Watson's Case Read online

  Was this the map? He could not fully determine the sketches. Each drawing looked incomplete, like part of a bigger picture—

  “That’s it!”

  Rollie slid the pages around on the floor to match the corners. It was like fitting a puzzle together. It took a few minutes of shuffling papers around and checking them through the magnifying glass until a decent picture formed. Rollie hunched and used the lens to study the black ink sketch he had assembled.

  What he pieced together looked like a rough floor plan of a building—wait, not just any building. It looked like Sherlock Academy! There was the downstairs hallway, the staircase, the headmaster’s office, the library, and the teacher’s lounge at the end. But there was something extra . . .

  A tunnel-like space snaked along behind the hallway and teacher’s lounge.

  “A secret passage!” Rollie breathed.

  Sleepy Eyes and Nosey Minds

  Rollie squinted at the ink sketch closely. He knew he was looking at Sherlock Academy’s first floor plans. The opening to the secret passage appeared to be in the northern hallway corner between the teacher’s lounge and the staircase. The tunnel ran within the walls. At the top of the floor plan where the sketch disappeared off the page was a trio of numbers: 1, 6, 54. While the opening was clear in the drawing, he did not recall seeing any feature resembling an opening or a door in the actual hallway. How would anyone be able to find the opening unless he or she had this map?

  “The holes!” Rollie’s heart nearly skipped a beat as he realized what he just deduced.

  Someone was looking for the secret passage by pounding holes in the walls.

  What else would someone be looking for behind the walls? A hidden room, a vault, a tunnel? Carving holes was a good way to see what was behind the plaster façade.

  Whoever was looking had not found the passage yet, for all the holes Rollie had investigated revealed only pipes and brick.

  Another thought struck him: Herr Zilch’s mole.

  Perhaps the mole was the seeker. If this passage was secret, the mole would search for it by his or her own means instead of asking Headmaster about it—assuming Yardsly knew about the secret passage. Rollie had to assume Headmaster knew—he seemed to know about every other secret at Sherlock Academy. Whether he shared those secrets with the teachers or not was yet to be determined. Rollie wondered if Yardsly had other reasons for keeping so many secrets.

  For now, finding the secret passage excited Rollie. If he could find it before the mole did, perhaps he could intercept the mole, and he could discover why Herr Zilch wanted them to find the tunnel. If Zilch was interested then that passage must be important. Until Rollie used his newspaper map again, he needed to guard it closely. He could not risk it being stolen like his marmalade jar had been back in August. He was glad for his secret hiding place under the floorboard.

  He smiled as he thought about clever Auntie Ei. He was not entirely sure why she had sent it to him. Obviously she wanted him to find the secret passage, but why? She could not know about the mole or share the same suspicions he had . . . could she?

  A plan started forming in his mind. He had broken curfew only once before at the Academy to solve a mystery. Rollie was more nervous about breaking curfew this time since the new curfew rules were in place, and with night guards patrolling the premises. He hoped Headmaster would understand the necessity of sneaking out. Besides, it was the weekend.

  He headed to the roof for supper. About a third of the student body stayed the weekend at school. An even number of all ages were crowded around a few picnic tables. To his surprise, Rollie found Eliot sitting at the same table with Wesley.

  “What are you doing here?” Eliot questioned with astonishment. “You missed your hansom! Everyone went home already.”

  Rollie avoided rolling his eyes as he sat down. “I’m staying over.”

  “Oh!” Eliot brightened. “Good, because I get so bored here.”

  “What are we doing tomorrow?” asked Rollie.

  Before Wesley could answer, Eliot cut in. “I should help you learn the Dancing Men code. You really should work on it.”

  Rollie grimaced. “I’m doing fine with that. Wesley?”

  “I think Mr. Chad’s taking a group on a scavenger hunt,” Wesley told them. “Sounds fun.”

  “Anything’s fun with Mr. Chad,” agreed Rollie.

  Eliot sighed “I suppose I can fit that in.” Turning to Wesley, he asked, “Did you sign my petition to bring back the maids and janitors?”

