Sherlock Academy

by F. C. Shaw

  “Well?” he asked her as he rested his head against the wall.

  Cecily sat cross-legged on the floor next to him. “No Sherlock Holmes books. So weird! Even if no one else submitted a Holmes book there should at least be two—mine and yours!”

  Rollie sighed. A mystery burrowed in his mind: there were no Sherlock Holmes books on any of the eight bookcases. Where were all the students’ books? The students had placed their books on shelves, watched them get shuffled around, and lost sight of them. Obviously, they had lost sight of them because—

  “They disappeared.” Rollie shook his head in bewilderment.

  “How could eighty books disappear?” wondered Cecily.

  “Did someone take them?” Rollie said.

  “What for? And what—” Cecily stopped mid-sentence.

  “Huh?” Rollie followed her gaze up to the side of the bookcase he was leaning against. “Is that a hole?”

  Rollie and Cecily scrambled to their feet. Rollie peered into a hole in the side of the bookcase on his left. It was not too deep or too large a hole. Gingerly, he stuck his hand in the hole, feeling the width and height and depth. He felt a raised shape sticking out from the backing. He traced it with his fingers. It felt like the number eight. He retrieved his hand and studied the side of the opposite bookcase on his right. Another similar hole. He fingered the inside—a seven, he guessed.

  “What are these holes for?” Cecily stuck her hand into one of them.

  Rollie did not answer her, for his brain was steaming ahead with an idea. The holes were a little bigger than an empty toilet paper roll. Smaller than a paint can. More like the size of . . .

  “A jar!” he exclaimed.

  Cecily whirled around to face him. “What are you talking about?”

  “These holes are about the size of a jar, right?” he replied.

  Cecily looked confused. “I guess.”

  Ring! Ring!

  Lunch recess ended. Rollie groaned, but stuck his hand in one more hole in another bookcase—a six. Bouncing with excitement, he sprinted out the library, forgetting to turn off the lamp. He took the stairs two at a time, Cecily at his heels. Panting, they rushed into class and took their seats. Rollie glanced at Mr. Notch’s desk: no teacher, no briefcase or papers, and no pencil mug.

  At that moment, Mr. Notch burst into the room, his arms still full of everything he had carried earlier. As he passed Rollie, he grinned sheepishly.

  “There’s always something!”

  A Jarring Clue

  Although Rollie enjoyed Mr. Notch’s class, he had come to look forward to Mr. Chad’s class more, which promised interesting disguises and funny anecdotes. Today’s class did not disappoint.

  “So what gave me away this time?” Mr. Chad grinned at his students as he scratched his neck beneath a red cravat. “Cecily!”

  “You’re wearing your Converse sneakers. I don’t think a common loafer would wear Converse sneakers.”

  “Bingo! Like hands, shoes can be dead giveaways, too. Now, this woman I knew who worked in a New York department store told me that shoes can either make or break an outfit. Does anyone know what that means? Tibby!”

  “My older sister says that, too. It means shoes can make an outfit look good or bad.”

  “Bright as a penny! Or pence, I guess. While that is true, not too many people notice a person’s shoes. But you’re all bright detectives, so there was no fooling you!” He wiggled out of a seedy coat with the collar turned up. Next he whipped off his cap and cravat. He tossed the whole disguise into a costume box he kept in the corner, and sat cross-legged atop his desk. “Let’s review: nose-hairs and earlobes can give a disguise away, right?”

  The students giggled and shook their heads.

  “No? What can give disguises away? Hands and . . . ?”

  “Shoes!” everyone chimed.

  “I’m so proud!” Mr. Chad gushed, wiping away imaginary tears from his twinkling blue eyes. “By the way, the fun thing about a disguise like that one—” He pointed to the ragged coat, red cravat, and frayed cap in the corner, “—is that you can be any type of worker or loafer. Maybe you’re looking for work as a carpet layer, a plumber, a napkin-stasher. . . . Oh, there is such a job. Extra points if you can identify that loafer disguise!”

  Hands flashed up.

  “Tildster?”

  Eliot grinned, “Holmes wore it in The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle.”

