The Holmes Brigade Read online

“But if someone does return, we can go over there and explore, right?” Cecily pressed. “What do you think, Wesley?”

  “Absolutely, but Euston wants me to stay here as much as possible.”

  “Euston? Is he the chap who met Rupert in the park for information?” Cecily asked. “Rupert mentioned him.”

  Wesley nodded. “He’s Yardsly’s inside man. Euston has a lot of knowledge on Herr Zilch and MUS. He’s the one who confirmed that there was a list of MUS agents and their headquarters.”

  “What are we going to do about this case?” Cecily jumped back to the pressing topic.

  “Nothing—until tonight.” Rollie shrugged.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve got a lot of Independent Study homework to catch up on,” Wesley said as he dug out a folder of papers from his suitcase.

  “I haven’t worked on mine at all,” Rollie admitted.

  “Me neither.” Cecily sighed. “I guess now would be a good time to get some work done. Can I borrow your syllabus Rollie, so I don’t have to go home?”

  Rollie nodded and started searching for his Independent Study folder. He found it in his top desk drawer. The three friends sat on the floor to work on their English, math, science, and social studies homework assigned over vacation.

  “I wish we could work on detective homework instead of this homework,” mumbled Rollie as he diagramed a sentence.

  “Me, too,” Cecily said. “I’d much rather be updating my observation notes. I’m still working on Miss Gram’s profile. I have a profile on every teacher at school, you know.”

  Wesley looked up with interest. “That’s impressive. Observation class is my worst subject. I’m too active to sit still and observe for very long.”

  “Cecily’s observations have helped in many cases,” Rollie bragged. “They’re how we figured out you were the mole.”

  “And that Lady Gram was not the secretary, though she reminded us of the secretary. Oh goodness!” Cecily suddenly gasped. “I forgot about all those notes we kept on Zilch when he was Mr. Crenshaw last summer!”

  “I did too! We should read through them for any extra clues.”

  Wesley grinned. “I guess it does pay off to be observant.”

  ****

  Around five that evening, Mr. Wilson returned home with Uncle Ky. While Wesley and Cecily continued to work on their Independent Studies upstairs, Rollie hurried down to greet his great-uncle.

  Lord Kylen Wilson was tall and thin, his frame exaggerated by the baggy dark green three-piece suit he wore. From his waistcoat, a gold watch chain dangled. He was mainly bald atop his head, but the white hair left around his head was fluffy and a little unkempt. His gray eyes were deep set beneath equally unkempt white eyebrows. He shared one feature with his older sister Eileen: a sharp nose that he twitched often.

  The family surrounded him in the entry hall to take turns giving him a welcoming hug. Rollie joined them, being sure to stand as far away from Auntie Ei as he could.

  “Oh, hello, Rollin, how are you?” Uncle Ky inquired in his mumbly way. He patted the boy on his sandy-blond head.

  “Good, thank you, Uncle Ky.”

  “Good, good. I see you’ve grown a bit. That’s good.” Uncle Ky stuck his hands in his pockets and jingled the loose change around. “I hear you’re attending Sherlock Academy, eh?”

  “Yes, I just started this year.”

  “You’re enjoying it—the Academy?”

  “I love it!”

  “Has your Auntie Ei been showing you the ropes around the place?”

  Auntie Ei drew herself up taller. “Certainly not, Kylen! The boy must learn to stand on his own two feet.”

  Rollie cast his eyes to the floor.

  Uncle Ky laughed, or at least it appeared he did. When he laughed, he never made any noise, but his shoulders shook.

  “What job do you have right now?” Rollie could not wait to ask.

  Uncle Ky’s shoulders shook again. “Nothing too exciting, you know. I’m the official clock master at Christ Church University in Oxford. My job is to keep all the clocks running properly. There are quite a few to look after, you know.”

  “Fact: That sounds like quite a job!” Mr. Wilson said.

  “I suppose. It can be painfully dull, keeping time.” Uncle Ky jingled his coins again. “Universities are quite stuffy, you know. But it keeps me busy. What do you think of that, Eileen? Is this finally a job you approve of?”

