The Dreadful Business of the Abernetty Family

Chapter Five

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson arrived at the Museum just before closing, 5:20 according to Watson's pocketwatch.  He glanced up at the huge edifice again and felt a small bit of English pride in its vast scope and solidity.

Sherlock stood and watched the cab pulled away by its single horse and enjoyed the evening summer sun.

"I say, shouldn't we head in?" Watson suggested gently.

"Soon, we'll be meeting Lestrade here," Sherlock replied.  "I trust you have your pistol handy?"

Watson nodded, patting the pocket of his jacket where the .32 caliber Iver Johnson revolver rested.

"Good, I knew I could rely upon you."

"Do you expect trouble then?"

"These are desperate, dangerous men, Watson.  I've told you before, but often the greatest wickedness lies in the most pleasing and comfortable settings, worse than the most wretched hives of Whitechapel."

"And we fear for Hastings Abernetty's life," Watson said sadly.

"Indeed.  Ah here is the good inspector now."

A police van pulled up, drawn by two large horses, and the bulldog form of Inspector Lestrade stepped down, followed by several other men from the back.

"See here, Mister Holmes, I spent hours doing fine police work at the docks only to find a fellow matching your description had been there before poking around!"

"Your detective skills continue their usual pace," said Sherlock.

"Ha, ha, Mister Holmes but you may have flushed some villain with your amateur poking around and made my job all the harder.  I pop by your flat and Mrs Hudson says you are waiting here for me.  Waiting why, exactly?"

"You seek one missing Hastings Abernetty, and as it so happens, my case leads to the same place.  It is here we shall find him.  But if you would, Inspector, a quiet approach and a bit of lying in ambush should serve us best, I think."

Lestrade tipped his head to the side and looked up slightly at Sherlock.  His bushy mustache twitched side to side as the police inspector thought.  "You've been helpful in a few cases in the past, I suppose we can try things your way.  I hadn't wished to cause a scene here at the Museum in any case."

Holmes nodded.  "No, I should think not."

The museum had closed, but with Inspector Lestrade's Scotland Yard credentials and Sherlock Holmes' fame, they were let in without delay.  Quietly, Lestrade had his men gather the watchmen and set them into place hiding near either end of the Egypt section.  Sherlock, Watson, Lestrade, one of his men named Bolton, and Bertram Allen gathered in a side hall in the shadows of the museum with most of its lights extinguished where they could see the Tolec display.

There, the men settled in to wait.  Lestrade seemed philosophical about the delay, having spent many long hours sitting in wait for criminals or suspects to arrive at a location.  Indeed, he seems somewhat pleased in a perverse way with what was more familiar police work than usual involving Sherlock Holmes.  On occasion he checked the shuttered lantern next to him, shielded by a huge stone statue from the tomb.

The hallways took on an ominous, tomb-like feeling in the half light, with only a few distant sounds of some talking and footsteps as the academics and workers at the museum closed up for the night.  Finally it was nearly silent and Watson's feet were beginning to hurt, so he slid down the wall he was leaning against and sat on the hard tile floor.

Sherlock was almost frozen in place, leaning slightly forward, tense and eager like a leopard ready to strike.  His eyes seemed to blaze from within with a fierce delight, an expression of anticipation as he watched the tomb as if the high priest would come to life at any moment.  The passage of time did not seem to register on the detective as he watched.