by F. C. Shaw
“Do not lose heart,” Miss Gram said. “Hence the reason for rehearsal. Let’s try again, shall we?”
After a few tries, they successfully got through one piece of music. The second time through, however, when the last note ended, a saxophone could still be heard. Everyone turned to Arthur, one of the smallest boys at school, who did not let his speech impediment hold him back. The group watched in amusement as Arthur, lost in the music, swayed back and forth in his seat. His saxophone was almost as large as he was. He tapped his foot, closed his eyes, and proceeded to get carried away by a jazzy rendition of Blue Skies. Suddenly, he realized he was the only musician still playing. His eyes bugged open, and he turned a deep shade of red. Everyone clapped.
“That’s my kind of music!” Mr. Chad voiced from a corner of the room. “American jazz!”
Miss Gram smiled at the small boy. “I had no idea you were so talented, Arthur. Perhaps you should have a solo.”
Arthur shook his head. “No thank you, Miss Gwam.”
“We’ll see. Musicians, let’s work out a few kinks in this piece.” Miss Gram tapped her baton again for attention.
For the next hour, the orchestra practiced, and by the time Miss Gram released them for the day, they did not sound half bad. They carefully packed their instruments in their cases and bid Miss Gram good-bye.
Rollie and his friends were heading to the front door when Mr. Chad stopped them.
“Hold up there, kiddos.” He beckoned them with his hand, a twinkle of mischief in his blue eyes. “Yardsly caught me up on what’s been going on with you guys and MUS. First of all, I’m glad you’re safe, Wes.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m grateful for Rollie and his family taking me in.”
“Amen to that. Cecily, how are you holding up with all these boys?”
Cecily giggled and blushed slightly. “I know how to hold my own.”
“Tildster, have you been helping your friends?”
“I always help my friends, Mr. Chad. It’s one of my rules I follow.”
Mr. Chad grinned. “That’s what I like to hear. And you, Rollie—are you glad for your comrades here?”
“Absolutely. We’re really working as a team.”
Mr. Chad nodded. “Listen, I know you guys are clever detectives, but even clever detectives need a little help, especially when they’re not in school getting assistance from their teachers at the moment. So here’s a little help.” He flicked a business card between his fingers.
Rollie took the card and read it aloud: “Mycroft’s Mercantile.”
In a low mysterious voice, Mr. Chad elaborated, “It’s a little hole-in-the-wall shop that specializes in detective and spy gear. They sell all kinds of supplies and gadgets. You never know when you’ll need something extra to help with a case. Don’t say I never gave you nothing.”
“Where is this shop?” Rollie asked.
“Right around the corner on Siddons Lane. They’ve been closed for the holidays, but I think they’re reopening tomorrow. By the way, the owner of the shop is an expert on all things detective—a real Sherlockian nut. He’s a good guy. You can totally trust him. Good luck sleuths.” He raised a high-five to them.
They all slapped his hand and bid him good-bye. They mounted the hansom cab waiting for them outside on the icy street.
“I really want to go to this shop,” said Rollie. “Mycroft’s Mercantile. I’ll ask my dad if he can take us sometime this week.” He slipped the business card into his coat pocket.
“Mycroft was Sherlock Holmes’ only sibling. He was seven years older than Sherlock,” Eliot clarified. “In case you didn’t know.”
Wesley grinned. “We know who Mycroft was. Any Sherlockian knows that.”
“My fingertips are so sore from playing today,” Cecily moaned. “I might get blisters!” She wrung her hand.
“You’re a lefty?” Wesley grabbed her hand and scrutinized her small fingertips. “You need to rebuild your calluses.”
“I do too, look.” Eliot shoved his hand in Wesley’s face, nearly poking him in the eye.
“Your fingers will have a week to rest until our next rehearsal,” Rollie said. “When is Euston coming to my house?”
“Knowing Euston, he’s probably already at your house,” Wesley commented.
