Mike Ashley - The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures

"A friend?"

"Ah, I would describe you as my sole friend, Watson. This gentleman, although I have never yet met him in person, was of considerable service in the past when he furnished me with invaluable information on the constitution of certain metals, which enabled me to lay to rest the matter of the golden bullet murders in King's Lynne. In short, I owe him one small favour. By Jove! Look at that, London becomes busier by the day. Within a decade the city will become so congested the only sure transport will be by Shanks's pony!"

"Then at least our slow passage northwards to Hampstead will give you sufficient time to tell me the facts of the case before we reach the home of your client."

"Indeed it will. First, Watson, the stone! Pray focus your attention upon it. Read it as if it were the page from a book." With that my friend placed the tips of his long fingers together, closed his eyes; only the slight wrinkling of his forehead beneath the brim of his shiny top hat betraying he would listen closely to my every word.

I listed everything of significance I could discern from the stone. "Weight: let me see. An ounce, perhaps. Size: no larger than a grape. Shape: pear shaped. Colour: um, silvery. Odour: none. Appearance: smooth as glass; subjected to intense heat, I would surmise."

"Where is it from?" asked Holmes without opening his eyes. "A furnace I should suppose, before that I dare not say." "Ha!" Holmes opened his penetrating eyes.

"You know where the stone originated?"

"Indeed. It came from the depths of the universe. The scorched appearance of the stone was caused by its headlong rush through our world's atmosphere. The speed being so great that the very air rubbing against the surface produced such tremendous temperatures those surfaces did in fact melt, hence the ablated base of the stone."

"Good Lord, then it is an aerolite?"

"Spot on, Watson. Yes, an aerolite, more commonly known as a shooting star or meteorite. Above us, in the heavens, are countless millions of stone fragments, whirling silently through the cold depths of space. Occasionally one falls to Earth. One might look up on a clear night and see the fiery trail one of these fragments makes. Only rarely do they reach the surface of the Earth."

I looked at our stony visitor from the heavens with more interest. "Then it's valuable?"

"Pooh, pooh, not in the least. A few shillings."

"But you say it has a bearing on the case?"

"Again I can only repeat partly. I brought it along as an introduction to the facts. This stone itself, I purchased along with a trunkful of other mineral samples many years ago." He took the stone from me, held it between the finger and thumb of his gloved hand, his face in profile to me, his striking aquiline features just inches from the stone as his heavy-lidded eyes gazed dreamily upon it. "Imagine though, Watson if you will. This slight chip of stone, so insignificant in appearance,

has drifted between the stars for many millions of years. By chance it struck this world, where it whistled groundward in a fiery streak of light. Imagine if the stone were large enough for you and I to ride upon it as it flew high above continents and oceans. At night the lights of our great cities would shine like the dust of diamonds sprinkled upon black velvet. In those cities people live their lives – real people, Doctor! – not mere ciphers. There, sons of kings and paupers might lay awake at night vexed by worries, fears, jealousies. And in those cities housing million upon million of human souls there are enough men and women intent on crimes great and small to dizzy even the greatest statistician. Imagine if you will, Watson, our world revolving beneath you, like a classroom globe. And with every tick of the watch there are a thousand thefts; with every tock of the clock a dozen murders. Ha!" He tossed the stone into the air, deftly caught it in the palm of his hand, then slipped it into his waistcoat pocket. "So, Watson, why am I sitting here in a carriage, on this day in flaming June, sizzling like a Dover sole upon its griddle, engaged on such a trifling matter?"

"The acquaintance? A favour you mentioned?"

"Of course. The case is so slight we should have the solution long before we take afternoon tea, but this gentlemen is much troubled by the case. Inordinately so. And I dare say that you, being a medical man, are consulted by a great number of people with many a cough, coryza and pimple who, clearly to you, are not particularly ill but seek reassurance from a man with the power to allay their worries."

"Ah, this case…"

"Oh forgive me, Watson, please. You must know the facts. My acquaintance, by correspondence only, is one Professor Charles Hardcastle of Hampstead. He wrote to me a few days ago beseeching me to call on him as he feared his house was being periodically entered by an individual who, in the words of the professor, 'intends to visit an iniquitous injury upon the household.' "

"Then you are looking for a common burglar?"

"Perhaps."

"So it is a matter for the police?"

"Perhaps not."

"But something was stolen?"

"Stolen? No. Borrowed."

"Borrowed?"

"Barely, the facts are these, Watson. Professor Charles Hardcastle lives in a large house in Hampstead. It stands, he tells me, in expansive grounds. Living with him in the house are his wife and son, whom is ten years of age. Also residing there are the domestic staff. The professor specializes in metallurgical sciences and has long since being interested in aerolites which are often composed of metals such as iron and nickel.These are of particular significance to him because they are not of this Earth and he hopes to discover within them metals with singular properties. The man is forty years of age, modest, hard-working, financially secure and not given to any outrageous vices. Last Monday the professor worked late into the night in his laboratory, which is housed in a purpose-built annex that adjoins his home; there he conducted certain chemical tests on aerolites. The aerolites are locked in glass-fronted cabinets. The largest stone, which is no larger than a plum, occupies pride of place in the centre of one of these cabinets. At ten to midnight, with his experiment complete, he retired to bed, locking the stones into their cabinets, then carefully locking the door of the laboratory behind him. The laboratory can be accessed from the rear courtyard through twin stout doors which are bolted from within, and through a door which leads directly into the main house. Have you followed me so far?"

"It is very clear."

"If you remember Monday's was a hot, dry night. Professor Hardcastle, mindful of his wife's concerns that he doesn't neglect his stomach, took a little supper of milk and biscuits. Then he made his way to bed. Only then did he remember he'd left his pince-nez spectacles in the laboratory, and as he is quite short-sighted he returned to the laboratory to retrieve them. He unlocked the door that leads from the house to the laboratory and entered. As he picked the pince-nez from the bench he noticed that one of his glass-fronted cases lay open. And upon placing the pince-nez on his nose he immediately saw that the largest aerolite had been taken.

"There had been a forced entry?"

Holmes shook his head. "The door he had entered by was locked. So were the twin doors to the courtyard: locked and

securely bolted. The windows all locked, too."

"An oversight then. He left the door to the house unlocked?"

"He's most particular to ensure it is locked. The laboratory contains many poisons and powerful acids. He states quite clearly in his letters it is his great fear that his son might find his way into the laboratory and injure himself playing with test-tubes and so forth. Therefore, he's most scrupulous in keeping the door locked."