Sherlock Academy

by F. C. Shaw

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, and a little embarrassed. I did have another box to give her, but . . .” he gestured to a small blue box with a silver ribbon on the tea table. He frowned and drummed his fingers on the head of his cane.

  “Ah, wait just a moment,” he said smiling as he shuffled over to a corner of the garden. He returned with a pair of shears and clipped several snapdragons and purple hyacinth blossoms from the garden. He pulled out a plain white handkerchief and wrapped the bouquet before handing it to Rollie.

  “Perhaps these would suit her better.”

  “Well, she did eat the chocolates rather quickly.” said Rollie.

  “In that case, why don’t you wait a day or two before giving her this other box.” He handed it to Rollie as well. “These aren’t quite as rich and shouldn’t bother her.”

  Rollie took the box of chocolates, said thank you, and bid his elderly neighbor farewell.

  The Silent Library

  “You don’t even like marmalade. Why did Auntie Ei give you a jar of it?” asked Cecily.

  Rollie and Cecily sat side by side in the horse-drawn cab. It was a foggy Monday morning, typical of England, but disappointing to summer vacationers. The hansom bounced along towards London. Rollie had just told Cecily about Auntie Ei’s odd gift.

  “She won’t just come out and tell me, but I know there’s some reason,” said Rollie. “This weekend, she asked me if I liked it, and I said I hadn’t tried it yet. She seemed disappointed that I hadn’t.”

  “Well, your great-aunt is a mysterious soul,” muttered Cecily.

  “Mysterious? You think so?”

  Cecily laughed. “Odd for sure.”

  “I have to agree with that.”

  Within fifteen minutes, the cab pulled up to 221 Baker Street. Rollie and Cecily both looked around in confusion as they stepped out. The front steps of the school were bustling with people. A squad of blue uniformed policemen patrolled the front doors to keep nosy on-lookers from entering the building. A few other students who had just arrived stood on the curb unsure what to do.

  “What happened?” Cecily asked.

  Rollie led her to a nearby policeman guarding the front door. “Excuse me, sir, may we enter?”

  The man glared down at him. “Are you a student?”

  “Yes, sir, we all are,” Rollie answered, indicating Cecily and the three other students behind him.

  “Very well, go ahead.” The policeman nodded toward the front doors, and called into the building, “Inspector Pembly! Students entering!”

  The entry hall was no quieter than outside. Several plainclothes inspectors—Rollie guessed from Scotland Yard—stood around interviewing staff and writing notes.

  “Do you have night security?” Inspector Pembly, with a fedora pushed back on his head, asked the headmaster.

  “No, there’s never been a need,” Headmaster Yardsly replied, shaking his head sadly. Noticing the new arrivals, he turned and told them, “First hour classes are postponed. There’s an assembly on the roof in ten minutes.” He turned back to Pembly.

  “What do you think happened here?” Cecily whispered.

  Rollie went on tiptoes, trying to see past the inspector and the headmaster. Beyond them a few more policemen lingered around the library. “I think we’re about to find out. Let’s head to the roof.” He led the others upstairs.

  Along their way up the four flights of stairs, they bumped into a few policemen. Some asked students a few questions, some measured the halls, and some photographed the windows. On the roof, the children found the student body and faculty sitting at picnic tables. A podium stood before them. Rollie and Cecily found seats next to Tibby and Eliot.

  “Pretty exciting, huh?” Eliot poked Rollie in the ribs.

  “I guess. What happened?”

  “A mystery! And we’ve got to solve it!”

  “We do?”

  “Sure. Between you and me, I think this is all a set up to give us some field experience.”

  “It’s a pretty elaborate set up,” Rollie muttered doubtfully.

  “Want to be my partner?”

  “You’re getting ahead of yourself. We better wait to hear from Headmaster Yardsly before we pick partners.”

  “Hey,” Cecily cut in. “I’m always Rollie’s partner.”

  “Tibby, want to be partners?” Eliot asked, leaning over Rollie to speak with her.

  Tibby glanced at him nervously. She started to say something, but Headmaster Yardsly appeared behind his podium.

