I returned back down the street, and retired for the night at an inn, feeling uncertain. Felicia must have been awfully angry with me, to not even say a word. It was usually in her nature to have the last say. I felt quite certain I must have done something else to irritate her, though I had no idea of what I had done. Perhaps, I mused, she really had known about Twilight’s past. But, as was standard, my mind was on other things - In this instance, Twilight’s guilt. I had been turning all the evidence in my head as I lay in my bed, for I did not sleep well, and I had decided that her actions qualified some suspicion. Even though Macintosh must have been an extremely good actor, I thought, what he had said about Twilight’s past – more specifically, asking me not to inquire into it – made me suspicious. I could see he did not want to talk about it, and that was as good as I got from him throughout the entire night, but her, on the other hoof...
The bruise and the nervous behaviour. Those were the two things that made my mind spring to her as the criminal instantly. I remembered that Rarity had struck out at the thief, and there was the bruise in my mind’s eye –as clear as day. But then at the same time, its appearance was suspicious – why not hide it? And it was not of the shape that a hoof might leave – it was far too slender and immaculately crescent-shaped, not unlike the waning moon. Hooves were thicker, and well-curved. But still, a bruise it was, and in the shape of a hoof it might have been… I had not much time to examine it.
I rose early, and paced my room in the manner of Pones, my tired mind hoping that the act would reveal some kind of inspiration to me. The fact she was a unicorn made me fairly certain. The fact that her height and shape matched Fluttershy, who we had originally expected to be the owner of the other set of hoofmarks outside of the boutique, made me quite definitely certain. And yet, something was clearly amiss, for as suspicious as she was, Macintosh was not.
In any case, I found at that point that I had been pacing for several hours, and that it was now eight o’clock. Needing something to do, I got up properly, dressed, and decided to visit Twilight once more. I had decided that I needed to see that bruise, with or without Pones, and I had the perfect excuse to do so.
The library was not hard to find – for as Fluttershy had said, it looked exactly like a very large house built into the hollow of a gargantuan oak tree. It was nestled, as if it were a perfectly normal place to live, in a more spacious area of town, opposite a handful of shops and houses, and it sported a balcony, equipped with a telescope and a table and chair, and some windows of varying shape and size. There was not much more to say, for other its brown bark walls and roof made entirely from leaves, it was just like a giant tree, though much thicker round its base where the door was. Around A hook beside the door there was a sign, with the opening times written in a neat, cursive script.
I rapped a few times on it.
“Coming!” said a familiar voice. Open it swung, and I was greeted once again by the excessively studious mare.
“Sorry, I haven’t quite opened ye-” she began, but I saw her eyes widen slightly as she recognised me. I put on my most earnest smile and looked at my watch.
“The sign says seven thirty!” I laughed, to which she seemed to regain a little bit of her composure. “Too much cider with Macintosh after we left?”
“Err… yes! I am a little hungover,” she said shyly. “What brings you so early?”
“I had wanted to look for some more books by this author,” I said, and at this point I reached into my breast pocket, producing from it the small leather-bound novel that Fluttershy had given me.
“Very well, I’m sure I can oblige you. What’s the author’s name?” Twilight asked, levitating the book away from my grasp and opening it.
“There is none – it is an alias.”
“H.R.H.C?” She inquired, glancing back at the title and then to me, to which I shrugged.
“I was hoping you might know.”
“Well, I’m not entirely sure, but maybe I have some more books. Come in, I suppose,” she turned and went inside, and I followed.
For me, books were my emotional universe when I was growing up. To read them… It was, simply put, like being loved for me. My mother had never shown me great affection, for she was often highly involved in her work as a surgeon, and my father was similarly occupied as the chief of staff at Cloplin hospital, which was almost a day’s journey away, so he was rarely at home.
I had only myself and my little sister to entertain me, and so reading became my pastime, and libraries like this one became my home whenever my mother was not around. I was not bookish by nature, but I fell into their fantastic spells that they cast: each book would act like a window into another realm of time and space – and not just into the fictitious landscapes they described. Though I liked novels a great deal in just this way, as I grew older, I came to remember them as snapshots in my own world rather then theirs, and they became connected to very specific memories in my life.
One very fine winter morning, the family began the usual pilgrimage we would make every year to Canterlot, where we would visit relatives over the wrap-up holidays. The very standard journey was bought to a halt when my sister, who had been ill from birth, fell sick halfway. We stopped and spent the night in Cloplin, booking in at an old inn in the heart of the town. Her condition was obviously not the best, as at one point there was nopony in the room of the inn barring me. I remember feeling quite afraid and alone – being nine years old at the time, such an experience was unusual and bizarre. So I curled up on the rather uncomfortable mattress with The Mystery of Canterlot Keep and dived into its noirish opening paragraph: “At the Police Headquarters in Canterlot, Equestria…”
Almost fifteen years later, I remembered nearly every detail of that inn room: the strange red stripe of the bedcover, the wooden cupboards, the curtains made of gauze that jealously guarded a path out to a wide veranda. I even remember the smell of damp outside, for it had been raining in a manner most unusual to the season – the sound of it pattering off the iron roofing, the darkness outside… And with it all, of course, I remember most vividly the comfort I felt. Even though such a thing is quite illogical for a learned doctor to understand, I felt protected. I was alone in such a strange and foreign room, and yet with that book in my hooves I was safe.
As I wrote this recount of Pones, it struck me, that as a writer, Doctor, and now detective, I’ve somehow managed to live my life as I had dreamt of as a child. The dream of following my parents in medicine, and the childish pursuit of becoming entangled in a world of mystery that, before I met Pones, I had believed to exist only in fantasy. Every step of the way thus far I had been privy to the joys of his extraordinary mind, and the strange intrigue of the work of almost fictitious mystery that I had been plunged into. My senses were attuned, and everywhere we went there awaited adventure and exploration, and the promise of curiosity and problem-solving.
