EON FICTION COMPETITION

The Adventures of James Gibson
By: Jonathan Stark
Written by: Pax's Pimp

It is with a heavy heart and a solemn pen that I write the story of the untimely demise of my dear associate, James Gibson, a man whose intellect knew no equal. Gibson was a scientist, cold and calculating from the day I met him; tall, lean and perpetually pale from long hours in the lab one might think that James Gibson would collapse at any moment from exhaustion or illness, but that was never the case. He was the most energetic of men, so long as he applied his mind to the solving of some great mystery. It was at those moments that I observed a dedication and fervor that only a religious zealot could mimic. When we first met Gibson was a professor in his first year at the University of London’s science Department. We had the fortunate luck to be working together on a project involving the way light is refracted off the atmosphere that surrounds Earth. Very shortly there after words we began to room together, and he soon quit teaching to allow himself full time in the laboratories. We often found ourselves spending all day in the labs and then would return home for an hour or two and over the course of our after dinner talking; we would stumble upon some revelation that would send us running back to the labs to test out till the early hours of the morning. We were the closest of friends and often he said that he had never known a friend as dedicated and true as myself. His memory shall always sit with me especially on those late nights when I read in my study after dinner and yearn for my old associate to be by my side so that we may discuss science again.

Perhaps I should start with some history of the very singular events that came to transpire between the spring of 1922, and the fall of 1926. Myself and Mr. Gibson lived in apartments off of Oxford Circus in London, though sparse they were quite comfortable. At the time I was working for the laboratories in the University of London. Mr. Gibson also worked in the same laboratories in a different division. Aside from our initial meeting it was rare for our paths to cross in the course of the day. It was through these jobs that we came to know Mr. Hammersmith and also came to be party to the events surrounding his life and death. In May of 1922 we received by post, invitations to attend the gala unveiling of Mr. Hammersmith’s newest invention. Overjoyed and highly anticipating what new contraption Hammersmith had invented; we quickly made plans to attend. On that fateful night I called for a taxi at 7pm, and by 7:30 we realized that the taxi was going to be late, as that we were due to be at Hammersmith’s house by 8pm we were quite distraught. Our land lady Mrs. Porter was kind enough to send for another and by 8:00 it had arrived, not wishing to be any later than we were already going to be; we skipped dinner and rushed to Mr. Hammersmith’s house. As we dashed up the steps it became quickly evident that something was horribly wrong. I began to feel a wave of nausea pass over me, and by my comrade’s gait I could tell that he too felt the illness. Suddenly out of no where came an explosion that threw us back at least a dozen paces, as I landed; I passed out. Though I will never know what it was that caused that nausea often Gibson and I have conjectured that on that night we were showered with a strange and unique radiation.
I awoke the following morning in my bed in the quarters of Mr. Gibson and I. My head ached and I was still sick to my stomach. As I opened my eyes and swept my eyes across my room I observed that it was rather late and that I had slept most of the morning. I could see my suit from the night before, dirty and singed, lying by my bed, the acrid odor from the burnt fabric rose to my nose. As I continued scanning my room I noticed that I had begun to feel surprisingly refreshed. My head ceased to ache, and my stomach settled. As I adapted to the sudden reprieve of pain throughout my body I also noticed that though my suit was burnt intensely I had not a mark on my person. As I lay there with my senses returning to me I became acutely aware that I had no idea of the condition or the health of my associate. I dashed out of bed and threw on the first suit that I laid my hands upon form my closet. As I finished I charged into the sitting room intent on finding out the condition of my room mate. Much to my elation and surprise I saw him sitting by the fire sipping a cup of tea and smoking a cigarette.
“Good morning.” said he without so much as looking up from the paper which lay across his lap. “I sincerely hope that you hadn’t planned on sleeping the entire day away.” I was quite amazed to find my friend in good spirits, and apparently no worse for wear from the last night’s explosion. I observed that he too had no marks upon his body.
“What happened? I mean the explosion; surly no one could have survived…” My voice trailed off as I saw a dark cloud pass over his continence.
