Sherlock Holmes in 2012: TIMELESS DUEL (2 page)

Watson read aloud,
“The Chronic Argonauts
by H.G. Wells.”

“Yes, Watson. Our Mister Wells is a school teacher, probably called ‘Professor’ by all who knows him, but has no professorial accreditation to his name. But, read on, read on, Watson.”

Watson did.

“As you can see,
Mr.
Wells wrote this rather convoluted story almost seven years ago, in which he described the adventures of a reverend, a man by the name of Cook, who experienced time travel. In this story he also makes mention of an eccentric scientist who had constructed such a time machine. It all fits, Watson, it all fits.”

Still dazed, Watson stood beside his friend, both waiting for a hansom cab to stop by the curb. As the horse halted his progress a few paces ahead of the two men, the coachman called from his seat, “Where would you like to go, sir?”

Opening the cab’s door, Holmes replied, “143 Maybury Road, in Woking, my good man.”

“Very well, sir,” the man replied as Watson followed Holmes into the hansom.

Once seated side by side and facing the horse’s back and the street beyond, Watson asked, “How did you know the man’s address, Holmes? I didn’t see it mentioned in the article you showed me, or in the paper for that matter.”

Holmes didn’t turn his head to reply, “No need. Didn’t I say
The Times
is much more accurate in relating the events that occur around us?”

Watson nodded almost imperceptibly, a smirk appearing beneath his mustache.

When the cab approached the house, Holmes muttered, “He must be a well-to-do
professor,
indeed,” looking out the window of the hansom and before opening its door.

Once he had alighted from the seat atop the back of the cab, the coachman held the door open for his passengers and accepted the coins Holmes handed him readily. “Thank you, my good sir,” he said, pocketing the coins inside his cloak.

Before he had returned to his seat, Holmes shouted, “Wait for us, we should need you to take us back to Baker Street.”

“Very well, sir,” the driver replied, urging his horse forward a few paces toward a copse of trees alongside the road.

Watson, distracted by the departing horse and hansom, stood beside the curb as if lost in thought for a moment.

“Come, Watson,” Holmes said, recalling his friend to the present, “we must meet this
mysterious professor
.” He shot a glance at the house; a two-storey affair, white washed with neatly trimmed windows and doors. He shrugged. Such a modern abode didn’t appeal to his sense of comfort. Everything arranged and in order only applied to one’s mind, not to one’s surrounds as far as Holmes was concerned.

H. G Wells s house 143 Maybury Road, in Woking

Watson turned to the house, as a man, probably in his thirties judging from his smooth face and scrutinizing gaze, opened the front door wide, obviously surprised at the sight of the two men. “What can I do for you, gentlemen, and who might you be?”

“Ah, very good question,
Professor
-who might we be? Very good indeed.”

Watson was visibly embarrassed. He lowered his head and took his hat off.

Holmes handed the man his visiting card. “Here is mycard.,” and turning to Watson, “This is my friend, Dr. Watson. May we come in?”

Looking down at the card, “Mr. Holmes., how.,” Wells blurted, noticeably shocked to find the renowned detective standing in the doorway of his house. “By all means, Mr. Holmes, by all means. I am
Mr.
Wells..” He extended a welcoming arm toward the lounge room beyond the small foyer. “Please, do be seated.,” he added, indicating a couple of chairs and sofa furnishing the room.

Having deposited his hat and cane on it, Watson took a seat on the sofa, while Holmes and Wells sat facing each other beside the fireplace.

“May I get you some tea or refreshments?” Wells asked, apparently a little nervous.

Holmes waved a dismissive hand in front of him. “Nothing for the moment, Mr. Wells. Just tell us, where are you storing your time machine?”

Evidently taken aback by the abruptness of the query, Wells leaned against the back of the chair and caressed his rather voluminous mustache. “Not here, Mr. Holmes.” He smiled. “This is not the sort of thing one stores in one’s lounge room.” He chortled.

“Where then?” Holmes demanded, getting to his feet.

