by F. C. Shaw
. . . which meant turning in Mr. Chad.
But right now he couldn’t fathom doing that.
Eventually the night’s events took toll on him, and he finally drifted off to sleep.
He did not dream.
The Second Hard Choice
“Wake up, sleepy head!” Eliot sang as he pounced on Rollie.
Grumbling, Rollie hid under the covers.
“You’re going to miss breakfast. Either way I’m taking that marmalade with me.”
“You can have it. I don’t care.”
Eliot huffed. “Cranky, aren’t we? Get up!” He yanked the covers off Rollie.
For a moment, Rollie smiled at his friend’s insistence. Then last night’s events replayed in his mind, and he frowned. Instead of a flutter in his stomach, he felt a pain. He blinked quickly to fight back the tears welling in his eyes.
“What’s the matter with you?” Eliot peered closely at Rollie’s blood-shot eyes. “Are you sick? If you’re sick, go home. I do not want to get sick.”
“I’m not sick.” Rollie started to undress.
“Why are you wearing all black?”
Rollie grimaced. He forgot what he was wearing. “It’s the only thing clean I have right now. I’ve got to take laundry home this weekend.”
“Or you need to pack more. See you upstairs.” Eliot bustled out of the room with the jar of marmalade.
Rollie pulled on his trousers and a gray shirt. His hair stuck out every which way, but he did not care. He trudged upstairs to the roof. He took one look at the students eating and chatting and laughing, then turned and went back downstairs. His appetite for food and conversation were gone. Back in his room, he threw himself on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. Alone with his thoughts, he came to a decision: he would not turn Mr. Chad in, not yet anyway. Right now he could not bear to do it. He would mull it over during the weekend and start anew on Monday. In the meantime, he hoped Mr. Chad would not find the telegram hidden in his Holmes book. Maybe there was another reason Mr. Chad had stolen the book.
The rest of the day Rollie felt detached, absent from reality. He attended his classes, took notes, smiled politely at his teachers, and shuffled down the halls with his classmates. No one bothered him and he talked to no one.
He dreaded Disguise class and almost ditched, but did not want to raise Mr. Chad’s suspicion. As he watched Mr. Chad be his usual boisterous and humorous self, Rollie knew this was just another disguise the teacher donned. He found it hard to believe that behind the attractive exterior, Mr. Chad was a criminal. For the first time, Rollie was afraid. He had never faced a real criminal before. After class, Rollie navigated to avoid Mr. Chad, hoping not to be stopped at the door. No such luck.
“Rollie, you look awful! You okay?”
His eyes cast down, Rollie nodded. He started perspiring.
“Yeah, right! What’s wrong? You can tell me.”
Rollie swallowed, his heartbeat quickening. He wanted to demand that Mr. Chad give him back his Holmes book and his marmalade jar. Instead he fibbed, saying, “I’m just a little homesick.”
“Don’t be embarrassed about that. Even I get homesick. You know what I miss most right now? Pizza! There’s this fabulous Italian cafe right down the street from my folks’ house. It makes the best—”
“Sorry, I need to go.” Rollie pulled away, hoping Mr. Chad could not read the terror in his eyes.
* * * *
Friday afternoon finally came. Rollie wanted nothing more than to retreat home and surround himself with his noisy yet comforting family. He also had a thing or two to ask Auntie Ei. He was both disappointed and relieved when the cab driver told him Cecily had taken a separate hansom home. Rollie would have to fix things between Cecily and him.
Although he decided not to turn in Mr. Chad, he did not feel any better. Did he feel badly due to the situation, or because he had made the wrong choice to do nothing?
When Rollie got home at dusk, he found the house quiet and nearly empty. His brothers were still at work, his mother had taken his sisters into town for new shoes, and his father was working late at Regent’s College. Rollie dropped his suitcase full of dirty laundry in the entry hall, and headed for his bedroom.
“Sick of stairs,” he mumbled as he climbed and climbed. As he passed Auntie Ei’s bedroom, he looked back over his shoulder into her open doorway.
