Sleuthing, hypothetically, had been manifested long before the first detective was conceived; of course, this was a hypothesis borne from a sheer plunge into the turbulent cesspool of probability. In this regard, however, it could be written that the fictitious Mr Holmes might have solved a rather complicated affair while he was still housed in his matriach’s belly; although how this supposition could become true was not what either the deceased Sir Doyle or the eccentric scribbler who wrote this prepostrous postulation could explain. Sometimes, the power of a gumshoe’s intuition alone might not sufficiently suggest the link between uncanny occurrences; it could be akin to trying to perform brain surgery by intuition; even logic didn’t always offer immediate answers either. In this case, one Detective Lot might indeed have dispaired at the odds of discovering hidden truths through deductive reasoning. Yet, the rather nonsensical logic of this current paragraph may assist the curious readers in understanding the lewd premises hidden in the succeeding paragraphs; detection can come in various ways, in the most unlikely ways—in the most unlikely methods.
As usual, the room was warm and cosy. The inhabitants enjoyed peaceful slumbers most of the times, except on some occasions when they would welcome a familiar intruder. The supposed room was spacious enough to accommodate only the two growing lodgers for a specific number of months. These two dwellers had spent just over half of the specified time and so they had just four months left to vacate this apartment. Even they themselves knew that they could not live in this room forever. There would be a time when nature would put an end to the food they usually received without being asked. They were gradually gaining weights on the food and warmth the room provided, whilst outside the door, others struggled with nature to survive. These two didn’t know that, of course. Even if they did, what would they do about it? What could they do? The rule that worked outside was of singularity; every man for himself. But soon, after a few months, these campers would roll up their tents and move on. They would be forced to vacate the room for some other occupants. And with what they had been witnessing lately, the next occupant might assume the occupancy not long after the current ones’ vacation.
Then just as they were having their usual siestas, when the world outside was now abuzz with sibilant whispers, the two children, like two pupas encased in a chrysalis, heard a faint ruffle at the entrance of the door. Somehow knowing that the door itself was already covered with dark moss at the entrance, the boys were not much suprised at the ruffles. They were silent and they intently watched the door to know who the intruder was.
The entrance slowly gave way as the door parted, admitting the visitor into the room. The intruder at first slowly came in and opted for the exit almost immediately, as if he had only come to give a brief glance at the occupiers of the anteroom. Then he returned inside, faster this time, and tried to leave at the same rate. This was not strange to the inhabitants of the inner room, for all their visitors paid their visits in this manner.
The first child saw the visitor and became glad. He greeted joyfully, “Daddy! Daddy!! You’re welcome.” He could not go and meet the visitor because he was doomed to remain in the room. Leaving the anteroom would be dangerous. Dangerous to him, his brother, the room, and equally the owner of the room. It was not yet the time to leave.
“Daddy! Daddy!! I’m here!”
The second child was irritated at his brothers excited bickers. “Stop your unnecessary display of affection. That’s not Daddy.”
The first child cast a perplexed look at his brother and asked, “How do you mean? Are you telling me that I don’t know my own father?” He cast another look at the approaching-and-reneging guest.
“That is not Papa,” insisted the second child, “Are you blind? Are you suffering from medulla oblongata deficiency syndrome? Can’t you see the physical appearance of this guest? He doesn’t resemble our father in any way.”
“Okay, then tell me who that is.”
“That is one of Daddy’s numerous friends.”
For a moment, the first child thought his brother was crazy. “Do you know what you are talking about? Daddy’s friend? How could Daddy’s friend enter this room? And what makes you think he’s Daddy’s friend and not Daddy himself?”
“You know Daddy’s physical descriptions, don’t you?”
“Of course, I do.”
“Good. Now, look carefully at that visitor.”
The first child looked. “I’m still seeing him.”
“We both know that Daddy is short.”
“Is that visitor short?”
“No, he’s tall. From what I’m seeing here, he appears to be very tall.”
“That’s the first indication that he’s not Daddy.”
“What’s the second?”
“Daddy is a slim man. But take a closer look at the man at the entrance.”
“This one is fat,” conceded the first child, “he’s very fat.”
“Can you now see why that is not Daddy? If you listened carefully, you would know that the voice outside the walls is louder than the usual sounds that always accompanied Daddy’s visits. That’s the voice of the landlady, the voice caused by the physical endowment of Daddy’s friend. Brother, there is something else I expected you to have noticed.”
“There is something strange about that man’s appearance. Can you see it?”
“Yes, he’s wearing a cap.”
“Good. What is that cap made of?”
“From what I’m seeing here, I think it’s made of rubber.”
“You see? That’s one distinct difference between that man and Daddy. Daddy would never enter this room wearing a cap. If he did, we wouldn’t have been living here, don’t you think so?”
The first child gave a deep thought and nodded in agreement. “You’re right. Daddy would never do that.”
“One more thing; each time Daddy comes in, he always drops some gifts before leaving. But this particular visitor is stingy; his presence here offers no hope of jollity. He won’t drop some milk when he’s leaving.”
“I think that’s because he’s wearing a cap.”
“That damn cap! I wish we could pull it off his head.”
The first child frowned in confusion, “But why is Daddy’s friend entering Daddy’s room? Why would Daddy allow that?”
“I don’t think Daddy allowed it. I think the fault is with the landlady. I believe it’s the landlady who gave this stranger the key to Daddy’s room.”
“Why would she do that? Daddy would be furious if he knew.”
“But Daddy would not know. In the evening, Daddy would enter his room without the faintest idea that someone had invaded his privacy.”
“I feel sorry for Daddy. The landlady is an unkind woman.”
“I don’t feel sorry for Daddy at all, this could be an old score coming home to roost. I believe Daddy, too, enjoy sneaking into other men’s rooms. Because of that, his room has become a tourist centre, but he doesn’t know that. In his absence, the landlady gives the key to anyone who wants to explore this room. Not even the thick moss covering the door would keep them out. Even these days, the moss has become a welcome mat. The execrable conducts of our pedigree has resulted in the superflous paucity in the theory of we members of the budding posterity. The people who live outside these walls think we don’t know; they think we don’t hear things. But we do. They think our pretense of sleep, of inexperience, of naivete, of cataleptic indifference, a pretense of deafness to the obscene flirtatious moves they display towards each other just outside the walls of this room, and of blindness to the preposterous unfaithfulness of mankind that seems to be the order of the day, are merely shows of unknowingness. But we know. We see, we hear and we know. Good heavens, we’re not as dense as they think.”
“I can’t wait to get out of here!” Lamented the first child.
“Me too. But remember that when our time comes, we’ll have to pass through that thickly-mossed door to go out.”
“Oh, my God!”
The clever ones would understand the hidden significance of the story, but the innocent would not.