Allow me to summarize by saying that it is a strange feeling to realise that you have achieved your own nirvana. At such a moment, one becomes filled with gratitude for life’s flexibility and variety, for all of the immeasurable twists and turns can now and again weave, without any falsehood, the dreams and happiness of the past with the very real present.
The interior of the Library was quite extraordinary, even if the exterior was not. It was hollowed out entirely, and was was quite large in size –and there were several majestic bookshelves that were literally carved out of the walls. Floral patterns and motifs were delicately crafted into their edges, and just to the right of me there was a ladder that led to a loft area, but my attention from hereon in was distracted, for all of the library's strange interior paled in comparison to the books.
I have never seen so many in one place! They were packed into every window-shelf and corner, and every possible nook and cranny was filled from top to bottom with as many novels and dictionaries and texts of every shape, size and colour as one could imagine. I stood for a moment, amazed at the sheer amount of them in front of my eyes, and then my eyes went further skyward. The bookshelves were vastly tall, and they scaled to high so that the walls themselves gave the appearance of being made of books, and where they touched the ceiling there was painted a mural of a sparkling sun.
“My word,” I uttered, for I was blown away by the enormity of the place.
“Why, thank you!” Replied Twilight perkily, as if she had read my thoughts. I looked back down to earth and noticed her milling about in front of me, levitating a small step-ladder.
“Spike!” She called loudly, and I heard from above my heard a rustling sound. I did not have time to look up, though, for in front of me onto the floor there fell a very small purple blur. It landed on all fours with a gigantic thud, but then stretched out, and I realised in my half-shocked state, that I was looking at a young dragon.
“Spike!” Twilight said again sternly. “Don’t jump from your bunk to the ground floor – I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told you not to do that!” She shunted him to one side and inspected the floor closely for marks in a highly fastidious manner.
Spike, who had appeared not to notice me, yawned.
“Jeez, Twi, what’s eating you?”
I coughed politely to attract his attention and avoid frightening him, but he jumped all the same. He spun around, surveying me with a good deal of surprise – it seemed that he was not used to having customers early in the morning.
“Doctor Trotson,” I said.
“Spike. Just Spike,” he replied before squinting at me a little bit. “Did you have dinner with Twilight last night?”
I was surprised and pleased that I had merited a mention to her little companion. Twilight, who had finished examining the floor, had resumed her search for my unknown author, tracing a slow, circular path around the edge of the room, mumbling to herself.
“That’s right,” I replied.
Spike yawned again. “Gosh, you’re up early.”
“I thought I’d look for more by this author before I forgot,” I lied.
The little purple and green fellow made a noise of complacency, shrugging.
“Are you, err…” I thought of how delicately to put this, for he was clearly not her son.
“Her assistant?” He inquired obliviously, and I nodded swiftly. Again, that had not been what I was thinking of – I was thinking along the lines of manservant, but she did not appear to have regarded him as such, so perhaps it was for the best that I had paused.
“Yup, that’s me!” He stuck his little chest out proudly. “I help her find everything. She’s so disorganised,” he said, casting a glance back at Twilight to make sure she could not hear us. Twilight was still tracing the spines of the books with her hoof, her gaze going up and down, and up and down – her hoof!
I had been about to suggest that he help her when I saw it first. As such, a little burble of astonishment came forth from my open mouth, for the bruise had vanished completely!
“What’s up?” Said Spike, looking back to me.
“Her forehoof!” I said quietly. I did not want her to hear me – after all, her innocence was still very much in doubt.
Spike appeared nonplussed by my evident surprise, “What about it?”
“Didn’t you see it yesterday?” I hissed. “It had the most awful bruise upon it!”
“Did it?” He said, and he turned his little head back to Twilight quickly, picking up on the issue’s sensitivity. “I think you must be mistaken, Doctor – I was with her all yesterday, and I didn’t see any bruise then.”
I scarcely had time to excuse myself for my ‘mistake’, even though in my mind it was far from it, as Twilight’s voice echoed out from the back of the circular hollow.
“Found one!”
We both cantered over for a look. Twilight presented, rather triumphantly, a rather new-looking book, done in much the same way as the old one was, except that its cover was green.
“Canterlot Crime, by H.R.H.C.,” she said proudly, thrusting the novel towards us with an outstretched hoof. I took the opportunity to confirm my earlier surprise – There was no bruise upon it. Not wanting her to notice as she had last night, I took the book from her.
“Is there an Author’s name for this one?” I inquired.
“No – but you were just after the books, right?”
“Yes, I was…” I said absentmindedly, pocketing the book. Twilight, apparently satisfied that I had been served, turned away and picked up a few more books with the intent of stowing them away in their proper place on the endless shelves.
“Now, where does this go?...” she murmured. I glanced back at Spike, bemused by her apparent enthusiasm for neatness over sociability, and we walked back to the entrance.
“Is that all you needed?” He asked, scratching his chin with a claw. “Seems like an awful lot of trouble to get up so early in the morning for just one book.”
“Well, my early start is not entirely wasted, for I wanted to have a look around town before I go for lunch with my friend, who I am travelling with.”
“You’re not a local?”
“No, currently I live in Canterlot. I’m just down here on a little bit of business.”
Spike sniffed a little.
“Just like that Riesling.”
“Do you know of him?”
“Yeah, that was Twilight’s ex-coltfriend,” he said casually. “They broke up about a month ago.”