  “SLEUTHS!” his voice boomed, demanding everyone’s attention. Back to a normal pitch, he continued, “A burglary has been committed here at Sherlock Academy. An attempted burglary, that is. This is not a mock crime for fieldwork, this is the real deal, if you will.” He paused and took a sip of water.

  The students whispered their speculations to each other.

  “AHEM!” Headmaster Yardsly yelled more as a word than an actual clearing of his throat. “All you need to know is that the library was broken into last night, but nothing was taken. We will have a few policemen patrolling the grounds today. You are dismissed to your regular classes!”

  The students scrambled to their feet and filed downstairs where they dispersed to their classrooms. Since it was only nine-fifteen, Rollie, Cecily, Eliot, and Tibby headed to Ms. Yardsly’s class. There Ms. Yardsly posted herself behind her desk. Her hands rested on two tall stacks of books. An unusual amount of chatter filled the classroom as the students took their seats.

  “Quiet, students, quiet!” Ms. Yardsly ordered, eyeing them with her cold stare. “I do not want to hear another word about the burglary. We are here to learn codes and ciphers. I have your textbooks. I need two volunteers.”

  Whenever Ms. Yardsly asked for volunteers, nobody raised a hand. Everyone felt nervous about helping, afraid they might do the wrong thing under her watchful eyes. Ms. Yardsly commissioned her own volunteers.

  “Rollin E. Wilson! Eliot S. Tildon! Quickly, quickly, don’t dawdle!”

  The two boys bustled up to her desk.

  “Take a stack of textbooks and distribute them to your classmates.” She turned to the blackboard and feverishly scribbled a code on it. She always wrote with such fervor that she often broke her chalk.

  Rollie and Eliot struggled to grip the tall stack of heavy textbooks. They held the books in their arms, and steadied the stacks under their chins. They moved around the classroom, squatting a bit so each student could take a book. They kept the last books for themselves and returned to their desks without incident.

  Whew! Rollie breathed, glad nothing embarrassing had happened, and glad Ms. Yardsly had kept her eyes on the board and not on him.

  Ms. Yardsly spun around. “Cecily A. Brighton! Please read the title of our textbook aloud.”

  Cecily licked her lips. “On Secret Writings: One Hundred Sixty Separate Ciphers.” She gasped, and added, “Sherlock Holmes wrote this!”

  “You are correct. It is one of his many monographs. Turn to page seven.”

  The flipping of pages could be heard.

  Rollie felt a little overwhelmed as he thumbed through the 325- page textbook filled with jumbles of letters and numbers. He closed his eyes. All he wanted to think about was the burglary. It had shaken him up to think the school was not entirely safe, but it had also heightened his detective senses. He liked having a real mystery to solve. He hoped to do a little investigation of his own, which got him thinking…

  Why would someone attempt a burglary, but not steal anything? Maybe the thief had been interrupted and fled the scene before taking anything. Now that he thought about it, what was the thief after in the library? Nothing but books there, which were difficult to track down since all the shelves rearranged themselves every twenty-four hours. Hmm . . . why did the shelves rearrange every twelve hours? Ms. Yardsly had never explained
that at orientation. Maybe there was something valuable in the library after all . . .

  Finally, Ms. Yardsly dismissed them to recess. Rollie thought of joining a group of boys playing rugby, but decided to visit the library instead. Cecily noticed him start downstairs, and caught up to him.

  “Are you going to investigate the library?” she asked.

  “I just want to take a quick look around,” said Rollie.

  They wove their way downstairs against the flow of upward traffic. When they reached the first floor, they found it empty and wondered where the policemen had gone. They entered the library.

  The light was off, so the room was very dim. A board against the window blocked weak sunlight. Cecily pointed out that the pane had been broken, and Rollie figured the thief must have entered through the window from the outside. He padded across the room to the lamp on the side table. He pulled its chain to turn it on. The soft glow melted away any spookiness they both felt. They studied the walls of tall bookcases, and Rollie swept his eyes along one shelf at his eye-level. The titles varied, stacked in no particular order.

