chapter four
the shortest distance between two points

Several days later, Jeanette and I were playing cards in the living room of our hotel suite in New York City. After Uncle Mordred's inquest, Uncle Oakes had declared that we all needed to get away from the ancestral house, and my grandparents, who had been shaken the most by the tragedy, had meekly agreed. A deep sadness still hung over the family, but I knew that everyone felt better once we had gotten away from the scene of Mordred's death. We had spent a quiet few days relaxing and doing a little shopping and cooking, but I couldn't forget about the suspicions I had regarding the murder. I approached Uncle Oakes one evening, intending to talk to him about it, but his eyes looked so troubled, and his face so white, when I alluded to that fateful occurrence, that I did not want to bring the subject up again.
"Shirley, your turn," said Jeanette.
"Oh, sorry," I said, realizing that I had become lost in thought. Suddenly I remembered something: our hotel was very close to Columbia University. The very place where Mordred had been working at the time of the ethics scandal.
"Jeanette, how would you like to go for a walk?" I asked abruptly, laying down my hand of cards.
"Sure, I guess," replied Jeanette, looking a little surprised.
"Into your coat, then," I said, rummaging around for mine. Jeanette's parents had gone out on an errand, and our grandparents were both taking a nap. I scrawled a quick note explaining where Jeanette and I were going, and left it on the kitchen counter for them.
Outside the air was crisp and blue, and the sights and sounds of New York City were as exhilarating as ever. For the first time since the "murder," I felt almost cheerful.
"So are we going anywhere in particular on this walk?" Jeanette asked.
She always seemed to know what I was thinking. "Yes, actually. I thought we might pop into Columbia University and have a look around. Just to see if we find anything of interest."
"I see," said Jeanette, and we continued in comradely silence until the buildings of the university were within sight. Of course there were no students about during the holiday, but once we located the biology building, the doors were open and several people in white lab coats were walking about. In the front hall of the building there was a professional-looking man sitting behind a desk. I approached him and asked if we might have a look around the building. He looked at us quizzically, but when I showed him my Crosby University identification and explained that I had a professional interest in the building, he relented and let us pass. Once we were out of earshot, I examined one of the guiding maps on the wall and located the laboratory office that my uncle had worked in. I had never seen it myself, but by a fortunate chance I remembered the room number from when it was being discussed at the time of the scandal.
When we got to the lab, the door was of course locked. I peered through the tiny slit of a window, trying in vain to see into the darkened room. Suddenly I heard a sharp click below me, and looked to see Jeanette standing, half-triumphantly and half-embarrassed, with a bent bobby pin in her hand.
"Jeanette! I didn't know you could pick locks," I cried triumphantly.
"Oh, I'm full of hidden talents," she smiled. I could tell she was pleased at my approval.
"We'd better not open it though," I said. "There's probably an alarm system."
"Nah," said Jeanette, and with a spunkiness I had not expected, flung the door open and walked straight into the laboratory. Fortunately there was not an alarm, and I couldn't help but be proud of my cousin's fearlessness, even if it could have gotten us into serious trouble. I was certainly seeing a side of Jeanette that I had never seen before.
"So what did you expect to find in this laboratory?" she asked, looking around.
"I don't know exactly." At first glance, there certainly appeared nothing unusual about it; just the usual mess of beakers and microscopes and laminated posters of the periodic table, like you would expect to find in any biochemistry lab. A strange thrill went through me as I realized that I was about to do a real piece of detective work. "We're going to inspect this room, from top to bottom, Jeanette," I said. "We'll leave no stone unturned. If we can use our eyes correctly, we might learn something crucially important." I had already explained to Jeanette my doubts about the death of our uncle. She hadn't seemed convinced when I was telling it to her in the hotel, but being on the edge of a concrete action had certainly sparked something in her.
We proceeded to examine the room minutely, going over every corner and looking under every bit of equipment. I had found several dust-balls, some very disgusting gum, and a few scribbled notes that appeared to be only about scientific matters, when something about the molding in the corner of the room struck me. "Jeanette, come here," I called. She quickly joined me under the laboratory table where I was crouching. "Look at the molding on this wall," I said. "Do you see that funny crack in it? I wonder…" On impulse I pushed gently at the piece of molding, then increased the pressure. There was a slight squeaking sound as of operating machinery, and part of the wall slid back, revealing a hidden corridor!
