“Did he indeed?” Irene asked, visibly surprised.
“Yes, he did, Miss Adler, but at the time of his visit, and for reasons of my own, I refused him access to the machine.”
“Where is the machine stored?” Irene interrupted impatiently now.
“In a disused house at the back of my property.”
“Are you telling me that Sherlock has taken your machine and has disappeared with it?”
Wells’s mouth fell open-agape. He was taken aback by the fact that Irene had already deduced what the problem was.
“Yes, Miss Adler; that’s exactly what happened. Mr. Holmes came back during the night that followed our meeting and if my deductions are correct, he has chosen to travel in the future-the date he chose, or the location of his landing, are still unknown to me.”
“I must admit, Mr. Wells, this must be of great concern to you, but what do you expect me to do, in any event? I could perhaps tell you the place where Sherlock may have landed, and possibly arrive at some extrapolating conclusion as to the date of his arrival, but how else could you expect me to help you?”
“I noted that you have not asked me how I knew that Mr. Holmes traveled in the future and not the past.”
“Simple, Mr. Wells, if the reports are correct, they made several mentions of traveling into the past to correct our mistakes-or some such things-but none mentioned the machine being capable of transporting one into the future. And knowing Sherlock the way I do, he would not have been interested in the slightest in any travel into the past. He would have come to visit you for two purposes only; one, to know where the time machine was stored, and two, to confirm what he suspected, which is the machine being capable to travel into the future.”
Wells shook his head and smiled. “Those were his concerns exactly, Miss Adler.”
“Yes., so I thought. What’s more, given the fact that you refused him access, he had to find out for himself if he could use the machine-without your assistance.”
“And he did indeed, Miss Adler.” Wells shook his head ruefully.
“All right then, since we have described the problem, I must iterate my question; how do you expect me to help you?”
Wells lowered his head. “Would you be prepared to travel to the future and bring him back?” he mumbled.
It was Irene’s turn to stare. “Did I hear you correctly? You want me to chase Sherlock into the future and bring him back to this date? How marvelously intriguing-and fantastic-if I may say so!” Irene exclaimed, all smiles. “But that would imply that you have a second time machine at my disposal, would it not?”
Wells nodded.
“Perfect, Mr. Wells, absolutely perfect!”
“Does this mean you accept my proposal?” Wells asked, still amazed at Irene’s response and at her reaction all together.
“Of course, Mr. Wells, of course I accept. But we have-I mean I have-some work to do prior to my departure. First, I must ascertain the date and place of Sherlock’s landing, and then I must prepare myself for such a voyage-I could not possibly arrive in a strange land, in an even stranger time, in apparel such as the one I am wearing now.” Irene’s hand went from her dress-coat lapels to her hat. She smiled demurely at the thought..
As soon as Irene returned to her home and before she prepared to leave on the time machine the next day, she needed to call on the man who would be most interested in this latest development. She went upstairs to her private apartment, which was comprised of two separate rooms. The first was a small parlor, some sort of anteroom to the second-her bedchamber. She sat down at the desk and picked up the ear-piece from the telephone device.
“4-7-3 in Chelsea,” she said to the operator.
“Yes, Madame, I will connect you..”
In less than a minute the party was on the line.
“I must see you.,” Irene said, and listened to the response. “No. That’s too late. We must meet tonight..” She paused. “I cannot speak of this over the telephone, no..” After a few seconds, Irene nodded. “That will be perfect. Yes, I understand.” With these words, she replaced the ear-piece on its hook.
“The fool,” she muttered.
Irene then spent the next hour writing a couple of letters and telephoning two of her friends.
“No, it’s not that I do not wish to see you, Jean, I just need to have a rest-away from the city,” she said, smiling to herself while thinking of her next destination.
“How long will you be away then?” Jean de Reszke asked, his voice hardly concealing his disappointment.
“I supposed I should be returning by the middle of next week, why?”
“You ask why! My dearest love, I have been longing for you to return from Milan for weeks; do you realize how much distress your absence has caused me?”
Irene tittered. “Really, Jean, you should calm yourself. I should be back in no time at all. Since you must be used to my absence by now, I should think a few more days won’t make any difference, will it?”
“Do you know that you will drive me to drink? Your dismissal of my love for you is quite hurtful.”
“Please, leave the drama for our duets,” Irene replied airily. “Besides, ce n’est qu’un au revoir, Jean. I should be back soon as I said.”
“Alright then, I’ll abide by your wishes and wait for your return once again.”
“Oh, I almost forgot.,” Irene said as she was about to end their conversation, “Did Mr. Wells tell you why he wanted my address when he telephoned you?”
“Well, no; he just said that he would want to send you some flowers or some such thing.. Why, did he contact you?”
“No, not really,” Irene lied, wanting to leave no trace or thought of her meeting with Wells in the mind of the people she intended to leave behind tomorrow. “Perhaps, he will show at my door or send a message later-it’s not of any importance at this point in any case.”
Following a few parting words, Irene replaced the earpiece once again on the hook, took her address book and leafed through its pages quickly, and placed another call. This time it was to her secretary-the person who would need to fend off all of the people who would be either calling on her, querying the reasons for her renewed absence, or those who would be expecting to see her the next Saturday at her party.
