Watson's Case (16 page)

“Are you worried he might come after you?”

Wesley swallowed and nodded.

“Don't worry. We're all on the lookout for him.” Rollie told him about the MUS list of agents and headquarters rumored to exist, and how Yardsly would be hunting for them.

The boys fell into easy conversation about the Wilson's Halloween decorations, Rollie's candy loot, and birthday plans for the day. Neither of them mentioned the case any further. There was no need to, for the past was in the past and they were happy to leave it there for now. There was always time later on to discuss details, but all that mattered now was that Wesley was cleared and their friendship was reestablished.

Soon the household awoke in all its noisy glory. Mr. Wilson ventured downstairs and initiated a pillow fight with the boys in the library. The game was going well until Edward and Stewart played too roughly by practicing their jabs and uppercuts on the others. Their father ended the game before someone got hurt. Mrs. Wilson announced breakfast that included extra portions of hash browns. Cecily and Tibby arrived just in time to join them.

As everyone headed to the dining room, Eliot pulled Rollie aside.

“I have a gift for you,” Eliot whispered. “I want to give it you in private.” He held it behind his back.

“What is it?” Rollie was intrigued.

“Here.” Eliot handed a manila envelope to his friend.

Rollie opened it and slid out a single sheet of white drawing paper. At the top, in pencil, a title read
THE ADVENTURES OF ROLLIE HOLMES.
In smaller print below it,
created and illustrated by Eliot Simon Tildon.
Rollie grinned as he studied the hand-drawn characters of himself with a magnifying glass and a deerstalker hat. He had to admit, the cartoon was very good.

“This is amazing, Eliot!”

“You like it? I tried to capture your essence while still creating a unique cartoonish character. After all, cartoon characters aren't supposed to resemble real people perfectly.”

“It's great, really. Thanks.”

“I'm working on another adventure. You can start a collection. I suppose this is the gift that keeps on giving.”

Rollie patted Eliot on the back and led him to the dining room. Extra chairs were wedged in at the table laden with eggs, bacon, and pancakes. Rollie's plate had only hash browns.

“Fact: I like your chums, son,” Mr. Wilson stated as he sipped his tea.

“That's not a fact, Mr. Wilson, that's an opinion,” Eliot noted with his usual air of authority.

Edward guffawed. “I like this kid—he's cheeky!”

Stewart slapped Eliot on the back, which caused the boy to upset the marmalade jar.

“Clean up that marmalade, Eliot,” Lucille bossed.

“Don't be embarrassed, Eliot,” Daphne soothed.

Tibby smiled. “You girls are cute.”

Cecily leaned in and whispered into Tibby's ear, “Beware. They can also be annoying.”

“Wesley, I hear you're the rugby captain,” Mr. Wilson said. “And the fencing captain. Impressive.”

“Thank you, sir.” Wesley nodded modestly. “I enjoy sports.”

“Fact: I played rugby in school.”

“Now
that
was a fact, Mr. Wilson,” Eliot affirmed.

“Sweets for the birthday boy!” Mrs. Wilson sang as she returned from the kitchen with a large round white cake. Twelve candles blazed atop it. “I can't believe you're twelve already, my Rollie!” She set the cake before him and kissed him on the head.

The group sang happy birthday somewhat off-key, and applauded at the end—even Auntie Ei joined in. She felt much more rested and willing to contribute to the festivities.

“Speech! Speech!” Edward and Stewart chanted.

Rollie stood. “I'm not sure what to say.”

“Start with what you're thankful for this year,” Mr. Wilson coached.

Rollie smiled. He was thankful for many new things. His life had drastically changed the past few months. Of course he was thankful for Sherlock Academy, and to be learning how to be like his hero Sherlock Holmes. He was always thankful for his family, especially Auntie Ei, despite all her mysterious ways. As he looked around the table of smiling faces, his eyes rested first on Cecily, then on Tibby and Eliot, and lastly on Wesley.

“I'm thankful for friendship,” he decided aloud.

He would never be a regular boy with regular friends, but he could be an extraordinary detective with solid comrades.

Edward rose, swung his arm around Rollie's neck, and gripped him in a headlock. Stewart came to his twin's aid and scooped up Rollie's feet.

“Let me go!” Rollie hollered in between laughs.

“Away from the table, boys!” Mrs. Wilson shrieked, guarding the cake.

Wesley and Eliot joined in the scuffle as it moved out of the dining room. The girls chased after the boys as they tackled each other through the large house.

“We hid your presents!” declared Daphne, clapping with glee.

“But you're a detective,” said Edward, ruffling Rollie's hair. “So it should be easy for you to track them down.”

“Unless you're not up for the challenge,” shrugged Stewart.

Rollie grinned. “The game's afoot!”

If you love

Watson's Case,

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The Holmes Brigade
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Boxing Day

The Christmas
card had come by post a few days before Christmas.