“Hello, Rollin,” her voice croaked from inside.
Rollie edged into her room. “Hello, Auntie Ei. How are you?”
“Old, of course.” Auntie Ei sat in her usual armchair by the fire.
“Are you feeling any better?”
“Hardly. No more chocolate for me, I am afraid. How are you?”
“All right, I guess.”
Auntie Ei flashed her eyes from the Daily Telegraph in her hand to Rollie. “You are a far cry from all right, young man.”
Rollie frowned. “Auntie Ei, why did you give me that marmalade jar? Did you know what it was for? Where did you get it?”
“Young man, that is an inexcusable number of questions for someone as old as me to answer all at once. I daresay you are upset.”
Rollie took a deep breath to calm himself. Straining to keep his voice low, he asked again, “Why did you give it to me?”
“A good question,” Auntie Ei approved. “I gave it to you to use. How did you use it?”
“I used it to open the secret library.”
“There you have it. I’m afraid there’s nothing more mysterious about it,” the old woman said very matter-of-factly.
“Yes, there is, Auntie,” Rollie countered, surprised at his own assertiveness. “How did you get that jar? Headmaster Yardsly is the only person I know who knows about it.”
“If you must know, I am an active member on the Sherlock Academy School Board.”
“Really? So it’s okay that you have one?”
“There is nothing illegal about having a marmalade jar, Rollin.”
“Headmaster Yardsly said those jars are dangerous.”
“In the hands of the wrong people, they are. You and I are not wrong people.”
Tears misted his eyes as he thought about who the wrong people, or wrong person, were. “Auntie, if someone knows the truth . . . and that someone doesn’t say anything about it . . .”
“Go on, Rollin.”
“Then is that the same as lying?”
Auntie Ei studied him from behind her spectacles before answering. “I suppose so.”
“And that’s wrong, right?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea why you’re asking me. You’re an intelligent boy. You ought to know the difference between right and wrong.”
Rollie nodded. “It’s hard doing the right thing sometimes.”
“It almost always is. That’s what makes it the right thing. We naturally want to do the wrong thing most of the time.”
“Why?”
“The discussion of right versus wrong is a very tedious one, and I don’t believe I will live long enough to endure that. Perhaps there’s an easier discussion we can engage in.”
“I know something about someone. I don’t want to say anything about him because I really like him. I want someone else to expose him.”
“It sounds very vague, but I respect your privacy. Let me ask you this: you are a detective, correct?” Auntie Ei jabbed a bony finger at him.
“Yes, at least I hope so.”
“Rollin, you know very well that you are, and a good one at that. Stop trying to sound modest in this instance, for it comes off as insecurity. You must be confident in who you are without being arrogant—that’s modesty. Next question: what does a detective do?”
“I know what a detective—”
“Answer the question, Rollin Edgar Wilson.”
“A detective
follows clues to solve a mystery and finds out who is guilty.”
Auntie Ei nodded her head of gray hair. “There you have it. A detective finds who is guilty and brings that person to justice. Would a detective be doing his job if he discovered the guilty person but never reported him? For example, if an inspector had a lead on Herr Zilch but never acted on it, would he be doing his job?” She smacked the newspaper page bearing the headline Mayfair Theft Suspected of Being Linked to Herr Zilch.
Rollie shook his head.
“That detective might as well retire and become a beekeeper! A detective always chooses to do the right thing at any cost; otherwise no one would employ him. Holmes believed that everyone was responsible for preserving justice.” Auntie Ei folded the newspaper on her lap.
“So back to the marmalade jar,” Rollie began.
“We are through discussing marmalade jars for today. You are excused, Rollin.”
Rollie backed into the hallway. He climbed the twelve steps up to his watch-tower room, and sat at his desk by the window overlooking Mr. Crenshaw’s garden. Mr. Crenshaw was not there—but Rollie did not feel like spying on him anyway. Instead he looked around at his telescope, his magnifying glass, his notes tacked on the cork-covered wall, and his collection of Sherlock Holmes books. He thought about Auntie Ei’s advice.
