thrilling
and very cleverly conceived. Absently I
reached across to pick up the volume and,
resting its spine on the surface of the
desk, allowed it to fall open as it may.
When the pages stopped turning of their
own volition, I peered closely to see
which of the stories "chance" had
selected. It was The Purloined Letter.
My heart missed a beat. I had read the
story only the night before (would this
explain why the book fell open so readily
at this page?) and it came to my mind
immediately; in short, this was the tale
of a man who was in the possession of a
stolen letter and, about to be discovered,
wondered where in his rooms it might be
safely hidden. His inspired solution was
to place the letter with some others, in
full view on his mantelpiece, adopting the
principle that that which was on display
had, by definition, no need of
concealment. The brilliant ruse worked,
and the parallel between that story and
the situation in which I found myself was
obvious - my thief would wear my shoes
upon his own feet! The conclusion was
inescapable. It followed, therefore, that
the person I was seeking was a man of
similar height and build to myself, and
this of course narrowed the field
considerably. I felt my pulse quicken with
the excitement of the chase, but the hour
was late and I decided that my best
opportunity to unmask the thief would be
the following morning when all the
passengers would be at breakfast or,
later, taking their post-breakfast stroll
on the Summer Deck. In the meantime, so as
not to arouse the suspicion of my
persecutor, I would make the expected
complaint to the Captain, and initiate the
fruitless search.....
* * * * * *
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