It made Rollie feel homesick. Not for home—he had been home on Christmas vacation for a week now. No, it made him homesick for school. He was schoolsick. And he still had three more weeks of vacation.

“Rollie! Lunch!” his mother called from downstairs.

Rollin E. Wilson set the Christmas card back on his desk. He plodded down the twelve steps from his watchtower-like bedroom to the second floor. From there, he hurried downstairs. He found his family gathered around the dining table. Chicken noodle soup, biscuits, and roasted chestnuts promised a good wintry lunch. Everyone was still dressed in pajamas and robes.

“Fact: Today is December twenty-sixth, Boxing Day,” Mr. Wilson declared. “Did everyone enjoy Christmas yesterday? Everyone get what they wanted?” He looked expectantly through the spectacles perched on his nose.

“Why can't Christmas last all week?” Lucille pouted.

“Or all month?” her twin sister Daphne added.

“Your father's bank account would not survive a whole week of Christmas,” Auntie Ei croaked. “And neither would my health.” The eighty-something-year-old woman looked more exhausted than usual, having lived through another Wilson Christmas.

Stewart, one of the oldest children, nodded. “Father Christmas was good to me.”

“I didn't get that motorcycle I wanted,” Edward, his twin, grumbled.

“Ed, did you honestly think we would give you a motorcycle?” Mrs. Wilson asked a little sarcastically.

“Fact: You're not ready for something like that, son,” Mr. Wilson said.

“But, Dad, I really want—”

“You have a job. Save your money. Buy one yourself.” Mr. Wilson nodded in a finalizing way.

“I never have any money,” Edward complained. “Having a girlfriend is expensive. Roly-Poly, don't ever have a girlfriend, if you can help it.”

“I don't plan to any time soon.” Rollie slurped up his chicken noodle soup, the only soup he liked.

“I'm only twelve.”

“You say that now.” Stewart snickered.

“Beware of Cecily.” Edward grinned.

“She's not my girlfriend! She's just my best friend.”

Edward poked him in the ribs. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“I would like to remind everyone,” Mrs. Wilson said, “that the day after tomorrow, Uncle Ky is coming for his annual visit.”

Everyone cheered except for Auntie Ei, who thought it was more of an obligation than a treat to entertain her younger brother.

“Peter, he will arrive at Paddington Station at four-ten,” Mrs. Wilson read from a train timetable. “Can you pick him up?”

Mr. Wilson nodded. “Does anyone want to come with me? Auntie Ei?”

“That does not sound a bit appealing,” the old lady said. “He will most likely require me to drop him off when he departs—the sentimental old bean.” Though Rollie was finished eating, he waited for his father's permission to leave the table.

Mr. Wilson deliberately sighed, sipped his tea, and very slowly folded his napkin. He checked his children's empty dishes and impatient expressions.

“Fact: There is still some food in your bowl, Daphne.” She studied her bare bowl. “Where, Daddy?”

“Right
there
.” He pointed to a tiny bit of carrot leftover from her soup.

Daphne and Lucille erupted into a fit of giggling.

“Da-ad!” the children wailed at once.

“I guess I should know when I'm beat.” He stood and blew a kiss to his wife. With a wink, he departed the dining room and headed to his personal home office for more mathematical study.

“Rollin, kindly go up to my room and fetch some letters I need mailed,” Auntie Ei said. “They're on my writing desk. I'll be in the library.”

Rollie barreled upstairs to his great-aunt's cozy bedroom. He found a stack of addressed envelopes on her writing desk. As he scooped them up, a sheet of paper fluttered to the carpet. He snatched it up and was about to stuff it back into one of the desk's pigeonholes when he recognized Sherlock Academy's emblem on the stationery.

Without thinking, he read the letter.

20 July 1931 Lady Wilson:

I agree with the points you raised in your last letter. While I have always been interested in enrolling your great-nephew Rollin, the reasons you've given against his attending Sherlock Academy are valid. You know where I stand on the issue. If you do not wish for him to attend, I will not push the matter.

I will wait for you to decide.

Sullivan P. Yardsly

Rollie's middle fluttered as it always did when he came upon something mysterious.

Ding-Dong!

The front doorbell downstairs rang, making him jump. Quickly, Rollie stuffed the letter back into a pigeonhole in the writing desk, grabbed the envelopes to be mailed, and hurried out of the bedroom. He started downstairs. His head pounded with the confusing information in that letter.

The reasons you've given against his attending Sherlock Academy are valid.

What were these valid reasons that had led them to think that Rollie should not attend?

He paused on the landing and remembered another confusing sentence.

If you do not wish him to attend, I will not push the matter.

Why would Auntie Ei not want him to attend? And why was he now attending as if there had been no question about it? What had changed?

He reached the bottom of the stairs and inched toward the library where his great-aunt waited. She sat bundled in an armchair before the blazing fireplace. Rollie was surprised to find Headmaster Yardsly seated across from Auntie Ei.

