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About the Author: Martin Hill Ortiz, originally from New Mexico, teaches Pharmacology at the Ponce Health Sciences University in Ponce, Puerto Rico. He is the author of three novels, one novella, and over thirty-five published short stories. This is the fourth story in a series about Jules Pfennig, detective and next-door neighbor to Sherlock Holmes.
In regards to my covetous nature, I blame my given and family names: Jules Pfennig. Jules, a sound that conjures an image of gemstones. Pfennig, from German, meaning a mere penny. I have passed my life suspended between aspiration and deprivation. So, when a certain individual offered me an opportunity to lay my hands on a gem of great value, he roused my interest.
Allow me to set the scene. After my most recent outing, one wherein I exposed the secret behind a supposedly miraculous bell, I returned near midnight to my flat at 223 Baker Street only to discover my door ajar and an intruder sitting behind my desk.
At first I thought my visitor, ensconced in shadows, must be my neighbour, Sherlock Holmes. I've had a feud with that impudent detective—he being jealous of my investigatory skills and rankled that my talents were luring away his patrons. Yes, I have represented myself to potential clients as being the Sherlock Holmes, but when my inquiries led to success weren't they giving him the credit? He should be thanking me.
The uninvited stranger spoke in an icy voice, "Mr. Jules Pfennig." I felt unnerved that he knew who I was: the invasion being ever the more personal. "I am James Moriarty."
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