“Yes your presumption is quite correct. No one survived,” My spirits fell as I realized how grave the events were that came to pass; as I did though I began to feel a strange sensation, not unlike a stirring in the far corners of my mind. I felt a flow about myself in the room. I could easily tell from my friends features that he too had felt something at the same instant
“James,” I stammered, “Do you feel quite well? I mean are you injured at all…”
“No my dear friend,” he said slowly regaining his mirth that I had first observed. “Not in the least. It is a truly wondrous event. Some how in that explosion we were changed. I mean we have the health of supermen. Also I have noticed that I have the ability to perceive things beyond the senses of normal men. It is truly amazing. Why just this morning I was able to stroll through the park and I could easily discern five completely separate pairs of chipmunks simply by the way their claws scratched at the bark. I fell as if I have been reborn into a much stronger and much more talented body. Why I could with but a thought accomplish feats of intellect that all the scholars in England couldn’t hope to reproduce in a year.” I watched as my associate changed from his normal reserved self to one with the energy of a child. As we spoke I too felt my self becoming giddy and excited at the possibility of this strange new gift that has been bestowed upon us. The conversation progressed and I continued to feel these subtle changes about my person. Suddenly my friend ceased talking and I saw a fire in his eyes that told me that he was on to something. Never before had I seen that look but I would become familiar to it by the time of his death.
“What is it?” I questioned my newly energized friend.
“Do you realize what we can do?” I was truly perplexed by what my friend was talking about.
“What on earth do you mean?”
“Have you ever turned your attention to the criminal world?”
“Never more than to avoid run ins with the law. You aren’t suggesting that we engage in criminal activity are you?” I was aghast at the possibility of such an endeavor. Had I misjudged this man since I met him? I had felt certain that he was as upstanding a citizen as any town had and that such thoughts were well beyond his conscious.
“Oh heavens no, I was suggesting that we turn our attention in the direction of stopping crime. Why just this morning I came across a story in the Times of the untimely disappearance of Mr. Francis Gregson of Camden St. The case promises to be rather interesting if I do say so myself.” I was astounded by my friend’s new found interest in the disappearance of this total stranger. He had never before shown even the slightest interest in criminal activity or those who perpetuated it. Surely this was also a change brought on by our run in with the explosion. I am certain that I must have had a quite disgusted look upon my face for quickly he began to persuade me to his idea. “Think about it man, we have been given this incredible gift, our wounds have healed themselves and we have the perception unheard of in mortal men. With our new power comes new responsibility. Doctors can not turn away a patient, and constables can not refuse a case. They have a responsibility to the common man, and we too have that same responsibility. We must act, and in what better way can we give back to the community than to donate our services to the common people.” So swayed was I by Gibson’s new found sense of altruism that upon that very instant I committed myself to combating crime where ever it would dwell. Infused with a sense of moral righteousness I began looking about the flat for the newspaper article so as to discover what was so interesting about it.

Shop Owner Disappears
On Thursday last Mr. Arthur Gregson left his house at a quarter
to nine to fetch the morning post. When he hadn’t returned by noon
his wife became concerned. By evening he was still not home, and
hadn’t reported in to his shop. Scotland Yard was contacted
but report no clues as to the whereabouts of Mr. Gregson.

I glanced up at my friend rather perplexed. In the short note of his disappearance I failed to find anything of interest. “Do you suspect foul play?”
“I am certain of it. Here we have a man who is married to a pleasant woman, and who is rather well off who disappears with out a trace. I would say that certainly there is a game most foul afoot.”
“I fail to see how you can determine that from this article. How can you be so certain that his wife is pleasant and that he is well of?”
“Oh it is quite simple, you see this man is a shop owner who doesn’t report into his shop; thus he is reasonably well off for he is able to employ people to operate his shop. Furthermore he hadn’t been gone 3 hours before his wife became concerned, defiantly a sign that she is a very caring wife.” I sat there amazed at my friend’s deductions and even more amazed that I had not come to them myself they had seemed so absurdly simple once laid out to me. Little did I know at that time that I would never cease to be amazed by his powers of perception. My friend could easily see the amusement on my face.
