Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson are summoned to a Countess's manor house to investigate her missing husband. Upon examining the letter inviting them and noticing asymmetries in the house's architecture, Holmes deduces that the missing husband is hidden behind a recently constructed wall. When they tear down the wall, they find the husband's dead body, and the Countess and her contractor lover are convicted of his murder.

1. Or the Case of the Missing Window
(with Dr Nygaard’s apologies to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle)
Note: At the bottom of each slide, a white number indicates
the quantity of unbalanced constructions you must find &
fix.

2. One morning at Baker St, I awoke with a sudden start to
find Sherlock Holmes standing over me, holding a letter in one
hand and with a cup of hot coffee in the other. He was
speaking loudly and quick, but being still half-asleep, I could
make no sense of what he said.
As I struggled to shake off the last vestiges of slumber,
prepare myself for a day of investigation, and to clear my mind,
and awaken my memory, the great detective continued with
his narrative.
“So you see, my dear Watson,” he said, “The Countess
expects us at noon; we must hurry!”
3

3. Over a hasty breakfast of kippers and eggs, which did
much for my faculties of concentration and comprehending,
I slowly began to pose some questions.
“I gather we have been summoned by a female client, some
woman of aristocratic background, a wealthy Lady who lives some
distance from London?”
“Yes, my dear Doctor. Pray, what can you deduce from
this?” said Holmes, as he pushed the envelope across the table
with his butter knife and brushing crumbs from the tablecloth.
As I examined the paper in question, he ate but one toast
point, one grilled tomato, and a single ring of fried onion. He
seldom indulged in the homely pleasures of a full English
breakfast and prefers to conserve all his energy for deductive
reasoning. 5

4. I noticed nothing unusual in the letter, neither in its
simple message nor the high-quality materials of which it was
comprised. But then, I was no expert in such matters.
“Oh, Doctor! You disappoint me! The careless
calligraphy, such sentences of cock-eyed construction, the
crooked creases in the paper—all these features tell you
nothing?”
I confessed to being baffled, feeling confused, and utterly
dumbfounded.
“But just read it!” Holmes cried.
I perused it once again as he, with little patience, his
typical condescending attitude, and a mild hint of humor, spread
it out before me: 4

5. Do come at once, kind Sir! I require
your famous intelligence, the keen mind
you are said to possess, and those famous
powers of deduction are necessary, if we
are to find my missing husband!
“Do you not see how the construction of that sentence is
asymmetrical, all out of balance, and sounds terribly disjointed?”
He laughed and said, “Such irregularity in the composition, the
distorted sentences, and such unsteady prose is the indisputable
sign either of hysterical terror or some impulsive deceit.”
“But which is it?” I cried.
3

6. “Only a careful examination of the poor Lady’s manorial hall, of
its exterior and the inner rooms, will solve this most piquant
mystery,” Holmes declared.
Some hours later, we entered the drawing room of one of
England’s grandest houses. (I may not mention its name: I
promised the family to shield their feelings of shame with my
discrete caution.)
Even before the Countess joined us, I felt Holmes had
solved the case, for he whispered to me as we sat, “Did you
notice the lop-sided features of the house, how the masonry is
discolored, and the missing window to the right of the door?”
“But how can you know a window is missing?” I cried in
astonishment. He might have answered me, but at that
moment, the Countess was entering the room. 2

7. Never one to observe propriety or for showing respect for
social niceties, Holmes burst out with a series of questions.
“Shall we get right to the point, Countess? Where have
you hidden your husband? Is he living or dead? In what state
shall we find him when we tear down this wall?”
The detective pointed dramatically at a wall, which, when
I examined it more closely, appeared to have been painted
recently, and the plaster was fresh.
Holmes continued his questioning: “Did you kill him or
was it the builder who committed murder, perhaps out of love
for you?”
The Lady was not only angry, but also full of alarm, and
she seemed outraged: 4

8. “How dare you accuse me of—of—!” She sputtered
angrily and in defeat.
“Of adultery and committing murder!” Holmes
shouted. Turning to me, he said: “When we approached the
manor, I saw a square patch of masonry beside the front door
that differed in color from the rest of the house; obviously,
someone had bricked up one of a pair of windows, ruining the
symmetry of the facade. Then, when we entered, I quickly
compared the inner dimensions of the house with the house’s
exterior and deduced the construction of a hidden vault in
which we will find the Earl. The only question is, will he be
alive or dying?”
Sadly, the Earl was dead, but the Countess and her
contractor, whose constructions were anything but parallel,
were convicted of murder. 3