Search the Community
Showing results for tags 'Blue Carbuncle'.
Found 7 results
-
"Hotel Cosmopolitan Jewel Robbery. John Horner, 26, plumber, was brought up upon the charge of having upon the 22nd inst., abstracted from the jewel-case of the Countess of Morcar the valuable gem known as the blue carbuncle. James Ryder, upper-attendant at the hotel, gave his evidence to the effect that he had shown Horner up to the dressing-room of the Countess of Morcar upon the day of the robbery in order that he might solder the second bar of the grate, which was loose. He had remained with Horner some little time, but had finally been called away. On returning, he found that Horner had disappeared, that the bureau had been forced open, and that the small morocco casket in which, as it afterwards transpired, the Countess was accustomed to keep her jewel, was lying empty upon the dressing-table. Ryder instantly gave the alarm, and Horner was arrested the same evening; but the stone could not be found either upon his person or in his rooms. Catherine Cusack, maid to the Countess, deposed to having heard Ryder's cry of dismay on discovering the robbery, and to having rushed into the room, where she found matters as described by the last witness. Inspector Bradstreet, B division, gave evidence as to the arrest of Horner, who struggled frantically, and protested his innocence in the strongest terms. Evidence of a previous conviction for robbery having been given against the prisoner, the magistrate refused to deal summarily with the offence, but referred it to the Assizes. Horner, who had shown signs of intense emotion during the proceedings, fainted away at the conclusion and was carried out of court." Gilded cypress wood, padded silk, and a hint of perfume. This is mainly cypress on me, and very elegant cypress at that. It definitely feels "gilded", somehow. If you are scared that the perfume note will be soapy or floral, I can say that at least on me I get very little floral, if any. There is a touch of something sweet to keep the woody notes in check. I like this one and I look forward to seeing how it will age!
-
"It's a bonny thing," said he. "Just see how it glints and sparkles. Of course it is a nucleus and focus of crime. Every good stone is. They are the devil's pet baits. In the larger and older jewels every facet may stand for a bloody deed. This stone is not yet twenty years old. It was found in the banks of the Amoy River in southern China and is remarkable in having every characteristic of the carbuncle, save that it is blue in shade instead of ruby red. In spite of its youth, it has already a sinister history. There have been two murders, a vitriol-throwing, a suicide, and several robberies brought about for the sake of this forty-grain weight of crystallised charcoal. Who would think that so pretty a toy would be a purveyor to the gallows and the prison? I'll lock it up in my strong box now and drop a line to the Countess to say that we have it." The madness of avarice: rich patchouli-infused golden amber, leather, black oudh, and almond. It's strangely giving me Inferno plus Tombstone vibes, but minus the cinnamon or sassafras of those. The amber and patchouli has the feel of woodiness similar to a cedar note. It's a nice dry scent with good throw.
-
"The goose, Mr. Holmes! The goose, sir!" he gasped. "Eh? What of it, then? Has it returned to life and flapped off through the kitchen window?" Holmes twisted himself round upon the sofa to get a fairer view of the man's excited face. "See here, sir! See what my wife found in its crop!" He held out his hand and displayed upon the centre of the palm a brilliantly scintillating blue stone, rather smaller than a bean in size, but of such purity and radiance that it twinkled like an electric point in the dark hollow of his hand. Sherlock Holmes sat up with a whistle. "By Jove, Peterson!" said he, "this is treasure trove indeed. I suppose you know what you have got?" "A diamond, sir? A precious stone. It cuts into glass as though it were putty." "It's more than a precious stone. It is the precious stone." "Not the Countess of Morcar's blue carbuncle!" I ejaculated. Dazzling blue musk, white juniper, iris pallida, white oudh, and sugar crystals. The Countess of Morcar's Blue Carbuncle is like pale, sweet, blue incense on me. Blue musk always smells like aqueous musk on my skin, like something watery and a touch floral melded to musk. Here it does dazzle, but the juniper and iris help temper it, while the white oudh and sugar crystals bring a hefty dose of sweetness and incense. On the drydown, the juniper and iris continue to develop and cut through the sugar—a welcome progression. I like this, but it may end up being just a touch too sweet for my tastes these days. Lovely blue fragrance, though, and the juniper is especially nice. There's definitely a shimmering effect here that captures this fictional gemstone well.
-
The man hesitated for an instant. "My name is John Robinson," he answered with a sidelong glance. "No, no; the real name," said Holmes sweetly. "It is always awkward doing business with an alias." A masquerade, a scent to camouflage: tonka bean and vanilla with red patchouli, Spanish king mandarin, white sandalwood, black pepper, and rose geranium. From the sniff in the imp to fresh on the skin, this is a rose geranium cologne. A complex and nuanced rose geranium cologne. As it dries, rg sits back in her throne and I get more of the patch and especially the sandalwood coming forward. There's a veil of tonka floating in after about an hour. The citrus and the spice don't stand out but add brightness and a bit of warmth. I'm admittedly not the biggest fan of rose geranium on my skin. I like the essential oil only for short bursts and in small doses and I tend to amp it. That said, I find Alias lovely and strangely cozy, especially as it dries down. I get the image of a classy gentleman in a warm tavern. Looking forward to layering with this, and seeing how it ages.