“Quite amusing is it not? I think we should travel over to Camden St and see Mrs. Gregson who knows maybe we can notice something that the police have missed. Besides even if we find nothing what have we lost? ” Before long we had eaten and finding our selves strolling down Basil St approaching the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Gregson. As we came to the door we heard the sobs of a woman inside. I glanced at my friend and could clearly see that he had also observed the sobs.
“Hold steady my dear Stark this may have taken a rather ugly turn.” We knocked at the door and within short due it was opened by a young woman dressed as a servant. I could see a puffy swelling around her eyes, and that they were blood shot telling us that she had been crying recently. I glanced over her face to see if there were any wet tears upon her cheeks and saw none thus confident in determining that she was not the woman whom we had heard crying.
“Good Morning my dear, is your mistress at home?”
“Yes sir. May I ask who is calling?”
“Yes tell her Mr. Stark and Mr. Gibson are here to see her. We have come to ask her about her husband.” The maid let us into the hallway and quickly scurried off into the house to announce our arrival. I began to wonder how we were going to explain to this woman why we were interested in her husband’s disappearance. Before I could form any logical explanation the maid had returned and we were lead into a sitting room where seated upon a fainting sofa was a handsome woman whom I later found out to be Mrs. Gregson. Also seated in the room was another gentleman who bore no small amount of concern on his face. As I glanced about the room I could tell that my friend’s observation in regards to the wealth of the Gregson’s was not far astray. Every where I looked I observed only the finest of decorations. The lady was dressed in a simple yet quite elegant day dress. Though I have no experience in dresses I had the strangest suspicion that the dress was French in design.
My friend took no time at all to approach the distraught woman. “Mrs. Gregson I presume? Allow me to introduce my self and my companion.” His rather cold demeanor took me by surprise, “I am Mr. James Gibson, and this is Mr. Jonathan Stark. We have called in relation to the disappearance of your husband.” With that statement she broke out into sobs once more. As I watched this obviously distraught woman I began to wonder why we were there. I felt like an intruder into this woman’s life. The man sitting by the window sat in absolute silence, I began to wonder if he to was an intruder into this woman’s world. Perhaps he was a business associate of her husband’s or maybe a long lost relative. As I stood there wondering about what relation this strange man bore on the situation I became aware that Mrs. Gregson had begun to speak. In between gasps and moans this emotional creature conveyed news to us that her husband was found by police, dead, not twenty minutes earlier. I felt as if we had failed our task. For surely my friend had intended to find this man quite alive and well. Half expecting Gibson to say some apology to the woman about her loss and then to excuse us I was quite amazed when he pressed on. “I am so sorry to hear of your loss ma’am. Have no worry we will find the people responsible for your husband’s murder.” I listened to my friend’s words and watched in amazement as they comforted this woman. Like magic she calmed and began to breathe normally.
“Why thank you Mr. Gibson. I don’t know what I will ever do with out my dear dear Arthur.” Suddenly the man who had up until that point remained silent spoke up. He crossed the room and began to pat the distressed women’s hand. I could see that he had rough hands of a laborer. I could also see that his clothes though of good quality were older and ill fitted to his build. I began to suspect that this individual was a relation to either Mrs. Gregson, or her late husband due to the fact that no man of Gregson’s wealth would rub elbows with an individual so much lower socially than he, as this man evidentially was.
“Now, now Elaine these men are here to help. I am sure they will discover who killed Arthur.” His faced conveyed a look of concern and comfort to this woman; his gnarled and muscular hands dwarfing hers in his grasp.
“Yes, quite. My associate and I are Private Investigators and we have every intention of finding the parties responsible for this travesty.”
“Oh that is so wonderful Mr. Gibson.” Her disposition seemed to improve with my friend’s statement. I will never understand how it was that my friend gained such control over people with his voice, but I could evidently see the effects on this woman. It would surely not be the last time I was amazed by the powers of my colleague
“Can you tell us Mrs. Gregson, did your husband have any enemies? Any one who would wish to harm him in any way?”
