Watson's Case (10 page)

The Art of Trappi
ng

“The message was
Watson's Case
.”

“What's Watson's Case?” Cecily asked in between bites of her fish and chips.

She and Rollie huddled together on a lone picnic bench. They intentionally distanced themselves from the other students as they ate lunch, and talked in hushed tones.

“It's a small metal lockbox in the secret passage. The label says
Watson's Case
.”

“But what
is
it? What's in the box?”

“I don't know—it's locked. But it must be important if that's what Herr Zilch wants the mole to find.” Rollie nibbled on a chip and brushed aside the fish.

Cecily swallowed her bite. “Why is Herr Zilch using the newspaper?”

“Nobody would think to monitor the newspaper. Headmaster's busy monitoring the mail. The newspaper is a great way to sneak a secret message into school.” Rollie slid his plate aside.

“How does the newspaper get here?” Cecily wondered.

“Rupert. He told me he's in charge of picking them up and throwing them out—not sure I believe him though. Why would he get a special job like that?”

“It would be very easy for him to read the message,” Cecily concluded.

“I have another suspect. You're not going to like it.” He mentioned the hammering sound from Miss Gram's classroom and the hole in the wall.

“It can't be Lady Gram! Besides, she hung that window frame. She had to hammer a nail for that.”

“I've been suspecting her because I found that letter in her wastebasket. I don't care if she knew about MUS or not, she should have turned it in when she saw it was in code. Besides, I still think she could be in disguise.”

“Why would she be in disguise?” Cecily wiped her mouth on her napkin.

Rollie threw a glance over his shoulder, and whispered, “I think she could be Zilch's secretary.”

“Impossible!”

“Remember how she always wore high-heels and she had a similar voice?”

“She had reddish hair,” countered Cecily.

“She could have dyed her hair. Mr. Chad says not to get distracted by the trimmings.”

“But that secretary was much taller than Lady Gram.”

“Are you sure?”

“We can check my observation notes I took on her over the summer.” Cecily took a sip of water. “I have my own suspicions about someone, but I'm not telling ‘til I have evidence. What's our next move?”

“Check your notes on the secretary. I'll question Rupert about the newspapers. I'll meet you in Mr. Notch's class.” Rollie scoured the rooftop for Rupert. When he could not find him there, he headed indoors, and poked his head into their dorm room.

Rupert lounged on his bed and taped drawings on the wall. He glanced at Rollie, and turned back to his artwork.

“Rupert, can I ask you some questions? It's really important.”

“Not my problem.”

“I'm doing something important for Headmaster and I need to ask some questions.”

“For Headmaster?” Surprisingly, Rupert relented. “Fine, what do you want to know?”

“When are the morning newspapers delivered?”

“In the
morning
,” Rupert sneered.

“When exactly?”

“Around four-thirty.”

“Is that why you're up early?”

“Are there any other questions about the newspapers?”

“Where are they delivered?”

“The front doorstep.”

“Where do you take them?”

“To the teacher's lounge.”

“Do you take them to anyone first?”

“Nope, I take them right to the teacher's lounge.”

“All of them?”

“All of them. The
Daily Telegraph,
the
Times,
and the
Gazette
.” Rupert listed the titles on his chubby fingers.

Rollie nodded. “Thanks, Rupert. That was very helpful. Headmaster would appreciate it.” He left the room before any conflict arose between them.

If the mole was a teacher, he would be the first to read the
Daily Telegraph
in the morning in the teacher's lounge. If the mole was a student, he would have to read the
Daily Telegraph
after Rupert delivered it, but before the teachers had their morning tea in the lounge. Of course the person with the easiest access during this window of time would be Rupert . . .

Rollie felt burdened by the case. While he had plenty of clues and plenty of suspicions, he had no concrete evidence pointing to any one person as the mole. As he trudged downstairs to class, he thought about how Holmes would handle this case. Holmes would investigate the clues and then spend a few days locked in his room, curled up in his armchair by the fireplace, smoking his pipe. He would think and think and think. Rollie did not have time for that—nor the desire to be cooped up in a smoke-filled room.

The mole now knew exactly what to look for: Watson's Case. It was only a matter of time before the mole found it and gave it to Herr Zilch. And time was slipping away.

Rollie thought of another tactic Holmes would try. Holmes would oftentimes take control of the clues and use them to force the culprit to light. Rollie now needed to take control of what he knew and use it to find Herr Zilch's mole.

Thanks to Holmes, Rollie had an idea.

* * * *

“We need to do something to catch Herr Zilch's mole before it's too late,” Rollie said resolutely. “I sense we're running out of time. The mole knows what Herr Zilch wants. Soon he will find the secret passage and Watson's Case.”

He and Cecily leaned against the chain link fence on the rooftop after school. The fencing team followed Ms. Yardsly in warm up exercises on the field. Eliot meandered around recruiting random students to sign his petition.

“What do you suggest?” asked Cecily.

