Sherlock Holmes: The Shadow From Beyond (6 page)

“Surely the facts are strange Watson. I am still in the dark about how these deaths were inflicted as well as by either whom or what. We must quickly find those answers before the murderer claims another victim, the game is afoot!”

Bacon and Eggs

Early that same morning after only a few more hours of sleep, the two flat mates were once again analyzing the facts of the case, this time over a steaming pot of strong coffee.

Watson tackled his full breakfast with earnest, his appetite seemingly never satiated. Holmes meanwhile had not yet touched his meal, as all his attention was focused on Harper’s journal in hand. He lifted his eyes from the pages, looked over to Watson and quipped.

“The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach it seems, isn’t it old friend?”

The good doctor simply replied by stuffing another forkful of baked beans into his eagerly awaiting mouth. Rarely did a meal make its way to the top of Holmes’ priority list while he was working on a case. His body had an appetite, but for a different repast. Instead of food he seemed to feed off fact and information as sustenance, with hearty amounts of pipe tobacco for dessert.

“What’s it all about Holmes?” Watson asked between bites of Mrs. Hudson’s famous scrambled eggs. “Does Harper’s little book shed any light on our situation?”

Holmes paused before answering. “Some very strange things in here old boy, much of it out of my normal areas of interest: spiritualism, occult, magic, necromancy, etc. All elements of the so called dark arts and the like. I can’t get my head around such illogical ideals, I am skeptical of such things you know.”

Watson listened intently as Holmes outlined some of the information contained within the journal; historic notes on various pagan religions and their backgrounds were listed; descriptions of rituals honoring the Gods of these pagan religions and the ceremonies that accompany them. Rough drawings and diagrams of pagan artifacts; astrological charts that tracked the position of certain stars and constellations in the night sky over a period of the last month were evident, and geological maps featuring brief notes on areas of the European continent located in Germany, France, Spain and Italy. Also of interest are Harper’s log entries that explained further the tasks he had completed for Lebda, most of which involved historic research and translation.

It seemed that Lebda had sent Professor Harper items from his own collection: various documents, scrolls and maps that needed attention. The translation of the ancient languages and glyphs writ upon them were to be the main focus of his work, along with the translation of certain chapters from ‘The Book’, which still remained unidentified.

Holmes removed and unfolded a letter that had been tucked into one of the page margins, and scanned its contents. It was written by hand in the same crimson script as the letter found in Harper’s evening robe and signed once again by Lebda.

Holmes read this second letter aloud as Watson listened attentively.

“Dear Professor Harper:

Included you will find all the documents that require translation as well as a cashier’s cheque for 1000 pounds, the first half of the agreed payment for your work. The remaining amount you shall receive on completion of these translations and the safe return of all original documents sent. Your proximity to a copy of ‘The Book’ is convenient and will allow further information to be gathered as well. I also greatly await the Ortega manifold you will provide as it may clarify much in regards to my quest. Finally after years of searching, the ‘Eye’ will be in my possession.

Please note our agreement to absolute privacy in the matter. Count M. A. Lebda”

“Who is this Count Lebda fellow Holmes? How is he related in all this madness?” Watson enquired.

“I know very little of him other than he must be the client Harper was working for, mostly translation and research it seems. I have already looked through my personal files and my indexed volumes of people to know, etc and he has not appeared. It is more than possible that he is using a fake name and title to hide his true identity. We are in the dark with that one other than some small details I have so far amassed of little import. Although the original documents and finished translations were no doubt returned to Lebda on completion, this journal seems to be Harper’s workbook, and contains all the undertakings of his challenge.”

Holmes then replaced the letter within the journal and scanned over further entries. He took note of some dates that arose frequently within the text, specifically Friday, October the thirteenth which had been mentioned at least half a dozen times.

“Hurry up and finish your meal Watson, we have many stops to make while the day is still young and time is always of the essence.” Holmes mentioned as he re- pocketed Harper’s journal. “When was the last time you chanced a visit to the Royal Museum?”

“It has been awhile surely,” Watson replied as he pushed his empty plate away displaying his ample belly. “Is that our next destination?”

“According to the testimony provided by the butler Stinson, Professor Harper had been spending most of his days at the museum doing research for a client, most probably this Lebda character. I need to know exactly what he was referencing there, what was the exact focus of his work. I am sure that information garnered will shed new light on our investigation.”

Watson put down his empty cup. “No refill then?”

The Museum

Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson encountered Mr. Heath Carter, administrator of the fabulous Royal British Museum, in his office on the premises of that great sprawling complex. The tall thin man with immaculately groomed white hair and handlebar moustache rose from behind his great oak desk and sauntered over to greet them, hand extended.

“Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson please come in. It is more than a pleasure to see you both again.” he spoke with the charming and sophisticated manner his position demanded. “If I recall correctly it was about two years ago when we last had the opportunity to meet, you needed some assistance with the Case of the Serrated Dagger, as I think Doctor Watson later penned its title in The Strand. How may I lend my services to you on this occasion? More foul play?”

The detective accepted the handshake with a smile. “Well met once again Mr. Carter, and your recollection is close, as it has been exactly one year and eleven months since our last meeting, hopefully you have passed that time well.” Holmes stated politely before moving on to the subject at hand. “It has come to our attention that the late Professor Thomas Harper, ex of the University of London, had been visiting your museum on a regular basis over the last few weeks. I am curious as to what he was referencing during this period as it may help in solving a murder.”

