The Holmes Brigade

by F. C. Shaw

  “Maybe he’ll help with Winter Cleaning, too.”

  Rollie found his mother, father, and great-aunt in the library. He handed Eliot’s letter to his mother. “Mum, can Eliot stay with us?”

  After reading it, Mrs. Wilson smiled. “I guess we have no choice—he’s already planned on it. I didn’t know you volunteered to clean your school.”

  “We didn’t,” both children said in unison.

  “He’s in charge of the new student government, and this is his first event,” Cecily explained.

  “Fact: I think it’s a wonderful thing to do,” Mr. Wilson voiced from behind his thick volume on mathematics.

  Auntie Ei spoke up. “How will you manage to get to school? Will Eliot send a hansom for you?”

  “I don’t know,” Rollie said. “Dad, can you drive us there?”

  “Fact: I can as long as it’s not too snowy—I haven’t prepared the car for this unexpected snow storm.”

  “Never mind.” Auntie Ei shook her gray head. “I will ring Headmaster Yardsly and request a hansom to pick you both up on the twenty-ninth.”

  “Thank you, Auntie Ei.”

  Rollie eyed the elderly woman. He could not help feeling baffled over that letter he had discovered in her desk. What had made her question his attending the Academy last summer? What had changed?

  “Eliot may stay,” Mrs. Wilson consented. “We’re going to have quite a full house with Uncle Ky coming too. Cecily, do you need to stay with us while your parents are away?”

  Cecily shook her head. “My brother will be around. At least, he’s supposed to be. He thinks he has more freedom to do what he wants when Mum and Dad are gone.”

  “If you need to stay with us, you’re more than welcome to.”

  “Thanks, Mum,” said Rollie as he led Cecily out of the library. He and Cecily headed upstairs to his bedroom.

  “I forgot about your Uncle Ky!” said Cecily. “He’s such an odd old man.”

  Rollie grinned. “He sure is, but he’s really interesting because he’s so odd. He’s always got a new job. We can never keep track of his professions.”

  “What jobs has he had?”

  “Let’s see . . . he used to own a candy shop, but then he sold it and worked for a curry company. He used to compete in singing competitions in pubs. I don’t know what he’s doing now. Auntie Ei has never approved of how he changes jobs all the time, but he never lets her opinion stop him.”

  Rollie thought of telling Cecily about the letter from Yardsly to Auntie Ei that he had accidentally read. But he was not sure exactly what the letter meant, and he decided to keep it to himself until he learned more. Instead he mentioned what he had witnessed in Zilch’s empty house last night.

  “Are you sure you saw what you think you saw?” Cecily narrowed her eyes. “You weren’t dreaming?”

  “I’m pretty sure.” Rollie nodded his head of sandy-blond hair. When they reached his room, he pointed through his window at the opposite window in the vacant mansion next door.

  The two sleuths leaned on Rollie’s desk and used his magnifying tools to spy on Herr Zilch’s house. On the outside, there was no sign of a prowler. The curtains were drawn in all the windows, and the doors were barricaded with large locks and No Trespassing signs. Soft snow drifted in the air, erasing any footprints that might have been there.

  Rollie squinted through his spyglass. He recalled the last time he had set foot in Zilch’s house. It was back in August when Herr Zilch was still masquerading as his elderly neighbor Mr. Crenshaw. Rollie remembered the entry hall with vaulted ceilings painted with Italian frescos. His footsteps had echoed across the marble flooring. All the furnishings were ornate and expensive. It had seemed more like a museum than a person’s home.

  Zilch’s secretary had answered the door and shown him in. She was young and of average height with brassy hair. She seemed to be Zilch’s right hand, keeping his schedule, answering his correspondences, and traveling with him everywhere he went. Even after spying on her all summer, Rollie had never caught her name.

  “Any clues?” Cecily asked, peering through the binoculars.

  Rollie shook his head. “Not that I can see. If there were any footprints in the snow, they’ve been covered by this fresh snow falling all morning.”

