Sherclop Pones and the Cloudsdale Crimes

by A Sherlockian Brony

Chapter 3: Shattered Window

Pegasi had the particular ability to maintain afoot standing upon a cloud instead of plummeting from thousands of feet to death. Such was the dilemma Sherclop and Myclop had faced, for they were Unicorns, while myself and Lestrot were, in turn, Pegasi. Fortunately, however, Myclop had come prepared for such a hindrance—

Casting a spell that shall suit non-Pegasi to enter Cloudsdale land by granting them the ability to walk upon clouds, presently, we ascended via balloon and had alighted at the mobile city.

Though I have very much found a comfortable home in Baker Street, I felt a particular melancholy nostalgia as we trotted about the city of clouds. The glaring rays of the sun, the breezy atmosphere of the stratosphere, and the gentle touch of the lofty clouds beneath our hooves all seemed to greet their old resident in its welcoming embrace. I recalled the days of my service and how I took it to pursuit my medical career, and how I had been labeled by fellow Wonderbolt cronies as “Med-Head,” due to my relentless lectures upon my regiment’s medical safety as we to our exercises. I smiled at the reminiscence, but then remembered Pones’ discovery that one of the mysterious Professor’s pawns is in fact one of our own—then the quest which had immediately followed, I forced myself to pivot my attention to the task at hoof.

Myclop had long since departed (for he opted to remain in Canterlot to attend to the problems which his Club faced and requested us to inform us of our progressions), so our small party merely comprised of myself, the Cloudsdale Yard inspector and Pones.

The Factory itself had its entrance strapped by the foreboding blue of police tape. The facility’s lack of usual fumes told of the drastic effect in which last night’s drama had wrought.

Entering, the facility was filled with officers, inspectors, questioning employers as the former jotted down notes.

“With your permission,” said Sherclop Pones, breaking his sombre silence since the balloon. “may I see the surveillance footage, Inspector?”

The official scoffed.

“I don’t say any point in that, sir; I’ve already exhausted of what it has to offer and had ascertained what is there to ascertain—”

“Nevertheless…”

Shrugging his shoulders, Lestrot, pulling up his badge to the guard, we were granted admittance to the control room.

“Wonderfully helpful contraptions, these things are,” remarked Lestrot as he stood in admiration at the glowing screens. “The Yard has found these to be exceedingly easy in catching even the most cautious of criminals. We’ve got your brother to thank, Mr. Pones. Alright, operator, kindly show Mr. Sherclop Pones here last night’s damning footage…”

The operator, a courteous, sun-burned fellow, after jabbing buttons and winding wheels, two screens to the utmost right garbled up static before coming to life.

“These are the cameras in the arsenal, gentelcolts,” said the operator dictating to them.

The left one, Camera A, commanded view to a lobby which had been illuminated by yellowish florescent lights. Camera B, conversely, commanded one to a set of metallic doors. To the corner of each of the screens had been a timestamp at exactly at “09-07 Fri 20:10:10”

Pressing a button, the operator played the following footage.

It was indeed as the papers had described. A knock came upon the door, and soon enough, arriving upon the scene, there answered a handsome young stallion of a thin and gracefully lithe structure, with silky caramel mane and a coat of the sky itself. This, according to Lestrot’s dictation, is the alleged culprit of both crimes, the chief guardian of the Plans, Cloud Sweeper.

A Pegasus, a mailmare with a storm-grey coat and blonde mane, was promptly received who in turn handed over a telegram. Cloud Sweeper, taking it, then read its contents by holding it by his right wing. He was left with a gaping mouth. With his eyes widened, his grip upon the paper tight, he shoved the poor mailmare aside as he left the facility, the word “PEARL” slowly fading into the distance.

“That’d be the time Sweeper received the telegram,” commented Lestrot. “Forward a bit, operator…”

The screens’ timestamps now showcased “20:20:05,” ten minutes after the youth’s sudden departure. Presently, sure enough the Pegasus returned, his face covered almost forebodingly by the shadow of his cap. Despite this, however I could perceive a drastic change upon his person—he now seemed paler. His usual sky-blue coat now had greyish tinge to it. Quite peculiar, I thought, then I remembered the deed in which he had been contemplating to commit. Such paleness could be expected. But what I had felt certainly odd was the state of his clothing…

Barely any trace of perspiration, which should be expected especially venturing upon such a fast flight. I then shrugged it off as a mere illusion. Pones, however, regarded it under a different light.

