Chapter 3
Tea at Noon
"That poor man," I mumbled sometime later, when Holmes and I had returned to our apartments, "I am baffled though to how he fits into all of this. All the other previous victims, as you told me in Lestrade's office, were completely loyal to the British Museum. While Mr. Gregory was stealing compulsively from the institution for years."
"I am coming to the conclusion Watson, that the murders have a deeper connection than with the Museum." Holmes replied quietly through the smoke from his pipe that was billowing up in front of his face.
"But they worked for the Museum, correct?"
"Yes and no," Holmes shifted in his arm chair. "Only two of the victims where Museum employees. Dr. Penport, who may or may not be dead, and a Ms. Tanya Rhinefield who worked in filing. The others where connected yes, but not employed by the Museum. Dr. Francis Remmington, Mrs. Helen Peabody and Mr. Allan George, were all volunteer members. Mr. Gregory and Mr. David Parkinson were researchers who had received permission for the Board of Trustees to study at the Museum."
I nodded. "What where Mr. Gregory and Mr. Parkinson studying I wonder?" I asked.
"Mr. Gregory was supposedly studying papers held by the Museum regarding an ancient Egyptian excavation. If I remember correctly, Parkinson had been researching Sumerian culture."
I studied Holmes, "Did you know Mr. Parkinson, Holmes?" he said nothing at first, he merely reached into a back leather bag at his feet and pulled out the white linen cloth that held the idols.
"It is nothing that concerns you," he retorted.
Over the years, I have come to the realization that Mr. Sherlock Holmes is an enigma to me. I know very little regarding him, or his past. The few bits and pieces I have gleamed about his family and friends outside our friendship and acquaintance, are from minor slip-ups Holmes has made every now and then, and from other individuals such as Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade who have known Holmes for many more years than my self. I have also learned that it is a waste of time to ask, for he rarely elaborates further.
Holmes laid out the idols in a straight, even line. Their ruby eyes all stared at me, I had the absurd feeling I was being watched. "What do you make of these?" I was startled from my reveries by Holmes asking me his usual question of deduction.
I picked up the yellow snake. It really wasn't fare to call it yellow. In fact it has this distinct caramel color that swirls and glimmers like candied butterscotch. "Amber?" I asked. Holmes nodded. The blue snake I suspected was lapis or turquoise. The white idol looked to be pearl or ivory and the black one obsidian. "Well, they all look to be made of precious materials. Especially the silver and gold ones." I finally commented. They sparkled under the warm light of our lamps. "I do not believe though that they are old artifacts." Holmes raised an eye brow.
"How so Watson?"
"The are too polished. When we were leaving the Museum the other day, I stopped to admire a small jade figurine of a woman. It had a dull shine to it. The label next to it, read that the idol was at least nine hundred to one thousand years old." he nodded, I felt somehow, that this did not truly explain my thoughts, "When I was little, my grandmother died, leaving my mother her priceless and favorite ivory cameo. My mother showed it to me often. Even polished, the finish was faded. Mother said it was old and that the original polish had long since worn off. The ivory had also taken on a yellowed, aged color. This white snake here, which I suspect is ivory, or pearl at best, is still pure and pristine. " I looked up from the white snake I had picked up.
"Quite right Watson. I agree they are newer carvings." Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Mrs. Hudson quickly appeared and answered the caller. A young red head man stood looking quite uncomfortable in the doorway.
"Mr. Holmes?" he asked a little nervously. "I be Shamus O'Patrick. Dr. Connors asked me to be droppin' this by you on me way home." he pulled out a small glass vial that held a red, thick liquid that looked to be blood and a small piece of paper.
Holmes took the vial from the boy, "Dr. Connors said for me to be tellin' you also that it be coming from one of the blokes who you've be studyin'."
"Tell Dr. Connors I will be in touch with him soon on my findings." Holmes told Mr. O'Patrick curtly. The boy bowed his head slightly and left quickly.
"What is that you have there?" I asked.
Holmes read the label that had been placed around the vial, "A sample of the blood taken from beneath Mr. Gregory's wound it looks like." I suddenly felt quite nauseous.
"Where you suspecting it?"
"No, to tell you the truth." Holmes unfolded the small note, there was a pause as he read the contents. "Interesting," he held the vial up to the light. "It seems he has found something after all to implicate poison."
"Really? What?" I asked startled.