  “I can’t teach you smarties anything more today. Class dismissed!”

  Mr. Chad always stood at the door to shake the students’ hands and say a positive word or two to them as they left. Rollie usually tried to be last so he could linger with his favorite teacher, but not today. Today he was anxious to go to his room and search for something in particular. He hastily shook Mr. Chad’s hand, and tried to squeeze away.

  “Whoa there, horsey!” Mr. Chad tightened his grip on Rollie’s hand. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

  “Sorry, Mr. Chad, I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  Mr. Chad studied Rollie’s face. He leaned down and said in a low tone, “You’re onto a mystery, aren’t ya? I can see that spark in your eyes. Well, keep up the good work, Rollie. I could tell from the first day of class that you’d make a great detective.”

  Rollie’s face flushed with pleasure. He soaked up any compliment he could get, especially from someone he admired like his favorite teacher.

  Straightening up, Mr. Chad hollered, “That’s right, kid, we have class tomorrow, too. Now move along! Hello there, Miss Tibby.”

  Rollie raced upstairs, pushing past slowpokes along the way. He burst into his bedroom and dove under his bed. He pulled out one of his cardboard boxes and rummaged through it.

  He found the marmalade jar with its cryptic tag:

  A good snack for the LIBRARY.

  Rollie’s instinct had been right about Auntie Ei: she knew more than she appeared to. He turned the jar upside down. His fingers traced an indentation in the bottom of the jar. A three. Rollie jumped to his feet and bumped into a friend.

  “Cecily!”

  “Rollie, I thought we were partners, but if you want to keep secrets, then go right ahead and keep your secrets.”

  “I’m not keeping secrets,” protested Rollie.

  “Then tell me what you discovered in the library.” Cecily crossed her arms. “You said something about a jar.”

  Rollie held up his marmalade jar. “This looks like the same size as those holes in the shelves, right?”

  Cecily’s green eyes widened. “Right, but why would—”

  “Come on!” Rollie bounded downstairs. “Does anyone ever come in here?”

  They found the library dark and empty. Rollie made the room bright. He counted the third bookcase from the left, and inspected its side. Yep, a hole. He stuck his hand inside. Yep, a three. He turned his jar over in his hands until the three indentation was right side up like the raised three in the hole. He matched the end of the jar to the hole, and slid it in. A perfect fit. Even the threes matched. But the lip of the jar stuck out. Rollie pushed harder, but it would not go any further. Maybe that was the way it was supposed to fit. He was not sure what to do with the jar now since nothing happened on its own.

  “Give it a turn,” suggested Cecily in a breathless whisper.

  Rollie tried to turn the jar to the left, but it would not budge. He turned to the right—

  Click.

  Cecily gave a sharp inhale of surprise. Rollie grinned.

  The jar turned and the bookcase swayed forward as if on a hinge. They peered behind the yawning bookcase. Through the shadows, they saw more bookshelves carved into the wall. Rows and rows of books crammed the shelves. They did not need to read each of their spines, for they all included the same two words in each of their somewhat varying titles: Sherlock H
olmes.

  “Our missing books!” Rollie gasped. He reached out his hand to grab one off the shelf—

  “Hi, roomie! Hey, Cecily.”

  Rollie and Cecily spun around to see Eliot enter the library. Rollie stepped in front of the open bookcase, and slowly pushed it closed.

  Click.

  “Trying to solve the Rearranging Library, huh?” Eliot asked.

  “Trying. What are you doing here?” His hands behind his back, Rollie slid the jar out of its hole.

  Eliot plopped into an armchair. “I thought maybe I should try, too. I’m bored.”

  “Guess that’s what you get for finishing your IS work so early in the morning.” Rollie bit his lip. Probably not the nicest thing to say.

  Eliot remained unaffected and shrugged. “I guess so. Want to go observe someone? Mr. Notch said it’s good practice.”

  “Oh, uh, we still have our IS work to do,” Cecily cut in.

  “Shame. See you at dinner.”

  Rollie ducked out the door, hugging his jar and his thoughts to himself. Cecily followed.