“Do you know anything about their break-up?” I inquired without thinking.
Spike fixed me with a suspicious squint once more.
“What’s it to you?”
“Nothing! Some ponies just said it was very serious,” I said a little too quickly for my own liking. I would later scold myself for such a blunder, but for now the little dragon did not appear to notice.
“Well, I don’t even know anything about that. They spent evenings together, and ever since she started seeing him she’s been letting me off work early, so I never saw much of him.” He sighed a little. "Good thing she let me keep my evenings off when they broke up."
“What were your impressions of him?”
“Eh, he was nice enough,” he replied casually. “A little temperamental though, if you know what I mean.”
“No, I can’t say I do – I only met him for the first time yesterday, you see.”
“Oh – well, not that it’s anything bad, it’s just that he’d get stirred up pretty easily. Not one to joke around.”
From the way that he spoke, I doubted that the young assistant would have any real clue for me, so I said my goodbye to Twilight and followed Spike to the door. He opened it before me with a polite bow.
“Thank you sir,” I said with a smile. Such an affable gesture I hadn’t seen from such a young lad since I was in Canterlot, and it caused me to ask after him. “Where do you come from?”
“Canterlot,” he replied. “I grew up with Twi’, so she’s like my bigger sister in a sense.”
“Do you know Rarity, then?” I asked, hoping in a rather vain way that the little Dragon had somehow come to know the elegant and fashionable designer. His response took me somewhat by surprise, for it was both unexpected and quite enthusiastic.
“Oh, absolutely!” He replied eagerly, and a dreamy look fell about his features. “How could one not?”
I could see that he was quite taken with her, though their difference in years must have been about six or seven. He spoke for a while about her, but I will not include it for the sake of embarrassing him – and due to the fact that nearly all this polite conversation was overshadowed with what he said next.
“…Yes, ever since I’ve had the evenings off, I’ve been going to hers to help clean up after work.” He gave another little sigh of happiness. “Just spending time around her is good enough, and she even gave me a key because I was so helpful.”
The comment did not need repeating. I fear my face whitened, though I could not tell if the lad noticed or not, for he was still talking about Rarity distractedly. I made up my mind to go immediately to Pones and tell him of what I knew. When I told the dragon I had to go, he seemed a little put out. Presumably, somepony willing to listen to his monologue was a rare thing.
“Come again soon!” He cried. I mumbled a very forced goodbye before cantering away as swiftly as I could without being suspicious, intent on finding my companion as soon as possible.
I did not wait till one but instead went straight to the café where Pones and I had agreed we would eat lunch. Spike’s inadvertent confession had made me almost positive of Twilight’s guilt. It was a nervous thought, that made my stomach bubble in a sickly fashion, for so kind and happy was she that I could scarcely stand the idea in my own brain.
The café was quite full of ponies going about their day as I arrived and sat, some of them drinking coffee from small, perfect white cups set on equally pristine saucers. I did not order anything for as close to half an hour, eventually conceding not because I was hungry, but because I needed something to take my mind off of the information I had so ungainly stumbled upon.
We had agreed not to meet till one; but much to my relief Pones had strolled by the café front at almost eleven, whereupon I spotted him and hailed him.
“I have heard of being prompt, Trotson, but this is ridiculous!” He said jovially as he approached. But, as he came closer and saw the expression on my face, his cheerful demeanour vanished like a wisp of smoke from his pipe. He had read my mind through my own, and did not waste any time in speaking to me.
“You have seen something,” said he, his brow furrowed in concern.
I opened my mouth and began to explain, but he held up a hoof for silence.
“I know most of what you say before you speak, doctor, but here and now is not the place.” His gaze did not flicker as he beckoned me. “Come, follow me.”
I followed, my burning desire to tell all that I had known intensified twofold by his serious nature. We departed the cafe began to walk swiftly.
“Quietly, now, walk beside me and talk as you do," Pones hissed. "Do not look back. We are going straight to the police station before that fool Lestrade risks everything by arresting her.”
I did not bother to ask how Pones had reached his conclusion, but could not hide my amazement.
“Why are we moving?” I inquired as I came to him. “Have you seen something?”
“I have, and I have also attained other things. One of them is a client list from Rarity, but you will learn the meaning of it in good time. For now, talk.”
I did as I was bade, all the while forcing myself to stare straight ahead as we strode swiftly away from the cafe. I told of last night and this morning, mentioning in particular the bruise on Twilight’s foreleg that must have undoubtedly come from Rarity’s swing. Pones was focusing on a point on the road far ahead as I spoke, walking swiftly with his brow furrowed and small auburn eyes unblinking. It was a long while before he spoke, though I talked as quickly as I could, being careful not to miss any details concerning her or Macintosh.
“And you are sure it had vanished this morning when you saw her?”
“I am positive, or else I am no doctor.”
“And of Riesling – he said nothing of interest to you on the way into town?”
“Nothing other then what I’ve told you,” I replied, but then I faltered, for I realised that Pones could not have known who Riesling was.
“How did you-?”
“No time,” he replied. “But that is good to know. What of this Assistant fellow who has the key?”
“He is a young dragon who holds a key to Rarity’s boutique, and he is also her assistant. They grew up together - a little brother of hers, he said.”
“Good,” He said firmly, and with this conjecture, he yanked me to the left. “This way.”
We now were headed down a quiet street between two shops. Pones seemed to be hurried about something.
“We must be swift, before Lestrade blunders.”
I was surprised by his mannerisms. “But surely she is the thief? Unless you are simply determined to beat Lestrade to the punch, of course. ”
He clicked his tongue chidingly, which I came to know as a very common display of his elusive nature. “Firstly, I have already told you as much that I do not desire glory, and secondly, she is and she isn’t. I will tell you more when we get there.”