  Auntie Ei gave a curt nod. “It is a fine job, to be sure. I am only happy you finally landed something admirable and steady.”

  “I’ll see how long I last.” Uncle Ky shrugged. “You know I’m not a big gift-giver, but I did pick up a little something for you, Rollin.” He dug around in his coat pocket and fished out a small parcel, which he handed to Rollie. “Just a little trinket I thought you might fancy now that you’re in the line of detective work.”

  Rollie opened the small box. Inside glistened two shiny silver whistles.

  “Policeman’s whistles—you know, the kind bobbies use to alert for trouble. I started collecting them and thought you may want one for yourself and a comrade. I have a whole case of them, if you would care to see some time. I used to collect clocks, but I sold the lot after taking on this clock master position.”

  “Thank you, Uncle Ky, they’re great!”

  “I am sure you are weary from your travels,” Mrs. Wilson said. “Would you like to freshen up before supper?”

  “Oh, yes, that would be lovely. Usually it takes only about an hour from Oxford to London, you know. But there was a derailment at Reading because of all this snow. Quite unusual this time of year, all this snow.” Uncle Ky grabbed his suitcase.

  “Why don’t you visit more often since you’re only an hour away?” Mr. Wilson asked.

  Uncle Ky glanced at his sister with a twinkle in his eyes. “I think Eileen can tolerate only one visit from me a year, right ol’ bird?”

  ****

  Later that night, Rollie took the first shift since Wesley was tired from a day of traveling and dodging MUS. On the floor, Wesley slept in a sleeping bag borrowed from Edward. He breathed quietly, which Rollie appreciated because his roommates at school were always snoring. Now that he thought about them, he was looking forward to seeing Eliot and Rupert the next day for Winter Cleaning.

  Rollie settled down in his desk chair to keep watch over Zilch’s mansion. He was determined to stay awake this time, at least through his assigned shift. He would wake Wesley at three.

  He had two more hours to go.

  BAM!

  Rollie jolted. He squinted as a bright light shone from that same second floor window of the mansion next door.

  “Wesley, wake up!” He shook his friend sleeping on the floor.

  Without missing a beat, Wesley sat bolt upright and dove for the window. The boys watched a distorted silhouette move behind the closed drapes. Then it was gone.

  BAM!

  “The prowler must be in another room,” Wesley concluded. “He sure likes to slam doors.” He looked through the binoculars. “I can’t see much through that drape.”

  “I wish it wasn’t closed,” Rollie agreed

  The distorted silhouette returned.

  “He’s back!” Rollie shouted.

  The prowler seemed average height and was wearing a bulky coat and knit cap. The person kept exiting the room and returning every few minutes with objects in his arms. After about ten minutes of this, the light went out. There was one more door slammed, and then all was silent.

  Wesley turned this way and that, still peering through the binoculars. “Where did he exit? I don’t see anyone on this side. No footprints either.”

  “The entrance must be on the other side of the house.”

  Wesley set the binoculars down and scooted back into his s
leeping bag on the floor. He whispered, “We should find a way in and open those drapes. That way we’ll see everything that goes on when the prowler returns.”

  “We might as well explore the house too and see if there’s anything of interest. It looked like the prowler was bringing things into the room.”

  “I agree. Tomorrow—”

  “Wait!” Rollie said. “We have Winter Cleaning tomorrow.”

  “Will it take all day?”

  “Who knows what Eliot has planned?”

  “We should try to get back before dark. If not, I guess we’ll have to wait until Friday. ‘Night, mate.”

  Rollie smiled, glad his best buddy was staying with him, glad Wesley was safe with the Wilsons, and glad to have a case to think about again. His instincts told him a mystery was brewing next door. He hoped their investigation could help Yardsly and Euston track down Herr Zilch. Ultimately, he hoped Zilch’s list was somewhere in the vacant mansion. He knew there were risks involved, especially with a prowler on the loose, and especially if that prowler was Zilch’s agent.

  Rollie had always known Herr Zilch and MUS were dangerous, but Wesley’s attack had made the danger feel closer, more personal. It reminded Rollie that Zilch was not to be trifled with and that the villain could be close.

