The Concealed Natural Cipher

The room was empty, except for a desk, a chair, and a pot of orchids. Next to the pot, there was a drawer with dishes inside and three framed photographs. Every surface was covered in a thin layer of dust—everything except two sheets of paper, which gleamed cleanly on top of the desk. One of them was a photograph of a necklace made with sapphire that shone like a summer sea on the Costa Brava. The other sheet was a handwritten text.

“What do we know about Thijs Trias?” asked Detective Pinn, without taking his eyes off the papers.

Inspector Carla was reading a report while adjusting the thick jacket she had begun wearing since the temperature drop during the last week.

“A former Dutch professor in mathematics who quit his job to dedicate himself to collecting rare objects.”

“Not just his academic background. What was he like as a person?”

“There isn’t much information available. Solitary, reclusive, obsessive. Since he disappeared five days ago, very few people have missed him. One of them is a neighbor. At the time of the disappearance, he claims he heard screams.”

“Anything distinguishable?”

“Only one sentence: ‘Where is the object?’ ”

Detective Pinn rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“So, someone came looking for something, and the professor refused to reveal where that something was. After that, he was either abducted or murdered. If the victim was a collector, we can assume whoever targeted him was after something valuable he had found. They must be investigating what the location of the object is; they might even be torturing Thijs to get this information.

Pinn approached the desk and picked up the sheet with the photograph of the sapphire necklace.

“These papers were placed here recently. Probably by Thijs himself, before his enemies came. It would be too much of a coincidence if the object they were asking about wasn’t the necklace in this image. It looks like it’s made of gold, and with a sapphire… it must cost a fortune”.

“We can’t rule out that it’s a stolen item,” the inspector noted. “Maybe the victim was a professor by day, and at night he took on… extracurricular work to earn extra money.”

“You’re right. And in any case, he knew someone was after him, so he had hidden the object somewhere. Moreover, he was intelligent enough, not the kind of person who would risk getting caught without leaving proof of where he hid it.”

“You think he left a message saying where it is?”

“Yes, a cryptic message, one his pursuers wouldn’t notice immediately. If Thijs is the kind of man I suspect he is, he would have left a clue about the truth to this whole thing. A clue to the object’s location. Hence, there’s a posthumous message hidden somewhere,”

Pinn reread the handwritten paragraph, frowning his eyes, fully focused.

Pinn read and reread it, unable to find anything useful. It did not seem like a poem, nor did it describe any specific event in Thijs’ life. It looked like nothing more than a reflection of Thijs’ thoughts. And yet: why leave it here beside the photograph of the necklace?

“Look,” Carla said.

Pinn turned and saw the inspector beside the drawer, lifting two of the framed photographs. One was of the Pyrenees, the other of a starry sky. Carla gestured toward the surface of the drawer, covered in dust except where the two photos had rested.

“These two have been here for a while. Look at how little dust they have under, compared to the rest of this surface,”.

Then, she set the photos down and lifted the third frame; underneath it lay the same thick layer of dust as the rest of the furniture. “But this one seems to have been placed here recently, judging by how much dust there is underneath, like everywhere around it.”

Officially, I am a traveler,

really nothing impressive, since lately I barely move at all.

I choose to stay here very often, where I live most of the year,

I choose where I am comfortable, after all.

Putting little attention into how much time I spend away,

I instead try to enjoy the quality of time, of travel,

And the objects I collect allow me to do so.

Pinn looked at her with complicity and placed a hand on her arm, admiring her deduction. Carla gave a half-smile as she handed him the third photograph. Pinn took it carefully: it was a large snail shell photographed from the side, showcasing its spiral in high detail.

“What are you trying to tell us, Thijs?” Pinn murmured, rubbing his chin anxiously.

He began pacing the room, back and forth, increasingly impatient. Carla thought silently as well, her expression tense with focused concentration.

After several long minutes, Pinn ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He picked up Thijs’ written text again, trying to decipher it.

“What the hell does any of this mean?” he muttered, frustration mounting while a bead of sweat slid down his forehead.

The world around him began to fade as his mind fixated on the text, the snail photograph, and the image of the necklace—all three clues circling endlessly in a vortex edging closer to despair. His hands gripped the sheet so tightly it nearly tore, while his eyes scanned the lines faster and faster. His ears no longer heard the room—only the words of the attackers echoing through his thoughts:

“Where is the object?”
“Where is the object?”
“Where is the object?”

“Getting anywhere?” Carla suddenly asked.

Pinn turned sharply, startling her. Immediately she understood two things: the detective had found nothing yet—and the case was far more complex than they expected.

“Not yet…” Pinn groaned, biting his lip.

“It feels strange,” Carla murmured. “But I have the feeling everything must have a purpose. Everything has a meaning.”

Pinn’s eyes widened.

Everything has a meaning.

Suddenly, the clues aligned before him, connected by invisible threads. He felt as if a spark zapped above his head, like energy buzzing with the truth, and a slow smile spread across his face. Carla stared, surprised.

“I’ve got it,” Pinn said. “I’ve deciphered Thijs’ message. I know where the necklace is.”

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