No sooner had he finished saying these words then there fell upon my ears the sound of wailing. Red and blue lights flashed by the end of the darkened corridor of brick, followed by the silhouette of a police cart.
“Blast!” Said Pones, halting in his tracks. “Lestrade has also learned of the key!”
“We should go to the Library quickly!” I said, turning to go back, but Pones caught me by the collar before I could.
“Don’t turn!” He hissed to me, pushing me forward. “We are being followed. Or rather, you are. Now go to the library the long way. Walk slowly, and I will catch up with you.”
I cantered forward a few soft steps, not daring to look back at my companion as he took a quick step to the left into another darker portion of the alleyway, vanishing almost instantly. Do not ask me how he melted into the shadows, for I will never know. As Pones said to me later, there were ‘arts far beyond the knowledge of many that proved useful in my line of work’.
I decided to route back to the library as fast as I could without being conspicuous, my head in a whirl about the details. I burned to learn of Pones’ doings, or why he had stopped and told me to go on, or who was following us, but I drilled all my determination into doing as he asked. Such a stallion of planning and action was he that I scarce doubted that he did not have a backup plan.
I arrived at the front gate of the library again having not looked back. It was not far from the café where I had waited to the library, and sure enough Pones had been correct. We had been beaten by the Police. Parked outside there were several wagons; the blue and white logo of the Ponyville police embossed boldly into the side, their brass wheels polished and gleaming. At the gate there stood a weary yet extremely burly Pegasus in a blue uniform, no doubt the driver of the cart. As I approached, he strode towards me.
“Sir, stay back. Police only.”
“Has she been arrested?” I inquired, peering over his shoulder. He appeared surprised by my deduction, for to him I was only a civilian, but he snapped the order back all the same.
“Stay back,” he repeated, snorting a little so that his great white mane shivered in the sunny morning air.
“It’s quite alright, constable, he’s the doctor Lestrade called for,” said Pones’ voice from behind me. I spun, and found that he had re-appeared as swiftly as he had left, and behind him, much to my surprise, was Riesling. My mouth began to form surprise that I quickly curtailed.
“That’s right,” I said, turning back to the constable. The constable, who appeared to recognise Pones, nodded and opened the gate before us.
“Very well, sir.”
I entered, and Pones did too, though not before he suddenly stopped and turned. So swiftly he turned that he thudded right into Riesling, who was looking rather confused and upset, and he jumped back a little in surprise.
“Riesling, stay here. I have bade you came because it is only fitting that you see the end of all this,” Pones said firmly, seeming to ignore the collision. Riesling swallowed and nodded.
“I don’t want Twilight to go away,” he said pitifully. “Of course, if what you said is true, then I cannot do anything, can I?”
“Fear not,” Pones said, brushing past the constable in order to gain access to the library door. He was focused, determined, and I nimbly dodged out of his way as he very nearly ploughed through me, opening the door. I, for one, was quite confused, for I thought I understood all that there was to be known, and I cast a quizzical glance over at Riesling, who nodded a wordless hello. No sooner had the door swung open then my attention snapped back to the task at hand, and I walked into the library.
As I entered, my eyes fell first upon two things. The first was the form of Macintosh, who was pinned to the floor by two exceptionally large unicorns, and Twilight, who was standing as far away from the three of them as she could get, tears streaming down her face without word. Lestrade stood between her and us, and he looked fairly triumphant. He had in his hoofs a pair of cuffs, and he slapped them on Macintosh’s wrists, which had been forcibly placed behind his head. Macintosh was not struggling, but was clearly frightened into silence by the whole ordeal. There was a certain ruthless efficiency to it that immediately struck me as cold and harsh, and the vindictive smile upon Lestrade’s face as he turned to me amplified this.
“Ah, Doctor Trotson and Sherclop Pones,” he said with a small cry of mirthful joy. “I’m afraid I’ve gotten in ahead of you!”
Pones did not bother with any trivialities spoke to Lestrade and with the same steely disregard that he had shown to me not minutes ago.
“You have arrested him, too?” Pones inquired, the edge of his voice as sharp as a knife.
“Yes. We first tried to arrest her, and he could not bear to watch it. Miss Sparkle screamed when I tried to cuff her, to which Mr. Macintosh took some offense and hit me.” To this, he nodded over at Macintosh. “He did not agree to come quietly.”
“I’m tellin yer,” Macintosh interjected from the ground, with a sudden heave of his great body that shifted the two heavy unicorns on top of him, “I didn’t do nothin’!”
“Oh come now, Macintosh!” Said Lestrade scornfully. “If you are going to make a liar out of yourself, at least make it convincing!”
Macintosh eyed him angrily from the ground where he lay pinned.
“I didn’t do nothin’,” he said again defiantly.
Lestrade turned to Pones, as if seeking his approval for a job well done. Pones nodded, and then pointed a hoof at twilight.
“And of her?”
“She will be taken in as his accomplice,” said he.
“What evidence have you to suggest that both of these two are thieves?”
“We have Rarity’s testimony, of course!”
My mind thought back to what Rarity had told me.
“You have seen her again since?” I said, recalling that Lestrade had left.
“Yes, I saw her again this morning, to which she described her assailant as a thin, lithe unicorn.”
“And at what point did you conclude that Mr. Macintosh falls under this description?”
Lestrade shook his head knowingly.
“Ah, Pones, I have discovered that there was an unmatched set of hoofprints that fit Macintosh’s weight and height almost immaculately.”
“And that is your only reasoning?”
