The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures

'Ah, this case…'

'Oh forgive me, Watson, please. You must know the facts. My acquaintance, by correspondence only, is one Professor Charles Hardcastle of Hampstead. He wrote to me a few days ago beseeching me to call on him as he feared his house was being periodically entered by an individual who, in the words of the professor, 'intends to visit an iniquitous injury upon the household.' '

'Then you are looking for a common burglar?'

'Perhaps.'

'So it is a matter for the police?'

'Perhaps not.'

'But something was stolen?'

'Stolen? No. Borrowed.'

'Borrowed?'

'Barely, the facts are these, Watson. Professor Charles Hardcastle lives in a large house in Hampstead. It stands, he tells me, in expansive grounds. Living with him in the house are his wife and son, whom is ten years of age. Also residing there are the domestic staff. The professor specializes in metallurgical sciences and has long since being interested in aerolites which are often composed of metals such as iron and nickel.These are of particular significance to him because they are not of this Earth and he hopes to discover within them metals with singular properties. The man is forty years of age, modest, hard-working, financially secure and not given to any outrageous vices. Last Monday the professor worked late into the night in his laboratory, which is housed in a purpose-built annex that adjoins his home; there he conducted certain chemical tests on aerolites. The aerolites are locked in glass-fronted cabinets. The largest stone, which is no larger than a plum, occupies pride of place in the centre of one of these cabinets. At ten to midnight, with his experiment complete, he retired to bed, locking the stones into their cabinets, then carefully locking the door of the laboratory behind him. The laboratory can be accessed from the rear courtyard through twin stout doors which are bolted from within, and through a door which leads directly into the main house. Have you followed me so far?'

'It is very clear.'

'If you remember Monday's was a hot, dry night. Professor Hardcastle, mindful of his wife's concerns that he doesn't neglect his stomach, took a little supper of milk and biscuits. Then he made his way to bed. Only then did he remember he'd left his pince-nez spectacles in the laboratory, and as he is quite short-sighted he returned to the laboratory to retrieve them. He unlocked the door that leads from the house to the laboratory and entered. As he picked the pince-nez from the bench he noticed that one of his glass-fronted cases lay open. And upon placing the pince-nez on his nose he immediately saw that the largest aerolite had been taken.

'There had been a forced entry?'

Holmes shook his head. 'The door he had entered by was locked. So were the twin doors to the courtyard: locked and

securely bolted. The windows all locked, too.'

'An oversight then. He left the door to the house unlocked?'

'He's most particular to ensure it is locked. The laboratory contains many poisons and powerful acids. He states quite clearly in his letters it is his great fear that his son might find his way into the laboratory and injure himself playing with test-tubes and so forth. Therefore, he's most scrupulous in keeping the door locked.'

'So that is the mystery?' I said.

He sighed, disappointed. 'A very slight one, I'm afraid.' 'That an intruder stole an aerolite, shooting star, call it what you will? And that he left no clue as to his entry?'

'But there the mystery thickens.'

'Yes, you remarked the object wasn't stolen, merely borrowed?'

'Correct. The stone vanished on the Monday night between Professor Hardcastle locking the laboratory then returning to it to retrieve his pince-nez which, he gauges, to be an interval of forty minutes.'

'When did the stone reappear?'

'It reappeared on the Wednesday morning on the son's bedside table.'

I looked at Holmes in surprise then chortled. 'Then it is a childish prank. The son took the stone. Carelessly he allowed it to be discovered.'

Holmes smiled. 'We shall see.'

The carriage left the overheated chaos of central London behind. The air became fresher, although the carriage slower, as it climbed the steep hills toward Hampstead. The canyons of town houses and commercial premises gave way to the widely spaced villas and the great expanse of Heath that rolled away beneath a clear blue sky. The clip and clop of the horse became less frequent, too, as it toiled up that particularly steep lane that soars upward beside the prominent elevation of The Spaniard's Inn. Not more than a hundred yards beyond the inn Holmes directed the cabbie to make a sharp right turn into a driveway leading to a large redbrick villa. A single-storey annex of fresher red brick abutted one flank of the house.

The moment the four-wheeler entered the driveway the garden bushes parted and a man leapt from them. He roared

with the ferocity of a lion. In his hand he carried a bunch of twigs which he shook at us with extraordinary ferocity.

'It is time!' bellowed the man. 'It is time!'

I recoiled in shock. 'Good heavens, the man is going to attack us.'

He shouted repeatedly, 'It is time! Dear God! It is time!'

'Take care, Holmes,' I said as my friend ordered the driver to halt while simultaneously throwing open the door of the carriage. 'The man is clearly dangerous.'

'On the contrary, Watson. You'd rarely find highwaymen and footpads dressed in carpet slippers and well pressed trousers. This must be Professor Hardcastle. Oh. My good man, do be careful.'

Professor Hardcastle ran forward, stumbling as he did so to his knees. He was panting. A look of such horror in his face that it aroused my immediate pity.

The man gasped, his face a vivid red beneath his blond hair. 'It is time. It is time…'

He struggled unsteadily to his feet and held out his trembling hand. Clutched in his fingers were the fresh green sprigs of some plant. 'Mr Holmes… it is Mr Holmes, isn't it… of course, it must.' He struggled to master his breathing. Then more calmly he fixed us with a glittering gaze. 'You see?' he said, looking from one to the other. 'It's time.' He repeated the sentence in a whisper, 'It is time.'

Holmes glanced at the plant, then to me. 'Ah, I see. The professor is referring to thyme. He holds sprigs of the herb, thyme. And clearly he's had a dreadful shock. If you would be so good to lend a hand, Watson, we'll get the gentleman to his home, where perhaps brandy should help his poor nerves.'

The brandy did indeed soothe the man's nerves. Once he'd dressed in a manner he deemed fully respectable, and we were seated in the morning room, he told Sherlock Holmes and I his story. At least he endeavoured to, for he was still in a state of shock. His hand trembled terribly. 'Mr Holmes. Dr Watson. Dear sirs, I must apologize for my extraordinary behaviour earlier… but I've never experienced such a shock to my senses before… I was at my wit's end. I thought my only hope was to seize the scoundrel and strangle the life out him there and then

in the garden. Oh! Mercy! But if only that were not impossible … impossible'

Holmes said soothingly, 'Professor Hardcastle. Take your good time, sir. But please tell me exactly what did happen this morning. Speak freely before Dr Watson here. I explained in my note to you he would attend this case with me.'

'Of course. Of course.' He breathed deeply to steady his rattled nerves. 'I wrote to you concerning the missing aerolite and how it reappeared in my son's room. At the time I was alarmed, but after what happened this morning, I confess, I am terrified. For today, as I climbed the stairs to dress for our meeting, I was met by one of the maids who had been making up my son's bed. 'Excuse me, Professor,' she said to me. 'I found these on your son's bedside table.' '

'The aerolite once more?'

'Yes.'

'And the sprigs of thyme?'

'Yes, arranged so the stone rested within like an egg inside a bird's nest. The moment I saw the stone and the