“Ah, Hilda, my dear, how are you?” Irene said as soon as she heard the voice of her secretary.
“As well as can be expected, Madame, thank you; a little tired from the travel, that’s all. And I am very glad that you telephoned me; I was just reviewing the schedule.”
“Don’t trouble yourself.. Actually, I was telephoning you to advise you that I will be away for the better part of the week if not longer.”
“Oh but, Madame,” Hilda interrupted, “You have so many engagements.”
“No-no, I don’t. I need to get away from here, Hilda, or I will be going quite insane!” Irene practically hollered. If her friend Jean was the dramaturge par excellence, Irene wasn’t far behind-she could be as flamboyant or as seemingly distressed as the next Diva.
“Very well, Madame,” Hilda replied resignedly. “And may I ask when you will be returning?”
“Of course, you may ask, but I do not think you will appreciate my answer-that is to say, I have no idea when I shall be back. So, I suggest you leave all of these engagements waiting for my return, if you don’t mind.”
“Very well, Madame. I gather then that you will be incommunicado for some days?”
“Yes, you gathered correctly indeed.”
When Irene hung up, she exhaled a breath. “My dear Sherlock,” she said aloud, “What on earth made you do such a foolish, foolish thing?” If only you had waited for my return....
However now was not the time for rueful thoughts orrecrimination; it was the time for preparation.
Next, Irene called her parlor maid, Cynthia. Gladly, Irene had retrieved the note Wells had left for her before she returned home, but now she needed to stave off any and all speculations from Cynthia�
��s inquisitive mind.
As soon as the maid showed up at the door of Irene’s parlor, she noticed her impatience-somehow Cynthia appeared to be expecting something sensational-if that’s the case, Irene thought, the little maiden will be satisfied.
“Come in, my dear, come in,” Irene said, turning her head from the papers on her desk. “I should be glad if you would sort out riding britches from my wardrobe and three or four dresses to wear on country outings-very light ones-if you wouldn’t mind?”
“As you wish, Madame,” Cynthia replied, already on her way to Irene’s bedchamber. “Would Madame prefer a valise or a trunk to travel to the country?”
“I should like you to pack the garments in my sea-trunk.” Irene got up and followed the maid to her bedroom. “Once you have packed the luggage, you may ask Henry to send it on to the consigned baggage department at the docks in Dover-I will confirm the arrangements with him when I will have made the reservation for my passage to Athens.”
That last sentence stopped Cynthia instantly. She turned around and looked at her mistress, astonished. “You mean, Athens as in Greece, Madame?”
“Unless there is another Athens somewhere else in the world of which I know nothing about, yes, this is where I intend to travel next.” Irene took the pair of britches Cynthia had already laid on the bed. “This one”—she pointed at the outfit—”I will wear tomorrow morning when I go for a ride with my country friends.”
Meanwhile, Cynthia had not moved an inch and was still staring at her mistress.
“Well, do get on, girl.,” Irene said, going to the wardrobe. “What is the matter with you?”
“But, Madame, Athens is where my brother should be.,” Cynthia uttered. “He’s still missing.”
“I know that, Cynthia, and that’s perhaps one of the reasons I am intending to go and visit your mother.”
“Oh, but Madame, Moma lives in Mikonos-on the island,” Cynthia said, returning to her task now.
“All the better,” Irene said distractedly. “If you give me directions, I will be most pleased to pay her a visit.”
A broad smile illuminated Cynthia’s face when she said, “Oh that would be wonderful! Thank you, Madame, thank you!”
Irene only smiled and continued sorting through her dresses.
When the chimes of her clock announced the approaching hour of ten o’clock in the evening, Irene swung her cape over her shoulders, made her way down the stairs and exited her now quiet house. She went down the path adjacent to the row of houses lining the street and leading to the park. She had traveled this way many a time and still did so when her assistance in serious underworld matters was required. However, Irene’s involvement in such matters was somewhat limited to sate one of her strongest desires-beat Sherlock Holmes at his own game. Holmes was a master detective with endless resources at hand, such as Scotland Yard, and his brother, Mycroft, occupying a post in government was not of negligible service either. Yet, Irene had powers-that-be-perhaps as influential as these others-to assist her in her covert endeavors.
As soon as she reached the bench, well shaded from view by day or night, Irene sat down and waited for her contact to come to her. She was a few minutes early, so she was not surprised not to see the man yet. However, when the pealing of the bells in the nearby church resounded the quarter past the hour, Irene began to worry. She instantly reviewed the events that had led her to be sitting on that bench and could not see where she would have made a mistake anywhere. She had advised three people of her intended departure and the two people she had telephoned were beyond suspicion as far as she knew. As for telling Cynthia about going to Greece, Irene thought there could not be any better blabber-mouth to divert all unwanted attention onto a trail that would lead nowhere. Lost in such thought, Irene didn’t notice the two men approach the bench, nor had she noticed the carriage that had pulled in the laneway.
She just had time to lift her gaze to one of the men and see the white handkerchief he placed on her mouth and nose before passing out.
