Gaslight Grimoire_ Fantastic Tales of Sherlock Holmes - Barbara Hambly [80]
It proved to be Susan, the maid.
She regarded our reaction with an odd, bemused expression. “If you please, gentlemen, Mrs. Westen said I should make certain you found your way.”
“You may tell your mistress,” said Holmes, “that we are all quite safe and that we will be back to the house presently. I’m afraid it appears the Sigsand Manuscript has in fact been stolen and is quite beyond recovery. There is nothing further either Mr. Carnacki or I can do here.”
“What—” began Carnacki, but stopped as Holmes waved his hand behind him in a quick, shushing gesture.
“Very good, sir,” said Susan. After bobbing a curtsy she left to convey the news to Mrs. Westen. I could not imagine her receiving it with any equanimity.
“What is this, Holmes?” I asked indignantly. “Surely you’re not frightened that there really are ghosts at the bottom of this business?”
“Not at all, doctor,” said Holmes. “Mr. Carnacki, have you by chance a sounding hammer?”
In reply Carnacki produced a small hammer from his bag. “It’s invaluable in finding hollows in walls and false panels. More than one ghost has been laid with its use.”
Climbing onto one of the radiators, which lined the library walls, Holmes methodically tapped along the length of its brass feed pipe, rapping out several high notes before hitting a dull thunk. A moment more and he had unscrewed the pipe joint, dislodged the pipe itself and was carefully knocking the end of it against the palm of his hand where fell, like a conjurer’s trick, an antique parchment scroll.
“Jove!” said Carnacki. “The Sigsand Manuscript!”
“But who put it there?” I asked.
“Is it not obvious?” said Holmes. “Professor Westen. There were scuff marks on his trousers and shoes which indicated to me that he had been doing a bit of climbing. The injury to his right knuckles suggested his hand had likely slipped while undoing the pipe joint.”
“And he did this,” said Carnacki, “to hide it from whomever held him in trance to steal it?”
“Precisely. And our mysterious hypnotist is someone who knows about the books, covets the knowledge this scroll contains, but has no easy access to the library.”
“But how are we to catch him?” said I.
Holmes smiled. “I have already set the trap, Watson, when I gave the girl Susan that message to take to Mrs. Westen. To win our little victory, we must first admit defeat.”
Our interview with Mrs. Westen in her downstairs sitting room was as embarrassing as it was awkward. Holmes had rarely tasted of defeat, and as he explained to Mrs. Westen his inability to help he made it plain that he was finding it a sour dish indeed. Carnacki also was clearly feeling humiliated in being “utterly stumped” as he put it, so early in his unique and peculiar career, which could only reinforce the impression of the ‘genus Charlatan.’ As for myself, I had to claim that as a general practitioner, I knew little about exotic trance states.
Against this there were, from Mrs. Westen, recriminations of the bitterest kind, all of which we thoroughly deserved. To her accusations that we had not even attempted to find a solution we had no answer. She implored us to stay at least one night to see whether her husband’s condition improved, but we denied her even that. Our behavior toward the lady was wretched and beastly. It pained me, as I know it pained Holmes, but what else could we do?
And so we took our leave, trooping along the road to the station with our long shadows trailing after us. We must have looked a quite dejected trio, which of course was the impression we hoped to give.
Over a light repast at a nearby public house we laid out our plans for the coming night. We were back again at the church with twilight deepening perceptibly around us. The vicar had been told by Mrs. Westen of our arrival