Sherclop Pones and the Cloudsdale Crimes

by A Sherlockian Brony

Chapter 4: Pearl White

What monster—what vile beast shall commit such a heinous crime? Such were the thoughts which had crossed our minds that day as we laid our eyes upon the mare that lie motionless before us, incarcerated in a prison of bandages.

From the picture that lie erected in frame upon the table in which was besides her bed, sharing a loving embrace with Cloud Sweeper, I could see Pearl White was an exceedingly charming young lady. There was a certain subtle play of beauty about her simple yet delicate feminine complexion. She had a coat of a beautiful pearl color, hazelnut mane that embellished her already fine head, and eyes that harmoniously complimented each feature. Looking at her invalid state in comparison to what she had once been truly devastated me. How heartless could the villains be?

She sat erect upon the inclined bed, her eyes, filled with fear and bewilderment staring through the slits of her bandages. To her left sat the caring neighbor, Cassie Windy, who had brought the unfortunate lady safely into the confines of the hospital that faithful night. A plump yet pretty middle-aged mare with greying brunette pigtails. Next to her stood a gaunt nurse, who had been stationed to manage the patient’s initial medical needs. To Pearl White’s right, a quivering hoof rested upon a call bell, which, according to the nurse, was the poor lady’s only medium of communication.

“She couldn’t speak,” said the personnel. “only through the bell, sirs. If one asks simple yes or no questions, a single ding means yes, while none means no.”

“But what if we wished a statement?” asked Lestrot.

“I have to show her the alphabet—” The nurse then indicated the clipboard which she held. Scribbled upon it was the Ponish Alphabet. “I point a letter; she rings till we form phrase.”

“Whatever happened to her?” I asked, medical instinct overriding my thoughts.

“Trauma at Broca’s area, doctor; Ms. White had been attacked at that specific area. It’s a miracle she’s conscious…”

I nodded my understanding. Broca’s area, located in the left inferior frontal cortex of the brain, can cause muteness when inflicted trauma. I stared at the rest of her state and just realized the sadistic extent which the ruffians had absolutely broken her. Only her head remained at least partially free from wrappings.

“Good day to you, Ms. White,” said Pones in the usual congenial way in which he employs when addressing those in dire need of help. “My name is Sherclop Pones,” he then waved a hoof at mine and Lestrot’s direction. “and these are my companions: Dr. Watcolt and Mr. Lestrot of Cloudsdale Yard, whom you’ve met this morning.”

The eyes merely blinked and stared glaringly at the official. Pones continued.

“I know that this may be rather difficult for you; we’re investigating the matter of the Weather Factory Pla—”

DING DING DING

Tears forming around those tortured eyes as her bandaged body, the mare violently rang the bell, its rings filling the room with its tattering resonance.

Seeing the clear distressed state of her friend, Cassie Windy stooped down to comfort the agonizing patient.

“Oh, dearie, ssh, ssh, it’s alright…” she cooed with an almost motherly benevolence. “They’re here to help, I’m sure; no harm shall befall upon Cloud, and they’ll clear his name…”

Lestrot had begun to retort that statement, but a simple glare from Pones silenced him.

“She is right, Ms. White;” promptly said Pones as he sat beside the bed. “I’m rather inclined to deny the official narrative that your good stallion is guilty upon these horrid crimes. Justice shall be brought, and evil shall be set right, have no doubt of that…”

The sad, tearful eyes looked up as the quivering remained hovering over the bell. Her caring friend stood up, whose features, though marred by the grief wrought upon by this tragedy, remained determined and optimistic.

“You really think so, Mr. Pones?” said she. “You really think Cloud’s innocent of all this?”

Pones raised a hoof.

“I have not yet come to an official conclusion yet, my dear lady; but there is a certain alternative thread of thought which I’m currently pursuing which may lead to some more hopeful light…for all parties concerned. After all, the laws of the collateral nature of deduction dictate that it is just as worth to regard the alternatives when giving an explanation for one may never know what may turn up.”

DING

We all looked at the invalid, whose bandaged expression beamed at my friend’s remark.