“Please, Mr. Holmes, sit down. Let me explain.”

“Explain what, my good man? I only came to view your time machine. I am interested in your invention and I want to set my eyes on it so to satisfy my curiosity.” Holmes resumed his seat slowly.

“It’s not here, Mr. Holmes, because it is a rather large machine and dangerous to anyone who should desire to use it without acquiring the knowledge of its function beforehand.”

Somewhat mollified by Wells’s comments, Holmes asked, “Just answer two questions for me, Mr. Wells: first, where is the machine stored, and second, would it be capable of transporting a man into the future?”

Wells caressed his mustache again. “The answer to your first question is obviously dependant on my answer to the second question, isn’t it, Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes chuckled. Watson opened his eyes wide. It had been a long time since he had seen his friend this excited about anything.

“Yes,
Mr.
Wells, if your
Time Machine
is incapable of propelling a man into the future, I, as many others I suspect, will not be interested in seeing your invention.”

“Very well then, Mr. Holmes, the answer to your second question, is yes. The time machine is capable of transporting a man through and into the future-I have no doubt of it.”

“How can you be so certain since, I believe, you have not tried it yourself?”

“It is just a matter of space and time calculations; their relationship is intrinsic to their value. If you can turn a wheel in one direction-in space and time-without a doubt, you will be able to turn the same wheel in the opposite direction.”

“Let me understand this correctly, Mr. Wells; if I am able to turn the clock backward, I should be able to turn the clock forward, is that the principle behind your invention?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Holmes. And to prove my point; should you travel today to the middle of the Pacific, arriving on some island tomorrow, you would notice that the calendar the residents of the island use will tell you that you are still living in today’s date.”

Holmes stared at the man facing him. “Yes, you are correct! I would have turned the clock ahead one day, yet I would have landed on the same day as the one I departed. Moreover, the reverse would be true; leaving the island on a designated day, I would arrive in London a day ahead of my supposed arrival date.. Incredible, but indubitably correct!” Holmes stood up and began pacing the floor under the amazed gazes of Watson and their host. Retracing his steps to the chair he had abandoned moments ago, Holmes sat down once again. “If such is the case then, would you be so kind to tell us where the machine is stored?”

“Not far from here, Mr. Holmes. It had to be in a building which I could reach easily by day or night. Come, I will show you.” Wells got up from his chair and invited the two guests to follow him to the kitchen at the back of the house. “You can only see the roof of the disused house beyond the trees, but that is where the time machine is stored.”

Holmes and Watson peered through the window pane at the rooftop to which Wells had pointed as they had entered the kitchen.

“May we see it now?” Holmes asked somewhat impatiently.

“I am afraid that will not be possible today, Mr. Holmes.”

“And why wouldn’t that be possible, sir? I came all this way intending to view your invention, and you refuse me the pleasure?” Holmes sounded more than obfuscated at the refusal.

Wells shook his head and put his hands in his pockets. “I am not refusing you the access to the machine, Mr. Holmes, I am simply asking you to come back another day when I will be freer of my time to demonstrate its functions to you. That’s all.”

“I think that’s only fair, Holmes,” Watson said, opening his mouth for the first time since entering the premises. “We have come unannounced, and Mr. Wells is probably busy with other pressing matters today; we should be able to come back.”

“Well, if we must, we must,” Holmes agreed, surprisingly enough to Wells.

“Let me accompany you to the door then,” Wells offered. “If you would like to come back tomorrow, I shall be at your entire disposal then.” He stretched an arm in the direction of the hallway leading to the foyer.

On the stoop, Holmes gestured to the waiting hansom coachman for him to come back. He then turned to Wells. “Until the morrow then.. Good day, sir.”

“Good bye, Mr. Holmes,” Wells replied, re-plunging his hands into his trousers’ pockets.

Watson saluted the man, touching his hat with his cane before boarding the cab behind Holmes.