“Not at all – in fact, I would not have known whose they were, were it not for the fact that Rarity mentioned that she had given a spare copy of the key to this little fellow here.” He pointed to my right, and I noticed that Spike had been standing by the door the entire time. He looked terrified.
“He had nothing to do with it, of course,” Lestrade continued idly, waving a hoof back at Twilight. “She simply took the key from him, abused her friend’s trust and easily stole the gems. As a friend, she knew that Rarity would be out that evening with one Miss Dash, with whom she is also a friend, and as such took the time to enact her plan most precariously. And indeed, she matches the description of the thief, and also explains one other important element of the crime.”
“And what might that be?” I asked.
He turned to me proudly. “Rarity was never harmed by the thief. Twilight was taken by surprise, but did not want to hurt her.”
"Tell me then, Lestrade – how do you then pin Macintosh to the crime?” Said Pones.
“They are lovers, are they not?” He inquired.
“Indeed they are,” I interrupted, “but that is not proof enough.”
“Ah,” said he. “But it is true that Mr. Macintosh’s business has suffered lately, thus giving him a motive and more than a good enough reason to be there.”
I could see Lestrade’s reasoning in determining Twilight’s guilt. Macintosh’s less so, but he was still the most likely suspect. It was Pones who then spoke next.
“How do you know it is not some other stallion and Unicorn?”
“How then would they have the key – as you know very well, the lock of the door was not forced.”
I jumped in alarm. I had entirely forgotten to examine the door or ask of it; though from the look on Pones’ face the opposite was true for him. He seemed to nod in acknowledgement.
“Indeed, it was not forced, and it was unlocked by a key.”
“Then it is indeed Miss Sparkle,” Lestrade said, to which he turned back to Twilight, holding a hoof out to her.
“Now, if you’ll come along quietly, Miss,” he said coaxingly. Twilight had been listening. She was hyperventilating, and the way in which she staggered as she took a step forward told me that she was very close to going into shock. She was shivering, and the poor thing even flinched at the soft touch of the detective on her foreleg, as if it had caused her great pain.
“And furthermore,” Lestrade said, “Rarity claimed she had hit her assailant, and I’ll wager…” at this, he beckoned to Pones. “I need to borrow that reagent of yours.”
Pones obliged, withdrawing the small vial. Lestrade withdrew a handkerchief before dabbing some of the liquid lightly on the cloth and then rubbing it on Twilight’s foreleg. The action made her wince and flinch once more, and immediately the area where he had rubbed turned a very dark shade.
“As I suspected, she has hidden the wound inflicted to her by Rarity!” He cried, jumping back with a shout.
Twilight could not handle this much – it was the straw that broke her back. She burst into tears. It was truly the most pitiable sight that I have ever had the misfortune to see, and Macintosh flinched to hear her soft wails of anguish.
“Pones,” I said audibly, and he turned to me.
“Yes?” He responded. He was busy filling his pipe with tobacco.
“Is this true?”
“Yes, it is all true.”
Lestrade smiled in a rather pleased way. He was undoubtedly proud of his efforts.
“There is one thing, though,” Pones added.
“And that is?” I inquired hopefully.
Pones was the centre of attention now. He did not seem to notice, however, starting his pacing around the room, while Twilight watched him, terrified.
“You do not know the story behind this case. I do," he mumbled as he lit the tobacco. "The mere knowing of this little tale is a small thing, however when coupled with the other details that I have observed, gives rise to another conclusion.”
Lestrade eyed him incredulously.
“Are you suggesting that she is innocent?”
“She is indeed.”
The silence was dead and total.
"You must hear the statement of her last lover to know the full truth,” Pones continued. “I have brought him here today.” At this, he turned to me.
“Would you fetch Riesling from outside for me?”
I obliged, leaving the place and calling his name from the front door. Riesling, who was pacing anxiously outside, jumped at his name being called.
“Yes?” He inquired.
“Pones calls for you,” I replied, and he followed me back in.
Re-entering the library, I found that Macintosh had been stood back onto his feet. The constables had not let him go, and he was still cuffed around the wrists, that same sad and melancholic look on his face that had been on it when I first met him.
Riesling followed after me with a somewhat unsure air, and strode up next to me, surveying the scene with evident surprise. At that instant, there was a sharp click, the jangling of metal, and Sherclop Pones sprang from our right.
“Sirs,” he cried, with flashing eyes, “Let me introduce you to the thief of the Lion's diamond!”
Riesling gave a start, and there was a simultaneous gasp of surprise and shock from all in the room. The winemaker looked down at one hoof, which had been cuffed.
“What is the meaning of this?!” Cried Lestrade as he took a few steps towards Riesling. Pones waved him silent with a commanding hoof.
“In solving a problem of this sort, Lestrade, the grand thing is to be able to reason backwards.” he said, glancing over at Lestrade with indifference. The inspector’s puzzled face brought a smile to his own thin, grey features. “…No, I hardly expect you to understand. Let me see if I can make it clearer.”
He put his pipe to his lips – I had almost forgotten it in the excitement, but he appeared to have been complacent enough to let it linger in his grasp, even while half-cuffing the oblivious Riesling. A match appeared from nowhere, was struck, and the pipe burned into life.
“I begin early yesterday morning. I approached the boutique, as you know, on foot, and saw the details of the pathway almost immediately. Upon it were the marks of hooves, which I later ascertained by inquiry were left there during the night. I then walked over the pathway, but this was not a mistake, for I needed an impression. Having observed swiftly the sets of hooves, I needed a reference point to gauge them against – My companion and I were more than ideal for this task. My end result was a stallion of around my height and his weight. I satisfied myself that it was a large stallion by the width of his mark. This was then the first point I gained.”
