Young Sherlock Holmes_ Death Cloud - Andrew Lane [46]
‘Yes, sir,’ Sherlock replied, feeling strangely as if he was back at Deepdene School.
‘I received a letter from Mr Crowe this morning. Very odd. Very odd indeed. Is that why you are here?’
‘Was the letter about the two dead men?’
The Professor nodded. ‘Indeed it was.’
‘That’s why I’m here. I heard Mr Crowe say that you were an expert on diseases.’
‘I specialize in tropical diseases, but yes, my area of expertise covers most of the serious contagious illnesses, from Tapanuli fever and the Black Formosa Corruption to cholera and typhoid. I understand that these two men may have died of some unknown illness.’
‘I’m not so sure.’ Sherlock scrabbled in his jacket pocket and pulled out the envelope that had contained Mycroft’s letter, and now contained a sample of the yellow powder. ‘I collected this from near one of the bodies, but I know it was present on both of them,’ he said in a rush. ‘I don’t know what it is, but I think it’s connected to the deaths. It might be poisonous.’
The Professor held out his hand for the envelope. ‘In that case I will treat it carefully,’ he said.
‘You believe me?’ Sherlock asked.
‘You’ve come all this way to see me, so I assume you are taking this seriously. The least I can do is to take it as seriously as you. And besides, I know Amyus Crowe and I believe him to be a man of integrity. I cannot imagine him taking on a student who would indulge in practical jokes.’ He smiled suddenly, and his face was transformed into something cherubic. ‘Now, let’s go and take a look at this sample that you’ve brought me.’
He led the way across the hall and into another room. This one was lined with books, and had a large desk over by the window where the light was best. Sitting on a pad of green blotting paper on the desk, among scattered papers and journals and a burning candle, was a microscope.
Professor Winchcombe sat in a leather-backed chair behind his desk and gestured for Sherlock to pull up another chair by his side. He pulled a sheet of blank parchment from a drawer and put it on the blotter beside the microscope, then cautiously teased the flap of the envelope open with a paperknife and poured the contents on to the parchment. Within moments he had a pile of yellow powder in front of him. With the tip of the paperknife, he collected a few grains of the powder and transferred them to a glass slide that was already clipped to the stage – the flat plate beneath the objective lens. He adjusted a mirror beneath the stage, angling it so that it reflected the light from the candle up through a hole in the stage and through the glass slide to the lens. As Sherlock watched, trying not to breathe too hard so that he didn’t disturb the powder, the Professor stared into the microscope, twisting the coarse and then the fine adjustment knobs, bringing the grains into focus.
‘Ah,’ he said, and then, ‘Um.’ He took his red hat off, scratched his head, and replaced the hat exactly where it had been.
‘What is it?’ Sherlock whispered.
‘Bee pollen,’ the Professor said. ‘Quite unmistakable.’
‘Bee pollen?’ Sherlock repeated, not sure whether he’d heard correctly or not.
‘Have you ever studied bees?’ the Professor asked, leaning back in his chair. ‘Fascinating creatures. I commend them to you as a subject for serious investigation.’ He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. ‘They collect pollen from flowers and carry it to their hive.’
‘What is pollen?’ Sherlock asked, feeling strangely disappointed. ‘I’ve heard the word before, but I’ve never been quite sure what it meant.’
‘Pollen,’ the Professor said, ‘is a powder consisting of microgametophytes, which produce the male gametes, or reproductive cells, of seed plants. The pollen is produced by the stamens, or male reproductive organs, of flowers and carried by the wind, or by foraging insects, to the pistil, or female reproductive organs, of another flower of a similar nature. There they fuse to form a seed.