Comfortably ensconced once again in the seats of the cab, Watson couldn’t refrain from asking, “What do you think we will see tomorrow, Holmes?”

“You will see nothing, Watson,” was Holmes only reply before he fell silent for the rest of the trip back to Baker Street.

Chapter Two 

Holmes disappears 

During the night,
without
Wells’s knowledge, Holmes embarks on a voyage that lands him in Late 2010. He wants to sate his curiosity, and discover the mysteries of our era. The disappearance of his time-machine angers the professor and leads him to locating Irene Adler. He asks her to help him in finding Holmes, using his second time-machine, and in bringing him back.

“What did you mean by I would see nothing tomorrow?” Watson iterated once both men had made their way upstairs to Holmes’s apartment.

“Exactly what I said, Watson,” Holmes replied, taking a seat in his favorite chair and grabbing
The Chronic Argonauts
article that he had discarded to the floor before departing that morning. He read through the story, flipped the paper in the air, got to his feet and began pacing the floor.

Watson knew from long experience that Holmes was evidently in one of his brewing moods and wouldn’t come out from his torpor-like state until the morning. It was time for him to take his leave. He rose from the sofa, mumbled a few words of farewell to his friend and left the apartment without acknowledgement from Holmes.

In the hours that followed, Holmes prepared himself for what he hoped would not be a wasted trip back to Woking. He could not wait until the morning to verify that what he had read in the article and what he had heard from Wells’s mouth was true to life. In fact, ambivalent thoughts, whether the time machine was capable to travel anywhere-be that in the past or the future-encumbered his mind without relief. The article had been clear enough on that point. The machine, constructed out of brass and ivory, nickel and mahogany, logarithmic mechanical apparatuses and involving curvi-graphical machinery, could hardly describe a functional spatial vessel; although, a block with a steel circular saw, among other appliances, had been employed to construct the platform and some of the gears comprised in the machine. Moreover, the article had referred to the ultimate disappearance of the machine, supposedly returning Reverend Cook to the time of his departure and leaving Dr. Nebogipfel, the inventor, free to travel to a time suited to his then thought eccentric disposition. On the other hand, this story was just that-a story. The concept of which was sound, and Wells had written the description of the vessel several years previously, which would probably have formed the basis for his constructing the time machine he had envisioned when he wrote the article.

Nonetheless excited at the prospect of unveiling what the old rambling mansion, located at the back of Wells’s home, could contain, Holmes could not be bothered with Wells’s explanation of the functions of the machine. He had only one gearing thought in mind; travel to a time that would sate his desire for infinite and rewarding research into an era more deserving of his scrutiny.

Following a rather lengthy journey back to Woking,

Holmes alighted from the cab and ordered the coachman not to wait for him.

The coachman had driven the hansom past Wells’s house and beyond the alley that bordered it. Holmes made his way quietly through the deserted lane, grateful that only the moonlit sky showed him the path ahead of his footfall. Attired of a suit, a cap and a dark cloak, the detective progressed slowly toward the gate of the house that supposedly contained the time machine. He walked on the grass verge to ensure that his footsteps would not be heard from any of the neighboring homes. As he advanced toward the entry between the hedges, he felt somewhat rueful for not inviting Watson on this adventure. He knew however, that, if he were successful tonight, he might not return for some time.

He stopped in front of the gate and examined it. The light was not enough to allow him to see if the gate was fitted with an alarm of some sort. However, he needed to make sure the small wooden door would not creak when he would open it. He bent down and passed his ungloved hand along the hinges. He then raised his fingers to his nose and smelled the gritty residues that had been scraped off the hinges. The smell of rust was obvious. He shook his head, and took a few paces along the hedges, trying to find another opening. Finding nothing that would allow him noiseless entry beyond the hedges, he retraced his steps to the gate and jumped over it. Crouched close to the ground, Holmes stayed immobile for a minute or so before making his way stealthily towards the door of the house.