  In the past, Rollie had found courage in Auntie Ei’s support. Knowing that she believed in him as a detective and supported his attending Sherlock Academy had given him the added courage to stand up against Herr Zilch. But according to the letter he had found in her desk, she thought otherwise. This made him feel differently about himself and about fighting Zilch.

  He only hoped his own confidence in himself would be enough to combat the creeping fear of Herr Zilch.

  And he secretly hoped the cost of being a young detective would not be too steep.

  Another Secret in the Library

  The hansom arrived at nine thirty the next morning to pick up Rollie, Wesley, and Cecily. Sherlock Academy’s taxi service was comprised of single horse-drawn hansoms, the same kind that Sherlock Holmes had often used in Victorian London. A driver tipped his bowler hat and assisted the children into the two-seater cab. Since Cecily was the smallest, she sat sandwiched between the boys, a little more red than usual coloring her cheeks.

  The driver climbed up to his perch behind them and flicked the reins. The chestnut horse crunchety-crunched down the snowy lane. Soon the hansom left the quiet suburbs of Primrose Lane and entered the busy city of London proper. Many stores and businesses were closed for the holiday week, but the famous beastly London traffic still clogged the narrow streets. Red double-decker buses roared past them, and automobiles, mostly black taxis, honked in warning at the antique hansom.

  “How did the stakeout go last night?” Cecily asked, seemingly not sure which boy to turn to first.

  Rollie and Wesley caught her up on the prowler’s return and on their plan to open the drapes.

  “Here be 221 Baker Street!” the hansom driver hollered.

  He pulled the horse to a halt, hopped down, and opened the door for them with a tip of his bowler hat. The three friends scrambled out. The tall red brick building looked lonely, for the windows were dark and snow was piled a few feet high against the front double doors. A notice was posted by the doorbell: On Holiday. School will resume the third week of January.

  Rollie and Wesley dug their feet into the slush and plowed it aside from the door. Finding the door unlocked, they entered Sherlock Academy. The warm, cozy building was unusually calm. Green garlands bedecked with red ornaments drooped sleepily from the banister. Stacks of unread newspapers sagged in the corners. The halls were empty, taking a vacation from trampling students. All was so quiet they could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock from its position near the stairs and the rumbling of the radiator down the hall. A tinge of gingerbread scented the air. Standing there, Rollie felt a little school-sick again.

  “WHO’S THERE?” a familiar voiced boomed from the office off the entry hall.

  Wesley led the other two into Headmaster’s office, which had once been the living quarters of Holmes and his trusty comrade, Dr. Watson. A generous fire roared in the fireplace, shedding an orange glow upon the two armchairs and the bearskin rug before it.

  “HAPPY HOLIDAYS! I trust you had a good Christmas.”

  Headmaster Sullivan P. Yardsly sat in Holmes’ sunken leather armchair. Papers littered his lap. With his long, thin fingers, he beckoned the visitors in. His tall, lean figure was clothed in a burgundy dress robe, much like the one Holmes would have worn to lounge about in.

  “I assume you’re here for Eliot’s Winter Cleaning?” Yardsly asked.

  “I thought you were in Brighton, sir,” Wesley said in surprise.

  “I got back at dawn.” Dark circles beneath his eyes were proof of his escapades. “I’m glad to see you safe and sound. Hello, Cecily. Rollin, thank you for taking Wesley in.”

  “I’m happy to, sir.” Rollie nodded.

  “WELL! You’ll find Eliot and a few other students in the teachers’ lounge. HAPPY CLEANING!”

  The three students headed out of the office.

  “ROLLIN! A word with you.” Yardsly beckoned him back to the fire.

  As Wesley and Cecily headed down the hall, Rollie sank into Watson’s armchair across from his headmaster.

  “Would you mind doing me a favor, lad? The secret library needs to be dusted and tidied.” Yardsly lowered his voice. “You’re the only student who knows about it. Could you be in charge of that?”

  Rollie’s brown eyes sparkled. “I would love to!”