  Wesley raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know there was a petition to bring them back.”

  “We must pressure Headmaster. He needs to know we want them back. He’ll listen when he sees this list of names.”

  “I wouldn’t trust Headmaster.”

  Rollie threw a glance at his friend.

  Wesley swallowed his bite of stew and finished his thought. “I wouldn’t trust him to listen.”

  Eliot shrugged. “There’s power in numbers. It’s worth a try. Sign it!”

  Rollie could hardly wait for the evening to pass into night. He played a round of chess with Wesley, but lost horribly, partly because he could not concentrate on the game and partly because Wesley was very good. Being the weekend, curfew was extended an extra hour to ten, which normally would be welcomed, but was annoying to Rollie who wanted lights out as soon as possible. He climbed into bed before Eliot did. Rupert had not been sighted all evening, but then he tended to lurk unnoticed right beneath everyone’s noses.

  “Tired, chum?” Eliot piped as he buttoned up his pajama top.

  “I suppose,” Rollie yawned, not wanting to lie to his friend. “Where’s Rupert? When’s he coming to bed?”

  Eliot shrugged as he pulled back the gray flannel covers and punched his pillow. “Who knows? On the weekends he keeps strange hours.”

  “Does he ever get in trouble?”

  “Not that I know of.” Eliot flicked off the lamp, groped his way back to bed, and scrambled under the covers. “He should be publicly chastised for breaking the rules.” He went on to argue his point by giving examples of public punishments in society.

  As Eliot launched into another monologue, Rollie cleared his throat. “We should go to sleep.”

  “We can talk a little—it’s Friday night after all. I’m thinking of creating a cartoon.”

  “Like in the newspaper?”

  “Exactly. I believe I’m quite witty and I could draw a funny character,” Eliot stated.

  Rollie smothered his face into the pillow to muffle his laughter.

  “Are you laughing?”

  Rollie pushed his face deeper.

  “Rollin Wilson, answer me!”

  Rollie came up for air, laughing uncontrollably. “You’re really funny, Eliot!”

  “I told you I was witty.”

  Rollie took a deep breath. “It’s a great idea.”

  “I’m glad you think so because you’re going to be the main character.”

  “I’m not sure I like that idea.”

  “Don’t worry. I will do an accurate while somewhat embellished representation of you.” Eliot rambled on about his cartoon ideas, which included a side-kick with dark hair who could crack every code known to man, until eventually he grew sleepy. His voice grew softer and his words came slower.

  Rollie tried to lie still so as not to disturb Eliot and to give the impression that he also had fallen asleep. As the minutes dragged on, Eliot slept soundly, Rollie waited anxiously, and Rupert never showed up.

  Where was he? His absence only incriminated him further, and Rollie could not help thinking Rupert could be the mole. Maybe he was pounding more holes in the walls at that very moment! Sweat beaded on Rollie’s forehead. He kicked the covers off.

  Eliot snored peacefully.

  Rollie swung his legs over th
e side of the bed and tiptoed out the room—

  Smack!

  “Ouch!”

  “Hey!”

  Rollie and Rupert blinked at each and rubbed their heads. They both took a reflexive step backwards.

  “Where have you been?” Rollie demanded in a hoarse whisper.

  “None of your business!” Rupert growled.

  “The safety of the Academy is my business!” Rollie shot back.

  “Stay out of my business, detective!” He pushed past Rollie. “Why are you up? You know the rules.”

  “You should talk!”

  The two boys glared at each other for a tense moment. Rupert broke Rollie’s gaze and crawled into his bed. Rollie did the same. Soon Rupert snored in slumber.

  Finally, well after midnight, Rollie could conduct his investigation.

  Nighttime made the senses more acute, or perhaps it made everything louder. Either way, Rollie heard things he did not normally notice. He remembered Auntie Ei once saying, “The loneliest feeling in the world is being the only soul awake while the rest of the world sleeps.” Rollie did not feel too lonely now; the numerous midnight noises kept him company.