“Oh no, none at all; I can only assume that it was ruffians who attacked my Arthur in hopes of stealing his money. Upon discovering that he had none save the amount needed to purchase the morning paper they most likely killed him and threw his body in the river.” I could see my friends eyes light up with thought and suppressed excitement at the widow’s statement. She seemed to completely over look the pent up excitement in Mr. Gibson’s eyes but it was most certainly there.
“Was your husband in the habit of telling you how much money he carried?”
“Oh yes, Arthur and I were very close and often we would walk down together after tea to the News stand at Knightsbridge and he would purchase a copy of the evening post we would then stroll home. I would always say that he had nothing to fear from thieves and ruffians because he carried only enough money to purchase a paper.” As I sat there I attempted to discern what it was that caused my associate such excitement in the woman’s speech. Despite my valid efforts I was truly at a loss.
“Interesting, madam, my friend and I will not trouble you much longer I just have one more question. Could you tell me exactly what happened on the day of your husband’s death? Be as precise as possible, tell me his mood, his action, any visitors he was due to have, everything. Even the slightest detail could be of the utmost importance.”
“Certainly, Mr. Gibson; my husband awoke at 7:30 precisely as he always does. He and I ate breakfast in the kitchen and then he went to his den to look over his books before going out. I then went to the sitting room to read. I was to attend a woman’s meeting later that morning and decided to sit and relax before the ladies arrived. At quarter to nine Arthur came into the sitting room, as was his routine, to declare that he was going out to buy the morning paper. He would do this every day so I didn’t think anything of it. At eleven I left for my meeting and returned at three I thought it odd that he wasn’t home at that time but thought perhaps that he had returned and left again. After asking the staff if he had been in they stated that he had not I began to become concerned I put the thought out of my mind though and told myself that he had gone into the shop for something. When he hadn’t come home by six I became fearful for his safety for he was never out past five thirty. I sent the valet for the constable at six-thirty and conveyed to him my concerns. This morning those fears became a reality when Arthur was found dead.”
“Thank you madam, my friend and I will now be off. I will keep you informed of any developments that occur. Do not worry I sense that we shall soon be at the bottom of this case.” Despite the fact that I had known Mr. Gibson for a fair amount of time I was amazed at his cold and aloof mannerisms.
“Thank you very much Mr. Gibson, and you too Mr. Stark.” With that the lady of the house rang for the maid who showed us to the door. As we began to stroll down the street I heard my friend begin to chuckle.
“A very interesting case do you not agree?” I was truly perplexed by my friend’s rather cheerful mood. Surely he had taken a turn for the worse, why we had just dealt with the death of a respected business man and he was making light of it. Besides that point I failed to notice any thing odd or even remotely interesting about the course of events that had transpired on the morning prior.
“Surely it is simply as the woman said. Her husband was attacked by ruffians and was killed.” As I spoke I became aware of my uncertainty as to whether I was attempting to convince my friend of that fact or myself.
“You think so? I would say that there is a bit more to it.”
“How on earth do you suppose that?”
“You shall see. For now though let us go to Scotland Yard and see the Inspector who is on this case.” James hailed a cab and we rode to Scotland Yard. Despite my requests he firmly refused to answer any of my questions. I resigned myself to the fact that I wouldn’t know anything beyond my own deductions until my friend decided. As we arrived at the Yard I again heard a chuckle emerge from my friend. I had become truly desperate to find out what it was that he was hiding from me, as we rolled to a stop I shot him a questioning glance to which he simply gazed back with a look of absolute serenity. We were shown in by the desk sergeant to the inspector’s office. The man’s name was Howard Moraine. As I looked at the man I became immediately aware of the very bulldog nature to his features; short, stocky and rather mean. He was a simple man with a very gruff nature. He motioned for us to take seats hardly glancing up from a report. We sat there for numerous minutes in near silence, as we watched this Inspector read his report. After about five minutes I had become agitated at this man for ignoring us. I looked over at Gibson to see if he shared my sentiment and was amazed to find him sitting with a calm unperturbed look on his face. After another minute or two I decided that I would get the attention of this Inspector when my friend cleared his throat in an attempt to pull the distracted policeman from his reading material. His head shot up with a start.