  “GOOD! Be sure to lock yourself in the library, so other students don’t see you cleaning the secret shelves. You’ll need the marmalade jars, of course. They’re all in that cupboard.” Yardsly pointed to a little wooden cabinet mounted on the wall next to his desk.

  Rollie jumped to his feet. “I better check in with Eliot first, so he doesn’t come looking for me. I’ll be back in a minute.” He started to leave but paused. “Sir, did you have any luck tracing MUS in Brighton?”

  Yardsly rubbed his eyes. “WELL, I found the black auto they used—a four-door Bently. It had been rented with cash by a non-descript middle-aged man with a fake driver’s license. When Euston joined me, we investigated the neighborhood but did not find anything helpful. I’m going over these old letters between Zilch and Enches.” He ran his hands through the papers on his lap. “I’m hoping there’s some clue about that list.”

  Rollie swallowed. “Cecily and I had an idea about where it could be.” He quickly told Yardsly about the prowler in Zilch’s vacant house.

  Yardsly shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Euston believes the list does exist somewhere in London and that it is somewhat exposed. HOWEVER, Scotland Yard searched the house completely and found nothing of any significance. Still, it is peculiar that someone would return to the house. We’ve had the house under Scotland Yard surveillance since August. Just last week the surveillance team was reassigned to help look for the MUS list, so the house is now unguarded. Keep a wary eye out, lad.”

  “I wish there was some way I could help find that list or track Zilch. I feel useless.”

  Yardsly smiled. “I know you would do anything to help us. If I need you, I will not hesitate to contact you. In the meantime, enjoy your vacation.”

  Rollie nodded and left the office. He headed down the green carpeted hall to the end where the teachers’ lounge was. Rollie found the oval table laden with pails, sponges, dusters, and cleaning detergents.

  Eliot, with his shaggy raven hair and short pants, stood behind the cleaning supplies. “Rollie! It’s about time!” he greeted in his usual blunt way.

  Tibby and Margot, Cecily’s two roommates, were giving Cecily hugs and swapping holiday stories. The other boy there was Rollie’s other roommate Rupert. He was a tubby lad with brown hair and
a round face. He was dressed in trousers and a gray sweater, and he wore plaid slippers. When he spotted Rollie, he brightened.

  “Happy late Christmas,” Rollie said. “How’s your vacation been?”

  Rupert shrugged. “Okay. I’ve been missing my roommates.”

  Rollie smiled. At first, he and Eliot had not gotten along with Rupert. Rupert had been envious of Rollie’s popularity, and Rollie had been suspicious of Rupert’s mysterious behaviors. Rupert was an orphan who Yardsly had rescued off the streets, given a home to, and commissioned to be a Baker Street Irregular. Just as Holmes had, Yardsly hired orphans to be his messengers and errand runners. Recently, Rupert’s duties as a Baker Street Irregular included helping with the investigation of MUS.

  “Is everyone re-acquainted?” Eliot huffed. “We only have six hours!”

  Everyone moaned.

  “Six hours is barely enough time to clean this four-story building!” Eliot shrieked. “Let’s assign jobs—”

  “Headmaster wants me to clean the Rearranging Library,” Rollie interrupted before Eliot got carried away.

  “That’s strange! Why?” Eliot narrowed his eyes.

  “He has his reasons.” Rollie shrugged casually.

  Eliot shrugged back. “Fine, go ahead. I’ll assign everyone else.”

  Grateful for an easy exit, Rollie grabbed a dusting rag and hurried back down the hall to Yardsly’s office. The headmaster had stepped out, so Rollie helped himself to the little cupboard. He managed to carry all eight small marmalade jars and the rag in his arms. He carried them into the library off the hall.

  In an armchair in the library sat Mr. Notch, the Observation teacher, with a newspaper spread across his knees. He chewed on the end of a pencil. He was dressed in his usual forest-green suit that was as wrinkled as ever. His bushy gray hair was in desperate need of a haircut, not to mention a little grooming.

  “Oh, hello, Mr. Notch,” Rollie said with some surprise.

  “Well, hello, there . . . Rollin, is it?” Mr. Notch blinked his magnified eyes from behind very thick glasses. “Enjoying the holidays? What are you doing here?”