With the very dim rays of the setting moon, he stepped inside the bubble-like cabin and sat in front of the control panel. He noticed immediately that it was comprised of many knobs, which he took time to examine, and a clocklike quadrant indicating years past or ahead of today’s date. After he had studied each of the one-or two-word instructions beneath each little windows and knobs, Holmes lowered the handled that controlled the closing of the ‘globe’. He looked around him as the two halves sealed themselves upon one another, and exhaled a sigh of relief mixed with unbridled anticipation of being able to sate his curiosity of an era more than a century ahead of the date on his calendar. He then turned the clock-like quadrant to the precise date he had decided to visit-November 29, 2010-adjusted several of the knobs and pressed on the ignition button to his left. The machine’s reaction was instantaneous-within seconds, Holmes, together with the Time Machine, had disappeared quietly from the room and the house.
Perhaps driven by an intuitive sense of foreboding, as soon as Wells came down from his bedroom, he went to the kitchen window. He noticed nothing amiss and decided to have a cup of tea before heading to the house that, unbeknownst to him, now sat empty at the back of his home. After drinking his morning tea and reading the paper that no longer made mention of the time machine-it was yesterday’s news-Wells went back to his room, washed and dressed in casual clothing, ready to examine his machine and prepare it for Holmes’s visit later that day.
He went down the lane, as Holmes had done the previous night, opened the creaky gate, closed it and immediately noticed some foot prints left in the dirt in front of the door. He followed the prints and rounded the house until he came to the closed workshop window. He swore under his breath, rushed back to the front door and opened it. He stood on the threshold agape and swore aloud this time. The room was empty. His time machine was gone! He knew who the thief was, without a shadow of a doubt. He rushed inside, slammed the door shut behind him and practically raced to the room beyond the first. He opened that door brusquely, and to his relief, nothing had been disturbed-the second machine stood in place.
Daylight now streaming through the room where the time machine had been, Wells’s attention was attracted by the small desk standing along the wall and beside the door of the second room from which he had just exited. He went to it and peered down at the log book, somehow hoping that Holmes would have had the courtesy to record the date to which he had chosen to travel. However, the log showed nothing related to the detective’s destination. Again, Wells turned to look at the stand where his prized possession had been proudly displayed only yesterday. He recalled the journalists’ enthusiasm at the sight of the machine and their never-ending series of questions regarding the functions of each of the knobs on the instrument panel. As far as he recalled none of these reporters had questioned the length of time it would take a man to travel anywhere in time-whether in the past or future. They were more interested in revisiting some of the more extraordinary events of the past hundred years than they were in visiting the future. None seemed to probe him for answers regarding time travel into the future-perhaps disbelieving that such a thing would be possible. However, Holmes, for his part, had only been interested in the future and not the past. Therefore, one could surmise that he had gone to visit a date on the calendar that would have aroused his curiosity at some point and for some unfathomable reason.
Wells stood in the empty room for a few more minutes before returning to his home. He could not call anyone at the constabulary-what could they possibly do to find the thief? Absolutely nothing was the answer to that unspoken question. And if sent in search of Holmes, the person would need to know which date the detective had chosen before departing. Pondering the question as to when and where Holmes could have landed, Wells sat in the chair he had occupied yesterday during the detective’s visit. He had to find out what Holmes wanted to do or what he had in mind when he took the time machine. Still furious that Holmes had had the audacity of taking his machine; he stood up and went to his study. The room was encumbered of bookcases, a desk, a drafting table, a couple of comfortable, high-back chairs and piles of documents strewn about the floor. He sat at his desk and rummaged through it until he found the photograph of a famous artist and opera singer-Irene Adler. He looked at it for a while, trying to determine where the woman could be at this time. She was the only person for whom Holmes had any respect, as far as Wells knew. She had supposedly been involved in a provocative affair that could have seen the downfall of one of the most respected royal houses of Europe. During a seemingly endless investigation, Holmes had apparently bowed to her astuteness. It had been said that Holmes had recognized her intellect and even her beauty on occasion.
