Conch KingdomBoard

(This is your internal thoughts)

If you have just joined us now, you need to check out the parts below of the Conch Mystery to get in touch with the story line.

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

PART FOUR

PART FIVE

PART SIX

PART SEVEN

Now let's carry one with our story...

Rosencrantz and Bouvier were both soldiers has been picked.

Rosencrantz and Bouvier were both soldiers.

Yes, of course!

That's where Bouvier picked up his addiction for thuoc lao. It's too rare and potent to randomly start smoking in London. He must have been a soldier in the French colonization of Vietnam. Bouvier undoubtedly specialized in demolition, explaining his expertise with explosives. That's how Rosencrantz knew Bouvier was a skilled bomb maker.

You travel across London to visit an old friend, one of your only friends, Meritorious. He's a dedicated military historian that's bound to have specific knowledge about the French colonization of Vietnam. You find him browsing old volumes at his large bookstore.

You tell Meritorious about your inquiry and he reveals a mound of records about the French colonization of Vietnam. He always likes to stay up to date with military information. You start rifling through the files, searching for information about Bouvier's platoon and section.

After hours of research you come across a file about Bouvier's section. You see him sitting in a photo of French soldiers. Beside him there's a soldier with a jagged scar under his left eye.

Yorick Rosencrantz. Apparently his real name is Renard Voclain.

You hold the photograph close. You've seen Voclain's face before, recently. The face is burning in your mind as you struggle to remember where you saw him.

Eureka!

You were so close to him! You brushed past him as you were chasing Blakely through the streets. He was no more than a face in the crowd at the time, blending with the thick London masses.

You focus your mind and try to recall details about Voclain. Your eidetic memory rebuilds an image of the chase in your mind's eye. You only saw Voclain for a second, but you know it was him.

(Voclain was wearing a gray buttoned shirt and black trousers. His shoes had red clay on them, distinct to the Brentwood neighborhood near the docks. There were cat hairs on the ankles of his pants, from multiple breeds. Your sharp perceptive abilities and knowledge of London's animals lead you to believe that Voclain has been in close contact with Burmese and British Shorthairs.

It looks like maybe a Cornish Rex or two was present, but you're uncertain.

Voclain must have really liked cats.

His fingers had fresh cuts from fishhooks and burns. You remember the smell of haddock hitting your nose as you ran past him.

Your powerful memory is working at full throttle as you recreate the brief image of Voclain.)

But you still don't know where he is now. You decide to focus your mind on his close encounters with many cats.

Renard Voclain was probably feeding local cats in the Brentwood neighborhood. The fishhook cut and smell of haddock suggest he's been fishing recently, and the abundance of varied cat hair on his ankles guide you to think that he's been feeding the fish to cats.

It's a long shot, but you don't have much else to go off of.

It's dusk in London as you pursue the stray cat theory. You wander the Brentwood district, asking locals if anyone in the neighborhood is especially fond of cats. A young woman tells you about a man living down the street that feeds the local cats fish scraps each night.

You follow the sound of meows and see British Shorthairs darting across the road. The scent of haddock hits your nose as you peer through a house window. This could very well be Renard Voclain's house.

No one answers when you knock, so you go ahead and pick the lock. The door clicks open and you creep inside.

A shadow moves across the wall towards as someone approaches you hide behind the table.

You dart behind the table and wait for the shadow to approach you. You realize it's just the shadow of a British Shorthair wandering through the house. It stretches and scampers away.

You keep sneaking through the house, looking for Voclain. There are notes scattered across his tables and bookshelves. It looks like he was attempting to make electrically powered lights, much like Sir Joseph Swan, the target at the theater.

He must have been killing off other scientists pursuing electrical light so he could have a monopoly on the idea. He realized the genius of the invention and wanted to reap all the profits himself!

You stealth your way through the house and towards the study. Peering inside you see Renard Voclain, his scar visible in the candlelight, working at his desk. He's furiously going through notes.

You stand in the doorway and draw your revolver.

"Renard Voclain," you shout, "you're under arrest!"

Voclain looks up from his work and his face grows pale. He's faster than you expect, and reaches down to grab a pistol of his own.

You roll behind the door and duck down as Voclain draws his pistol.

"Drop the gun!" you yell.

BANG BANG BANG

Voclain's bullets tear through the wall, narrowly missing you.

"I know you're Shakespeare, mastermind behind the terrorist bombings," you say from behind your hiding place. "You were posing the attacks are random bombings while you discreetly targeted scientists that were working on making electrical light, just like you're trying to do. You're afraid of the competition, because you're just not that smart."

BANG

Another bullet rips through the wall, inches from your shoulder.

"These bullets were for Swan," shouts Voclain. "I had no idea I'd be using them on some bum detective!"

BANG

The bullet glances your arm, cutting your shirt.

You take off your jacket and throw it in the path of the doorway as a distraction. Voclain fires at the flying jacket instinctively, using his last bullet. You jump out and subdue him before he can reload.

Got him.

You bring Renard Voclain to Scotland Yard in cuffs. There's one less maniac on the streets of London. You and rest of the police force search his house and find more than enough evidence to send him away to prison. Plus, he fired at a detective.

"Great work," says Duby as you bask in your success.

"Elementary, my dear Duby."

A sequel will be coming soon with an another mystery!