Holmes
Sherlock

The Lamedon Vampire

"The vampire is reported to roam in Galador's, Minalnen. Where is Minalnen, Watson?"   "It's in Lamedon, south of Ethrin."   "Not very far, eh? And Galador's?"   "I know that country, Holmes. It is full of old houses which are named after the men who built them centuries ago. You get Thalion's and Bergil's and Grithnir's - the folk are forgotten but their names live in their houses."   "Precisely", said Holmes, coldly. It was one of the peculiarities of his proud, self-contained nature that though he docked any fresh information very quickly and accurately in his brain, he seldom made any acknowledgment to the giver. "I rather fancy we shall know a good deal more about Galador's, Minalnen, before we are through. This letter is from Gondion, son of Damrod, a magistrate in the area. He begs us to unmask the identity of a vampire  terrorizing the population so that the authorities can deal with him. The local police are baffled as usual."   "Are not vampires a little outside our purview, Holmes?"   "That was my first thought too. On reflection, however, it occurred to me that the price of fifty thousand pounds set on the vampire's head might be of great assistance. Bombadil, my cocaine supplier, has seen fit to further increase the price for his wares."   "Holmes, let me once more beg you to desist -"   "I will not listen to your unprovoked flames, Watson. The Eagles are waiting outside to take us to Galador's, Minalnen. You are free to come with me or not, as you see fit."   After a some hours of flight, the eagles set us down at our destination, received some scrip redeemable in Rivendell as payment for their trouble and flew off screaming uncomplimentary observations regarding my friend, who used this opportunity to unload some rubbish forced upon him by Denethor, the scheming swindler who had caused us so much grief before his timely death in the Anduinbach Falls. Gondion, son of Damrod, was waiting for us outside his house in the company of an old acquaintance of ours.    "Ah, Inspector Lestrade", said my friend, without pretending to a surfeit of pleasure. "So you are here too?"   "As you see, Mr Holmes", said the official detective. "I was called in yesterday. And let me say, Mr Holmes, that we have made some considerable progress on this case. Only three suspects are left, though we do seem incapable of ascertaining which of them is the vampire."   "The suspects are?"   "Hector McDírhael, Algernon of Dol Amroth and Isumbras Took - very suspicious characters the three of them. They all have a fondness for Bloody Marys. Furthermore, Gondion  has seen them prowl about in the vicinity during more than one of these terrible murders."   "Anything more to add, Gondion?", inquired Holmes, turning towards the magistrate: a small, wrinkled, stooped man with a white beard, woollen mittens and a toboggan hood pulled down over his ears.   "Not while we are standing here, Mr Holmes", responded Gondion in a quavering voice. "Please, Mr Holmes, let us not discuss this further outdoors! I am freezing."   Holmes raised his eyebrows. "Freezing?" he said. "The air is quite balmy."   Gondion chuckled, but was interrupted by a hacking, wheezing cough. He refreshed himself by taking a swig of throat syrup from a silver flask.   "When you are my age, Mr Holmes", declared he, "you will be more sensible of the weather's inclemencies! Just look at me - I am blue with cold!"   I had already noted, with wonder and pity, that Gondion's skin was indeed a pronounced blue. We went up the path and entered Gondion's home, a rather suburbanite villa with its name written in gold leaf letters on the wall beneath a red-tiled roof. Inside, a round, matronly servant was bustling about and a monumental fire was roaring in the fireplace.   "Well, Mr Holmes", continued the old man, "what do you wish to know about our  three suspects? I know everything about the inhabitants of the district."   "I need to know nothing", answered Holmes with a calm smile and a twinkle in his austere grey eyes.   "Nothing? Nothing at all, Mr Holmes?"   "Nothing, Gondion. All I need to do to unmask the vampire is ask you to remove your mittens."   "Mr Holmes, are you mad?" exclaimed Lestrade. "You are speaking to the most respected man in the district."   My friend ignored him. His gaze was fixed on Gondion, who began to back away from him.   "Please remove your right mitten", said Holmes quietly.  The old man turned to fly, but Holmes sprang like a tiger to his back and hurled him flat upon his face. He was up again in a moment, and with convulsive strength he seized Holmes by the throat; but I struck him on the head with the butt of my revolver and he dropped again upon the floor. I fell upon him, and as I held him my comrade swiftly removed the mitten on Gondion's right hand. I gasped as it became manifest that there were only four fingers on it.   "His hand only has four fingers, but it can still give pain", declared Holmes. "Allow me to introduce you to Papa Smurf, also known as Sauron!"   Sauron looked at him with red, flashing eyes and bared his sharp fangs. "You fiend!" he kept on muttering; "you clever, clever fiend!"   "I am certainly more clever than you", said Holmes laughing. "Trying to impress Lestrade with your keenness to have this solved by consulting me did not constitute the optimal in genius. Furthermore, showing me the fireplace where you are wont to make your infamous Rings gave me the final clue needed to be fairly certain that I had found the person I was looking for. Pretending to be old and cold and in need of a constant fire! That, on the other hand, certainly was a clever stratagem. However, baptizing your home 'The Cracks of Doom' and putting the name on its facade was not." Öjevind Lång