Next, he needed to enter the premises without being seen and without making any noise. He had no doubt this door would be fitted with some alarm bells that would jingle if anyone attempted to open it without permission. This time, Holmes rounded the entire mansion before making a decision. He came upon an open window located on the other side of the house, and away from the line of sight from Wells’s kitchen window. He again crouched to the ground and listened for any intervening noise that would indicate someone had either heard or noticed him all the while he was investigating a point of entry.

He first opened the window upward, leaving a gap wide enough between the sill and pane for him to enter the place. He then heaved his body inside the room and sat on the floor before rising to his feet and closing the window.

The darkness inside the house was somewhat overwhelming at first, but undaunted, and determined to accomplish what he had set out to do; he waited until his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness engulfing the residence. Once his eyesight enabled him to distinguish the shapes and forms of the items stored in the room, he realized that he was in a workshop and not the place where the time machine, he expected, stood in wait for its next passenger.

He crept slowly toward the door he saw opposite from where he was standing. He opened it and stood in the embrasure for a moment. He gasped at the strangeness of the machine before him. From Wells’s description, seven years ago, Holmes had not anticipated the size or shape of this vessel. It was not as large as he had expected but its globular shape is what captured Holmes’s attention. Unfortunately, the light from the windows didn’t allow him to see the details of the outside tubing nor the intricacy of the control panel that stood facing a comfortable seat inside the glass enclosure. Generally, it would have taken a lot to amaze a man the likes of Holmes, but this was beyond all that he could have expected or anticipated. He now readily understood why Wells was so protective of his invention; guarding it as a precious gem, close to his heart and home. Although not a sensitive man, nor one given to admiring any one’s accomplishment gladly, Holmes stood before the
Time Machine
in awe.

With the very dim rays of the setting moon, he stepped inside the bubble-like cabin and sat in front of the control panel. He noticed immediately that it was comprised of many knobs, which he took time to examine, and a clocklike quadrant indicating years past or ahead of today’s date. After he had studied each of the one-or two-word instructions beneath each little windows and knobs, Holmes lowered the handled that controlled the closing of the ‘globe’. He looked around him as the two halves sealed themselves upon one another, and exhaled a sigh of relief mixed with unbridled anticipation of being able to sate his curiosity of an era more than a century ahead of the date on his calendar. He then turned the clock-like quadrant to the precise date he had decided to visit-November 29, 2010-adjusted several of the knobs and pressed on the ignition button to his left. The machine’s reaction was instantaneous-within seconds, Holmes, together with the Time Machine, had disappeared quietly from the room and the house.

Perhaps driven by an intuitive sense of foreboding, as soon as Wells came down from his bedroom, he went to the kitchen window. He noticed nothing amiss and decided to have a cup of tea before heading to the house that, unbeknownst to him, now sat empty at the back of his home. After drinking his morning tea and reading the paper that no longer made mention of the time machine-it was yesterday’s news-Wells went back to his room, washed and dressed in casual clothing, ready to examine his machine and prepare it for Holmes’s visit later that day.

He went down the lane, as Holmes had done the previous night, opened the creaky gate, closed it and immediately noticed some foot prints left in the dirt in front of the door. He followed the prints and rounded the house until he came to the closed workshop window. He swore under his breath, rushed back to the front door and opened it. He stood on the threshold agape and swore aloud this time. The room was empty. His time machine was gone! He knew who the thief was, without a shadow of a doubt. He rushed inside, slammed the door shut behind him and practically raced to the room beyond the first. He opened that door brusquely, and to his relief, nothing had been disturbed-the second machine stood in place.