“Oh, thank Celestia!” cried Cassie, who wrung her hooves round Pones’ long, thin limbs. “Any theory is better than what we have currently established. It’s preposterous, blasphemy, to even hint the suggestion of Cloud Sweeper committing treason over the state in which he so patriotically values. You’ll find poor Pearl here to share the same thoughts, she’s told me so. You must save his honor, Mr. Pones!”

“For that to happen,” continued Pones. “I must reexamine, even it means reiteration of the facts, every single point of this confounding case. I must begin with what you and this unfortunate young lady have to say with the matter. May I have your permission, Ms. White, to reiterate the facts surrounding your awful experience? Forgive me if I trouble you with them—”

DING

I perceived the fiery will behind those beautiful eyes and the subtle message that they conveyed. Her love over Cloud Sweeper was truly admirable. Pones nodded in affirmation, then signaled the nurse to present the clipboard containing the alphabet.

“Cloud Sweeper is now your fiancé, recently, I perceive…”

The eyes widened in surprise. It was by ease to follow my friend’s line of deduction by the fact a ring lied at a stool beside the bed.

DING

Pones nodded.

“And to be married soon; when, might I ask?”

Pearl White’s eyes fell upon the clipboard, to which the nurse promptly started pointing. The patient responded thus:

YES NEXT WEEK

“A loving and chivalrous sweetheart?”

DING

“Patriotic to one’s nation as one could be?”

DING

To save redundant reiteration, I summarize this initial interview by stating that Pones had satisfactorily corroborated, through a series of DINGs per question, what he learned from what had already been known from the papers. That a gang of ruffians had came to her home that night, robbed her of her belongings, and mutilated her. Only by Cassie’s kindness that she had been saved. She swore that Cloud, upon arriving at 8:10 PM, never left the room and was with her and Cassie throughout the established timeline.

Upon concluding, Lestrot silently remarked to me:

“Doesn’t seem to improve the situation for Sweeper to me…”

I was forced to acquiesce. Indeed, there was the motive itself—the upcoming marriage, and the sudden tragedy that shall certainly result to a horrendous bill. As for the alibi, it could easily be explained away by delirium caused by her injuries and the desperation and denial of the prospect of her beloved to devolve himself in treason. It seemed grim, yet Pones kept his devotion.

“I shan’t impose any further tax upon Ms. White’s patience and time;” said he, rising. He then turned towards her companion. “May I have your own account to the matter, Cassie?”

The plump mare halted in her nervous knitting.

“Oh, I haven’t much to say, Mr. Pones,” said she with a sad smile. “Pearl has already stated much—”

“Every perspective matters, Ms. Windy. There might be something extra in what you have to say that may or may not clear the entire fiasco up. Come, now, fear not, my dear lady…”

Cassie thought carefully for a moment.

“There’s one bit, though,” said she. “Prior to all of this, for two months, there’s this fellow, who’s just…standing there, not moving at all…”

“What, what’s this?” interjected Lestrot. “You’ve mentioned nothing of the sort when I first questioned you!”

“You hadn’t given me the chance! All you did was get what Cloud knew when he had only just arrived. How’s he supposed to know? You just presumed and took him!”

“Do continue, Ms. Windy—” said Pones, waving a dismissive hoof at Lestrot. “You say that there’s this ‘fellow,’ standing still and never moving…”

“Yes, and all he does is stare...as he sits on that bench across Pearl’s home, he just stares, for two months…isn’t that right, dearie?”

DING

“You’ve seen him, too?” said I.

DING

Pones rubbed his hooves together. Then waved a hoof for her to continue.

“From the early hours of the morning till the creeping of the twilight, all he does is observe the lady. Pearl has reported him to the local constable, but he failed to get anything on him. So, none was done and the stallion continued to stare. This all suddenly stopped, however…yesterday morning it was. I drew the curtains, expecting to find him there, yet, he wasn’t! He just went poof !”

“And that night, the attack happened?”

Cassie nodded.

“Could you describe what he looked like?”

“He had a grizzly moustache, as I remember. Brown mane and—”

“And a stick-like object in his possession?” Pones completed.