"I'm not sure, all he had written here is that it was a poison, but one he doesn't recognize." Holmes walked to his chemistry kit which sat completely neat and organized, which is quite unusual for Mr. Holmes, seeing how is often prone to untidiness, on a long, low pine table in the corner of the room. At that moment I knew that he would be preoccupied with this new little mystery, and so, I picked up my hat and informed Mrs. Hudson that I was going out. She asked me when she should expect me to return home. I replied I did not know, for really I didn't, but I assured her I would return before dinner. I had no idea where I was going to go or for how long. A stroll maybe, yes a stroll, I told her. She nodded and returned to where ever she had been prior. I had walked around London for nearly an hour when I decided to return to the Museum.
The British Museum was quiet when I finally mounted her steps and stood with in her threshold. Oh their were people, scattered here and there, but they seemed to melt into the glass exhibit cases and wall diagrams describing this bit of information or object from this period or that region. Nothing seemed to really grab my attention.
Suddenly I found my self staring down at 'Ginger'. Shards of pots had been laid around the mummy who lay in fine sand. I moved on. I was fascinated by many of the relics that where on display. One in particular caught my attention however.
It was a pottery terracotta jar, beautiful crafted. It had been painted once, or so a little label informed me. I could barely make out the flaking red and black paint that was still clinging to it's surface. "Is it not the most beautiful thing you have ever seen?" I was startled suddenly by a distinguished looking gentleman who had snuck up from behind me. "Sorry about that," he chuckled. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dr. Roger Cunningham." The name sounded awfully familiar.
"Dr. John A. Watson." I countered.
"Ah, I knew I recognized your! You're Holmes's friend." he smiled brightly. I was beginning to distrust this man.
"And you are as well," I replied mildly. He nodded and patted me on the back while saying something like, aren't we all. Not in those exact words mind you, he had said it under his breath and toothy grin.
"This vase is Sumerian. Quite beautiful isn't it." he had turned his attention to the pottery.
"Yes." something began to tug at the back of my mind, "Is this the same Sumerian jar recently acquired by the Museum?" I asked. He nodded still smiling. "The same one that Dr. Penport was celebrating right before he disappeared?" I could of sworn the smile faded a fraction.
Tea at Noon
"That poor man," I mumbled sometime later, when Holmes and I had returned to our apartments, "I am baffled though to how he fits into all of this. All the other previous victims, as you told me in Lestrade's office, were completely loyal to the British Museum. While Mr. Gregory was stealing compulsively from the institution for years."
"I am coming to the conclusion Watson, that the murders have a deeper connection than with the Museum." Holmes replied quietly through the smoke from his pipe that was billowing up in front of his face.
"But they worked for the Museum, correct?"
"Yes and no," Holmes shifted in his arm chair. "Only two of the victims where Museum employees. Dr. Penport, who may or may not be dead, and a Ms. Tanya Rhinefield who worked in filing. The others where connected yes, but not employed by the Museum. Dr. Francis Remmington, Mrs. Helen Peabody and Mr. Allan George, were all volunteer members. Mr. Gregory and Mr. David Parkinson were researchers who had received permission for the Board of Trustees to study at the Museum."
I nodded. "What where Mr. Gregory and Mr. Parkinson studying I wonder?" I asked.
"Mr. Gregory was supposedly studying papers held by the Museum regarding an ancient Egyptian excavation. If I remember correctly, Parkinson had been researching Sumerian culture."
I studied Holmes, "Did you know Mr. Parkinson, Holmes?" he said nothing at first, he merely reached into a back leather bag at his feet and pulled out the white linen cloth that held the idols.
"It is nothing that concerns you," he retorted.
Over the years, I have come to the realization that Mr. Sherlock Holmes is an enigma to me. I know very little regarding him, or his past. The few bits and pieces I have gleamed about his family and friends outside our friendship and acquaintance, are from minor slip-ups Holmes has made every now and then, and from other individuals such as Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade who have known Holmes for many more years than my self. I have also learned that it is a waste of time to ask, for he rarely elaborates further.
Holmes laid out the idols in a straight, even line. Their ruby eyes all stared at me, I had the absurd feeling I was being watched. "What do you make of these?" I was startled from my reveries by Holmes asking me his usual question of deduction.