-
I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes upon the second morning after Christmas, with the intention of wishing him the compliments of the season. He was lounging upon the sofa in a purple dressing-gown, a pipe-rack within his reach upon the right, and a pile of crumpled morning papers, evidently newly studied, near at hand. Beside the couch was a wooden chair, and on the angle of the back hung a very seedy and disreputable hard-felt hat, much the worse for wear, and cracked in several places. A lens and a forceps lying upon the seat of the chair suggested that the hat had been suspended in this manner for the purpose of examination. A crackling fireplace, pipe smoke, fir needles, and a flutter of snow. Wow, I'm first! Anyway, to the review! I love fir and evergreen notes, and the lab's snow note, and also am a huge fan of tobacco. There's not a note I don't like in this, so I was sure I would love it! Unfortunately, that doesn't always guarantee a good fit. In the bottle, there I get the fir right away, but the overall impression I get from the bottle is masculine--it reminds me of a men's cologne. A good one, of course, and one with fir, but it has that men's cologne vibe that I wasn't looking for. When I get it on the skin, I do get the flutter of snow, too, which is the lab's snow note, which I find magical. But it's still a bit overwhelmed by whatever is causing the "cologne" impression. There is something slightly sweet in it too--and I'm not sure what that is. I don't get pipe smoke per se, but perhaps that is what is sweetening it up a bit? I don't get a smoke note at all--not from tobacco smoke or from the fireplace, which is sad, because I was hoping for tobacco and a bit of smoke. In the end, this smells like a classy men's cologne--a bit aquatic, a bit sweet. It doesn't morph much on me at all. Though the fir is there, it certainly doesn't make me think of a Christmas tree or candle or anything like that. I imagine it would be lovely as a good "date night" scent for someone who loved those kind of sophisticated classic men's colognes. That is not me, alas, so I probably won't keep the bottle.
-
"I suppose that I am commuting a felony, but it is just possible that I am saving a soul. This fellow will not go wrong again; he is too terribly frightened. Send him to gaol now, and you make him a gaol-bird for life. Besides, it is the season of forgiveness. Chance has put in our way a most singular and whimsical problem, and its solution is its own reward." White clove, bright carnation, labdanum, sweet patchouli, Terebinth pine, warm sandalwood, and a drop of Ceylon cinnamon. I'm intimidated to be first, but this scent is so truly lovely. I love each of the notes in the description, so had high hopes for loving this. And I do! I'm surprised by how well blended it is though, and how well each of the scents work together. Really, this is such a masterful example of a brilliant blend. If I concentrate I can identify each note, but they're complimented by the others, not pure. It feels mainly brown and comforting and fuzzy, sometimes white and pure. It's grace, a clean slate. It's like getting a fierce warm embrace from someone when you don't quite deserve it. Update: A month later, I love this scent even more. It's just such an excellent, comforting blend of notes - when I wear it, I can't stop sniffing myself. Beautiful waft and solid wear length - a good 5 hours until it becomes faint and barely noticeable. Though I'm trying to cull my collection, I'm still considering a back up bottle.
-
"Did he not advertise?" "No." "Then, what clue could you have as to his identity?" "Only as much as we can deduce." "From his hat?" "Precisely." "But you are joking. What can you gather from this old battered felt?" "Here is my lens. You know my methods. What can you gather yourself as to the individuality of the man who has worn this article?" I took the tattered object in my hands and turned it over rather ruefully. It was a very ordinary black hat of the usual round shape, hard and much the worse for wear. The lining had been of red silk, but was a good deal discoloured. There was no maker's name; but, as Holmes had remarked, the initials "H. B." were scrawled upon one side. It was pierced in the brim for a hat-securer, but the elastic was missing. For the rest, it was cracked, exceedingly dusty, and spotted in several places, although there seemed to have been some attempt to hide the discoloured patches by smearing them with ink. "I can see nothing," said I, handing it back to my friend. "On the contrary, Watson, you can see everything. You fail, however, to reason from what you see. You are too timid in drawing your inferences." "Then, pray tell me what it is that you can infer from this hat?" He picked it up and gazed at it in the peculiar introspective fashion which was characteristic of him. "It is perhaps less suggestive than it might have been," he remarked, "and yet there are a few inferences which are very distinct, and a few others which represent at least a strong balance of probability. That the man was highly intellectual is of course obvious upon the face of it, and also that he was fairly well-to-do within the last three years, although he has now fallen upon evil days. He had foresight, but has less now than formerly, pointing to a moral retrogression, which, when taken with the decline of his fortunes, seems to indicate some evil influence, probably drink, at work upon him. This may account also for the obvious fact that his wife has ceased to love him." "My dear Holmes!" "He has, however, retained some degree of self-respect," he continued, disregarding my remonstrance. "He is a man who leads a sedentary life, goes out little, is out of training entirely, is middle-aged, has grizzled hair which he has had cut within the last few days, and which he anoints with lime-cream. These are the more patent facts which are to be deduced from his hat. Also, by the way, that it is extremely improbable that he has gas laid on in his house." "You are certainly joking, Holmes." "Not in the least. Is it possible that even now, when I give you these results, you are unable to see how they are attained?" "I have no doubt that I am very stupid, but I must confess that I am unable to follow you. For example, how did you deduce that this man was intellectual?" For answer Holmes clapped the hat upon his head. It came right over the forehead and settled upon the bridge of his nose. "It is a question of cubic capacity," said he; "a man with so large a brain must have something in it." "The decline of his fortunes, then?" "This hat is three years old. These flat brims curled at the edge came in then. It is a hat of the very best quality. Look at the band of ribbed silk and the excellent lining. If this man could afford to buy so expensive a hat three years ago, and has had no hat since, then he has assuredly gone down in the world." The shadow of declining fortunes: lime cream and bourbon vetiver with a dribble of candle wax. The Battered Old Felt. It is an amazing concoction of clean lime cologne, and a deeper vetiver that borders between an aged, earthy, and wooly nature. Definitely NOT wooly like scratchy lambswool (or going down the wet fur vibe), but somehow a very soft, dry, fluffy felt (like angora). Literally comparing that part to a super soft scarf I own.
