You undo the seams with your pocket knife revealing a small hidden cavity in the cushion. You quickly search the compartment. You feel something and reveal an angular slip of red paper, folded into a diamond.
“Hmm,” says Mr. Parks. “How odd. Now why would somebody hide a simple piece of parchment here, not to mention ruin such beautiful upholstery as well?” You inspect the piece of paper and carefully unfold its shape. The maroon slip reveals a letter written in deep black ink:
I wandered lonely as a cloud that floats o’er vales and hills, when all at once I saw a crowd, a host of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
“Ah… Wordsworth,” Parks says, looking at the letter.
“I’m sorry? I don’t quite understand,” you say, confused.
“William Wordsworth? The poet?” Parks says with his usual unintentional condescension.
You sigh, “Well, yes of course, but what could it mean?” You continue looking at the red paper trying to ascertain its meaning when you notice a few light smudges of ink on the paper. You look closer and notice a fingerprint on the corner of the page.
“Parks, look here.” You point out the print. Parks looks intently and inspects the crease where the paper was folded.
“Interesting; how interesting indeed,” he says with an intrigued look. “Look here,” he points to the fingerprint, “The position of the print and the position of the fold don’t match. The person writing this would never have left that smudge from folding the paper. I suspect it must have been placed there on purpose… but why?” He turns to you expectantly.
“Well, perhaps it has something to do with this case? Mr. Ackerson was the first to find the body, and this is his coach after all.” You lower your voice as the situation becomes more tense. Parks sits up straight, rubbing his chin.
“I suspect it must be some sort of code,” Parks says, “and considering this hidden compartment appears to have been used often, I doubt it would go unnoticed by our coachman if it has been here for some time.”
You begin becoming more suspicious of Ackerson every moment. “Do you think we should question him?” you say, peeking out the window towards the driver.
“Perhaps… but I feel that if we pull this thread too fast, it may just snap, and questioning Mr. Ackerson may put the real perpetrator on a higher guard.” Parks carefully pulls the threads of the upholstery taught and removes a small pin from his coat, sewing the gap shut once more.
“You don’t think Ackerson is the culprit?”
“Call it a ‘gut feeling,’ my friend,” he says, working at the seat. “Now keep that paper close. If anyone recognizes it, they might just provide us with a new lead.” You fold the paper and tuck it in your jacket pocket.
“Hmm, a code. What kind of code…” you ponder as the coach comes to a stop. Parks quickly finishes the stitch and tucks away the needle as Ackerson comes down from his seat and opens the door.
“Blackthorn Manor.” He bows as he opens the door. You look out towards the decadent manse before you. You step out onto a cobble walkway surrounded by gardens, leading up to the home of the Blackthorns, a gorgeous yet ominous house with tall gothic features. Glancing at Mr. Ackerson, you feel a new sense of caution towards the groundskeeper.
You could question him now; if anything it would put your own mind at ease to know if this man was the killer. However, it might be best to follow Parks’s direction and overlook the man’s suspicion for now.
What should you do? Follow Parks’s advice, or question Ackerson now?
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