  The Complete Poems of Edgar Allan Poe.

  The History of the Airplane and Other Flying Machines.

  Art History: Renaissance.

  “I wonder where my Sherlock Holmes book is,” Rollie said quietly

  “Who knows?” replied Cecily with a shrug. “These shelves mixed everything up.”

  Rollie counted the bookcases lining the walls and towering up to the ceiling; there were eight. He remembered watching the books slide and drop and raise and move around. He felt a little hopeless as he perused the hundreds of books, and imagined them shuffling around soon.

  “Do you think any of the other students have found their books yet?” asked Rollie. “Like the third or fourth years?”

  “We should ask some of them,” said Cecily as she studied the stacks of books on one shelf.

  “They probably submitted Sherlock Holmes books like us,” guessed Rollie. “Which means there should be quite a few Holmes books on the shelves.”

  He stepped up to a center bookcase and ran his finger and eyes down each stack of books. He reached the bottom shelf when he faintly heard the bell from the rooftop signaling recess over.

  “Time for Miss Hertz’s class.” Cecily headed for the door.

  “Almost done,” muttered Rollie.

  He quickly checked the last books on the bottom shelf, flicked off the lamp, then bounded upstairs with Cecily. He puzzled over what he had found, or rather what he had not found: any Sherlock Holmes books.

  Eighty Missing Holmes

  “I apologize for being a few minutes delayed,” Professor Enches announced as he hurried into the classroom. His long legs took him to the front in barely six strides. “The disturbing events of last night had me detained. I will say no more. Tardiness is a form of poor etiquette. However, if it is due to imperative detective work, it is somewhat justified. If you are ever tardy due to a case, be sure to express that to your client, and apologize sincerely. Proceed to present the fruit of your tardiness, so they can see its justification. Understand?”

  The students had learned it was unnecessary to answer his questions, which were frequently rhetorical. Expecting no answer, Professor Enches found his pipe in his pocket, scratched a match on his matchbook, and lit the pipe. After a few puffs, he nodded in satisfaction, then stared at his students for a few moments: a ritual he practiced every class period.

  Remembering Mr. Crenshaw’s second letter in his pocket, Rollie raised his hand.

  Professor Enches puffed on his pipe and nodded at Rollie, indicating permission to speak.

  “I have another letter for you.”

  Professor Enches coughed, took two strides over to Rollie, and took the letter from his outstretched hand. “Thank you, lad. Please see me after class.” He stuffed the envelope into his outer coat pocket and returned to the front. “Students, today we will discuss correct etiquette when interviewing a client of the opposite gender. If you are a male, then a client of the opposite gender would be a female, and vice versa. Now let’s suppose that a client enters your office and . . .”

  Please see me after class . . .

  Those words pounded in Rollie’s ears. Was he in trouble? For delivering Mr. Crenshaw’s letters? Surely not! Rollie wished Professor Enches’ lecture would hurry by, but of course it did not. Rollie found that whenever he anticipated something time slowed, making the wait unbearable. Yet whenever he reached that anticipated moment time sped up, ending the excitement too soon.

  Class ended, students headed to lunch, and Rollie waited for Professor Enches. Cecily raised her eyebrows at Rollie, wondering what could be the matter this time. She ducked out the door. The professor stepped up to Rollie.

  “Lad, I thank you for delivering Mr. Crenshaw’s and my correspondences. It’s very good of you.” Enches gave a little nod. “However, it is poor etiquette to interrupt class to deliver those letters to me in front of your peers. Besides, we don’t want to give the surprise party away, right?”

  Rollie nodded. “Right, sir.”

  “Of course not. Would you drop the letters on my desk before class commences?”

  “Yes, sir, if that’s what you’d like.”

  Professor Enches puffed and nodded. “Good lad. Dismissed.”

  * * * *

  Students filled the tables on the roof to eat their lunches and chat with their friends. Most conversations revolved around the attempted burglary. Rollie smiled gratefully at Cecily as he slid into a seat she had saved for him.