  Creak, drip, tick, thump, was the chorus of floorboards, faucets, clocks, and his own heart.

  Despite these alarming noises that would make anyone jumpy, Rollie crept down to the first floor. Slight guilt gnawed at him. He hated breaking rules and feared being suspended if he were caught. Right now more was at stake than school rules—the Academy’s safety came first. He scurried to the corner between the teacher’s lounge and the staircase. No sign of a latch, a keyhole, or a hinge. He pushed on the carpet with his toes—nothing, not even a squeaky floorboard. He knelt on the floor and ran his hand along the baseboard, feeling for a hidden button. His eyes swept up the wall to the ceiling. How did the corner open? He pressed his palms against the two walls that made a corner, and gave a small push.

  The corner gave way and swung back inside a dim cavern. The opening stood no more than three feet high. When he crawled inside, he found the passage high enough to stand in, yet a little lower than the Academy’s hallways. Soundlessly, the secret corner door swung back into place.

  Weak light from a hanging light bulb illuminated the passage. It stretched before him for a few feet, and turned to the right. Rollie followed along the narrow tunnel. As he turned the corner, he found a small door with a combination lock illuminated by another weak light bulb.

  Ahhh, the numbers on the newspaper map!

  What were they again? Rollie leaned against the door and squeezed his eyes shut. He had an incredible memory—when he took the time to memorize something. He remembered a one . . . and a . . . he could not be sure. He needed to check the newspaper map again.

  Retracing his steps, Rollie found the end of the tunnel where he had entered. From inside the passage, he saw the backside of the corner. It jutted out like a box. He pushed it with his palms. Just as before, the door leaned in and swung open into the hallway. He scrambled through the opening as the door closed behind him silently. He tiptoed down the hallway and mounted the stairs.

  He froze.

  A shadow passed along the wall at the top of the stairs. The shadow was unrecognizable, yet short. It must have been a student . . . or a short adult. Then again shadows stretched and shrunk, no matter a person’s height. Whether student or staff, no one had reason to break the rules and be on the second floor right now . . . unless he or she was spying just like Rollie.

  “The mole.”

  Still frozen on the first step, Rollie watched and listened.

  Tick, tock, tick, tock, the nearby grandfather clock marched the minutes by.

  Nothing.

  Ever so slowly, Rollie stepped up the next stair. Then the next, and the next, until he reached the second floor. The hallway was deserted, all the classroom doors locked. Rollie noticed his shadow on the wall, cast by the hall gas lamp. The size of his shadow matched his actual height, which meant the other spy was short.

  Had Herr Zilch’s mole seen Rollie? He gulped.

  Rollie mounted the next flight of stairs, taking one step cautiously at a time. Encountering no other ghostly shadows, he reached the fourth floor and crept back to his bed. He knelt in the gloom and quietly worked his fingers into the floor’s seam.

  A shadow passed by his cracked door.

  Rollie snapped his head up.

  He checked for Rupert; the boy was asleep. All intuition pointed to Rupert as the mole, yet no solid evidence confirmed him.

  Rollie tiptoed to his door and peeked through the crack at the figure who had just passed by.

  A night guard.

  Whew! Rollie had been very lucky. He had just missed being caught.

  He climbed back into bed. While he was dying to explore the secret passage more and unlock that little door, he could not risk another prowl, not with that night guard so close. He would wait another night.

  Unable to fall asleep, Rollie’s brain chewed idea after idea on how to expose Rupert . . .

  . . . Or clear him.

  Rupert could be innocent.

  The more he chewed, the more frustrated he grew. He stopped thinking about his vexing roommate and instead thought about the secret passage. He felt certain Herr Zilch’s mole was looking for the secret passage. That explained the holes.

  So what if the mole found it? What good would it do him?

  Thoughts swarmed in his head. There had to be more to the secret passage than Rollie had seen. There had to be more Herr Zilch wanted. Perhaps the map would reveal more about the tunnel. With these thoughts swarming his head, he drifted off into uneven sleep.

