Chapter 8
The Case of the Speckled Band (2)
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The words ‘Speckled Band’ could only mean one thing.
What else could it refer to, if not ‘The Case of the Speckled Band’?
It wasn’t just another volume in ‘The Adventures of Lady Sherlin Hound’—it was one of her finest Adventures. Praised by both devoted readers and literary critics alike, the story consistently ranked among the ‘Top 10’ in polls, sometimes even breaking into the ‘Top 5.’
Naturally, it became a prime source for media adaptations—whether in film, radio plays, or television series—remade time and time again. And if anyone ever wished to craft a parody of Sherlin’s Adventures (**Cough**), surely, ‘The Case of the Speckled Band’ would be the perfect reference to her original story.
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Alright, if you want to conduct ‘the Investigation’ by the book, you can just follow Sherlin’s footsteps in ‘the Original Script,’ letter by letter.
Snooping around the scene, collecting evidence, hearing testimonies—then piecing everything together to form a solid reasoning. You might encounter a few misleading clues along the way, but hey, if you already know the story summary, you shouldn’t so easily get lost.
However, for me… that’s a time-consuming process.
And if we’re only going to follow what’s already written, then what’s the point of being ‘Reincarnated’?
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“Lady, Gentlemen, my name is Lady Sherlin Hound. I came here by invitation of Mister… Uh, well, Mr. ‘John,’ to solve the mystery of Miss Julien’s death. The center of this puzzle is circulated around the unknown circumstance of her death and this locked room scene—so, I summon you here to find ‘Murder Weapon’ and how it came inside the room.”
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The air inside Miss Julien’s chamber was thick with unease.
Before me, three figures watched with varying expressions. Miss Helena Stonehenge, composed but visibly wary. The local Sheriff, arms crossed, observing in official silence. And of course, John, who was leaning against the fireplace with his usual amused indifference.
The fourth figure, however, was far from silent.
Dr. Rochette Grinstone, the so-called stepfather of the Stonehenge siblings, wasted no time in cutting me off just after my introduction.
“Lady Hound, could you clarify the word ‘Murder Weapon’?” His tone carried the weight of skepticism. “Are you suggesting that there really was a murder in our house? Do you truly believe there’s a ‘Killer Among Us’?
Killer among us?
What a poor choice of word!
In this volume of ‘The Adventure of Sherlin Hound’ series, there are three characters who play the role of ‘Person of Interest.’
First is my client, Helena Stonehenge.
Second is her sister, Julien Stonehenge, who was tragically deceased as ‘the Victim.’
And finally, this gentleman, Dr. Rochette Grinstone, the siblings' stepfather, a violent man by nature and at risk of losing their mother’s fortune to them. Don’t you find it a bit suspicious that he was the one to raise the idea of ‘a Killer Among Us’?
You see, the number of people was too low to initiate the game of ‘Killer Among Us.’ So, Come on, he just cast the spotlight on himself!
From what I can imagine, there are only a few directions the plot could take for a real twist. Perhaps Julien faked her death? Or maybe John’s client, Helena, turns out to be the true murderer? But don’t worry, I’ve already checked the clues. The story isn’t deviating too far from the one I read. You won’t see that kind of ‘Plot Twist’ happening in this chapter—yet!
“Yes, this is Murder, Dr. Grinstone!” I declared, my voice cutting through the tense atmosphere of Miss Julien’s room. “So, first, let’s start with the most basic question—what is the true cause of Miss Julien’s death? But before I give you the answer, let me emphasize my role here: I’m a Detective Consultant, not a forensic pathologist. I can’t offer you another autopsy report. What I offer is a theory.”
“Theory? Are you joking?” Dr. Grinstone scoffed. “No offense, but an autopsy report comes from a real forensic scientist—someone with diplomas, laboratory equipment, and years of training. Are you seriously suggesting that the theory of some Lady—I mean, Detective—is more reliable?”
“I don’t expect my presumption to be more reliable than the autopsy, Dr. Grinstone,” I replied calmly. “But I do expect it to explain why no apparent cause of death was found.”
Dr. Grinstone’s skepticism deepened as he narrowed his eyes. “Alright then, what’s your explanation? What killed her?”
“From the manner of her death,” I said, meeting his gaze, “it was clearly Toxication.”
