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."