“Hmm, how odd…” said he, his brows furrowing, which made Lestort glance at him. “…how odd indeed…”

Despite this remark, the keen interest had passed out of Pones’ expressive face, and I knew that with the mystery all the charm of the case had departed. There still remained a retrieval to be affected, but what were these commonplace crimes that he should soil his hands with them? An abstruse and learned specialist who finds that he has been called in for a case of measles would experience something of the annoyance which I read in my friend’s eyes. Yet, whatever he noticed in the surveillance footage was sufficiently strange enough to arrest his attention and to recall his waning interest.

We then continued.

Disappearing momentarily, Cloud Sweeper reappeared in Camera A, whence he went straight to which I assume to be the confidential office. Presently, he remerged with Factory’s documents carried under his left wing. He then disappeared from sight again, only this time, expecting him to reappear in Camera B, he didn’t. An eerie silence then ensued, from which I could only assume the worst.

“This is where I infer the murder from, Mr. Pones, for he had such a perfect opportunity to do it! And, the perfect motive too!” cried Lestrot.

Pones merely glared at him before resuming.

At the timestamp of 20:30:15, Cloud Sweeper reappeared once more with the documents tightly tucked under his left wing while the menacing glimmer of revolver at the other. The latter clattered upon the floor as its wielder hastily left the scene.

The footage then came into a warbled garble before the operator had shut it off, leaving us in silence for a moment.

“The Plans were actually found Cloud Sweeper’s person, upon your tracking him, were they not?” inquired Pones.

“Quite right; though he denied them. Incredulous, if you ask him. We have all the damning evidence to convict him!”

“May I see the Plans—or rather, the place in which used to house them?” said Sherclop Pones, turning round.

“Of course, you may, Mr. Pones, whatever pleases you.” cried Lestrot with an insolent smug, patting my companion on the back. “Though, I warn you, you may get nothing out of it. This way, gentlecolts…”

The Factory’s arsenal had been exactly as depicted in the surveillance, though now there were various officers surveying every inch. At our entrance, some faces were either relieved or confused upon the sight of my companion. Lestrot then led us to the office, which its door remained ajar as it had been found this morning. At its center, was a safe. This Pones stooped down and examined it with a lens.

“Three keys necessary to access the contents, eh?” said he without breaking his concentration.

“Quite right; that of the arsenal, the office and this safe…which paints Sweeper in an even graver position for only he could have all three keys as it is job to do so…”

“Indeed, it does,” said Pones, concluding his examination. “Nothing much to ascertain from this; I think I would like a stroll round, that way I could personally understand the geography.”

Standing in a corner like interested students who observe the demonstrations of his professor, Lestrot and I followed every step of the amateur’s meticulous geographical analysis. He had particularly dictated our attention to the positioning of Camera A and B, which were perched at a pillar, and how one could easily stand out their view between their gaze and merely stand still and not be detected.

“Or commit homicide…” mumbled Lestrot.

“I think we’ve had enough of the robbery,” said Pones. “shall we move on to Dr. Hayfield’s own murder?”

The unfortunate chemist had remained crippled there, motionless in a grotesquely mangled state. To tell the truth I ought to be more case-hardened after the Nightmare Moon Campaign. I saw my own comrades hacked to pieces without losing my nerve. But I confess the sight of the mutilated head of Dr. Icarus Hayfield had utterly shaken me. What kind of weapon could inflict such horror? Adorned upon the wall was a photograph of the chemist himself, a humble pony with a warm smile and benevolent features. But what had lain before us hardly possessed any of what remained. His brains painted the wall, a smoldering hole marred the entirety of his skull while what little remained of his mouth remained forever open.

“Oh, dear…” muttered Pones. “I revolver caused this, you say?”

Lestrot then handed him a Webley.

