The lowest, its toll accustomed to sounding the slow announcement of funerals, was imbued with a tone of somber tragedy. Those who heard it could not help but shed a tear. Not so powerful as a banshee’s keen, the note was like a single moment stolen from her complex melody of sorrow. Still, the sensation would wash instantly over any who now heard it chime.

The second fork, forged from the middle bell, had faithfully rung every hour for nearly six centuries. It had been a comfort to the townsfolk, and a beacon to guide them home when the mist and fog had turned them about in the hills. The middle fork, when sounded, issued a sense of normalcy and calm. It cut through the fog of fear and turmoil to reassure any in earshot.

The last fork, the highest, came from the bell used to announce the most joyous occasions: the births of children, baptisms, marriages, and all manner of celebrations. The fork forged from this bell could elate listeners with a single sound. While its tone held out, it became possible to forget the everyday stresses of life and be overcome with happiness.

These artifacts played a small role in the recent unpleasantness, which my assistant, against my advisement, has given the ridiculous title of “The Case of the Silent Scream.” During our investigation, I carefully selected the second fork, a middle-C, to instill in the doomed Mr. Henderson a sense of calm. This was a careful and deliberate choice. Had I rung the low tone, his misery would only have intensified. The highest note would have sent him into a state of madness from two supernatural sources pulling his mind toward opposite emotional extremes. The implementation of this invaluable resource proved an integral step in unlocking the mystery and putting a stop to the murders.

I hope, now, that you can appreciate the value of the complete set in my line of work. Miss Rook has suggested that a written reminder might aid in expediting the return to me of the aforementioned middle-C, still being held in evidence in spite of the closing question.

When Jackaby had finished dictating and left the room, I wrote a second letter. It read: Please return Jackaby’s tuning fork. He’s getting even more obnoxious than usual. This I sent out with the morning’s post.

The courier arrived that evening.

Jackaby was pleasantly surprised to find that the letter had prevailed. “At least someone in that station house has some sense,” he remarked. “I scarcely believed the dunderheads would bother to read it at all, but look.”

He passed me the note as he exhumed his property from the wrapping. The processing officer had written just three words. I smiled as I read them. I completely understand.

Reader’s Guide

Jackaby

William Ritter

Questions for Discussion

ALGONQUIN

Questions for
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