  “The most obvious question to ask right now is who was in the house? Do you think it was a common prowler?”

  “It could be, but my instincts tell me MUS has something to do with this. Maybe we should take a look around.”

  “Yes! There must be a secret entrance if someone got in last night,” Cecily reasoned. Her face clouded as she added, “But then if it’s someone involved with MUS, he probably has a key to get in.”

  Rollie shook his head. “No, he wouldn’t. Those locks on the doors belong to Scotland Yard. They locked up the house after they searched it when Zilch escaped last summer.”

  “Good! Then there is another way the prowler’s getting in, and we will get in another way too!” Cecily headed for the door.

  “Let’s wait and see if the prowler returns,” Rollie suggested. “I don’t want to trespass unless we have a really good reason. I’ll stay up tonight and keep watch. Maybe we can learn some more.”

  They spied on the vacant house a little longer before they agreed there was nothing more they could do about this new mystery until Rollie had a chance to confirm the prowler later that night.

  “You know what this reminds me of?” Cecily pointed to the mansion. “Sherlock Holmes’ case The Adventure of the Empty House.”

  “That’s my favorite case!” exclaimed Rollie. “I haven’t read it since I put my Holmes volume in the Rearranging Library. I like that case because it’s the first one Holmes tackles after his hiatus for three years. Everyone thought he died at Reichenbach Falls with Moriarty. He returns alive and shocks everyone. He and Watson stake out an empty house next to 221 Baker Street to catch Moriarty’s last minion, Colonel Sebastian Moran.”

  “And Holmes puts a lifelike bust of himself in his own window to make Moran think he’s at home hanging out,” Cecily added excitedly.

  “He had Mrs. Hudson hide in his flat to turn the bust every few minutes so it looked like he was moving around,” Rollie remembered.

  “Good ol’ Mrs. Hudson! She was the best housekeeper anyone could ever ask for. Even though Holmes was just her tenant, she looked after him and helped him with his cases. She even went with him when he retired to Sussex to keep bees.”

  Rollie continued. “Yet Holmes didn’t tell her that he had survived his mortal combat with Moriarty at Reichenback Falls in Switzerland. He kept it a secret—even from Watson!”

  Cecily shrugged. “You know he had to for his own safety. And it made Holmes intriguing. People are more interesting when they have a secret.”

  Rollie looked at her, his brown eyes widening. “Really? So do you have a secret?”

  “Hmm, not that I can think of. Christmas is over, so I don’t have to keep any more secrets about gifts. How about you?”

  Rollie grimaced, and proceeded to tell her about the letter from Yardsly to Auntie Ei. Cecily encouraged him to talk to Auntie Ei about it, but Rollie was not so sure yet. He felt frustrated about Auntie Ei’s secret-keeping, and not just about the contents of that letter, but also about his family lineage she had mentioned in October. He had not been able to learn anything new from her about that. And now there was this secret of a will she was keeping, too.

  “Cecily, if you had a secret, would you tell me?”

  “Of course I would. We’re comrades, after all. We have been since first grade.”

  Rollie smiled, remembering the first day of first grade. Cecily and her family had moved in a few weeks before school started. He had been excited when new neighbors moved in and had hoped there would be new children to play with. He had been slightly disappointed w
hen his new neighbor turned out to be a girl—a bossy girl, no less.

  It was not until they were lined up to enter their classroom that Rollie and Cecily had met. Cecily wore a pink frilly dress and a pout on her freckled face.

  On the verge of tears, she whispered, “I hate wearing dresses!”

  Rollie glanced at her and thought she looked pretty. “But you’re a girl.”

  Cecily gave him the biggest glare. “Take that back! Or I won’t be your friend!”

  “I don’t want to be your friend!” he had shouted back.

  The rest of their first day, they had avoided each other. But somehow, they always found themselves stealing glances at each other, though neither would have admitted it. When they were heading home, she discovered they lived just two houses apart.

  “We have to be friends.” Cecily decided, hurrying to catch up with Rollie. “We’re neighbors and we’re the only children on this street. We’ll be so bored without each other.”