And he knew what he had to do.
Double Flutters
As the weekend wore on, Rollie felt better. Being around his family gave him the familiar comfort that he needed. Usually he got annoyed with dinnertime, but this weekend he relished it, realizing he missed his family member’s interruptions and teasing. Still something was not quite right.
Cecily.
He called on her Saturday, but found she was not at home. He tried again Sunday afternoon. At first she did not want to see him, but when he persisted at the front door, she reluctantly met him on the porch. They sat together on the front porch steps.
“What do you want? I’m right in the middle of homework.” she said crossly.
“Homework?” Rollie raised his eyebrows. “We don’t have homework.”
Cecily blushed. In a small voice, she confessed, “I didn’t finish my IS for the week.”
“I didn’t know you could take unfinished work home.”
“I’m not sure you can. I’m being sneaky about it.”
Rollie gave her a disapproving look.
Cecily rolled her green eyes. “I’ll talk to Headmaster about it first thing Monday morning.”
“Guess we’ll both be bothering him first thing Monday morning.” Rollie took a deep breath. “I need to tell you what I’ve been up to.”
“About time.” Cecily muttered.
“I’m sorry for keeping secrets from you.” said Rollie, shifting uncomfortably.
He told her about his conversation with Headmaster Yardsly, about the importance of the jar, and how it tied into the library burglary. Cecily’s eyes widened when he concluded that Mr. Chad was the burglar, and that he had stolen Rollie’s jar and Holmes book.
“That makes me sad,” she sighed. “I really like him.”
“He’s my favorite teacher, but I know the right thing to do is turn him in,” said Rollie quietly. “I should have told you about this sooner. And I shouldn’t have suspected you of taking the jar. Sorry.”
Cecily smiled. “No harm done. I mean, besides hurting my feelings for a little bit. You know, for as much as I love Holmes, I never liked how he left Watson out of the loop. I felt like Watson this week.”
“Well, I’m not Holmes and you’re not Watson. I’m Rollie and you’re my best friend Cecily. That’s all that matters.” Rollie socked her shoulder playfully.
When Rollie left Cecily’s house and headed down the street to his, he spotted Mr. Crenshaw strolling toward him. He raised a hand in greeting, and met Mr. Crenshaw in front of the Wilson house.
“Good afternoon, young man,” Mr. Crenshaw smiled, his face creasing into many wrinkles. Although it was a pleasant day, the elderly man wore a long gray coat and his gloves. “I was just on my way over to your house to ask if you wouldn’t mind delivering another letter to Ichabod.” He held out a long envelope.
“Sure.” Rollie took the envelope.
“I realize I may have inconvenienced you with this task,” said Mr. Crenshaw in a kindly tone, “but you are greatly appreciated.”
Rollie looked up at Mr. Crenshaw in skepticism. “Is this really all about a surprise party?”
Mr. Crenshaw’s jaw tightened, and he seemed to be weighing something in his mind. “Very well, young man. I suppose you have earned the right to know. But what I am about to disclose to you must be kept secret—you know, from one detective to another, eh?” He leaned in closer to Rollie. “I work for a top secret division of Scotland Yard. Ichabod Enches is my fellow agent who’s been planted at Sherlock Academy to uncover an enemy spy.”
Rollie was about to mention the recent break-in and ask if that was the work of the enemy spy, but Mr. Crenshaw continued.
“The only way for the two of us to communicate is through letters delivered by you. We can’t risk the letters getting intercepted in the post, and we can’t trust any of the adults—including the headmaster—at the Academy until we uncover the spy. It is of the utmost importance that you keep our secret, even from your family.” Mr. Crenshaw gave a thin smile. “You are doing a great service in helping the Yard.”
Rollie said, “I’ll keep your secret, sir. You can trust me.”
Mr. Crenshaw beamed down at him. “I knew I could trust you. Indeed you are becoming a fine detective. We’ll be in touch.” With a wink, he turned and hobbled back to his mansion.
