Oh god! I have little time to explain, so I must do so in haste.
I came unto this apartment, but I was stuck in finding that the apartment number provided did not match the rooms. I was about to give up when convenient suggestion commented that the horseman on the suit tag may have indicated a knight and hence a move in chess. They recommended that the actual apartment number should have been 1G, and I obliged. There was trouble in that the resident was not home. Undeterred, I contrived a way to open the door and let myself in. I found to my astonishment a most bohemian array of papers and research to rival my own. One side seemed to involve a complex amalgamation of mathematical calculations and postulations, and on the other side a full wastebin of what appeared to be some sort of manuscripts and – I do not speak false – photographs and observations surrounding several figures. I am frightened to say that I recognized three of them; one of them was indeed myself! And another, with lighter paperwork, was Hercule Poirot. But it was clear that this person had put aside the research on Poirot and had neglected me in favor of one very focused and particular figure dressed in a flowing white gown. The woman, I might add, that I saw at the ball that night.
It seemed whoever was the resident of this room had observed fictional characters in his vicinity, and had chosen to stake out Cinderella in a particular fashion. But the nature of this apparent stalking was not what troubled me – no! What troubled me was an item on the desk that lay a top everything: a single heeled off-white ladies pump shoe with two very particular leather straps and tiny buckles. It struck me, for I knew I had seen it before. Only I didn’t see it before; I saw what it left behind.
I saw the same exact print on the foot of the plain, undecorated, humble room attendant of the hotel. And only upon seeing did I realize who she was. Sandy is Cinderella!
HOW could I be so foolish? How could I not see it before? Was it not enough that she spoke to you of that man’s dreams and wishes? Did her glasses so blind you? What an utter boob I have proved myself to be!
I mustn’t say anymore. I fear that Sandy’s life may be in danger from the observations of those pictures on the wall. I must fly to her rescue if I can!