“Why, yes, sir; it was just like that.”

Pones fell into a silent reverie, his eyes fixated upon the call bell. Then, breaking himself from it, he regained his composure.

“Tell me about the attack itself, Ms. Windy…”

A shadow seemed to be casted upon Cassie’s features. She gripped her knitting as her jaw tightened. With great effort, she gained the courage.

“I was preparing the evening tea, Mr. Pones, when I heard the nearby sound of a window shattering. I thought it came from Pearl, for we’re next-door neighbors, so I decided to check on her.

“When I came to the lawn, I found these…ruffians!—these absolute beasts ransacking her entire house as—oh, poor Pearl—was held in gunpoint by one of the masked stallions as the rest of his cronies were inside.

“I was about to scream when I felt the cold touch of the snout of a gun. One of them managed to get behind me.

“‘Scream, the both of yer’ll be found in that dumpster yonder’ snarled my captivator. Though he was masked, I could tell, from the same glint of his eyes, that it was the same stallion who has harassed us for the past two months.

“He then socked cloth to my mouth as I was forced to watch the horror unfold before me.

“Once they filled the sacks with their spoils, the villains—the utter villains!—dropped their bags then produced their individual bludgeons from their pockets and—”

Cassie faltered to continue, sobbing. Pones then approached her and placed a comforting hoof upon her back. He then produced a piece of white cloth, to which she used to wipe with.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Pones—I don’t know what came over me. But you know the rest, gentlecolts; I watched, petrified, as I heard every bone of her body breaking amidst the wails of her hellish agony. They left, leaving Pearl all mangled up. I called for the ambulance and sent a telegram to Cloud, saying that we’re on our way to Charlie Cross. He’s innocent, I tell you, Mr. Pones! Oh, please believe it; he never left the room during what this—” she pointed at Lestrot. “calls ‘the timeline of the crime.’”

“In all fairness, Ms. Windy, the papers themselves are found in this room itself. How isn’t that evidence?” said the official.

DING DING DING

“Oh, please, dear lady; it’s plain as a field. Papers missing, your fiancé himself found in the footage carrying the plans, and the documents found here.”

Pones continued to pat her back.

“Thank you, Ms. Windy,” said he. “You and Ms. White could have my utmost assurance that justice shall be brough upon these blackguards of society. This shan’t go unpunished! With your accounts, I shall do so much speedily.”

Though what he said was certainly genuine, I could tell that my friend’s thoughts were elsewhere. His stern grey eyes curiously wondered towards those of Pearl White’s, whose watery expression shared her companion’s own sentiment.

“Is this what happened, Ms. White?” impaired Lestrot, with a tinge of indignity.

DING

Conceding, the official then took out a notebook and began scribbling.

“Regard the importance of proper questioning, my dear Lestrot,” cried Pones, springing to his hooves. “It is folly to immediately jump to conclusions when one doesn’t hear what the other party has to say for one might omit a vital detail that may lead to a solution.” He then leaned towards the patient. “Do not fret, young lady; have hopes for there is light just beyond the tunnel. Come, gentlecolts, we must take our leave. I wish you a speedy recovery, Ms. White, and a soon prosperous marriage…”

Tipping his hat, we left the whitish greenness of the room and into a hallway of even more of the invalid, awaiting treatment in their chambers. Lestrot, with annoyed disapproval, shook his head.

“I am ashamed of you, Pones,” said he with dignity. “Why should you raise up hopes which you are bound to disappoint? I am not over-tender of heart, but I call it cruel.”

“I think I see my way in clearing the fellow’s name,” queried Pones. “there are some missing points which the Yard has failed to churn up, and I intend to find them.”

“But how could you? The timeline, the missing papers, and the surveillance! All are enough for a jury to condemn him.”

Pones raised a hoof.

“Cassie Windy wrote a telegram to the nearest telegraphic service—where is it?”

“You mustn’t worry about its validity; Trotkins has since confirmed its authenticity, and a telegram of that nature did indeed arrive—”

“Take me to it,”

Shrugging his shoulders, dictating to an address, we remade an acquaintance.