“Ah, ROLLIN!” the headmaster hailed in his boisterous voice. “Happy Boxing Day.”

“Thanks, sir, nice to see you.” Rollie suddenly felt self-conscious in his pajamas.

“I assume you found them,” Auntie Ei cut in, holding out her hand.

Rollie handed her the letters and stood silently by. He watched her flip through the stack with her wrinkled, crooked fingers and watched her gray eyes check the addresses. He glanced at Yardsly who was thumbing through pages in his pocket notepad.

Auntie Ei held out the three long envelopes. “Kindly put these letters in the post for me. I want them to be picked up tomorrow.”

With a quick good-bye to Yardsly, Rollie took the letters. He read the addresses as he left the library: Daily Telegraph Newspaper, Grayson and Sons Inheritance Management, Inspector Clyde of Scotland Yard. He tugged on his boots and wrapped his black wool coat around his blue-striped pajamas. When he opened the front door, a blast of icy air made him shudder. He dashed down the front walk, almost slipping on the sleek pavement. As he plowed through the snow, he was thankful the red pillar box was just a few yards down the street from his house. He slipped the letters through the mail slot, and turned back toward home.

Quietly, he entered the house, stripped off his coat and boots, and padded over to the library door, which was open just a crack. He leaned his ear in to listen to Auntie Ei and Headmaster Yardsly's conversation. The polite side of him felt guilty for eavesdropping, but the detective side of him was curious enough to stay posted there.

“Euston is certain the MUS list is here in London,” Yardsly was saying in a low tone. “We're just not sure where exactly.”

“We must find that list, Sullivan,” Auntie Ei replied urgently. “It contains the names of Zilch's agents and the addresses of all the MUS headquarters. Without that list, we cannot hope to bring MUS down.”

“I agree, Eileen. You don't have to stress that to me—you should stress that to Scotland Yard. I need more help finding it.”

“They've already reassigned the agents who were guarding Zilch's house to help you,” Auntie Ei reminded him. “Which makes me nervous.”

“I could still use more help—London's a large city, you know.”

“I have just written to Inspector Clyde at the Yard,” said Auntie Ei. “Not in regards to the MUS list, but to that other matter.”

Rollie leaned in closer to the crack in the door, for he could tell by Auntie Ei's tone that she was about to divulge a secret.

“About the Will,” she continued.

“Good idea. It seems Zilch is after it, as you supposed.”

“His going after Watson's Case confirmed it.”

“How much do you think he knows?” asked Yardsly.

Auntie Ei sighed, and Rollie could imagine her rolling her eyes. “I cannot waste my energy on speculation, but we can be certain Frederick knows more than he should.”

Rollie heard a rustle and a creak and guessed the two adults were getting to their feet. Hastily, he bolted upstairs. His mind was filled with questions over the conversation he had just overheard, particularly the part about a will. In some ways, he was not surprised to learn of another mystery from Auntie Ei, for she was brimming with them. As always, there was not much chance of unlocking her secrets. At least, not right now.

He spent the rest of Boxing Day reading through the Sherlockian Encyclopedia Auntie Ei had given him for Christmas. In between lines, he pondered over the letter he had accidentally found in Auntie Ei's room. He wondered if there were more mysterious letters about him in Auntie Ei's writing desk. He had no opportunity to search for more, for she was holed up in her bedroom for the rest of the day to recuperate from Christmas. Besides, he felt uneasy about searching her bedroom; that room had always held a sort of reverence for him.

That night as he lay in bed trying to fall asleep amidst his blistering thoughts, his eyes rested on that Christmas card again. He thought about his headmaster desperately searching for the MUS list. Rollie had earned Yardsly's trust because he had now saved the Academy twice from Herr Zilch. He wished he could help track down the MUS list. He also wondered about this mysterious will Auntie Ei had mentioned that she supposed Herr Zilch was after. Who had written the will, and who was it for?

He thought about Herr Zilch eluding everyone. The villain had once been Rollie's elderly next door neighbor. Even though Zilch had told Rollie to stay out of his way and stop pursuing being a detective, Rollie had made a promise to himself to stop Zilch. He nearly had in October, but Zilch had escaped and had not been seen since. The only remnant of Zilch was his empty mansion that could be seen from Rollie's bedroom window.

BANG! BANG!

Rollie started.

With a grunt, he rolled over.

Then he squinted at a light shining through his bedroom window. His little red alarm clock pointed to 1:10 a.m.

BANG!

Now he was awake again. He stumbled over to the window and peered out.

Suddenly the light went out, the noises stopped, and the night resumed its wintry calm. The light and noises had come from Herr Zilch's vacant house. He watched another minute, and then scurried back into his toasty bed.

He wondered if what he had just witnessed really was true—it seemed a little unbelievable.

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