“Impossible!” Dr. Grinstone snapped. “The autopsy confirmed there was no trace of poison. How can you still claim Toxication?”
“Oh,” I said, raising an eyebrow, “who said anything about poison, Dr. Grinstone? It wasn’t poison that toxicated Miss Julien—it was Venom.”
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Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls,
In case you’re not quite familiar with the difference between ‘Poison’ and ‘Venom,’ allow me to welcome you to my ‘Reincarnated Detective Training Program.’
Today’s topic?
Involving with ‘Toxicology,’ of course!
But don’t worry, I’m not about to bore you with some lecture from a pharmacy campus, or make you flip through pages of a sleepy textbook. Let’s stick to the basics—the kind of stuff you’ve probably seen on a nature documentary channel.
First things first, let’s define our terms. I’m using medical definitions here because, in my opinion, they’re the least chaotic way to explain this two types of toxins.
Poison is passively delivered—you get poisoned by ingesting or absorbing the toxin through your skin, lungs, or stomach. Venom, however, is actively—and sometimes, aggressively—delivered to the victim. It’s a weaponized toxin, injected to the body.
Still, in case someone has this question to ask me: Injecting someone with a lethal dose or forcefully putting toxins into someone’s mouth doesn’t make you venomous—it just makes you a criminal. To be truly ‘Venomous,’ you need biological tools like fangs or stingers. And if you can do that… well, you're not human anymore.
Alright, now for the tricky part: Why wouldn’t venom show up in an autopsy?
Well, this gets a little complicated.
But if you remember anything from high school biology about ‘Enzymes,’ you’re already ahead of most people in this era, where folks mostly don’t even know enzymes exist!
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“When compared to poison, which is a simple substance, venom is a much more complex mixture of enzymes,” I explained, addressing the room with measured confidence. Dr. Grinstone, Helena, John, and the local Sheriff listened intently, though the good doctor’s expression hinted at skepticism. “And just like the enzymes in our bodies, venom becomes unstable once it’s outside its source. Our current technology makes it difficult to extract, preserve, or even detect it—especially since we don’t fully understand it yet. But as a knowledgeable zoologist, Dr. Grinstone, I’m sure you’re familiar with this concept, right?”
“Oh, that’s quite the enlightenment, Lady Hound,” Dr. Grinstone clapped his hands, feigning praise, though his mocking chuckle made it hard for me to take him seriously. “What? Besides being a Detective Consultant, do you hold a doctorate too? Fine, you’re correct about venom, but what’s the point of all this? If even forensic laboratories lack the resources to detect venom, then how do you expect to prove anything by this?”
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
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Look, I believe I don’t need a PhD to explain ‘Venom’ and ‘Enzyme.’ You know, in OUR world, ‘Science’ is a part of compulsory education—You cannot legally escape from it!
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Still, “You’re right,” I admitted. “I believe we cannot definitively prove the presence of venom. Even if we could find a method, it’s too late to trace it in Miss Julien’s body now. However, the source of the venom is something my investigative partner should be returning with at any moment.”
Speaking of my little devil…
As if on cue, the rumbling sound of something rough moving through the ventilation system interrupted the conversation. An eerie hissing sound echoed through the room, causing everyone to turn toward the nearby vent. The noise grew louder, sharper, followed by a sudden movement that sent a chill through the air.
“GOOD GODDESS! IT’S A SNAKE!” the Sheriff exclaimed, stumbling back a step. Miss Helena let out a piercing scream. The only ones who remained calm were Dr. Grinstone, John and me, as we were both prepared for this sight.
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Yes, the Speckled Band was a snake!
And it wasn’t just any random snake, but a deadly venomous one.
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“My Ladies, stay behind me!” the Sheriff commanded with instinct, dragging Helena and me behind him. I must confess, though, it wasn’t exactly necessary.
Despite its aggressive hissing—an unmistakable warning to anyone who dared approach—the snake’s movements had lost their once-deadly grace. It must have been severely wounded before it emerged from the vent, leaving a trail of fresh blood marking its path. The creature’s hiss was more desperate than threatening, its energy nearly spent.
Suddenly, from the same ventilation grate, my true cavalry, Raja arrived. He followed his prey with focus and, like a bolt of lightning, pounced. In a single, swift bite to the snake’s neck, Raja delivered the final blow, ending the threat once and for all.
The room fell into a silence, broken only by Miss Helena's quiet sobbing and the nervous breaths of the Sherliff.