  “What have we just discovered?” asked Cecily as they headed upstairs.

  “A secret library of sorts,” replied Rollie, keeping his voice low as they passed a knot of third-year girls gossiping in the hall. “We better keep this to ourselves for now.”

  * * * *

  Later that night, he lay awake trying to drown out Eliot and Rupert’s snores with his own thoughts. So far, it was working since Rollie had a lot to think about. Being alone with his thoughts also muddled his head. Finally he threw aside his covers, flicked on his flashlight, and found his hollow Shakespeare book under his bed. Inside he found his little notepad and pencil stub. He made a list of the Five Ws to record the facts he knew so far, as well as the questions he needed to find answers to.

  WHO: Who else knows about the secret library?

  WHAT: My marmalade jar is a key to a bookcase.

  WHERE: The secret shelves have our Sherlock Holmes books.

  WHEN: Sunday night/Monday morning: an attempted burglary in the library.

  WHY: Why does the library rearrange if the real secret is hidden behind it?

  Rollie chewed on the end of his pencil. He felt better after organizing his thoughts on paper. Before he flicked off his flashlight, he jotted down one more question.

  P.S. What does Auntie Ei know?

  The next morning, Rollie sat at a table on the rooftop, sipping his breakfast tea. His jar of marmalade stood next to his plate of hash browns. He had brought the jar with him hoping to open the secret bookcase during recess. Cecily sat at another table with Tibby, trying to ignore him, but stealing occasional glances his way.

  “Marmalade!” Eliot whooped. “That’s my favorite! Let me have some for my toast.”

  Rollie glanced nervously at Eliot, then at his jar. “I haven’t taken the wax off yet.”

  “I know how to pop it off.” Eliot gripped a butter knife.

  Rollie slid the jar away from Eliot’s reach. “I’d rather not share it. It’s a gift from my great-aunt.”

  Eliot’s face fell. “Sure, chum.” He cast his eyes down to his plate.

  Sighing, Rollie slid the jar across the table to Eliot. “Just a little won’t hurt—but be careful with it.”

  “You’re a great friend, you know that?” Eliot stabbed the wax with his butter knife, wriggled it around, and plucked out the wax plug. He spread a generous amount on his toast. “Just like home,” he sighed with a mouthful. “My nanny got me obsessed with it. I miss her.” Sadness crept into his eyes for a moment, but vanished when he took another bite of toast and marmalade.

  “Where’s your home?” Rollie asked him.

  “Edinburgh.”

  “Scotland?” Rollie asked in surprise. “But you’re English, aren’t you?”

  “My dad works there. My mum died, so I have my nanny. I don’t get to go home until Christmas. It’s too far for weekend visits.”

  “I’m sorry, Eliot.”

  “Don’t be. It’s the way life is.” Eliot finished his toast. “Perfect. Thanks for sharing.”

  “You can have as much as you want. I’ll bring it to breakfast every morning.”

  “Really? Thanks! I should share something with you.”

  “You have—your Sherlock Holmes comic books.”

  “Oh, yeah. Okay, we’re even. I didn’t really think about it, but I guess you kind of owed me that marmalade.”

  Rollie let the comment go.

  “Guess I’ll go brush my teeth.” Eliot stood, then sat back down. “Headmaster Yardsly and all the teachers. I forgot it’s Tuesday.”

  Rollie craned his neck around to see the faculty parade out the rooftop door and over to the tables. On Tuesdays, the teachers, including the headmaster, mingled among the students at breakfast time. Headmaster Yardsly thought it important to get to know all the students and make connections with them. Rollie had never known teachers to be so interested in and accessible to their students. It made him feel special.

  Mr. Chad sauntered up to Rollie’s table, stopping to stand between Rollie and Eliot. “Howdy, sleuths! How do you feel about this Tuesday so far?”

  “I think it will be a great Tuesday, Mr. Chad,” Rollie replied.

  “This marmalade has brightened my day!” Eliot exclaimed.

  “Marmalade? Hmm…never cared for it much. Nothing beats my mom’s strawberry-rhubarb jam.”

  “Rhubarb?” Rollie could not help making a face.