“Maybe we’ll get a chance to ask him about the Holmes Brigade,” Rollie said excitedly.
When they arrived at the Wilson manor, they felt a sense of security seeing Euston Hood posted on the front porch. His slim frame was clothed in his heavy, black coat, and an English cap topped his head. As they approached him, he nodded curtly and stepped aside to allow them to enter the house.
“Hello, Mr. Hood,” Wesley greeted politely. “Thank you for watching over me again—I mean, all of us.”
Euston’s stony gaze softened, but he did not smile. “You’re welcome, Mr. Livingston.”
“We were wondering if you could tell us more about the Holmes Brigade.”
Euston’s brow furrowed. “What do you want to know?”
Rollie jumped in. “What does the Holmes Brigade do? Who else is in it?”
“It’s a very secret society, so I cannot divulge too much. Every Holmes Brigade has had the same mission from its conception: to destroy MUS. The Brigade always consists of four members, no more and no less. The four members are selected Academy patrons.”
The four children exploded with more questions:
“Besides you, who are the other three members?”
“How long have you been in the Brigade?”
“Can anyone join? Like us?”
“Do you have a secret handshake?”
Euston held up a gloved hand. “That’s all I can tell you right now—but you may learn more very soon.”
“Can we see your wristband?” asked Rollie.
Euston pulled up his sleeve to show them the leather band with the strange symbol. Then he waved them through the front door.
The four sleuths passed him and barged into the warm house. As they took off their coats and scarves, they chatted about their new bodyguard and his secret club.
“We’re the perfect Brigade!” Rollie beamed. “There are already four of us.”
Wesley nodded. “And we’re current patrons—we’re students.”
“Our mission has always been to stop MUS,” added Cecily.
“We need a secret handshake,” Eliot decided. “I’ll work on one.”
“Euston won’t stop us from exploring the house, will he?” Rollie wanted to know.
Wesley frowned. “He might. He takes his job of guarding very seriously. Maybe we can accompany him if he explores the house. Do we need to take another look?”
Rollie nodded. “It wouldn’t hurt, especially since the secretary was back last night.”
Eliot sighed. “I’m getting tired of that spooky house.”
“You don’t have to go with us,” Cecily told him.
Eliot shook his head. “Oh, no, you can’t leave me out like that.”
“I’ll talk with Euston and get a feel about us going next door.” Wesley poked his head outside.
The other three headed to the dining room for lunch. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson had taken the girls into town to exchange some Christmas gifts. A stack of cold ham sandwiches wrapped in wax paper waited for them on the table. As they each grabbed one, Wesley came back.
“I don’t think Euston will let us go. I got the feeling he means to keep us inside. We may need a diversion if we’re gonna explore that house again.”
All eyes turned to Eliot.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Go talk with him while we head out the back door,” Rollie told him. “Keep him occupied for about ten minutes. We’ll be quick.”
“You didn’t feel like going with us anyway,” Cecily pointed
out.
“But what am I going to talk to him about?” Eliot whined.
“Eliot, you can talk about anything to anyone for hours!” Rollie exclaimed with a chuckle. “Talk to him about all your rules.”
“What rules?”
“Your rules for everything! Or see if you can get more out of him about the Holmes Brigade.”
Wesley grinned. “We have every confidence in you.”
Eliot sat up straight. “Very well, I’ll do it for the team.”
His friends patted him on the back and gobbled down their sandwiches.
Black and White Proof
“You know, Mr. Hood, we appreciate your watching over us, but it’s not polite to be so quiet to your host. The rule is when you are staying at someone’s house, you engage in a little conversation here and there. We’re hoping you’ll have more to say to us when you join the family for dinner tonight. I mean, you don’t have to tell us your whole life story, but you could comment on the unusually snowy weather or compliment the meal. Did you ever take any etiquette classes? Well, I have. I’m taking Spy Etiquette and Interrogation at Sherlock Academy this year . . . ”
Eliot yakked Euston’s ear off as his comrades donned their winter clothing and crept out the back kitchen door.