Dr. Grinstone’s eyes narrowed as he watched me, his face impassive. I wondered if there was any trace of regret for the creature he had sent to do his dirty work, but like any criminal mastermind whose assassin had been caught or killed, he was unwilling to accept responsibility.
“So,” his voice was calm but icy, “you’re telling me this snake killed my stepdaughter? If that’s the case, Lady Hound, you can no longer call this a murder.”
I met his gaze with a calmness that matched his. “Dr. Grinstone, while we may not be able to interrogate the dead snake, we still have its body. And once it’s identified by an expert, they’ll confirm what I already suspect: this snake is not native to our Home Continent. It comes from the tropical colonies, likely from the far eastern reaches of the Empire—the same region you’re known to have visited. A dangerous animal like this wouldn’t just happen to show up at a well-kept estate like yours. This is no coincidence, Doctor.”
I took a step closer, watching his reaction carefully, before pressing on by delivering the ultimatum. “This is your opportunity to confess. Admit your role in this, and maybe the court will show you some leniency. But if you refuse, I will request a full inspection of your quarters. It seems the most likely source of where this creature was kept.”
Dr. Grinstone let out a long, controlled breath, his eyes darting briefly between the dead snake and the Sherliff. He raised his hands in a gesture of submission, though his voice remained as cold as ever.
“Very well, my lady. There is no need for an inspection.” He gave me a thin, humorless smile. “I’ll admit it—I am guilty... but not of murder.”
My eyes widened. “Wait, what!?”
He stood a little taller, as if his partial confession could somehow reduce his culpability. “That creature—the snake—it belongs to me. I’ve been using it for research. I have the permit to prove it. But my only crime is negligence. It escaped on the day my poor stepdaughter died. Everything that followed was an unfortunate accident. A terrible one, yes, but an accident nonetheless.”
“Accident?” My voice cracked with anger. “You bastard! Miss Julien’s death was no accident! You set this all up, and if I hadn’t exposed it, Miss Helena would’ve been your next victim!”
Grinstone’s eyes narrowed, and he scoffed. “Helena, too? That’s mere speculation, Lady Hound. You have no evidence to back up such an outrageous claim.”
“Grrrr… You, bastard!” My blood boiled. “Why can’t I just let you DIE?!”
Dr. Grinstone’s eyes flashed with sudden alarm, his tone shifting. “Die? Oh, Lady Hound, it’s gone too far! How dare you threaten me!”
Oh, no! That is not gone too far!
Following ‘the Original Script’ of ‘the Case of the Speckled Band’ is end with Grinstone’s death!
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Oh, no!
It’s not gone too far!
Following the ‘Original Script’ of ‘The Case of the Speckled Band,’ the end must be Dr. Grinstone’s death!
In this climactic act of the story, Sherlin Hound set up a trap to foil Dr. Grinstone’s plan by swapping bedrooms with Helena. With the assistance of the trained mongoose, similar to Raja, Sherlin waited for the snake to slither into her room. Knowing the harm it could cause, it frightened it, sending it crawling straight back toward its master. In a panic, the snake bit its own owner.
To most people, this would be unarguably poetic justice.
But for me, who knowing the consequences all too well, following the script would only make me commit ‘Voluntary Manslaughter.’ No one might blame me for his tragic end, but I know myself—I couldn’t make up my mind to intentionally kill someone.
And yet, URGH!!!
It seemed that my well intentions had now been cheekily exploited!
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“Lady Hound, please stop!” After passively listening for a long time, the Sheriff finally broke his silence. His voice rose, attempting to diffuse the confrontation. “As a local officer, I am deeply grateful for your efforts in solving the mystery of Miss Julien’s death. However, accusing someone of murder without solid evidence is beyond the boundaries of law, and you are now overcome by emotion!”
“But, sir—” I began, my voice trembling with frustration.
“Yes, Sherlin, the Sheriff is right,” John's commanding tone sliced through my words. “Your theories have been invaluable, but they clearly are not enough to prove murder.”
“But, John!” I protested, only for him to raise his hand, cutting me off. “No—‘But’—Sherlin. You are angry, and everything you say will only make this worse. Besides, we already agreed that you will handle everything until the mystery is solved. Now, everything comes to light, let me continue!”
“URGH!!!” I groaned out but, like he told me, this was nothing I could do more.