“This was the revolver seen in the footage, and was found just at the doorstep. The bullet found on the victim matches with what it uses…”

Pones emptied the chamber and examined each of the 5 remaining cartridges with his telekinesis. Taking note of my friend’s expectant face, Lestrot handed him the extracted bullet which had been incased carefully in a plastic bag.

Returning the other five to their respective chambers, he examined the other.

“Queer; for such a relatively small weapon, it’s rather strange for its bullet to be so deformed.”

“Yes, but the Webley is a powerful gun…” I remarked.

“Quite so, Watcolt, but not to this extent; this particular specimen seems to be reduced into a two-dimensional being! Have a look…”

Indeed, it was strange. During the years of extracting bullets from the wounded, never have I encountered a mere bullet round to be so deformed and inflict so much damage upon a pony, especially those originating from a Webley. The typical specimen would yield an ovular shape; this particular one, however, was deformed into an almost coin-like shape. I then handed it back.

“Well, well, it could easily be explained…” said my friend shrugging resignedly. “the fellow might’ve modified the gun’s power, or—” he trailed off, staring over the corpse’s position. Then, a mischievous smile unfurled across his hawk-like face.

“By Jove,”

Teleporting himself to the position of the corpse, I had expected him to examine it, but instead, surprisingly, his attention had been directed at what was above it. A shattered window.

“How do you account for this broken window, Lestrot?” he asked imperatively. “How could you omit such an excruciating detail? Star Swirl’s Beard, this shall certainly change everything. What do you observe here?”

“Perhaps by the gun’s velocity, upon firing, its sound shattered the window!” suggested Lestrot, whose expression grew more perplexed.

“Perhaps, perhaps; but to shatter all of it that little remained of the actual window? Very strange, very strange, my dear Inspector. One might expect some cracks or minor shattering issuing a hole; not an erasure from its existence. Come, doctor, what do you observe through here?”

The window commanded a view to sea of clouds beneath and a direct view to the distant Pegasus Colosseum, a giant piece of architectural beauty of Commander Hurricane’s Pegasi during the infancy of Equestria.

I failed to perceive anything significant about it, but judging the effect upon my friend, it must be significant indeed.

“Why, whatever do you see, Mr. Pones?” said Lestrot, who followed suit.

“A lead.” said Sherclop Pones. “Come, Inspector, I should like you to accompany us as we question the motive of this crime herself, Ms. Pearl White.”

Just as we were about to leave the facility, I collided into a pony and had knocked down the papers in which he had been handling so delicately. Apologizing, I promptly picked them up for him.

“Why, isn’t it Fred Porlock!” cried Lestrot.

“Dr. Hayfield’s secretary?” said Pones, staring at the disoriented pony.

Regaining his composure, he faced him.

“The same one, sir,” said he in the familiar professional stance a secretary would employ.

Fred Porlock appeared to barely be over the age of twenty-three. He was red-headed, a freckle-bespattered youthful face, and had a slender yet lithe build. These were marred, however, by violent reddish spots found upon the colt’s grey coat.

“Oh, my; you’ve broken into a terrible rash, my boy!”

Fred Porlock flushed red at the remark and, despite itching to scratch them, maintained his professional bearing.

“Allergies, sir, nothing more;” said he. “I’ve added on… some of the new beauty products found recently on the market, and apparently, I have an aversion to them. Learn something new every day, eh? Now, Inspector,” he turned to address Lestrot. “I merely wish to inquire, have you retrieved the missing 10^th page?”

“That is what Mr. Sherclop Pones of Baker Street here is currently trying to accomplish…” said official, waving at Pones’ direction.

The secretary raised a brow.

“The Sherclop Pones?” said he dubiously as he tucked the papers under his left wing.

“At your service,” said my friend. “this is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watcolt, to whom you could address just as freely”

“Indeed?”

We then shook hooves.

“I have intended to fulfil my late employer’s duties for the day, for the Factory could never go dull without at least something going on and had hoped that you have already retrieved the Plans. It’s indeed a pity, out of all ponies, Cloud Sweeper should prove treasonous. Well, do inform me once you have made progress. Good day, gentlecolts.”

With that, he took flight to the opposite direction as we departed to Charlie Cross.