“We should set a trap so we know for sure when the mole has found the passage. We need to mark his trail. Miss Hertz always says footprints are the best tattle-tales. What if we could catch the mole's footprints?”

“Yes! We could spread flour or soil on the ground in the secret passage to catch footprints.”

“I have an easier idea,” Rollie said, brightening with sudden inspiration. “Remember the vials of ash that were part of our class schedule? We can use that. Do you still have yours?”

“In my hollow Shakespeare book.”

“I'll grab mine and meet you on my floor.”

After they retrieved their glass vials of ash, they loitered on the fourth floor to decide where to go from there.

“Should we spread the ash now?” asked Cecily.

“I'd rather do it now than break curfew later. Be my lookout. After I go into the passage here, meet me on the first floor. That's where I'll exit.”

Cecily pursed her lips. “I want to see the secret passage.”

“Not right now. We have to be extra careful no one—especially the mole—sees me go in.”

Rollie and Cecily were relieved the fourth floor was empty at the moment. Cecily handed him her vial as he pushed open the corner and ducked inside. When the corner closed, he uncorked the vial and shook a little ash out of it. He sprinkled a portion of the floor right beside the entrance. That would be sure to catch anyone's footprints as soon as he or she stepped inside the passage.

Quickly, Rollie raced through the tunnel to the other floors' entrances. He repeated setting the footprint trap. On the first floor, he had just enough ash left. He sprinkled the last bits from his vial in front of the entrance. Nervously, he pushed open the corner and immediately saw Cecily give him a thumbs-up. The coast was clear for him to come out. He had to stretch his legs across the ash so as not to capture his own footprints. Once the entrance closed behind him, he breathed a sigh of relief and handed one of the empty vials back to his comrade.

“Done?” Cecily asked.

Rollie nodded. “Now we just have to check it every day for footprints.”

“I could help with that.”

“I'm also going to check the
Daily Telegraph
every day for Dancing Men messages. Monday may not be the only day Herr Zilch sends a message. Did you check your notes on Herr Zilch's secretary?”

“Sorry, I haven't had a chance to, but I doubt Lady Gram is the secretary. Evidence, Holmes, we need evidence.”

“We may have it soon, Watson. I hope this ash trap works.”

How to Trap a Mole

Rollie was kept very busy the rest of the week. Every morning right before Ms. Yardsly's class, he would sneak into the teacher's lounge and search the
Daily Telegraph
pages for the Dancing Men code. No messages were found.

Every night after his roommates had drifted off to sleep, he would tiptoe through the halls and check the floors just inside the secret passage entrances. Cecily had offered to help with this, but Rollie didn't want to get her in trouble for breaking curfew. He was constantly having to dodge the night guards as it was. No prints were found in the ashes that week. He hid Watson's Case between two trunks and under a cardboard box as a precaution. This relieved him, but breaking school rules every day wore on his nerves, especially when he was rooming with the top rule-keeper at the Academy.

He felt a personal responsibility to the case, for Headmaster Yardsly had personally commissioned him to find Zilch's mole. He knew he should probably update Yardsly on his discoveries so far, but Rollie felt guilty over his poor school performance lately. Not only was he still behind in his IS work, but he had missed a Decoding quiz. Maybe if he stayed away from Yardsly, the headmaster would forget about his threat to take Rollie off the mole case. He also was still a little miffed over Yardsly dismissing his suspicions about Rupert. For now he would stay away from the headmaster and go to him when he had more evidence, or better yet, the mole.

When Friday finally came, Rollie debated about going home. He really wanted to see Auntie Ei, but he hated leaving the secret passage unchecked. He knew Wesley would be staying the weekend. He was very tempted to confide in Wesley and ask for his help in checking the passage, but his promise to Headmaster Yardsly to keep his mission a secret stopped him from telling his new best friend. He decided to ask Cecily her opinion. He caught up to her just as she was going into her dorm room.

“Hmm, I see your dilemma, but I know an easy solution,” she said.

“I knew you could help.”

“I'll stay the weekend and watch over the passage,” Cecily decided, crossing her arms.

Rollie scratched his sandy-blond head. “I don't know.”

“You really should talk to Auntie Ei—she'll probably be helpful. I've wanted to stay the weekend anyway. Trust me with this.”

He trusted her completely; she had proven a good comrade before. But he felt an overwhelming responsibility to solve this case himself, and above all protect her from Zilch. The less involved Cecily was, the safer she stayed. Reflexively his hand crumpled Zilch's note in his pocket.

Cecily gave him a quizzical look and started to ask him something—he guessed she was wondering the reason he was trying to protect her and stay in control of everything.

“Alright,” he consented, “but you have to promise a few things. First, check on the passage only in the middle of the night. I'll give you my map. Second, don't tell anyone what you're up to. And third, watch out for Rupert. Remember, you'll be breaking some school rules. Are you alright with that?”