Chapter Three
Irene Adler
Finding the house empty, Watson telephones Mycroft Holmes and learns of Sherlock’s government assignment to parts unknown. Knowing how interested his brother is in time travel, Mycroft fears the worst but does not divulge his contention to Watson. Having abducted her and obtained the information he sought from Irene Adler, Mycroft’s suspicions are confirmed.
The man woke up, his body lying under a tree, aching all over. He looked around, sat up, brushed his coat and passed his hand through his blond hair. He had been knocked down and now only remembered entering the park ... and then nothing. He heard the bell of the church pealing eleven o’clock and began to worry. Although feeling a little dizzy from the bump on his head, he looked around him to get his bearings. He made his way to the bench and sat on it. He put his head in his hands, and elbows on his knees he swore under his breath. Who could have known about their meeting? “The wench must have talked,” he muttered under his breath.
Having regained a bit of his strength, the man got up and rushed out of the park. He was in no way looking forward to reporting this incident to the professor. He’d still be waiting for me and when I tell him what’s happened, it’ll be the death of me, he thought.
When Mrs. Hudson opened the door to Dr. Watson three days after Sherlock had departed for parts unknown, Watson saw his answer deepening the lines of her face. “He hasn’t returned then?” he asked superfluously.
“No, Dr. Watson, he hasn’t, I’m sorry to say.”
Watson walked in the hallway while Mrs. Hudson closed the front door. “Would you mind if I took a brief look around his room; it would perhaps tell us something about his whereabouts at this time-or his intentions?”
“By all means, Doctor. You know him better than anyone, I should think, and if you should find an answer as to where Mr. Holmes has gone, all the better.”
Something in what Mrs. Hudson had said just then had caught Watson’s attention. He hung his hat and cane on the portmanteau and made his way up the stairs.
“I’ll bring you some tea, if you like,” Mrs. Hudson called after him before he reached the upper landing.
“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Hudson, that would be welcome-a cup of tea always warms one’s heart to the task at hand,” Watson replied from over his shoulder.
As soon as he reached Holmes’s table, Watson rummaged through the papers and folders. When he found what he was looking for, he looked through the notebook anxiously until he stopped at the page where Holmes had recorded the telephone number he wanted.
Mrs. Hudson entered the room at that moment, a tray with a teapot and a cup in her hands.
“Ah, Mrs. Hudson., thank you,” Watson said to her, taking the tray from her and depositing it on the table. “Would you mind if I used your telephone?” he asked then.
Looking up at him a bit surprised, Mrs. Hudson replied, “Of course not., come with me; I’ll show you where it is.” As the two of them went down to the landlady’s apartment, she added, “Is there someone you know to telephone and who would know where Mr. Holmes has gone?”
“Yes, Mrs. Hudson, I believe the person I am about to telephone will be able to answer our query readily enough.”
They went through Mrs. Hudson’s parlor and she stretched an arm toward the device sitting on her desk. “Please, Doctor, have a seat”—she indicated the chair beside the table—”I’ll be in the kitchen, if you need me,” and walked away through the door.
Watson sat down, picked up the ear-piece and waited for the operator to answer the call.
“Yes, Miss.,” Watson said hesitantly, “I would like you to connect me with Mr. Mycroft Holmes at the Ministry of Defense.”
“Right away, sir., and who should I say is calling?”
“Doctor Watson.”
He waited somewhat impatiently until he heard the familiar voice saying, “Ah, my dear Doctor, what an unexpected and pleasant surprise to hear from you.”
“Let me interrupt you, Doctor, if I may. You are worried about my brother, is that correct?”
“Yes., but may I ask how you know this?”
“I make my business to know such things, Doctor. And for now, although I cannot speak of the matter clearly, I suggest that you rest assured that my brother has not come to harm and that he will return in his own due time.”
“Am I to assume that you know where he is then?”
“You may assume so, Doctor, but since this affair is to be kept absolutely confidential, and of the utmost importance to our nation, I cannot divulge where Sherlock is at present, or can I tell you when he is likely to return.”
“Very well then.,” Watson said, on the one hand relieved to know Holmes was alive and well, and on the other querying the fact that Mycroft was not prepared to make light of his expected date of return. “Thank you, Mr. Holmes.. Shall I tell Mrs. Hudson?”
“You may indeed assure Mrs. Hudson that my brother will return to his lodging in due course, yes. However, you may also tell her that I will be taking care of paying the rent on Sherlock’s apartment.”
“You mean you will assume rental remittances on the premises.?” Watson could not disguise the surprise from his voice. This meant that Holmes would be gone for months probably. What’s more, Watson had never heard of Mycroft taking care of such matters in all the years he had known the brothers. This must be indeed a very serious matter for Mycroft to extend his involvement so far into it.
“Yes, Doctor, that is what I said. And now, you will have to excuse me, but duty calls and I must end this conversation, I am afraid.”
“Yes, yes, of course, sir. I am sorry to have taken so much of your time.”
Mycroft chortled. “No bother at all, Doctor. I shall speak to you again, I’m sure.”
“Good day, Mr. Holmes, and thank you.”
Sherlock Holmes in 2012: TIMELESS DUEL Page 4