  “I know, sounds gross, but in jam with strawberries, it’s scrumptious. To each his own. See you boys later today.” Mr. Chad gave them a thumbs-up and moved on to the next table.

  Rollie’s marmalade turned out to be the conversation topic of the morning. Every teacher commented about it when he or she stopped by to visit.

  “Too sweet for my liking, although I am sure one could use the word in a code,” Ms. Yardsly pointed out in her firm tone.

  “Glass jars preserve wonderful prints!” Miss Hertz twittered, and peered at the jar closely through her magnifying glass.

  “Serving marmalade or any other type of spread directly from the jar is poor etiquette, you know,” Professor Enches muttered, his teeth clamped down on his pipe.

  “I take a little marmalade with my afternoon toast every so often, I do,” Mr. Notch rambled, pushing his thick glasses up his nose.

  “MARMALADE! Delectable stuff,” Headmaster Yardsly boomed.

  Rollie watched each teacher closely in hopes of spotting a hint of recognition or knowing towards the marmalade jar. Either they excelled at hiding their thoughts, or they did not suspect that his jar was a key to the secret shelves. As the breakfast hour ended and the faculty returned indoors, Rollie cradled the jar in the crook of his arm and headed to class. Little did he know that his jar had indeed sparked the suspicion of one teacher.

  The First Hard Choice

  At recess, Rollie raced to the library only to find two fourth-years studying for their history quiz. Books with the titles Detectives in the Middle Ages, Roman Private Eyes, and A Complete History of Spies from the Dark Ages lay open in their laps.

  At lunch, Rollie wolfed down his sandwich and milk, much to the annoyance of Cecily, and bounded to the library in hopes of finding it empty. Instead three second-year boys were there arguing about the Rearranging Library. After classes, he poked his head in and found Headmaster Yardsly and Ms. Yardsly engrossed in a hushed discussion. Rollie climbed upstairs, knowing he trailed behind in his Independent Studies and should probably spend the afternoon catching up. He fell asleep that night annoyed.

  But he dreamed.

  He stood in his bedroom at home. All was quiet, until one by one his family and his teachers and even a few students like Tibby crowded into his room. They admired his telescope, his binoculars, his
magnifying glass, and his book collection. Professor Enches said something about it being rude to spy on Mr. Crenshaw from the bedroom window. Then Ms. Yardsly jumped on the bed and bumped her head on the ceiling, which Rollie laughed at. Eliot came late and tried to squeeze into the room, but he could not fit and cried. Rollie felt bad for him. He looked around for Cecily, but she was not there. At one point, he heard a clink and saw a hand grab his marmalade jar, knock it against his bed post, and hide it under a handkerchief.

  In the morning, Rollie smiled to himself thinking how silly that dream was. He wished he could see Ms. Yardsly jump on a bed. He looked over at Eliot asleep at the desk with his head on top of his books. Rollie stifled a laugh as he reached under his bed for his marmalade jar, but—

  “It’s gone!”

  He buzzed around the room, checking under all three beds and atop the desk cluttered with books and Eliot. He stopped in the center of the tiny room, turning around, looking every which way. He shook Eliot’s shoulder.

  “The quotient of eighty into three-hundred-and-twenty is four!”

  “Eliot, wake up!”

  “I wasn’t asleep!” snapped Eliot.

  “Did you take my marmalade jar?”

  Eliot stretched and yawned. “No, but marmalade does sound yummy right now!”

  “It’s gone.”

  “What? Where?”

  “I don’t know. I had it under my bed last night, and when I woke up this morning it was gone.”

  “Odd, and a pity. I was looking forward to having some with my toast this morning.” Eliot closed his books, and pulled on a sweater. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I should tell Headmaster Yardsly.”

  “Honestly, Rollie, it’s just a jar of marmalade.”

  It’s not just a jar of marmalade.

  Rollie sprinted out the door, through the hall, and down the stairs. He did not want to assume too much too soon, but he had an instinct that someone purposely stole his jar knowing it was more than just a jar of marmalade. Rollie’s detective mind steamed into full gear.