“Oh so sorry; I forgot you were there; just go the coroner’s report you know rather interesting all in all, you see this man was dead before he even hit the ground it seems, I suppose you gentlemen probably wouldn’t have an interest in that though. By the way; who are you?”
“Mr. Gibson, and Mr. Stark Private Investigators. We are here in relation to the Gregson case. We have already spoken to Mrs. Gregson and would like to speak with you about the case, and perhaps if we may view the body.” The Inspector looked at us for what seemed an eternity. With scrutiny I hadn’t expected out of this man he observed our every move and feature. I was starting to believe that he had forgotten us again when he spoke up.
“Well I probably shouldn’t but what can it hurt. The case is pretty simple. It appears as though the deceased was killed while he was on his way to purchase his morning paper. He never made it to the shop that he owns that morning. The coroner has declared that it is a simple case of willful murder by parties, unknown. It will probably go unsolved. What questions would you like to ask Mr. Gibson?”
“Well to start I should like to know who the man who was with Mrs. Gregson is. We have just come from her house and it hadn’t occurred to me to ask there.”
“Oh that is Mr. Shawn Dempsey. He is a foreman from the ship yards. Apparently he was an old friend of Mrs. Gregson’s brother. When her brother was lost at sea five years ago they became close friends. Why do you ask?”
“Oh no reason; I just forgot to ask the man when we spoke. So tell me where was Mr. Gregson found?”
“In the Thames, it looks like the killers thought they would dispose of the body but it happened to wash ashore last night so it was found this morning when some dock workers reported to work. The coroner estimates that the man was killed yesterday morning and that his body was dumped shortly after dark by the killers. He died from a sharp object striking the back of his head.”
“Interesting, do you suppose that we could see the body now?”
“Of course.” With that we rose and descended down some stairs to the morgue below the station. Mr. Gregson was laid out on a table his clothes had been removed and a rather mousy man was busy poking and prodding him. From the moment that we stepped into the room I would smell the putrid stench that emanated from the deceased. His skin was a bluish color, and it was excessively bloated. I noticed that there was a dull film on various parts of the man’s body, and the rear portion of his head was flattened.
“Good morning gentlemen.” The mousy man came around the table to greet us. “I am Michael Touvani, the coroner in this case. May I help you with anything?”
“Yes you can sir; I have a couple of questions about the deceased.” My friend had passed by the coroner and was already examining the body. “So have you found the very singular weapon that was used on this man?”
“We haven’t found the weapon yet but we have noticed the odd shape of the depression in this man’s skull. Also its placement is rather peculiar. If you will notice that it is located on the back right side which would imply a right-handed assailant, yet there is a gash running up the head to the right which doesn’t make sense. Also if you observe this indent it appears as if the object used was hooked yet it was brought up against the man’s head away from the hook shape.” I observed all of these things and began to wonder about what type of weapon could make such a mark on a man when suddenly my friend spoke up.
“Well thank you gentlemen for your hospitality I remember that my friend and I have pressing business elsewhere which we must attend to.”
“Ah, had enough investigating for one day Mr. Gibson? Perhaps you had better leave this one up to the professionals. It certainly isn’t for the faint of heart.” I heard more than a hint of a mocking tone in the Inspector’s words.
“Yes that must be it,” my friend chuckled. “I suppose that we shall leave now. If you would be so kind as to show us to the door I would be very appreciative.” As the Inspector showed us to the door I began to turn the whole affair over in my mind. I was quite confused at Gibson’s willingness to drop this so suddenly and wondered what our pressing business might be. The Inspector walked us out and as we were about to walk away my friend turned to the Inspector and said, “By the way Inspector, who broke the dreadful news to Mrs. Gregson?”