“The late Professor Harper?” The shocked Mr. Carter gasped. “He has passed from this Earth? But when? How? Not murdered I hope! I saw him just the other day...”

“A few nights ago it seems, and yes it seems that murder has once again reared its ugly head in this matter, but by whom and how are the reasons for our visit.” eluded Holmes.

“Of course. Of course,” a still shaken Mr. Carter mumbled as he composed himself. “I will call one of our custodians, Douglas Wilbey, to assist you. He had been assigned to aid Professor Harper with his research at the museum and can answer any questions you may have in reference. If I can help in any way please do not hesitate to ask.” He then led them to the service desk. “Good day to you Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson, and good luck.”

Soon afterwards both followed in the brisk stead of the relatively young custodian Wilbey as he guided them through the vast halls of the museum and its impressive exhibits.

Huge dinosaurs leered down at them through the empty sockets of boney skulls, their ancient fossilized forms arranged in battles of epic survival. The grimaced faces of waxen caveman were rendered with fine detail, as they struggled with primitive spear and axe alone to fend off an attacking saber toothed tiger, also beautifully recreated. The giant skeletal remains of a blue whale adorned the entire roof of the next hall, its ribcage hanging delicately far above them. Further on, their eyes marveled at the shimmering brilliance of the crystals and gems compromising the massive geologic collection.

They explored the secrets of mysterious Egypt through hundreds of treasured relics, and amazed at the endless rows of armor and gleaming blades of Roman weaponry. On and on it seemed to go, the variety and splendor of the museum’s contents enough to distract even the great Sherlock Holmes for a few moments.

“We must be nearby now Holmes.” Watson stated as they passed through the exhibit of Aztec artifacts. “Harper was into this type of relic hunting wasn’t he? These pagan religions and the like?” The doctor turned to their custodian guide and asked jokingly “What kind of tribal mask or fertility sculpture was he studying of late?”

“Neither of the above actually.” he promptly replied. “Recently the professor was thoroughly engrossed in the analysis of a single book. He had replaced his interest in ancient objects with those of ancient words. Please follow me just a bit further on, as we are almost there.”

Holmes and Watson exchanged a curious glance between themselves, their intrigue piqued.

Soon they passed under the great doomed roof of the museum’s reading room where visitors reclined on leather chairs reading and browsing the many books and periodicals available to them. Large racks of oak shelving rose high from the floor, their upper tiers accessible only by the tall ladders that leaned against them. Sunlight streamed in via the tall windows that encircled the majestic public space, filling the area with its golden glow. Overall the large room was well lit and comfortable, a perfect place for the interpretation of the written word.

Watson assumed that there were thousands of works of literature, and stacks of magazines of various topics to peruse. I must return here when I have more time, he thought to himself as he noticed at least two dozen international newspapers arranged nearby. Watson was a lover of global affairs and often spent hours informing himself of world events.

The trio proceeded across the wide room and exited through a door at the opposite end that stated ‘Employees Only’. They continued along a narrow hallway and down a spiral wooden staircase that descended to the level below, then past various storage rooms and utility closets until finally they halted before a rather simple yet secure looking iron door, upon which a plaque noted ‘Private Collection. Entry by authorized personnel only.’ Beside this door, seated behind a small desk, a security guard sipped coffee while leafing through a copy of the Morning Post.

“Good day Stevens,” greeted Wilbey to the guard on duty who looked up from his reading and smiled.

“Good day to you Mr. Wilbey, and to your guests as well.” he replied and nodded politely in the direction of the Holmes and Watson. “Does the sun still shine on our beautiful London above? Unfortunately there are no windows in this basement for me to know if it shines, rains or even snows outside.” he pleasantly joked as he rose from behind the desk to join them at the door.

“It’s another beautiful day, one fitting this colorful time of year.” Watson replied politely.

Stevens grinned and produced a chain from inside his waistcoat, an old brass key dangled at its end. He inserted it into the lock, turned it clockwise and with an audible clicking sound the heavy door slowly opened inward.

“There you are gentleman. Enjoy your stay,” the guard spoke as he moved aside to allow them entry.

“Thank you Stevens. I shall see you later, perhaps for a cup of tea at break time,” Wilbey stated before he escorted the Baker Street duo into a low ceiling-ed room of about forty feet square. It was carpeted in a patterned mosaic of deep greens and lit by multiple lamps that hung from the roof. The air inside was moldy with the scent of age.

Books of Antiquity

Lining the walls of the private collection were multiple shelves of well classified books and documents, arranged by topic, subject or author. Randomly placed about the area, intermixed with comfortable chairs and wooden tables were small glass cabinets, all locked and climate controlled, each held a literary treasure of its own.

“These are the rarest and most valuable pieces from our collection of literature,” explained the custodian as he made towards a sealed case located in the far corner of the room. “These books are either the original first published versions or copies of works that are extremely rare or no longer in existence. To reduce degradation and ensure their safety, the books of greatest antiquity and those in advanced state of decomposition are kept in these moisture protected cases.”

Watson’s eyes widened as Holmes, aided by his deep knowledge of literature, casually pointed out some of the rare items enclosed within those cases: ‘William Shakespeare’s First Folio’: the first ever volume of the collected works of the bard; ‘Tamerlane and Other Poems’ by American writer of the macabre Edgar Allan Poe; Theologian John Calvin’s ‘Institutes of the Christian Religion’; and one of only 180 copies ever published of ‘The Gutenberg Bible’.