He walked over to the bound Macintosh and put a hoof on the gentlepony’s manacled wrists.
“I then walked slowly down the side of the path, which was of a soft clay in composure – particularly suited, as you noticed, for taking impressions, and seeing as it had rained recently, even more so. There is no branch of detective science which is so important and so much neglected as the art of tracking steps. I spotted the heavy footfall of the constables, the light pitter patter of the lady Rarity, my companion’s, my own, your own, and one other set, which you initially - and rather foolishly - assumed belonged to Fluttershy. I suspected otherwise, and questioned her. It turns out, she had not walked the path – only flown over it in her anxiety, and as such there left room for two criminals.”
Lestrade was stung by this remark, and I could see it, but he still thought the better of his conclusion all the same.
“Does that not prove my point more?” He said curiously. I could tell he was not bitter for being reprimanded, and as such I knew that at his heart he was a stout fellow earnestly doing his best, but Pones ignored him all the same.
“I returned to the Boutique after I had seen fluttershy, so as to gain a second, uninterrupted look at the pathway. It was easy enough to tell that it was they who had been in the night, before any others, for their marks were wiped and blunted by both rain and other hoofprints. It occurred as strange to me, though, that the footfall of the thief built like fluttershy was not alone. Why do you need two thieves to do one’s job? I shall arrive at that point later.”
He turned his attention back to Macintosh’s manacled hooves, holding them up to the light
“I saw that the footstep of the heavy-set stallion was of a very fine shoe, if you recall me telling you as much, Trotson,” he said, and I became aware that he was addressing me. I was oblivious – I had not thought that the wear of his shoe was very important at all, though he was quite correct.
“So you did,” I replied. “And, as I found out later, Macintosh is not –or has not, until recently, done well in his business, and such a thing would be quite beyond his funds.”
Pones nodded, and continued.
“Indeed, Trotson. In this way, my second clue was formed. One of the thieves was wealthy – this I knew from the elegant impression of his shoes and that he was tall and broad from the imprint they made, and the other thief was shoed in a fairly plain and ordinary manner, though she was of a light and lithe build. They were both also young, for their strides were long.”
He let go of Macintosh and resumed his paces around the room.
“Upon entering the boutique, I noticed a few things. The chest lay before me, and I tested it to see if it had been opened by magic. It had; and yet the front-door had not, and there was no sign of the scrape of a pick upon the silver lock. By the door, there was a disturbance – many pallets of silk and fabric ready to be sewn into gowns, except for one particular pallet closest to the door, which was upset and disturbed. This, I later concluded, was where the second thief was in Rarity’s testimony. The second thief was hidden just out of sight, while the unicorn attempted to levitate the box. As for the chest itself, it had been dropped as if in surprise and horror, so clearly the thief was nervous or amateurish.”
He stopped at a bookshelf, idly brushing a speck of dust from his coat.
“I was not entirely certain, though, as to the identity of either. What was the reasoning for it? Money, clearly, for Rarity was unharmed. A business rival, perhaps? Not so, for Miss Rarity has no competitors on such a scale, and has a good background in suppliers, as guaranteed by her mother’s lineage as a jeweller. The answer then is personal gain, and so I understood that perhaps our thief might be ailing for money. Indeed, Inspector, all these clues might point to Mr. Macintosh over here, but from the way Trotson described him when I met him recently (and with my recent inspection) I can determine that he could not have been the fellow in question, as his business is faring quite well now, and he has no need of such wealth, so there is your theory quite in the dustbin.”
Lestrade objected.
“That is not what I have heard,” he said. “Up until very recently, Sweet Apple Acres was doing very poorly.”
“Yes, and up until very recently, Miss Rarity was in possession of some gems. A business does not become more successful from an overnight injection of money, Lestrade, not particularly when the profit is made on the quality of one’s orchards, which take seasons to grow,” replied Pones.
Macintosh breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
“So, I left the boutique for the second time, and met with an associate of mine to determine who it might have been. I had very little clues thus far, but I inadvertently came upon some news of a newcomer to town.”
Here, he gestured to Riesling, who was still looking wounded and offended.
“He came to the bar where I was, and I did not recognise him. That is unusual enough, for I know almost everypony in this town. I was told later by my associate that he was quite wealthy, and had started a vineyard in competition with Mr. Macintosh’s orchard. Anyway - he spoke to the barkeeper, went into the back room and returned a few minutes later looking a good deal angrier. I took a sip of the wine itself to sample it and found it quite poor, and a quick chat with the barkeeper determined just that. The wine was not as good as it could be. I thought nothing of Riesling initially - just another observation, but another crucial piece of information was revealed to me that was most important.”
At this, he turned to Twilight.
“Miss Punch informed me that he was your last lover – correct?”
She nodded silently. She had stopped her sobs, but instead continued to cry silent tears.
“And the end of the relationship was one full of vitriol and anger, correct?”
She nodded again.
“Well, now, as I thought, that was rather a strange thing, for he seemed a well to do gentlepony. He also seemed to deliberate heavily on where to go when he reached the door, which gave me cause to leave the bar and follow after him - to which he went straight to the library. It was there I was forced to leave him, for such was his attitude in approaching the place that he very nearly saw me. Even disguised, I could not risk it – but it provided my first inkling of something far more untoward, and later when he left for his home, he seemed ruffled by something.”
He then pointed at me.
“Now my companion enters into the story. He met Miss Sparkle later that evening – I watched her leave the library, and she seemed most strange in her stride, and walked almost with a limp.”
Macintosh blanched, his lips pressing together as he looked at his partner.
