Doctor Watson, clearly preparing for a lengthy discourse, settled himself back in his armchair, and fixed his listener with a meaningful look which plainly indicated that no interruption would be brooked.
“One of the strangest cases,” he started, “must be that of the disappearing quiz team.
“It was dark and horrendously rain-lashed evening in February, and, at the hostelry that was their home venue, the members of the ‘Crown Jewels’ team dismounted in good time from their motorised carriages. Once inside, they purchased drinks, and the team settled into its accustomed corner. All seemed well, apart from a mysteriously intermittent light fixture. The Question Master was in his place, and the sealed envelope (which contained the highly secret enquiries designed to challenge the mental agility of the participants) lay yet unopened upon his table.
“Come the time designated for the commencement of the trial of wits, there was no indication of the arrival of the rival team. This unusual lack of punctuality was, at first, attributed to the difficulties of travel in such inclement weather, but, slowly and by degrees, came the dawning realisation that there was not to be a contest that evening, given the absence of an opposing team.
“Where were they? Had the ravenous Beast of Whiteparish Moor swallowed them? Were they at that moment sinking into one of the fearsome bogs around Fordingbridge which had claimed so many lives of the unwary? Could it be that they had all been victims of a mass poisoning perpetrated by Moriarty?
“Clearly, this was a mystery worthy of Sherlock himself.
“However, just as the dilemma of ‘what to do next’ was being pondered by the team, a missive arrived, borne by the trusty yeoman who ran the hostelry. It seemed that, by the wonders of telephonic communication, he had established the fact that all the missing were safe and well, but their arrival was not to be anticipated. Messages, cloaked in some shadowy format called ‘email,’ had been dispatched, but sadly had not reached the intended recipients. Subsequent investigation revealed that, owing to the auspices of a covert, unfathomable instrument of misinformation, the vital communiqués had reached an addressee known by the unlikely name of Spam Folder.
“The reason for the team’s non-arrival was, alas, much more prosaic. Unable to muster a team of four, they had decided to forfeit the match, although, as I previously mentioned, it had proved impossible to impart this knowledge to the host team.
“And so it was that the ‘Crown Jewels’ team returned to their homes after a somewhat unsatisfactory evening. They had won by default, it is true, but such victories seem empty… like this story upon which I now wish I had not embarked.”
Watson reached for his sherry, and sighed softly to himself, his audience quietly snoring away in the chair across the fireplace.