However, to Wells, at this time, Irene Adler’s beauty was of little interest to him. He needed to find her. She would be the only one who could deduce or surmise from several encounters with the detective where the latter had gone. She was his arch-rival if not his nemesis.
Photo in hand; he went to the telephone that hung against the wall beside the door. Although not a man averse to acquiring the latest technological inventions and use them, a telephonic conversation was always intimidating to him. He unhooked the ear-piece and waited for the telephone operator to answer.
“How can I be of service, Mr. Wells,” the woman said when she came on the line.
Wells hesitated. “Oh., hello., Miss, would you be able to connect me to Mr. Sigismund at The Times newspaper?”
“Certainly, Mr. Wells, I’ll stay on the line until Mr. Si-gismund answers his telephone.”
Wells waited and wished he had chosen a device that would sit on his desk rather than the one he had hooked on the wall. He knew however, that this piece of equipment would have soon been lost amid the books and papers that he often amassed on his desk.
“Mr. Sigismund is on the line now, Mr. Wells,” the woman said.
“Hello, hello.,” Wells said now impatiently into the mouthpiece.
“Is this Professor Wells,” Sigismund inquired, an audible smile in his voice.
“Yes, yes, it is, Mr. Sigismund. I am terribly sorry to interrupt your day, sir, but I was wondering if you could be of assistance.”
“In what regard, Professor? And if I can, I will assist you, of course.”
“I am looking to locate Miss Irene Adler, the.”
“Ah yes, Miss Adler.,” Mr. Sigismund said. “Let me verify her whereabouts..” Wells heard the man shuffle papers around him. “Ha, yes., there it is,” he exclaimed as if he had made an unexpected discovery. “There you are, Professor, Miss Adler is due to arrive in London in two days’ time. She was singing at La Scala in Milan and is now scheduled to return to our fair city for a long rest, I am told.”
“Thank you very much, Mr. Sigismund, thank you. And if I could return the favor some day, I will be sure to do so.”
“You could do so right now, as a matter of fact, Professor; you could tell me when you plan to travel in your time machine. I would like to be there when you depart, of course, and.”
“I have no plans as such at this time, Mr. Sigismund, but I will be sure to advise you of my departure as soon as I would have made the necessary preparation.”
“But., Professor, you told us that you were planning to travel in time shortly.”
“No, sir!” Wells interrupted abruptly once again. “Perhaps in the near future.”
“Be sure to let us know, Professor.”
“Yes, of course. Now, I am afraid I must cut our conversation short, Mr. Sigismund, and bid you a very good day.”
“All right then, Professor. Good day to you.”
When Wells replaced the ear-piece on the hook, he was perspiring. He shook his head, returned to his desk and sat down again. He had obtained the information he wanted but it would be two whole days before he would be able to talk to Irene Adler. The prospect of having to wait that long was intolerable. In the meantime, someone, probably his friend, Dr. Watson, would have discovered the
detective’s absence and might have deduced that Holmes had come for a visit by himself-such as he had promised to do yesterday. However, if the doctor came by to find his friend, he would probably ask to see the time machine, which would be of no great problem since the second machine was still in the other house and no one was yet aware of its existence. Wells was silently grateful that he had duplicated the machine and that the replica was also in perfect working order.
He shook his head again and decided to locate Irene Adler’s residence before she was due to return to London. The location of her residence was a well-guarded secret apparently, but Wells had been an avid opera buff for a long time and had collected an array of information regarding the tenors or sopranos he admired. He knew Irene Adler had sung several operatic duets with a tenor by the name of Jean de Reszke. If by good fortune, the man was in London at this time-he was a favorite among the members of the royal family-he would certainly be able to tell him where Miss Adler resided.