“You wouldn’t,” he said with a disbelieving tone. She said nothing, but averted her eyes from Macintosh. It was as good a consenting nod as he could get. He couldn’t find words to express his dismay, instead looking back at the floor. His confusion and anger had been replaced by one emotion, and I recognised that one very much – abandonment.
“I had already made up my mind that now there was something unpleasant happening. I went to Riesling’s vineyard on the outskirts of the town and there he almost caught me again, only on accident, for he was leaving to go back into town. There he met my companion, and, as I saw later, revealed one very telling thing that assisted in my suspicion, and that I had already seen at the bar. He is very quick to anger.”
I remembered the way that he had spoken of Twilight’s treachery, and realised that he was quite correct.
“If that had been all there was to it, then that would have made no difference,” he continued. “But unfortunately for him, Miss Twilight made a telling mistake.”
At this, he snatched the vial of magical agent and the handkerchief that he had used back from the surprised Lestrade, and strode over to her.
“You see her foreleg now, that my companion informed me of this morning. It is clearly a bruise – one that is recent. Doctor, do you find it to be so?” He looked at me.
“Yes, it is most certainly two days or so – that section of the foreleg is mostly muscle, and the bleeding that caused the bruise has since stopped.”
He nodded, pausing to take a pull of his pipe.
“And, tell me, is it plausible that a lady of Rarity’s size or stature could inflict such a blow?”
A sudden spark appeared in my head. Where it trailed I did not want to think, but my mind teetered on the very edge of the thought, and it caused the essence of my soul shrink in disgust. Pones turned back to Twilight.
“Now hold still, my dear, this won’t hurt at all,” he said comfortingly, dabbing the formula onto the cloth and then using it to wipe away her tears.
As he did so, I became certain there was some error to my eyes. Twilight’s face blackened in splotches and dabs, and as Pones ran the kerchief around her face, I noticed distinctive patterns. Crescent-shaped ones. Very much like...
“Hidden by magic in the perfect shape of the hoof that laid it,” he said quietly, tenderly wiping the last tear from Twilight’s cheek before stepping away.
I am a doctor, and I was mortified. Let us say that much of my own horror. But fie upon my own concern for her, for it paled in comparison to Macintosh’s. At the sight of the bruises his voice broke in a cry and his legs gave way, and I could scarcely blame him. There were two, large, hoof-shaped marks on her face that were most distinct, where undoubtedly she had been hit around the eye and cheek, and one around the neck as well.
“As one might assume, the work of some treacherous villain,” Pones said. “Rarity only struck once, and they were not as severe as these were, which gives question to their appearance now. Why are they there? Why would this be done to such a lovely young mare?”
Here, he turned back to me finally. His eyes were filled with a cold, deep spite that I had not yet seen, and his lip was almost curled. I thought that he had looked at me, but I found that his gaze passed me and went to Riesling. “How well you succeeded, Riesling, in keeping her quiet and forcing her to do the thievery herself.”
Riesling scoffed.
“Are you suggesting that I did this?” he said, gesticulating to Twilight’s bruised face.
“I do not suggest, you lecherous fiend,” Pones replied calmly. Immediately, I saw a flash of rage sear through Riesling’s features, but he controlled his anger well, as he had the previous night.
“Explain yourself,” he said coolly.
“To begin, we think of you. The bitter breakup gave you prior knowledge as to her timidness. You saw your chance in her infatuated assistant – he does not so much as let it slip that he helps her in the evenings so much as shouts it at the top of his lungs. You were able to go to her house and simply beat a key from her; as it were. Forcing her cooperation in the theft was a simple matter of the same, plus reinforcement to keep her quiet, hence your visit to the library last night. You knew that the police were about, and you wanted to make sure that Twilight didn’t say a word. But she made a slip. So terrified of she was you that she hid all the bruises that you gave her, save a partial glimpse of one, which my companion noticed. He told me that it looked strange and unusual, and then it had vanished altogether – as if the attempt in hiding it had been rushed, and then, as she had realized her mistake, meticulous.”
He gestured to me, and beckoned me over.
“Look at the arm-wound, for that is the one you observed, Trotson.”
“It appears to have been inflicted by a very hefty blow,” I remarked, turning my gaze back to Riesling.
“Indeed. But, back to the theft itself. You were not interested in the chest so much as its contents, which you took as soon as it was unlocked. You then thought you might rid yourself of the evidence, and tried to take the chest, which you could not lift. Rarity’s early entrance took you by surprise, and you were lucky to be in the shadows, though you fell back in fear and disturbed the cloth there. The theft was simple enough for you, and you thought that none might remain the wiser.”
Riesling spat angrily, losing his temper once more.
“What trash! I have no reason to steal or hit a lady at all!”
“Ah, but you do,” Said Pones. “Your business is suffering Riesling, and I know it is.” He took a step towards him. “The wine, as I observed last night, is poor. Your winery is going much the same way as your grapes - very sour - and you needed a sudden amount of money not to release yourself from your business, but to relieve yourself of your large debt."
With this last word he placed a curious emphasis. Riesling flinched, and he smiled.
"You are a greedy spender, Riesling. I can see this, because you are customer of Rarity’s,” he said, producing from his breast pocket a small paper list. “I have a list of customers that I obtained from her upon my second visit last night. You are mentioned a few weeks back ordering a brand new suit made of one hundred per cent pure silk, followed by a cancellation a few days later..”
“And what does that prove?” Riesling said angrily.
“Well, for one, it proves you are prone to poorly managed funds, and two, what excited young mare wouldn’t talk about the most important sale of her career coming up to a trusted customer?” Upon these last words Pones placed special venom. Riesling snorted derisively in laughter.
