• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

'I grabbed them from Maupertuis during the scuffle on top of the stairs,' he said. 'I had intended to produce them at an opportune moment, after I had examined them. I had no idea...'

'Yes,' Sherringford confirmed with an expression of relief upon his face, 'I recognize Father's handwriting. Thank you, dear boy.'

'How did you...' Mycroft began, but realizing that he would get no answer from Sherringford, he trailed into silence, shook his huge head, and continued, 'I wouldn't bank on prosecuting Maupertuis, or even regaining the rest of the books. My information is that the Baron is heading for India this very evening. The tickets have been booked for some time. I have men out looking for him, but since his run-in with Sherlock this afternoon, he seems to have gone to ground. I would not be surprised if he managed to slip through the web I have spun.'

'And what about the cowled man who was with him?' Holmes barked.

Mycroft shook his head sorrowfully, jowls a-quiver.

'No sign of him.'

'A great shame,' Sherringford sighed. 'But at least I have father's journals back. I can complete the history of the Holmeses now.'

'I have accepted a commission,' Holmes said stiffly. 'I shall execute it, even if it means travelling to India to apprehend the villain.'

'Sherlock, be reasonable. The arm of the British Law is long, but not impossibly so. You have no powers...'

'Perhaps you are not aware of the fact, but two people have died in mysterious circumstances. I shall hold Maupertuis to account for that.'

'I concur,' Mycroft said, clapping Holmes on the shoulders. Holmes winced.

'The key to Maupertuis's actions,' he continued, 'would appear to be the information that Father's journals contained. Perhaps you could enlighten us, Sherringford.'

Sherringford shook his head.

'It is beyond your understanding. Let us leave it at that'

'It is important'

'I must agree with Sherlock,' Mycroft interjected. 'Reluctant as I am to do so. Knowledge of why Maupertuis requires those documents could lead us to him.'

Sherringford looked from one to the other.

'No,' he said. 'Leave it be.'

The Doctor stepped forward.

'Perhaps I can help,' he said. 'Your father claimed that there were places where the veil between this world and another could be broken, and that a determined man could cross over.'

We stared at him as if he was mad.

'The veil...' Sherlock said.

'This world and another?' Mycroft murmured.

'Ah...' Sherringford sighed. 'The Doctor . . . I should have realized. The journals...'

'I was young,' the Doctor said quietly, looking at the floor.

'You were old, according to our father.'

'Old, young, it's all a matter of perception. My granddaughter and I were touring India by elephant. We met your father, Siger Holmes, in the Officers' Mess at the British Army cantonment in Jabalhabad. He had been out in India for many years, working for the East India Company, despoiling the land and enslaving the natives. I was much more tolerant of injustice in those days. Your father had spent many hours in the company of the fakirs and wise men of the area. They told him of a place, up in the hills, where a man could step into another world, if he knew the right words. I was fascinated, but my granddaughter wished to travel on and I, foolishly, let her have her head. A lot of good it's done her now.' He shook his head. 'No matter. Where was I? Oh yes. I noticed that your father kept a journal, and I've been meaning to take a look at it for some years. There was a priest out in Cawnpore at the time: I suggested to him that your father was on the trail of something godless, and that the journals should be taken into safe keeping when your father died. I was a member of the Library, even then. I knew that the next time I was in the temporal vicinity, I could pop along and satisfy my curiosity. As I did. And here I am. Any questions?'

'Yes,' I said. 'Everything.'

'Who are you?' Mycroft asked. 'Your signature in the visitor's book at the entrance matches in every respect that of a member