Rollie led Wesley and Cecily across the snowy garden and out through the side gate. Seeing that Euston’s back was to them, they dodged next door and through Zilch’s side gate. Crunching through the snow, they found the cellar window and dropped through it.
By now they knew the layout of the vacant house almost as well as the Wilson manor. They rushed upstairs and into the study at the end of the hallway. The drape was drawn closed, and the paint supplies still cluttered the center of the small room.
Rollie yanked off a mitten and ran his hand along the wall with the window. “She painted the whole wall except for around the window. That should be our top priority—figuring out why she’s come back to paint the walls. I have an instinct that could be the key to this whole mystery of Zilch’s missing list and whereabouts.”
The three sleuths roamed the room, studying the walls, looking up at the ceiling. Wesley yanked open the drape again. Cecily knelt on the wooden-planked floor in hopes of finding footprints. Rollie inspected the paint supplies.
Squeak, creak!
Rollie stood in the center of the room and pressed his toes on the noisy floorboards. “This is the only section of the floor that squeaks.” He knelt down to examine the wooden planks. “These floorboards are loose!”
Wesley and Cecily crowded around him. They worked their fingers into the seams and pried up a board. They gasped at the small cache beneath the floor. In the space, a small black attaché case was nestled. Rollie immediately reached down and brought the case up.
“It’s not locked!” he said excitedly. He opened the lid.
The attaché case held several folders, papers, and photos. The three children sifted through the material.
“Wait, we need to be organized about this information,” Wesley stopped them. “Let’s look through one thing at a time carefully.” He started with a folder.
“What about Eliot?” Cecily ran to the window and peered out. “He’s looking impatient.”
“Let’s take this back to my house.” Rollie closed the case and held it by its handle. “We can go through it in my room.”
They hurriedly left Zilch’s vacant house. Since soft snow was falling, they did not bother to cover their tracks. Once they were safely back at the Wilsons, Rollie raced to the front door.
Opening it, he announced, “Eliot, there you are! Stop bothering Mr. Hood.”
Grateful, Eliot hurried inside. “It’s about time! I was running out of things to say. He hardly said a word.”
“You probably didn’t let him.” Cecily giggled. “Good work, Tildster!”
Eliot held up a warning finger at her. “The rule is only Mr. Chad can call me that. Did you guys find anything?”
Rollie held up the black attaché case, his brown eyes wide with excitement. “The game’s afoot!” He galloped upstairs, his friends stampeding behind him.
Once in Rollie’s little room, the detectives closed the door and assembled cross-legged on the carpet. Rollie put the case in the center of the circle. They all noted how new the case looked and reasoned that it must have been hidden under the floorboards more recently than the journal in the fireplace. Rollie opened the lid and pulled out the file folder on top.
The folder held a thick collection of newspaper clippings. Half of them heralded MUS accomplishments, the other half reported news on Sherlock Academy. They were thrilled to read articles about when the Academy first opened ten years ago, about the many fencing competitions its teams won, and about when the recess area was added on the roof five years ago.
Next, they opened a folder of old black-and-white photographs. Many were blurry portraits of people they did not recognize, and a majority of them had red X’s scrawled over them. At the bottom, they came across a few people they did know.
“I think that’s Euston!” Cecily observed. “It looks like him as a kid. He has that scar on his cheek.”
“Why would Zilch have a photo of him?” asked Rollie.
“Euston said he had a previous connection to MUS,” Wesley reminded him.
Cecily gasped very loudly. “Look at this photo!” She handed it to Rollie.
He gaped at the black-and-white photo that pictured a group of four people. He recognized all of them. Standing close together on the front steps of a large building were Herr Zilch, Headmaster Yardsly, his sister Ms. Yardsly, and none other than Auntie Ei. They all looked much younger than they did now.