  “In trouble again? That’s not like you,” Cecily commented between bites of her sandwich.

  Rollie leaned in and whispered. “It was about Mr. Crenshaw’s letters. It was nothing.” He unwrapped his sandwich and unscrewed his milk bottle cap.

  Wesley Livingston, the fourth-year rugby and fencing team captain, slid onto the bench across from Rollie. He flashed a smile of perfect teeth. “Rollie, right? You should join our rugby game after lunch.”

  Rollie grinned. “Thanks, but I’ve got some work to do.” He took a sip of milk. “Could you help me by answering a few questions?”

  Wesley laughed. “Sure, detective.”

  “Did you bring a Sherlock Holmes book as your favorite book for orientation?”

  Wesley nodded as he chewed his sandwich.

  Rollie continued, “And you put your book in the Rearranging Library?”

  More nodding and chewing from Wesley.

  “Have you found your book yet?”

  Wesley shook his head. “You’d think after nearly four years I’d have cracked that library.”

  “Have you?” Eliot piped up, turning to Rollie.

  “No, but I want to.”

  Eliot looked relieved.

  “How many students are enrolled here?” Rollie asked.

  Wesley said, “There are eighty—twenty per grade every year.”

  Rollie chewed thoughtfully. “Do you know any students who didn’t bring a Sherlock Holmes book?”

  Wesley took a swig of milk. “Now that I think about it, no.”

  “Interesting.”

  Cecily giggled. “Rollie, there’s nothing interesting about that. It’s no surprise that students would bring a Sherlock Holmes book to Sherlock Academy. Even if they didn’t read much Holmes, any smart student would bring one anyway. Everyone wants to fit in.”

  Cecily was right about that. What Rollie found interesting was that there could be eighty Sherlock Holmes books in the library. He jumped to his feet, stuffing the last of his sandwich into his mouth and draining the last of his milk.

  “Where are you going?” Cecily questioned.

  “I’ve got some work to catch up on.”

  Eliot pointed an accusing finger at him. “I told you that you should get your work do
ne in the mornings. It’s the best time.”

  Rollie rolled his brown eyes. “See you later. Thanks, Wesley.”

  “Sure thing, detective!” Wesley called.

  “Wait up!” Cecily chased after him.

  They darted across the roof before anyone else could follow them, and skipped down four floors to the library. As they paused in the doorway to catch their breath, they spotted Mr. Notch bumbling down the hall toward them. His arms grappled with his briefcase, papers, and mug of pencils as usual.

  “Hello, Mr. Notch,” Rollie and Cecily chimed in unison.

  Mr. Notch stumbled to a halt, not seeing his students until he nearly bumped into them. “Oh, hello, hello. Rollin, is it? Cecily, eh? Thank goodness I remembered. I try so hard to remember names. How are you today?”

  “Fine, thank you,” Cecily answered.

  “Just thought we’d take a try at the Rearranging Library,” said Rollie.

  “Did you now? Good, good. Would you like a hint?”

  Rollie’s eyes brightened. “We sure would!”

  “Of course you would. Who wouldn’t want a hint? Keep one thing in mind: things are not what they seem on the outside.” He attempted to tap his nose to gesture smartness, but found he had no free hands. He almost dropped his pencil mug in the attempt. “Oh! Never mind, I’m sure you get the idea. I’m off to class.”

  “What time is it?” Rollie asked with a hint of panic.

  “Don’t worry. You still have twenty minutes. I try to get to class early so I don’t have to come in juggling all this.” He smiled, blinked behind his ultra-thick glasses, and staggered down the hall toward the staircase.

  Rollie and Cecily stepped into the library and pulled the lamp chain. They decided to work from each end of the room and meet in the middle. Rollie hurried to the far left bookcase. He had to stand on his tiptoes to see the top shelves. As he worked down the books, he got quicker at reading the titles. Within a few minutes, he reached the bottom shelf and finished checking that bookcase. He moved on to the second bookcase. Racing his eyes and fingers, he finished checking four bookcases before the bell rang. He met Cecily in the middle, and plopped down on the floor between two shelves.