|Luke Triton and the Professor's Letter
Author: FlintDjinn PM
Luke Triton, gentleman detective and sensation of London society has received distressing news from his old mentor. London is to be destroyed on May 23 just after teatime. Join Luke as he tries to solve the puzzle of his lifetime for Queen and country.Rated: Fiction T - English - Adventure/Romance - Luke T. & Flora R. - Words: 1,327 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 1 - Published: 05-10-12 - id: 8104074
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
The Professor's Letter
London. The heart of the Empire. It sprawled from the Thames, a bustling metropolis full to the brim with life. Cargo ships from the Americas and India take their exotic wares into the great city like a breath of life, and the city breathes out. In a great shuddering gasp she exhales out power, steel and troops, furthering her greedy grasp.
However, this narrator's path does not concern himself with such weighty matters. No, his eyes observes one of the cities narrow, cobbled street where a figure in a blue cap is running, three figures clad in black suits chase after him.
Luke Triton, sweat pouring down his face, was currently pondering the question of whether or not he would see his twenty fifth birthday if that bloody fool Chelmley didn't show up soon. His hand felt the reassuring weight of the precious cargo in his satchel. He smiled. It was safe.
Shame it was so damn heavy.
Suddenly a car pulled out of the mouth of the alley. Recognizing it immediately he let out a whoop of joy. Luke rolled over the bonnet smoothly and was joined three of the good ol' boys in blue. Chelmley Lads, thank God.
The sharp click of three guns loading froze Luke's former pursuers, the three figures froze in horror. A sharp grunt from his side drew his attention to the ageing figure of Superintendent Chelmley.
Luke got to his feet and doffed his cap to the greying policeman, "G'day Guvnor!" he said with a wink, is trademark boyish charm present as always, "I present to you the perpetrators of the Princess of Assam Diamond Heist, as promised!"
Chelmley nodded, "Cuff them, lads, they have the honour of spending some time in the ol' nick at Her Majesty's Pleasure, God save her." he hauled Luke gruffly to the side, "Well blast it, Lad, you did it! Gotta be the best damn Private Detective in the city, if not the country.
Luke gave a confident smile, "it was nothing really, Chelmley, once you analyse the facts and sort it into a puzzle, simple logic povides the answer."
Chelmley broke into a grin, "Minus the huge bloody ego laddie and I would have sworn that was the Professor speaking there, God rest him!"
Luke's smile wavered for a moment, before hastily returning. "Yes," he said, his voice almost a whisper, "I suppose it was."
A bright flash to his right caught his attention and he saw the figure of Chip MacDowell freelance journalist and photographer.
"How about the famous pose, Lukey-boy, for your fans back in the London Times?" Chip asked, his camera rising up as though to tempt the young detective.
Luke smiled - he could never be called camera shy - and with a dramatic flourish shot his index finger in the air, shouting "I solved it!"
Only Chemley muttering "Bloody hell!" in the background spoiled the effect a bit …
Luke let out a small sigh of relief as he settled into his armchair. In his hand he nursed a steaming cup of Oasis Berry Tea.
He was dressed casually in his blue striped pyjamas, a luxurious housecoat draped over him, his blue cap remained, of course. He rustled through his copy of the "Evening Times," and with satisfaction noted his face plastered to the front page. Always good for business, the front page. For a quiet few minutes he read the article.
"Luke Triton, 24, the Private Detective extraordinaire cracked the case if the missing Princess of Assam's Diamond from the British Museum. The former apprentice of the late Professor Layton was involved in a daring chase through the streets of London this morning … [Continued Page 6]
Pushing the paper aside for a moment, Luke began sorting through the mail that had arrived that morning. "Bill, bill, payment, junk," he said to himself, his tone monotonic. However he was interrupted in his dismissals by an letter of a most unusual quality. Unlike the others the envelope was fashioned of a rich, creamy paper with his address inscribed in neat calligraphy. A shiny red seal was set upon the back, the crest where a set of scales with a heart set upon it.
"Hello?" he muttered in curiosity. Taking his letter knife, an ornate jade artifact from China, Luke opened the letter. The paper inside was as rich and of high quality as the envelope, and was written in the same neat handwriting.
If you are Reading this then the very unfortunate circumstance of my death has occurred. Hopefully this reaches you in after a suitable period of mourning, unfortunately my solicitor, while I am sure an Excellent practitioner of law, seems somewhat lacking in basic human empathy and Gratuity. I have instructed Especially him to send this message at a time where the news of my death may be less burdensome.
I am afraid that this is No letter of consolation, my dear boy, but rather a contract of your old mentor needs your help, rather selfish of me I admit. I do hope you can forgive such an inconvenience, The imposition is most unbecoming of a gentleman.
You See, during the courses of my study I theorize that London City will be annihilated on the Twenty third of May, at around 5:30pm.
I do think it would be a CAPITAL idea for you to make further inquiries.
Hershel Layton, Professor.
Luke read the letter again, astonishment having made it all the harder to absorb the facts upon the initial reading. After his third reading, he carefully placed the letter on the small side table. Well, he thought, What am I supposed to make of that? It was a rather perplexing communication from his former mentor. He drummed his fingers, unsure of how to proceed. Then a thought occurred to him. Why had the Professor - A man who took his grammar seriously - have written "capital" in all uppercase? He allowed himself a smile at his own expense, why else would the Professor do such a thing? Because it was a puzzle!
His mind working furiously, he scanned the letter yet again and soon noticed a rather odd pattern. Certain words were spelt with a capital letter at the beginning where there simply shouldn't be one.
Pen in hand, Luke carefully scanned the Professor's message, copying each unusual letter as it occurred. After a considerable time rescanning the letter, he looked at what he had been left with.
Or, with the insertion of a space, spelt:
Regent Street? Luke was confused, why was the Professor directing him to one of London's most busiest shopping streets? With no address, Luke could spend hours up and down the busy pavements searching for some sort of clue. Taking a deep sigh Luke took a sip of his Oasis Berry Tea, only to blanche as it had turned cold. With another great sigh - both from the lost of good tea and his rather unfortunate situation - Luke hauled himself to bed, deciding he would be better to sort this mess out after a good nights sleep.
Mayfair, London, was one of the most terribly fashionable areas of London. It's residents homes where grand and illustrated their occupants wealth without ever being so crass as to be ostentatious or - heaven forbid - nouveau riche.
In one such Manor, one of Mayfair's most famous (and if rumours were to be believed, notorious) residents was currently in her study. On her desk a fresh copy of the the evening times was spread out, the front page facing upwards. A gloved hand, the letters "FR" embroidered on its wrist, caressed the picture that was before her. If one looked closely, they could swear that the picture had a few drops of moisture mixing with the ink. Teardrops.
The Baroness sighed, "Foolish girl," she muttered to the empty silence.