You may have heard recently that Sherlock Holmes has entered the public domain.
You also may have heard recently about ChatGPT, an open AI system that allows you to do all sorts of fun and interesting things.
So I have combined the two to create the first piece of fiction ever published by The Duckpin.
I present to you…..
"The Case of the Peacock's Feather"
It was a cold and foggy night in London when I received a visit from an old acquaintance, Mr. Henry Baker. Mr. Baker was a timid and nervous man, and I could tell from the moment he stepped into my sitting room that he was troubled by something.
"Mr. Holmes, I need your help," he said, wringing his hands. "Something very valuable has been stolen from me, and I don't know who could have taken it."
"Calm yourself, Mr. Baker," I said, gesturing for him to take a seat. "Tell me everything from the beginning."
Mr. Baker took a deep breath and began his tale. "I am a collector of rare and exotic items, Mr. Holmes. One of my prized possessions is a peacock's feather, dyed a deep shade of purple and encrusted with diamonds. It is worth a small fortune, and I keep it locked away in a safe in my study.
"Yesterday, I received a letter from an old friend, inviting me to a dinner party at his house. I had not seen him in many years, and I was excited at the prospect of catching up with him. I left my house at six o'clock in the evening and did not return until late that night. When I arrived home, I discovered that the peacock's feather was missing from the safe. The lock had not been tampered with, so I know that whoever took it had the key. I cannot think of anyone who would have motive to steal from me, but I am at a loss as to how to proceed."
I leaned back in my chair and thought for a moment. "Tell me more about this old friend of yours. Do you trust him?"
"I did, Mr. Holmes," said Mr. Baker. "But now, I am not so sure. He is the only person who knew that I had the peacock's feather, and he had the opportunity to take it while I was at his house."
"I see," I said. "Well, the first thing we must do is pay a visit to this friend of yours and see if he can shed any light on the matter. In the meantime, I suggest that you do not tell anyone else about the theft. The fewer people who know about it, the better our chances of recovering the feather."
Mr. Baker nodded in agreement, and we set off for his friend's house. Upon arriving, we were greeted by a servant and shown into the drawing room, where we found Mr. Baker's friend, Mr. John Smith, waiting for us.
Mr. Smith was a tall, thin man with a haughty demeanor. He seemed surprised to see us, and his eyes narrowed as Mr. Baker explained the reason for our visit.
"I cannot believe that you would accuse me of such a thing, Henry," he said. "I have known you for many years, and I would never steal from you."
"Then you have no objection to us searching your house?" I asked.
"Of course not," said Mr. Smith. "You are welcome to look wherever you like."
I began my search in the study, where Mr. Baker had told me the feather was kept. The safe was still locked, and there was no sign of any tampering. I examined the rest of the room, but found nothing out of the ordinary.
Next, I searched the rest of the house, but again, I found nothing. It seemed that Mr. Smith was telling the truth and did not have the feather.
As I was about to give up my search, I noticed a small cabinet in the corner of the dining room. It was locked, but with a little bit of force, I was able to pry it open. And there, nestled among a collection of silver candlesticks and fine china, was the peacock's feather.
I called Mr. Baker and Mr. Smith into the room and showed them the feather. Mr. Smith's face turned white as he saw it, and he fell back into a chair, stuttering and spluttering.
"I-I don't know how it got there," he said. "I swear, I had nothing to do with it."
"I'm afraid that's not good enough, Mr. Smith," I said. "You had the opportunity to take the feather, and now it has been found in your possession. I'm afraid I must ask you to come with me to the police station."
As we left the house, Mr. Baker thanked me profusely for my help. "I can't believe it was John all along," he said, shaking his head. "I never would have suspected him."
"It is always the people closest to us that we must be wary of," I said. "But do not worry, Mr. Baker. The thief has been caught and justice will be served."
And with that, we made our way back to London, the peacock's feather safely returned to its rightful owner.