DIANA: Why wouldn’t you let me have any of the biscuits?
MARY: Because they were for the invalids, not for you! Have you no sense of sympathy for those who are worse off than yourself?
DIANA: Not really. Anyway, Mrs. Poole could have made more of them. It’s not as though they were the last biscuits on Earth.
The Trelawny Exhibit was closed. Mary could have kicked herself—of course it would be closed! Its central attraction had been stolen the night before. Outside the museum, the newsboys had been hawking the latest edition of the Herald, shouting, “Spectacular mummy robbery! Mummy stolen from British Museum! Read all about it!”
Mary had been hoping to take another look at the exhibit room. Would it look the way it had last night? Were there still small piles of ash beside the seven pillars, with their seven lamps—the remains of Moriarty, Godalming, Seward, Raymond, Morris, Harker, and Moran? Or had that strange energic wind blown them all away? But the doors to the exhibit room were shut, and there was a rope in front of it with a sign: CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
“Well, that’s it, I guess,” she said. “I was hoping we would find more information somewhere in the room itself. But we can’t get in.”
“Can’t, or won’t?” said Diana. “I can pick that lock, easy peasy. And then we can just sneak in.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Mary. “There are guards walking around—there’s one, and there’s another one. We would get caught, and what good would we be to Alice and Mr. Holmes in prison?”
“I could get us out of prison, easy peasy.”
Mary just shook her head.
“You never want to do anything fun,” said Diana petulantly. “You are the most boring sister on the face of the Earth. If we can’t do anything here, can we get something to eat? I’m hungry.”
“There has to be somewhere else we can find information on the exhibit,” said Mary. “Wait—the Reading Room! There must be a—I don’t know, a pamphlet or something? Come on!”
She grabbed Diana’s hand and walked out through the great front doors of the museum, then made her way across the courtyard to the circular Reading Room at its center. By the time she reached it, she could not stand Diana’s complaints any longer. “Here,” she said, giving her two shillings. “Go buy yourself something, and be back here in an hour. Do you have a watch on?”
“No,” said Diana. “Ta, sister!” Then she skipped across the courtyard—heading where, Mary had no idea. Well, if anyone could take care of themselves in London, Diana could! Mary refused to worry about her. Anyway, not having her around would make Mary’s task easier. She turned and entered the Reading Room.
At the circular central desk, one of the clerks, a supercilious young man with spectacles perched on his nose, said, “Do you have a ticket? You need a ticket, you know.” He had sparse blond hair slicked back with too much macassar oil.
“Yes, in my purse,” said Mary. “I’m so sorry, I should have had it ready for you.” Dear God, please forgive me for the lies I’m about to tell, she thought. I promise they’re for a good purpose. She rummaged around in her purse, then looked at the clerk, aghast. “Oh my goodness, I can’t find it anywhere. I must have left it back at 221B Baker Street. You see, I work for Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I’m a sort of secretary—I do his filing and type up his cases. He specifically asked me to research the Trelawny Exhibit for him, and said he needed the information today. I believe he’s interested in”—she leaned forward and lowered her voice, as though confiding in the clerk, whose eyes had been widening behind his spectacles ever since she had mentioned 221B—“the mysterious death of Professor Trelawny! I wrote ahead for an appointment and received my ticket by post. But I must have left it on the mantelpiece, right below the bullet holes Mr. Holmes makes during target practice. Oh, what ever will I do? Mr. Holmes will be so angry.” She took a handkerchief out of her purse and dabbed her eyes.
“Do you really work for Mr. Holmes?” asked the clerk, with barely concealed excitement. All his superciliousness was gone. “What is he like? Does he really deduce things like it says in Dr. Watson’s stories?”
“Oh yes!” said Mary. “He is exactly like that. And he looks at you with such steely gray eyes—it’s as though he sees through to your soul. No one can fool Mr. Holmes. Why, he would know everything about you at once, if he saw you for only half a moment!”
“Really!” said the clerk, looking at her with undisguised pleasure. He reminded her of a little boy in a candy shop. “Do you think you could get me his autograph?”
“Of course!” said Mary. “That is, if he doesn’t fire me. And he just might, if I don’t get this information for him.”
“Tell me what you want,” said the clerk. “I’ll find it for you myself.”
Fifteen minutes later, Mary was sitting at one of the semicircular tables, reading The Tomb of Queen Tera: A Guide to the Trelawny Excavation and Exhibition, published by the British Archaeological Association. Half an hour later, she had what she needed. When she returned the pamphlet to the clerk, she said, “Thank you ever so much. If you could write down your name and address for me, I’ll make sure to send you Mr. Holmes’s autograph.” Of course, she would have to rescue him from Mrs. Raymond and Queen Tera first! She very much hoped he was not already a pile of ash, blowing through the London streets.
Diana was waiting outside for her, eating a toffee apple on a stick. “See? I didn’t need a watch. I had a cream tea at the Aerated Bread Company. Well, two cream teas, but I was especially hungry, on account of you not letting me have any biscuits earlier. And then I got this. Want a bite?” She held out the apple.
Mary stepped back to make sure she didn’t get toffee on her dress. “Absolutely not. I don’t know how you can eat such things without becoming sick!”
“All the more for me! Did you find out anything?” Diana took another bite of the apple. She had toffee all around her mouth.
“The Trelawny Exhibit only includes about a third of the artifacts from Queen Tera’s tomb,” said Mary.
“So?” Diana kicked at a pigeon that had walked up to her and was looking at her apple expectantly. “I don’t have anything for you. This is mine. Go away!”
“So the rest of the artifacts are still at Professor Trelawny’s house in Cornwall—Kyllion Keep, it’s called. And it’s near Marazion, just a short walk along the cliffs. That must be where Margaret Trelawny is taking Queen Tera. Don’t you see, it all fits together now, like the pieces of a puzzle. They’ll stay in Kyllion, preparing for Her Majesty’s arrival, and sometime during her tour of St. Michael’s Mount, they’ll carry out their plan.”
“Which is what?” asked Diana. She kicked at the pigeon again. “Shoo! I said shoo! Oh, all right, but only a little.” She bit off a piece of the toffee apple and spit it at the pigeon, which fluttered up for a moment, then settled down next to it and began pecking at the toffee.
“I don’t know exactly. But whatever they’re going to do, we’ve got to stop them. Come on, we’ve done as much as we can. I need to check on Justine. If she still hasn’t regained consciousness, I’m going to send for Dr. Radko.”