I picked up the yellow snake. It really wasn't fare to call it yellow. In fact it has this distinct caramel color that swirls and glimmers like candied butterscotch. "Amber?" I asked. Holmes nodded. The blue snake I suspected was lapis or turquoise. The white idol looked to be pearl or ivory and the black one obsidian. "Well, they all look to be made of precious materials. Especially the silver and gold ones." I finally commented. They sparkled under the warm light of our lamps. "I do not believe though that they are old artifacts." Holmes raised an eye brow.
"How so Watson?"
"The are too polished. When we were leaving the Museum the other day, I stopped to admire a small jade figurine of a woman. It had a dull shine to it. The label next to it, read that the idol was at least nine hundred to one thousand years old." he nodded, I felt somehow, that this did not truly explain my thoughts, "When I was little, my grandmother died, leaving my mother her priceless and favorite ivory cameo. My mother showed it to me often. Even polished, the finish was faded. Mother said it was old and that the original polish had long since worn off. The ivory had also taken on a yellowed, aged color. This white snake here, which I suspect is ivory, or pearl at best, is still pure and pristine. " I looked up from the white snake I had picked up.
"Quite right Watson. I agree they are newer carvings." Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Mrs. Hudson quickly appeared and answered the caller. A young red head man stood looking quite uncomfortable in the doorway.
"Mr. Holmes?" he asked a little nervously. "I be Shamus O'Patrick. Dr. Connors asked me to be droppin' this by you on me way home." he pulled out a small glass vial that held a red, thick liquid that looked to be blood and a small piece of paper.
Holmes took the vial from the boy, "Dr. Connors said for me to be tellin' you also that it be coming from one of the blokes who you've be studyin'."
"Tell Dr. Connors I will be in touch with him soon on my findings." Holmes told Mr. O'Patrick curtly. The boy bowed his head slightly and left quickly.
"What is that you have there?" I asked.
Holmes read the label that had been placed around the vial, "A sample of the blood taken from beneath Mr. Gregory's wound it looks like." I suddenly felt quite nauseous.
"Where you suspecting it?"
"No, to tell you the truth." Holmes unfolded the small note, there was a pause as he read the contents. "Interesting," he held the vial up to the light. "It seems he has found something after all to implicate poison."
"Really? What?" I asked startled.
"I'm not sure, all he had written here is that it was a poison, but one he doesn't recognize." Holmes walked to his chemistry kit which sat completely neat and organized, which is quite unusual for Mr. Holmes, seeing how is often prone to untidiness, on a long, low pine table in the corner of the room. At that moment I knew that he would be preoccupied with this new little mystery, and so, I picked up my hat and informed Mrs. Hudson that I was going out. She asked me when she should expect me to return home. I replied I did not know, for really I didn't, but I assured her I would return before dinner. I had no idea where I was going to go or for how long. A stroll maybe, yes a stroll, I told her. She nodded and returned to where ever she had been prior. I had walked around London for nearly an hour when I decided to return to the Museum.
The British Museum was quiet when I finally mounted her steps and stood with in her threshold. Oh their were people, scattered here and there, but they seemed to melt into the glass exhibit cases and wall diagrams describing this bit of information or object from this period or that region. Nothing seemed to really grab my attention.
Suddenly I found my self staring down at 'Ginger'. Shards of pots had been laid around the mummy who lay in fine sand. I moved on. I was fascinated by many of the relics that where on display. One in particular caught my attention however.
It was a pottery terracotta jar, beautiful crafted. It had been painted once, or so a little label informed me. I could barely make out the flaking red and black paint that was still clinging to it's surface. "Is it not the most beautiful thing you have ever seen?" I was startled suddenly by a distinguished looking gentleman who had snuck up from behind me. "Sorry about that," he chuckled. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dr. Roger Cunningham." The name sounded awfully familiar.
"Dr. John A. Watson." I countered.
"Ah, I knew I recognized your! You're Holmes's friend." he smiled brightly. I was beginning to distrust this man.
"And you are as well," I replied mildly. He nodded and patted me on the back while saying something like, aren't we all. Not in those exact words mind you, he had said it under his breath and toothy grin.
"This vase is Sumerian. Quite beautiful isn't it." he had turned his attention to the pottery.
"Yes." something began to tug at the back of my mind, "Is this the same Sumerian jar recently acquired by the Museum?" I asked. He nodded still smiling. "The same one that Dr. Penport was celebrating right before he disappeared?" I could of sworn the smile faded a fraction.