“I did, why do you ask sir?”
“Oh no reason, no reason at all.” With that we left my friend laughing to himself under his breath the entire way. We walked for approximately three or four blocks before my friend hailed a taxi and we went to lunch. Over lunch we discussed the finer points of the case. My associate would question me on my observations and following deductions and we would analyze them. After we had finished my friend stood to leave. “Stark, I have to do a couple of inquiries would you be so kind as to meet me at the flat around six tonight and we can bring this case to a successful close.” I was shocked that he was so confident in his ability to sort through the muddled mess and to honestly believe that he could solve this case by the evening. I obliged to his request and made my way home. I was sitting in our room when my friend burst in. “Quickly Stark, we must act quickly or all will be lost.” I could see from his face that he was truly frantic.
“What do you need?”
“Show these men into the back room, and sit here by the fire with me. We put on a face of total calm and collectiveness.” I saw that at his heels was three rather mean looking constables and Inspector Moraine. I ushered them into the backroom, and took my place by the fire as Gibson finished throwing some papers about and clearing two seats near us. I could hear steps on the stairs, just as my friend finished his frantic rushing and sat down the door opened and there stood Mrs. Gregson, and Mr. Dempsey. They must have just missed them.
“Good evening,” my friends panic had passed as quickly as it came. “Please have a seat. I trust that you received my note?”
“Yes of course.” It was Mr. Dempsey that spoke this time.
“Then Mr. Dempsey I would like to ask you to tell me everything you know about the death of Mr. Arthur Gregson.”
“Why, nothing more than you have already heard Mr. Gibson.” The mans face was one of confusion and inquiry.
“That is not so and if you continue to lie to me I shall be forced to take some drastic measures. Perhaps I haven’t been entirely clear. I know it was you who killed Mr. Gregson. I want to hear what you have to say about it.” I was aghast at my friend’s nonchalance with which he uttered this accusation. Mr. Dempsey was on his feet, his face flushed with rage. The man’s neck bulged with rage and he began to walk towards me colleague.
“Why I never,” he bellowed, “Mr. Gibson, I would strongly recommend that you take back that accusation before I force you. I am not a man to be trifled with.” Still through all of this my friend remained calm and one might even say rather bored.
“Please Mr. Dempsey sit down, yelling is of no use. I am well aware that you and Mrs. Gregson conspired to murder her husband while she was at her woman’s meeting, now believe me I have more than enough evidence to send to both of you to the gallows, and it is only curiosity that forces me to ask this request, for I wonder about some minor points.” The big man continued to progress towards my friend a look of pure murder in his eyes. I felt myself wishing for a revolver when a call rang out.
“SHAWN!” It was Mrs. Gregson, she sat bolt upright in her chair and the large man stopped her voice seemingly holding him much as a chain holds a dangerous dog. “Mr. Gibson you are correct we did conspire to kill my husband. It was my idea, not Shawn’s.” Dempsey turned to the woman with a pleading look, which she shot down with the force and ferocity of a whirlwind. “It is no use Shawn, besides I hate myself for it. Arthur was a good man and he didn’t deserve this. Mr. Gibson, as I am sure you are aware of already, I was born Elayne Dempsey, Shawn here is my brother. We were born in the poorer district of Dublin; our father was a ship yard worker. Our father and mother died shortly after Shawn turned ten, I was left to raise Shawn for I was 2 years older.
“I realized that we should need to eat so I went to the ship yards and spoke with the foreman. I agreed that he would employ Shawn as soon as he became of working age and I would provide something of great value in exchange. Also he was to begin to support us immediately so that we wouldn’t starve.”
“What did you provide?”
“Myself.” The woman’s matter of fact tone startled me. “Well needless to say I didn’t take to kindly to it, but I was always a bright girl. I schooled myself and Shawn using the pathetically small library of week old newspapers that lay around the foreman’s house. After a few years Shawn became employed at the ship yard. He was shortly there after made assistant to the foreman. In an instant I saw my chance, my chance to remove this horrid man from our lives and to allow Shawn and me to rise in the world. Needless to say that it wasn’t hard to get him drunk and push him into the bay, where he drowned. He was the first.” Mrs. Gregson paused, and collected herself before continuing.