Jeanette and I stared at each other in pure amazement. The next minute, we were inside the corridor and heading down a dark flight of stone steps. Damp, chill air floated up to us as we continued downward. "See how old these stones look," I said, feeling one of them. "We must be inside the original foundations of this university."
The darkness increased as we spiraled further and further down. Jeanette, who was in front, had the good idea to sit on the staircase and scoot our way down, so that we wouldn't bump into any obstructions. In this rather undignified position we reached the bottom of the stairs, and walked, hands outstretched in front of us, until we reached what felt like a very modern metal door in the stone wall. I felt down for the handle and turned it slowly. "It's unlocked, Jeanette," I said. "Should I open it?"
"Of course," replied my cousin, and I pulled the door open to reveal a tiny room, not much bigger than a walk-in closet. The walls were covered with buttons and switches like the inside of spacecraft, but the room itself was completely empty, except for a large, steel doorway, with no door in it, that led nowhere and was positioned diagonally in the center of the little room. Everything was illuminated by a pale blue light that seemed to come from the ceiling.
"Well, this isn't creepy at all," I muttered sarcastically. "I think we should get out of here, Jeanette."
"Wait, Shirley!" she exclaimed, stepping into the room and peering at one of the switchboards. "Look at all these Roman numerals! Do you think they are calculations?"
My curiosity got the better of me, and I followed Jeanette into the tiny room. "I think they're years," I said, pointing. "Look, they start with I, or 1, and proceed by fives. Our year would be somewhere around here, between the numerals for 2005 and 2010."
"What is this year here, with the switch pushed up next to it?"
That piqued my interest. I stared at the Roman numeral. "It's 1895," I said in a hushed tone.
Apparently that didn't strike my cousin the same way it did me.
"Look on the far wall, Shirley!" she cried. "It's some kind of huge television screen." She crossed the room to look at the screen, but instead of walking around the doorframe, she took the shortest distance between two points and began to walk straight through it. Just as her foot touched the threshold, sudden panic seized me as my mind put two and two together.
"Stop, Jeanette, you idiot!" I screamed, but I was too late. As soon as Jeanette stepped into the empty doorway, she vanished completely.
Nothing in my life, not even my parents' deaths or the murder of my uncle, had ever been so exquisitely horrible. My mind whirled, and a temporary blackness rose before my eyes. I must have screamed, for I heard a horrible anguished cry that seemed to come from some place outside me.
The next moment, a thin, cold hand was pressed against my mouth, and I heard someone close behind me urging me to be silent. I struggled violently, broke free, and whirled around to see the red-headed policeman who had investigated my uncle's murder, smarting from a ugly red scratch I had implanted on his left hand. What was he doing here?
"I'm sorry to alarm you, Shirley," he said, readjusting his thick glasses. "But it is greatly to our advantage that no one above should hear you, and thus learn about this secret room."
"Jeanette," I gasped breathlessly, pointing in horrified awe at the empty doorframe.
"I assure you that your cousin is in no immediate danger," he said. "In fact, she is probably a great deal safer where she is now, than she was here."
"What are you talking about?" I exclaimed helplessly. "She just got sucked into some type of inter-dimensional time traveling portal!"
"Passing through the portal poses no inherent risk to the traveler," said the policeman.
"And how would you know?"
"I myself have passed through it."
"Then you--" My voice trailed off as I stared blankly at the policeman, my mind racing. As I did so, I realized with a start that he was suddenly looking very different than he had yesterday. His humped back had straightened out, showing to him to be a man of taller than average stature. His languid manner had vanished, and behind those geeky glasses his eyes gleamed as brightly as two cold stars. Even his accent had somehow morphed from a Southern drawl into tones that were decidedly British.
"What on earth is going on around here?" I demanded, not for the first time (nor the last).
"It's quite elementary, my dear lady," said the policeman with a dry chuckle. "My name is Mr. Sherlock Holmes."