Rollie gulped. “I don’t believe it! Why are they in a photo together? I thought they all knew of Herr Zilch, but this photo makes it look like they all knew him as a friend. And they’re all smiling. I thought they were enemies.”
“In his journal, Zilch mentioned that he used to be colleagues with Headmaster. Maybe he was colleagues with Ms. Yardsly and Auntie Ei, too.” Cecily studied the photo closer. “I can barely see the sign on the building behind them, but I think it says Scotland Yard.”
“Did they all work for Scotland Yard long ago?” Wesley wondered.
“Auntie Ei still works a little with them,” Rollie answered. “I don’t know about the others.”
“Headmaster has police training,” Eliot said matter-of-factly. “Rupert told me.”
“I have a hard time believing Zilch worked for Scotland Yard,” Rollie muttered. “He’s a bad guy.”
“Maybe he wasn’t always on the wrong side of the law,” Cecily said.
“He’s quite a mystery, isn’t he?” said Wesley.
“So is Auntie Ei.” Rollie frowned. His growing distrust of Auntie Ei intensified after seeing this photo of her with Zilch. There was a past history there, shrouded in secrets. Auntie Ei was guarding those secrets, and he did not know why.
A horrible thought wormed its way into his mind. He tried to ward it off, but it wiggled through. Perhaps Auntie Ei was a double agent—perhaps she was working with MUS! The photo showed Zilch and Auntie Ei together. Zilch did not want Rollie to attend Sherlock Academy, and it seemed neither did Auntie Ei. Had she only consented to use Rollie as an MUS spy without him knowing it—just like Wesley?
“You should ask your aunt about this photo,” said Wesley.
Rollie shook his head. “She won’t tell me anything, and she’ll get mad at us for going next door. She told me it was useless.” He suddenly brightened. “I’ll bet Uncle Ky knows something about this photo. We can ask him.”
Cecily sneezed three times in a row. She wiped her nose on her pocket handkerchief. “I think I caught a little chill in that house. It’s so cold and dusty.”
Rollie eyed her for a moment, then whipped out his pocket notepad and pencil
stub. “So here are the facts we know:
Herr Zilch has a past with the Yardslys and Auntie Ei . . . maybe at Scotland Yard
His secretary has returned to paint the study
The MUS list is still at large
Did I leave out anything?”
“Yes.” Wesley nodded. “Herr Zilch knows we know about his secretary.”
Rollie grimaced and added this fact to his list. “We’ve got to be extra alert and careful now. Even with Euston here, we may not be entirely safe from Zilch.”
Another Prowler in the House
Dinner that night was a little awkward because the ever silent Euston Hood joined the family at the table. Mrs. Wilson thought the whole situation with him guarding their house was very irregular. She watched him chew the lamb stew, hoping for the smallest sign that he liked the dinner. He did not reveal any emotions. Lucille and Daphne stared at him through the whole meal until Uncle Ky elbowed them to stop. Edward and Stewart did not seem to even notice Euston; they gobbled down their stew without taking a breath. Auntie Ei did not give Euston any attention; she darted her eyes at Rollie a few times. He met her gaze once but decided he would not do that again—it made him feel guiltier.
“Mr. Hood, we’re honored to have you with us,” Mr. Wilson ventured after clearing his throat. “Is this your regular line of work—being a bodyguard?”
Euston nodded and swallowed another bite.
“Is it a fact you work with Headmaster Yardsly?”
Another nod.
“How long have you worked with him?”
Euston wiped his mouth on his napkin. “For many years.”
Eliot rolled his eyes. “Remember what we talked about this afternoon? About engaging in polite conversation?”
Euston flashed him an annoyed look, the first expression he had made so far. He polished off his bowlful, wiped his mouth, and stood. “Thank you for the meal. It was excellent.” With that, he bundled up and resumed his post outside in the dark snowy night.