“He wasn’t to be the last though. A few short months later I had found another man who would support me and Shawn for a price, the same price. Ultimately he met the same fate, as did the next and the next. By that time the Dublin police were quite interested in Shawn and my self; we fled Ireland and made for England with what ever we could lay our hands upon. We found our selves here in London. Very quickly Shawn secured a job at the ship yards as a foreman, and I stayed at home. One night Shawn and I were out when we ran into a kindly gentleman. His name was Arthur Gregson.
Arthur and I fell deeply in love, and soon after were married. I swore off my past and dedicated my self to living on the right side of the law. Then came the day; that horrible day. Arthur was reading the paper and read about the case. Apparently the Inspector had retired and the post ran a story about it. Well Arthur was a bright man, and quickly he put two and two together. He confronted Shawn and me and we killed him. We intended that he never be found and that we would fade away and flee London.” I sat there amazed at the story that had just unfolded before me. “Do you have any questions Mr. Gibson?” The woman’s voice was firm and without fear.
“Just one. What instrument was used on Mr. Gregson’s head?” It was Shawn’s turn to tell a story yet all he did was reach into his pocket and pull out a small metal hook. He pressed a button and suddenly a second hook shot out of the opposing side as the first. I was pondering what that hook was and what it could be used for when the back room door burst open and the constables poured out.
“I think we have heard enough, Shawn Dempsey, and Elayne Gregson, you are both under arrest for the murder of Mr. Arthur Gregson.” I watched as the two fugitives both sat there and allowed them selves to be taken into custody by the police. Once that had left I turned to my friend and asked him;
“How on earth did you know?”
“Simple my dear friend. Originally I suspected nothing, I saw Mr. Dempsey consoling his sister. It was then that I noticed the family resemblance, and also the absence of a wedding band. Imagine my friend what kind of woman takes off a wedding band in the first twenty minutes after she finds out about her husband’s demise? Not many. Still that wasn’t enough to arouse my suspicions until we met with Mr. Gregson. You will remember that he stated that he had just gotten the coroner’s report, and he was the person who told Mrs. Gregson of her husband’s death. I began to wonder, how he could have told her thus that her husband was killed and then had his body dumped when he had yet to find out himself. And with the examination of the body I all but confirmed my suspicions. The hole in the back of Mr. Gregson’s head was quite deep thus it had to have been done by a very strong man, like a dock worker. The rest was simply wiring to the Irish government to see if they knew of a Shawn Dempsey. I received the information early this afternoon and had barely enough time to get Inspector Gregson and his constables in here before our culprits arrived.” I sat in astonishment of my friend. And remembered how unique of a day it had been.
“But the weapon, what was that thing?”
“That I don’t know, but it appears as if they have dropped it.” I watched as Gibson reached down to the floor and picked up the most singular tool that had fallen from Mr. Dempsey’s hand. “I would suspect that it is a modification on some shipping tool. Perhaps Mr. Dempsey had a bit of a knack for engineering. Perhaps tomorrow we shall go down to Scotland Yard and ask him what exactly it is.”
Thus came to a conclusion the first case that Mr. Gibson and I undertook. When we went to Scotland Yard the next day we found that Shawn Dempsey had escaped. He had pryed open the bars on the window in his cell and had run for the river. His body was recovered three days later near the same spot that Arthur Gregson had been found at. Elaine Gregson was convicted and hung from the gallows.
It would be some time before Gibson and I would even begin to associate the strange explosion outside Hammersmith’s House with our new found abilities but that was unimportant at the time.
Thus was born on a June night the franchise of private investigation named Gibson and Stark. This was our first adventure and would surly not be our last. So now I shall lay down my pen for the night. Perhaps tomorrow I will continue the tale of those last few years that I had the pleasure of my friends company.

Dr. Jonathan Stark, P.H.D.