Daylight now streaming through the room where the time machine had been, Wells’s attention was attracted by the small desk standing along the wall and beside the door of the second room from which he had just exited. He went to it and peered down at the log book, somehow hoping that Holmes would have had the courtesy to record the date to which he had chosen to travel. However, the log showed nothing related to the detective’s destination. Again, Wells turned to look at the stand where his prized possession had been proudly displayed only yesterday. He recalled the journalists’ enthusiasm at the sight of the machine and their never-ending series of questions regarding the functions of each of the knobs on the instrument panel. As far as he recalled none of these reporters had questioned the length of time it would take a man to travel anywhere in time-whether in the past or future. They were more interested in revisiting some of the more extraordinary events of the past hundred years than they were in visiting the future. None seemed to probe him for answers regarding time travel into the future-perhaps disbelieving that such a thing would be possible. However, Holmes, for his part, had only been interested in the future and not the past. Therefore, one could surmise that he had gone to visit a date on the calendar that would have aroused his curiosity at some point and for some unfathomable reason.

Wells stood in the empty room for a few more minutes before returning to his home. He could not call anyone at the constabulary-what could they possibly do to find the thief? Absolutely nothing was the answer to that unspoken question. And if sent in search of Holmes, the person would need to know which date the detective had chosen before departing. Pondering the question as to when and where Holmes could have landed, Wells sat in the chair he had occupied yesterday during the detective’s visit. He had to find out what Holmes wanted to do or what he had in mind when he took the time machine. Still furious that Holmes had had the audacity of taking his machine; he stood up and went to his study. The room was encumbered of bookcases, a desk, a drafting table, a couple of comfortable, high-back chairs and piles of documents strewn about the floor. He sat at his desk and rummaged through it until he found the photograph of a famous artist and opera singer-Irene Adler. He looked at it for a while, trying to determine where the woman could be at this time. She was the only person for whom Holmes had any respect, as far as Wells knew. She had supposedly been involved in a provocative affair that could have seen the downfall of one of the most respected royal houses of Europe. During a seemingly endless investigation, Holmes had apparently bowed to her astuteness. It had been said that Holmes had recognized her intellect and even her beauty on occasion.

However, to Wells, at this time, Irene Adler’s beauty was of little interest to him. He needed to find her. She would be the only one who could deduce or surmise from several encounters with the detective where the latter had gone. She was his arch-rival if not his nemesis.

Photo in hand; he went to the telephone that hung against the wall beside the door. Although not a man averse to acquiring the latest technological inventions and use them, a telephonic conversation was always intimidating to him. He unhooked the ear-piece and waited for the telephone operator to answer.

“How can I be of service, Mr. Wells,” the woman said when she came on the line.

Wells hesitated. “Oh., hello., Miss, would you be able to connect me to Mr. Sigismund at
The Times
newspaper?”

“Certainly, Mr. Wells, I’ll stay on the line until Mr. Si-gismund answers his telephone.”

Wells waited and wished he had chosen a device that would sit on his desk rather than the one he had hooked on the wall. He knew however, that this piece of equipment would have soon been lost amid the books and papers that he often amassed on his desk.

“Mr. Sigismund is on the line now, Mr. Wells,” the woman said.

“Hello, hello.,” Wells said now impatiently into the mouthpiece.

“Is this Professor Wells,” Sigismund inquired, an audible smile in his voice.

“Yes, yes, it is, Mr. Sigismund. I am terribly sorry to interrupt your day, sir, but I was wondering if you could be of assistance.”

“In what regard, Professor? And if I can, I will assist you, of course.”

“I am looking to locate Miss Irene Adler, the.”

“Ah yes, Miss Adler.,” Mr. Sigismund said. “Let me verify her whereabouts..” Wells heard the man shuffle papers around him. “Ha, yes., there it is,” he exclaimed as if he had made an unexpected discovery. “There you are, Professor, Miss Adler is due to arrive in London in two days’ time. She was singing at La Scala in Milan and is now scheduled to return to our fair city for a long rest, I am told.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Sigismund, thank you. And if I could return the favor some day, I will be sure to do so.”

“You could do so right now, as a matter of fact, Professor; you could tell me when you plan to travel in your time machine. I would like to be there when you depart, of course, and.”

“I have no plans as such at this time, Mr. Sigismund, but I will be sure to advise you of my departure as soon as I would have made the necessary preparation.”

“But., Professor, you told us that you were planning to travel in time shortly.”