Rollie stood on his front walkway, eyeing the envelope in his hands. He held it up to the sunlight. The stationary was too thick to see through. Curiosity gnawed at Rollie; he wanted to read what was inside. Perhaps there were facts inside that could tie Mr. Chad to the enemy spy. He almost ripped it open, but shook his head. Nope, that could jeopardize Scotland Yard’s mission to find the spy.
He was surprised to learn that Mr. Crenshaw was a Yard inspector, yet it made sense. It explained his frequent trips away, the cryptic documents he kept in his briefcase, and his interest in Rollie as a detective. Rollie felt jolted to learn there was an enemy spy hiding at the school, but that made sense in light of the library break-ins and his stolen marmalade jar. He felt his stomach tighten as he remembered who the enemy spy most likely was, and he realized he should tell Mr. Crenshaw about Mr. Chad. He started toward the mansion next door.
He stopped. Something felt off.
Mr. Crenshaw and Professor Enches did not trust any adults at the school, not even Headmaster Yardsly. They were going out of their way by trusting Rollie in order to avoid Yardsly knowing about their letters. Sure, they could consider the headmaster a suspect for the enemy spy. But even if Rollie did not know the spy was Mr. Chad, he would still not suspect Yardsly for one simple fact: Auntie Ei trusted him, and had told Rollie to do the same. And in turn, Rollie trusted Auntie Ei.
Rollie headed back to his house. He decided to consult Headmaster Yardsly before consulting Mr. Crenshaw. Yardsly would handle this mystery better. Besides, there was something about Mr. Crenshaw that Rollie did not entirely trust, and he was learning not to discount his instincts.
At dinner that night, the family conversation bantered away as usual.
“Fact: another week is upon us,” Mr. Wilson began.
“Alice is leaving town,” Stewart whined, gnawing on his drumstick.
“The family’s been warned! Stew will be moping around for the next week,” Edward joked.
“Why is Alice leaving town?” Mrs. Wilson asked, passing Daphne the rolls.
“Holiday with her folks.”
“Daddy,” Lucille piped up. “When can we go on holiday?”
“We just we
nt on holiday in June.”
“That was a long time ago!”
“Fact: two months is not a long time ago, darling.”
“To me it is.”
“Let’s talk about this week,” said Mr. Wilson, changing the subject. “Fact: September is fast upon us. Oh, Rollie, what will you be doing this week?”
“Doing the right thing,” Auntie Ei cut in, nodding knowingly at Rollie.
“Auntie’s right, Dad.”
“That’s good to hear. Fact: doing the right thing always pays off.” Mr. Wilson raised his glass to toast this wise saying.
* * * *
“Are you ready then?” Cecily asked on Monday morning as she and Rollie bumped along in their horse-drawn cab.
“Yes,” Rollie said resolutely.
The hansom pulled up to 221 Baker Street, and Rollie and Cecily hopped out. They mounted the front steps and entered the school. It was relatively quiet—a difference from last Monday morning when they had arrived at a crime scene. Embarking upon their third week at the Academy, they felt at home as they entered the entry hall. They both stepped up to the headmaster’s door and knocked together.
Ms. Yardsly opened the door. She stood tall with her hands behind her back. Her hair was twisted into its tight bun and her brown suit looked crisper than ever, as did her expression.
“Can I speak with Headmaster?” Rollie ventured to ask.
Ms. Yardsly stood aside and ushered the two children into the office.
“GOOD MORNING!” the headmaster greeted from behind his desk. “How can I help you two on this fine Monday?”
Rollie quickly told the two Yardslys about his investigation in the library, how he had witnessed the thief open the secret shelves and steal his book, and his suspicion that Mr. Chad was the culprit. Both Yardslys were extremely shocked by all he had to share.
“I must confess Chadwick was the last person on my suspects list,” Ms. Yardsly said.
Headmaster Yardsly stood from his chair. “I agree, but Rollie presents some good facts we cannot ignore. We’ll take Chadwick into custody and interrogate him immediately. Now get to class.” He picked up the telephone and dialed.