When Wells telephoned Jean de Reszke, he learned that the tenor was also waiting for Irene Adler to return to London. During their short conversation, de Reszke didn’t hide the fact that he had been invited to Irene’s residence in Chelsea for a welcome-home party the following Saturday. Upon replacing the ear-piece once again on its hook,
Wells went directly to his rooms upstairs, changed in more appropriate attire, took his hat and cane from the portmanteau in the hallway and closed the door of his house securely before making his way to the main road where he hailed a cab. Aboard the hansom, Wells took a small loose-leaf note book out of his pocket and wrote a few words on a piece of paper. He folded the note and placed it in another pocket of his jacket.
Irene’s house backed onto the Physic Garden of Chelsea. It was not a grandiose mansion by any means but one that suited the discreet and often reserved character of the acclaimed operatic diva. Wells climbed the few steps separating him from the footpath and the front porch, and pounded the brass knocker a couple or three times against the door. A few seconds later, a young lady dressed in black skirts, blouse, white apron and bonnet opened the door wide.
Somewhat taken aback, the woman looked at Wells up and down before she said, “Good morning, sir. May I be of some assistance?”
“Yes, my dear, I believe you could. My name is Mr. Wells, and I only wish to leave a note for your mistress.”
“Miss Adler is not home, sir. But if you would like to leave your correspondence with me, I will make sure my mistress gets it when she returns.”
“Very well then..” Wells took the note out of his pocket and handed it to the young lady, saying, “Here it is, my dear. And you may tell your mistress that she may contact me on the telephone at her earliest opportunity-my telephone number is written on the note.”
After a discreet curtsy and closing the door upon Wells, the parlor maid placed the folded note on the plate on the credenza below the mirror in the corridor. She was about to make her way up the stairs, when she recalled something about the man’s name. She turned around and took the note. She unfolded it and quickly read the signature: H. G. Wells. She put her hands to her mouth preventing a gasp from escaping it.
“Maria, Maria,” she then hollered down the hall, rushing toward the kitchen.
“What is it, Cynthia?” Maria asked, raising her head from her task. “Why would you need to holler in an empty house-what could possibly be the matter now.?”
“But you know, the man., the professor.,” Cynthia replied, panting.
“What professor.? Have you admitted someone into this house.?”
“No-no, Maria, I would not, you know that.”
“Well then, what is it? Come now, girl, what has you so ruffled?”
“It’s the article in the paper-the one you showed me two days ago.”
“Yes., what of it?”
“It was that same professor with the time machine., he was at the door., and he left a note for Miss Adler. I am very sure it was him, Maria. I even looked at the note.”
“You did what?” Maria shouted in dismay. No one in her household would be permitted to open any of the post addressed to their mistress. “How could you?” she asked in outrage.
“But it was not in an envelope or sealed, Maria. It is just a folded piece of paper.”
“No matter what it is; I don’t want this sort of thing happening ever again-do you understand me?” Maria concluded sternly.
Cynthia bowed her head and exited the kitchen without a word. She climbed the stairs and went to finish her ironing of the fresh bedding that she was preparing for Miss Adler’s return.
When Wells arrived home, he went to his study directly. He unbuttoned his jacket and sat at his desk, intent written across his face. He was not a patient man, and waiting for Irene Adler’s return promised to be an ordeal in disguise. Nonetheless, he began the task of extrapolating the current events in the hope that they would lead him to a date at which Holmes would have traveled. A couple of hours later, his housekeeper knocked on the opened door and told him that his tea was ready in the lounge room. He hardly lifted his gaze to her and groaned a “thank you” reluctantly. Used to this sort of lack of acknowledgement on the part of her employer, Mrs. Cartridge spun on her heels and went back to the kitchen to have her tea and read the paper.
A few minutes later she heard Wells making his way to the lounge room and exhaled a breath, relieved to hear that the man was getting some sustenance after all.