  Teachers in Disguise

  Rollie woke up around half past seven, his usual wake-up time during the week. When he heard his roommates still snoring, he dozed back off for another hour and a half. A light rap on the door roused him. Eliot groaned and buried his head under his pillow. Rupert continued dreaming in a heap of rumpled blankets, candy wrappers, and dirty laundry. Rollie answered the door.

  “Top of the mornin’, mate.” Wesley leaned in the doorway. He was still dressed in his green-striped pajamas and his usually well-groomed hair stuck out in odd places. He held a white cardboard box and small bottle of milk. “Here’s your breakfast. It’s delivered to your door on the weekends.” He handed the food to Rollie.

  Rollie opened the small box and smelled pumpkin scones. “How come no one talks about the weekends here? It’s fun!”

  Wesley grinned. “It really is, but the teachers ask us not to advertise it. They don’t want a bunch of students staying just because it’s fun. They want students to visit their families.”

  “Did you already eat breakfast?”

  Wesley nodded. “I’ve been up about a half hour.” He joined Rollie on the bed.

  “What time is Mr. Chad’s outing?” Rollie asked as he bit into a pumpkin scone.

  “Probably around ten. The teachers are in no rush on Saturdays.” Wesley’s brown eyes lit up. “Want to spy on them? I know where they are right now. They’re worth seeing.”

  Rollie nodded eagerly and swallowed his last bite. “I’ve always wondered what the teachers do on the weekends.”

  “You have no idea.” Wesley sprang off the bed and led Rollie downstairs.

  A few students in their pajamas visited each other in their rooms, but many doors were still closed and many snores were still heard. Wesley and Rollie traipsed down to the first floor. The rich aroma of breakfast wafted out of the room. He smelled eggs, bacon, scones, and, much to Rollie’s dismay, hash browns. He missed those quite a lot. The door was slightly ajar. Rollie peeked through the crack.

  All the teachers, including Headmaster Yardsly, sat around an oval table laden with breakfast food atop an orange tablecloth. They all wore pajamas, robes, and slippers. The headmaster sat hidden be
hind an open newspaper. His hand occasionally shot across the table to nab a piece of bacon. Ms. Yardsly sipped her tea and laughed at something Miss Hertz told her, which Rollie found fascinating since he had never seen Ms. Yardsly laugh at anything. Mr. Notch’s hair looked frizzier and his pajamas more disheveled, if that was possible. He knitted his bushy eyebrows together at a crossword puzzle in the Times. Mr. Chad wore black-rimmed reading glasses that distinguished his otherwise common features. He scribbled in a pocket notepad as Miss Gram listed items she needed in town. She looked groomed and polished even in her lavender silk robe and slippers topped with pom-poms. They all appeared relaxed and jovial.

  Rollie turned back to Wesley with a smile. Wesley grinned and beckoned Rollie back to the stairs. Once they started up, both boys chuckled.

  “Isn’t it funny to see them like that?” Wesley exclaimed.

  “I forget that teachers are normal people, too. I can’t wait to tell Cecily about this!” Rollie confessed. “Do the teachers hang out in there on Sundays also?”

  “No, on Sundays they go their separate ways for the day. Some work in their classrooms, and others visit family and friends. Oh, and Miss Hertz takes students to mass.”

  “What do you guys do?”

  “We’re not allowed to leave the grounds—new school rule. We can play on the roof, or study, or hang out.”

  When they returned to Rollie’s dorm room, they found Rupert dressed and rushing out the door. Eliot sat in bed, nibbling on the last pumpkin scone and counting names on his petition.

  “Oh, there you are,” he greeted as he brushed crumbs off his blanket. “Spying on the teachers?”

  “You never told me what they do on the weekends,” said Rollie.

  “I don’t tell you everything.”

  Rollie was taken aback by Eliot’s comment. “Oh.”

  “You don’t tell me everything, so . . .”

  “Are you still upset about my stupid nickname?”

  “I’m over that. I’m upset about something new.”

  “I’ll meet you guys downstairs at ten,” Wesley said.