  Rollie hated to admit that she was right. “Fine. We’ll be friends.”

  It was settled. From that day on, their friendship had grown with their heights. After Auntie Ei had introduced Rollie to Sherlock Holmes, he had introduced the detective to Cecily. She immediately shared Rollie’s fascination with all things Holmes. Now Rollie could not imagine his life without her.

  “Rollie?” Cecily brought him back from his memories. “Let me know what happens tonight with the prowler. I hope he shows up again.”

  “I do too.”

  Two Failures

  Rollie sat at his desk to watch the dark, deserted house through his frosted window. He hoped tonight would bring back the mysterious prowler.

  Rollie had no problem being up at night. He had made several midnight excursions at Sherlock Academy of Fine Sleuths while working on cases. At first, his middle had fluttered and his nerves had been on edge. But now he had grown accustomed to the noises native to the dead of night, which most people never heard. Of course being at home this time was a great comfort. Still, he noticed the night.

  The large Wilson manor settled with creaks and groans. The radiator down in the hall rumbled on and off. Somewhere out in the back garden an owl hooted. The faithful ticking of his little red alarm clock kept him friendly company and kindly reminded him of the passing minutes.

  When he felt his eyelids drooping closed, Rollie glanced at the little clock. In the moonlight, he saw it was nearly two. He groaned. The prowler had shown up around one last night. Rollie was afraid the prowler was not coming. He got up from the desk and paced his small room, forcing his blood to circulate. He shivered but resisted wrapping a blanket around himself, knowing this would only make him sleepier.

  Twenty minutes passed. Nothing. Another ten passed, and still nothing.

  Rollie gave in. He dragged one of the quilts off his bed, wrapped it around himself, and settled down at his desk again. Part of him doubted he had seen that light or heard those noises last night, but he had definitely been awakened. There had been no activity of any kind next door since Herr Zilch had fled in August—as far as Rollie knew. He was only home on the weekends though. Perhaps someone had been rummaging through the vacant house during all those weeks Rollie was away studying to be a detective like the great Holmes. But then he figured no one would have tampered with the house since it had been under the surveillance of a Scotland Yard team . . . which had recently been called off . . . interesting . . .

  Rollie blinked his eyes open and read his Christmas card from his teachers again. Just like their unique signatures, the teachers had such unique personalities.

  Miss Gwendolyn A. Gram’s cursive signature was flowery like herself. She taught Spy Etiquette and Interrogation. Rollie cared the least for her for all the same reasons the girls at school adored her: she was young and fashionable, and she was dating his favorite teacher, Mr. Chad. Mr. Chad had signed his name in quick capital letters. Rollie loved Mr. Chad’s American accent, sense of humor, and disguise lessons.

  Rollie drowsily checked the clock. It was two-thirty.

  Back to the Christmas card. Ms. Katherine E. Yardsly, the headmaster’s younger sister who taught code-cracking, had signed her name backwards to be read in a mirror. Then there was Miss Amelia S. Hertz who loved to analyze finger and footprints, so a thumbprint acted as her signature on the card. Mr. Percy E. Notch, who trained the students how to be effective observers, had left his mark with scribbles that Rollie assumed represented his name.

  Two forty-five.

  Then there was Headmaster Sullivan P. Yardsly; he had signed his name with his initials, which Rollie noticed for the first time spelled SPY. Headmaster Yardsly resembled Sherlock Holmes. He was tall and lean with a receding hairline, prominent forehead, and hawk-like nose. Yardsly had commissioned Rollie to help solve the mysteries involving Herr Zilch in the past. He knew the headmaster was glad he was a student at Sherlock Academy . . .

  . . . Even if Auntie Ei had not wanted him to be.

  Three o’clock.

  Rollie could not forget that line Yardsly had written to his great-aunt. The reasons you’ve given against his attending Sherlock Academy are valid.

  What else did the letter say?

  He couldn’t remember. He needed to read that letter one more time. Now would be a good time to go find it . . . but should he?