When Wells heard the telephone ring, he practically jumped out of his chair. He had spent the last two days writing ciphered notes in his books and was totally absorbed in the task when the jingle of the telephone interrupted him. He got up, went to the device and unhooked the ear-piece with a trembling hand. Unsure who the caller could be, he heard the operator’s voice announce that Miss Irene Adler was on the line.
“Hello., hello., Miss Adler?” he replied more nervous than ever.
“Ah, Mr. Wells. Thank you for taking my call,” Irene said in a steady voice. “I must first tell you that it was a great surprise to hear that you had taken the time to come to my home and leave a note for me.” Irene paused. “However, since you did not explain the reason for your request such as calling you upon my return, I am very curious to learn what the matter could be.”
“Let me first say that I am very grateful that you responded to my calling upon you.” Wells paused in his turn. “I am in desperate need of your assistance, Miss Adler.. “
“My assistance, you say? What assistance could I possibly provide you, Mr. Wells? You have aroused my curiosity, indeed; so do tell me what you expect of me.”
“I could not possibly explain what is currently happening or what my request entails over the telephone, Miss Adler. But if you could spare the time, it is most urgent that I speak with you.”
“Very well then. Although I am still tired from all that traveling, I am so curious to know what this is about, that I will make my way to your residence in the next hour-if that is convenient for you, of course.”
“Oh, it is, Miss Adler, and you cannot imagine how grateful I am for your assistance already.”
“But I have not said that I will assist you in any way, shape or form, Mr. Wells. Nonetheless, I am most intrigued by your request and will be at your door as soon as I am able to make my way to your residence-that is if you would be so kind to give me your address.”
Wells promptly explained where he lived and, after a few parting words, hung up the ear-piece back on its hook.
He regained his seat, quite shaken.
A couple of hours later, Mrs. Cartridge opened the front door to Irene Adler. She was dressed in an elegant but simple moiré gown, trimmed of embroidered bouquets of white flowers. She wore a fashionable hat, pinned over tresses and locks of dark hair encircling her intelligent face.
“Mr. Wells is expecting me. I am Miss Irene Adler,” she said, stepping inside the foyer as Mrs. Cartridge open the door wider.
“Yes, Miss Adler, i
ndeed he has, indeed he has,” the housekeeper replied somewhat reproachfully. “Please follow me. He will see you in his study.”
“Thank you,” Irene said, making her way down the corridor behind Mrs. Cartridge.
As the housekeeper opened the door of the study, Wells got up from his seat in a bound and went to Irene, extending a hand for her to shake. “Miss Adler, so good of you tocome so soon after your return from Europe. Please dosit down,” Wells added, after shaking hands with her and indicating a seat near the window. Then turning to Mrs. Cartridge, “Would you mind bringing us a tray of tea and wafers perhaps, my dear?”
“Very well, sir,” Mrs. Cartridge said, closing the door behind her.
Irene sat down and so did Wells, opposite his guest, in the other high-back chair.
“Well, now, Mr. Wells, let me not waste your time or mine; you have reportedly constructed a time machine, which invention has been described in the newspapers of Europe and those across the British Empire. By all accounts, you are preparing a voyage in time-presumably the past, if the reports are to be believed-and I have to wonder what would any assistance of mine entail, given these extraordinary circumstances?”
Once again, Irene Adler had proven to Wells that she was in fact the astute woman, he had suspected she was. Her mind was as sharp as that of the cleverest of men, he had to admit.
He smiled tentatively. “You have deduced correctly, Miss Adler that the assistance I would require of you has to do with my time machine.”
“Does it now?” Irene said, lifting an eyebrow. “I must repeat that, although I have read of your exploit in constructing a time machine, I cannot see where I could be of assistance in this regard.”
“Yes, yes, of course., you could not possibly have foreseen the events that followed the announcement of my invention.” Wells knew he had to come to the point. “Equally true is the fact that Mr. Sherlock Holmes came to my home three days ago.”
Sherlock Holmes in 2012: TIMELESS DUEL Page 3