“It's for a good cause. What about Monday morning? Should I check the
Daily Telegraph
?”

“I'll come back Sunday night so I can do that,” Rollie decided. “I want to trail Rupert.”

“Can I have your map?”

Rollie took a deep breath. “I'll get it for you. Keep it somewhere safe like in your hollow Shakespeare book.”

Cecily rested a hand on his shoulder. “Don't worry, I can do this. Nothing will go wrong, okay?”

In a few minutes, he returned to her with his Holmes newspaper map. With slight hesitancy, he handed it over. “I'll see you Sunday night.” He buttoned up his coat, and headed downstairs. His hansom was waiting for him. With a parting look at the tall red brick building, he climbed aboard.

* * * *

Rollie came home to chaos.

His family bustled around with Halloween decorations, and barely noticed his arrival. Edward and Stewart stood on ladders to hang ghostly sheets and paper bats on the front porch. They bickered about including jack-o-lanterns on the porch steps. Inside, Lucille and Daphne dug through a costume trunk and tried on different skirts, crowns, and fairy wings. They bickered about who got to wear the red velvet cape. Mrs. Wilson sat in the parlor drowning in cascades of fabric. She pinched pins between her lips and stretched a yellow measuring tape down Mr. Wilson's torso. They amiably bickered about the fit of the unfinished costume.

Rollie did not have the energy to combat them for attention, so he retreated upstairs. He knocked on Auntie Ei's bedroom door.

No answer.

He had not noticed her downstairs. Surely she had to be in her bedroom. He knocked again, and when no answer came, he opened the door and looked inside.

The room was exactly as it had been before: dark and drafty. No fire in the fireplace, no figure in the armchair, no croaky throat-clearing. Where was she?

Rollie frowned as he returned back downstairs. He tried his parents first. “Where's Auntie Ei?”

“My, Rollie, when did you get home?” Mrs. Wilson asked between pins. “Peter, hold still!”

“I didn't move, Eloise! Hi, son.” Mr. Wilson threw Rollie a helpless glance as he endured his captivity.

“Where's Auntie Ei?”

“She's gone for the weekend,” Mrs. Wilson replied.

“What!” Rollie shouted. “I thought she was back!”

“Fact: she's back from her long holiday,” Mr. Wilson clarified. “Fact: she left for the weekend on important business. She'll be back Monday.”

“Is everything alright?” Mrs. Wilson asked soothingly.

“No.” Rollie stomped upstairs, frustrated.

His frustration was aimed at Auntie Ei, although it was no fault of hers. Still, she should have known to be home this weekend for him. What business could be more important than seeing her great-nephew? Did she not know how much he needed her?

Rollie collapsed onto his bed. If he could, he would rush back to school and help Cecily with their important mission. Now he would have to wait until Sunday night. He was in no mood for his family and their frivolity, so he stayed in his room until supper.

After a dinner of chicken noodle soup and Halloween plans, the family dispersed and the house settled. Rollie found his mother cutting out patterns in her workroom. He always marveled at his mother's creativity. A collection of her best charcoal sketches papered the walls. Bolts of fabric saluted her sewing station bedecked with thread and delicate sewing tools. Half a knitted blanket and a few balls of yarn dressed an armchair near the door. Rollie picked his way through an art easel, a sewing manikin, and a broad worktable. She smiled as he maneuvered into the room.

“What are you going to be for Halloween, sweetie?”

He shrugged. “I don't care.”

“What's bothering you?”

“Lots of things. For starters, I can't stand one of my roommates right now.”

“When I was in grade school, there was one girl named Priscilla Eton who was the most disagreeable person in the whole school. I tried my best to be polite to her, but she always brought out the worst in me. Then one day, I found out she had diabetes. Her sugar levels made her cranky. She felt different from all of us because she couldn't eat sweets and had to be on a special diet.”

“That's horrible.”

“That's what I realized. I decided to be kind to her. She became one of my closest school chums.” Mrs. Wilson entered the last measurement on her notepad. “Maybe there's something you need to know about your roommate to better understand him.” She kissed him atop his sandy-blond head. “Feel better?”

“A little. I miss Auntie Ei.”

“I know she misses you, too. She told me she regretted leaving this weekend because she hoped to see you. Whatever called her away must have been really important. I'm glad you and Auntie Ei are close, although I must confess I've never understood it.”

Rollie smiled. “Me neither. But there's something special between us.” He turned to leave.

“Laundry's done. I packed your suitcase for the week,” said Mrs. Wilson.

“Mum! I'm almost twelve! You don't have to pack my suitcase for me.”

“I know, but I was doing everyone's laundry and Auntie Ei needed another weekend bag packed, so I figured I would just do it all at one time.”

“Is Auntie Ei leaving again next weekend?” sighed Rollie.

“She said just one last trip. I wonder when she'll start to slow down!”

“Never, Mum,” joked Rollie. “Auntie Ei will go on forever!”

His mother laughed in agreement.