  He stood up. He sat down.

  No, he would not search Auntie Ei’s room. Besides, he would not be able to see in her dark room—using a flashlight was out of the question. And he could not abandon his post by the window. He would try tomorrow. Maybe during breakfast he could make an excuse . . . go upstairs . . . look for . . . the . . .

  He shook his head to awaken himself.

  As he followed his thoughts, they led him down a winding path of what ifs.

  What if he could find the MUS list? This would help Yardsly track down and arrest MUS agents hiding undercover in Great Britain. This would break Britain’s premier crime ring and protect Sherlock Academy. This would defeat Herr Zilch.

  Rollie grew excited. Where could the list be? Where would Zilch have hidden it?

  Rollie looked out his window at the dark mansion. Could it be there? What if the prowler was looking for it?

  He had to find that list. He had a hunch it could be right next door . . . or maybe it was just a wish. Either way, it would not hurt to take a look around . . . tomorrow . . . maybe he and Cecily . . . could . . .

  ****

  The gray light of dawn startled him. Rollie blinked around, confused at first that he was slumped over his desk and not lying in his bed. Then he remembered the reason but did not remember falling asleep.

  The red clock showed him seven ten.

  “Oh, drat!”

  He hoped that the prowler had not shown up while he was asleep. A bright light or slamming doors surely would have woken him like the first time. Feeling annoyed with himself, he fell onto his bed, burrowed beneath the covers, and dosed back off.

  A banging door did wake him, but this time it was a family member—probably his mother who was always the first to rise. Next would be Auntie Ei and his seven-year-old sisters. His father and his teenage brothers would battle for last place. Mr. Wilson thought it was his right to sleep in on holiday, for he was up early the rest of the year to teach math at Regent’s College. Rollie’s brothers thought they were entitled to sleep in because they were still growing teenagers. And Rollie always woke up somewhere in between everyone else, reminding the family there was one more person in the house.

  He rolled out of bed and shrugged into his robe. He traipsed down to the second floor. As he neared Auntie Ei’s closed door, he halted. He pressed his ear to the door.

  Auntie Ei threw open the door. “Rollin, what on earth are you doing outside my door?” she exclaimed.

  “I was just, um, checking if you, uh,
were up,” Rollie stammered.

  “How very peculiar!” Auntie Ei closed the door behind her and led him downstairs. “I do hope this school holiday is not dulling your intelligence.”

  Rollie swallowed. “I think I’m onto a case.” He quickly caught her up on his suspicions about Zilch’s mansion, the MUS list, and the night prowler. When he was finished, he expected Auntie Ei to give her usual affirmation, or perhaps her own thoughts on the matter.

  “You will not find anything there,” she said bluntly. “Scotland Yard thoroughly searched the house and found nothing of importance. Do not waste your time on it.”

  “But what about the prowler?”

  “Perhaps it was just a prowler, nothing more. However, it would not hurt to keep an eye on the property. We may need to notify the police.” With a curt nod, she led him into the dining room.

  They found a warm breakfast of porridge, crumpets, and Rollie’s favorite hash browns ready for them on the table. Mrs. Wilson hollered her husband’s and sons’ names for a few minutes until everyone joined them.

  “Fact: I think this morning was a tie between us.” Mr. Wilson chuckled, pointing to the twin boys.

  “What do you mean, Dad? I’m still asleep.” Edward yawned. “Ouch!”

  Lucille pinched her brother and giggled.

  He tickled her back.

  “Stop it, Ed!”

  “You snore so loudly!” Daphne shared with everyone. “Does he keep you awake, Stew?”

  Stewart shrugged. “I’ve gotten used to it after sharing a room with him all my life.”

  “You’re always quiet,” Edward noted in between bites of his porridge.

  “Compared to you, everybody’s quiet,” joked Stewart.

  “That may be perhaps,” Auntie Ei said, “the first sensible thing you have observed, young man.”

  “Thank you, old woman,” Stewart returned, chewing on a crumpet.