“And you, Dr. Grinstone,” He turned to Dr. Grinstone, his expression growing colder. “Even if we accept your argument that this was not murder, negligence leading to death is no small matter. Do you agree?”
Dr. Grinstone stiffened, his smug demeanor faltering briefly before he nodded. “Yes... I suppose that is true.”
“Good. Then I suggest you surrender yourself to the Sheriff. You will explain everything to the local authorities. I trust you will comply without resistance.”
Dr. Grinstone’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Very well. I surrender myself to the Sheriff. There is no need for force, I will cooperate.”
As the Sheriff stepped forward to escort him away, Dr. Grinstone turned back to me, his devilish smirk returning with full force. “Don’t worry, Lady Hound. Next time, I will be far more discreet. I assure you, there will be no mistakes.”
My brain reached a boiling point!
Leading to the snapping of my restraint!
Without a second thought, I lunged at him, fury propelling my every move. In that moment, I didn’t know what I truly intended—but the overwhelming force of my body had already acted on its own.
“Stop, Sherlin!” John’s sharp voice rang out as his strong arms wrapped around me, holding me firmly in place.
“Let me go!” I screamed, struggling against his grip with all my strength. But his unyielding hold would not be broken. Helplessly, I watched as the Sheriff escorted Dr. Grinstone away, disappearing from view.
Only then did John’s grip loosen, and my rage began to fade. But let me confess: it wasn’t because I’d calmed down; it was because I just had surrendered.
“Alright,” John said quietly, his voice steady. “I’ll let you go now. But promise me you won’t do anything foolish.”
I didn’t answer, yet somehow, John still released me. Perhaps he assumed my silence meant agreement.
But no—before he could stop me again, I bolted. Even as John shouted, “SHERLIN, STOP!”—I didn’t stop.
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“Whatever you think you’re doing, don’t open that carriage door!”
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Knowing he couldn’t catch me in time, John resorted to warning me. His voice carried an urgency I couldn’t ignore—however I did anyway. Something about his words felt important, but not enough to slow my pace as my hand reached the door’s handle.
It wasn’t locked, so I opened it.
Dr. Grinstone had only entered a few minutes earlier, but the sight inside froze me in place.
“He—Hel—” Dr. Grinstone was slumped in the corner, his pale face and shallow breaths revealing the extent of his suffering. His entire body was paralyzed, muscles locked in unnatural stillness, and his ability to speak—or breathe—was failing rapidly.
This was unmistakably the work of ‘Neurotoxin’—the same kind that killed Miss Julien in the book. But this time, the culprit wasn’t a snake.
It was a spider.
The creature still crawled across Dr. Grinstone’s deathly still face, its spindly legs creeping closer to his hollowed eyes.
“Sherlin, step back. Now.” John commanded me, but before I could obey, the spider had already leapt toward me.
In a split second of life and death, John lunged forward with a jar in hand, and captured the arachnid midair. Its frantic movements were now contained within the glass, its tiny body slamming against its transparent prison walls.
“That was too close,” he exhaled, a trace of relief escaping with his words. Yet when his gaze fell on Dr. Grinstone’s crumpling form, a small, knowing smirk twisted his lips.
“John, you know something, don’t you?” My voice broke the heavy silence.
He chuckled lightly, the sound tinged with amusement. “That’s mere speculation, Lady Hound,” he replied, quoting Dr. Grinstone’s earlier words with cold precision. “You have no evidence to back up such an outrageous claim.”
That smirk. That infuriating smirk.
I clenched my fists, my heart pounding in my ears. Enough of the half-truths.
“Who are you exactly?” I demanded, my voice cutting through the dimly lit space between us. “If you don’t tell me honestly, we won’t see each other again.”
John remained still for a long moment, his piercing gaze locked onto mine. The weight of his silence pressed down on me, as if he were measuring my resolve. And then, knowing I was dead serious—he answered.
“I am ‘John’—abandoned on the street at birth, raised by the orphan.” His voice was calm, but something flickered in his eyes—something buried deep. “And, like my orphan ‘Mother’ before me, I have no real surname.”
I held my breath, waiting. There was more.
“But,” he continued, his lips curving ever so slightly into that knowing smirk of his, “if you ask me for what I use in legal documents and official introductions—it’s ‘Moriaty’—John Moriaty.”