“That’s an outright lie! My business is still quite capably managing. The quality in my wine is due to a poor grape harvest, and that is all. I cancelled my suit from Rarity’s because I had since changed my mind, and,” he spat, “you have no proof of any of your wild fantasies.”
“It is a fact, not a lie,” said Pones, completely emotionless. “Sadly, your pride was your own undoing, Riesling. You are a wealthy and respectable fellow, and, you are quite right. All of this would not be enough to convict you. My observations came completely out of suspicion, but it was your pride that made you pursue Twilight even after you left her. It was your pride that allowed you to conduct the crime with Macintosh as the perfect perpetrator. How fitting that the man who 'stole' her be punished at your hooves?”
A stream of smoke passed from his mouth, and briefly he was as he had appeared on the train -- though his eyes were wild and alight.
“It was your pride in your own appearance that finished you! Particularly, you were ashamed that you might be losing to a simple farmer like Macintosh. So much was this so, that you carried the letters of loans and debts about with you everywhere, didn’t you?”
I started as Pones mentioned this.
“Oh! – the letters!”
Lestrade looked over at me.
“Whatever do you mean?” he inquired.
“When I was speaking to Reisling yesterday, he waved letters at me and said he would go into town to post them.”
“Quite so, Trotson, and so you told me yesterday. It is very fortunate that he did not, though I doubt they would have gone anywhere, for they are addressed to him and him alone,” remarked Pones dryly. Riesling looked down into his jacket, as if peering for something, and then his eyes fell on Pones.
“You bastard!” he hissed. I followed his gaze, and saw Pones, producing with a flourish, a set of immaculately signed and sealed letters. I knew the emblem that the letters were sealed with, for I had dealt with it before – Canterlot Bank.
“Letters requesting the extension of loans,” Pones said to Lestrade, handing them to him. “Relieved from Mr. Riesling just outside this very door. The very last error of his pride, and the convicting piece of evidence, as it were.”
My mind lurched for the second time in a minute, as I realized what Pones bumping into Riesling had meant. The documents in his coat were the very hinge of the mystery.
“His arrival here today is a result of many things, the foremost of which is my companion’s unplanned meeting with him. He thought he saw something at his orchard last night, and came out to try and find whatever it was. He heard his own name being discussed by my companion here, and crept up on them unnoticed, but saw they were not the strange thief or thieves that he had thought he heard. No, that was me – I had since left Twilight’s and gone to inspect his orchard’s fruit myself. Thus came my conclusion that the wine was his, and that he was angry about its sales, presumably, for the grapes were sour and unpleasant. He was drawn into a conversation with Dr. Redheart and Dr. Trotson, and was forced to lie so as to avoid suspicion, and walked into town with them, where he left them. There I doubled back around so as to approach from the other direction. I did not want to walk up behind him – I am sure that he knew he was being watched.”
I was startled by his revelation; for I had not understood how he had been present to witness Riesling depart from us. Observing my expression, he smiled at me.
“Knowing a few drinkers myself; it gives one an inadvertent talent for acting drunk, Trotson,” he said with a wink, and I gasped. I realised that he had been the straggler approaching from the other side of the street, and I had not thought anything of him, so different was the well-clothed Pones to the drunkard I thought I had seen.
“I followed Riesling to confirm my suspicion. He waited for Trotson to leave, made sure he was not seen, and then went to the Library once more.”
He sniffed.
“Presumably he noticed what you had noticed, doctor, and Twilight had confessed to him as much. Presumably there was damage done there as well, though those bruises will not show just yet. But, he learned of you, and he sought you out this morning. He was quite out of luck, though – Felicia had since dismissed you without a word, and you had gone to the inn. He spoke to Felicia, and she told him you would meet me, today, at a café for lunch.” he said. “I staked out the café, and saw him arrive and take a seat at the back. His intentions were presumably less than pleasant, Trotson,” he continued, eyeing me with a good deal of bemusement. “No doubt he takes you for a lightly built fellow, though the truth is far from it. In his mind, perhaps you too could be forced into silence. I walked by the table idly, pretending not to have seen you, and forced you to follow me here.”
“But what of the momentary split-up in the alleyway?” I said.
“Simple,” he replied with a shrug, and for a moment I saw a snatch of the seemingly passionless character, whose lack of caring had previously led me to believe he was a lazy drunk. “I doubled into the darkness and followed him, caught up to him, explained the crime from Lestrade’s point of view, and ushered him here.” With this, he released another torrent of smoke from his mouth and nose. He then took a few steps towards Riesling, threw out a lighting-fast hoof to his collar and pulled it harshly away, the buttons from Riesling's jacket flying free with sharp twangs. The coat fell open to reveal a small, circular bruise.
"And that is where Rarity hit," he said, springing away. Lestrade was dumbstruck - as I watched his eyes pan through the letters, I saw them widen in surprise, and then narrow in harsh determination. I was also struck incredulous by Pones' conclusion, which had made a good deal of sense to me, though I was could not have come to such a conclusion in a million years.
“Now, Riesling,” said Pones, turning to the cuffed and now shabby-looking vintner. “Come along quietly.”
Riesling had other ideas.
At the proposal from my friend, he gave an inarticulate roar of fury and threw himself at Pones. Pones stepped nimbly out of the way, but soon discovered that the target was not he, but Twilight. There was now only me between him and Twilight, and Pones realised his mistake the instant he had moved.
Being a doctor, I possess a very widespread knowledge of anatomy that comes in a rather intrinsic fashion to the line of work. I knew the name of every major muscle and bone in Riesling’s body. I could see them all like his skin was made of glass, tensed in anger and hate as he tore at her, his eyes filled with rage at her mistake and his own pride, which had inadvertently caused him his end.