THE IRREGULAR CASEBOOK OF SHERLOCK HOLMES Read Free Page A

pursuit of Learning.
    As we approached the desk, a thin, dapper individual of pallid aspect came forward and wished Dr James ‘good day’.
    ‘Good morning, Mr Biggs,’ said James. ‘I wonder if you could help us? Mr Crossley here has a professional interest in those Dee lists, and would like to know whether anyone else has studied them in the last few months.’
    ‘Funny you should ask that, Dr James. If you’d come to see me before this morning I’d have said only one other—an undergraduate Trinity man, I have the name here somewhere—yes—Crowley, Edward Crowley. Spent some time with the Dee material over the last few months. Very keen, he seems. Then, just today—not long ago—a white haired old gentleman with those long side-whiskers—what d’ye call ’em—Piccadilly Weepers—he took them for about half an hour or so. Eldred, the name was. He seemed to know Crowley by name. I thought the old gentleman might be his tutor, though I can’t say I recognised him.’
    ‘Thank you, Mr Biggs. Most helpful. Shall we go, Mr Crossley?’ As we departed, James gripped my arm.
    ‘Well, Dr Watson, what do you make of that? A definite clue, I think. You see, I happen to know that Dr Verrall is young Crowley’s tutor. Verrall has spoken of him. It seems he came here after some trouble at Oxford. He is by all accounts a gifted student, with a real flair for Latin and Greek, but something of a Decadent and a poet manqué : you know, adopts the fashionable Diabolism of Baudelaire, and dresses very foppishly. He told Verrall that God and the Devil had fought for his soul, and that he could not decide which had won! Remember that Verrall was mentioned in the message that decoyed me from my rooms! Could it be . . .?’
    I nodded. ‘That Crowley and this other fellow, Eldred, are behind the theft? It is a distinct possibility. One may have delivered the note while the other waited to slip into your rooms.’
    ‘My thought exactly, Dr Watson. Would Mr Holmes object if we visited young Crowley’s rooms?’
    ‘He told us to learn all we could.’
    ‘Then let us go at once!’
    It took but little time to locate the young undergraduate’s rooms. At our knock a voice called ‘enter,’ and we stepped into another world.
    The contrast with Dr James’s Spartan quarters was very instructive. Books covered the walls and filled several revolving walnut bookcases; but this was more than a scholar’s workshop. Everywhere the eye fell upon tomes of obvious rarity and tremendous value. I had never seen so many sumptuous bindings: vellum, morocco, and calf, all glittering with heavy gold blocking and intricate decoration. Here was the collection of a bibliophile with the wealth to indulge his passion to the full. I noted, too, a well-worn ice-axe and a bag of fishing rods. Staunton chess pieces stood about a board. The heady aroma of incense mingled with the smell of books.
    The young man who rose to greet us was even more remarkable. My readers will know that I had confronted powerful men before that date, and would do so after, but never have I felt so strongly a sense of immediate danger. From the comments of James, I had expected the silken shirt and floppy tie, the hands full of rings, heavy with semi-precious stones. I could not have anticipated the brooding, hypnotic eyes, determined jaw, and immensely powerful frame. He was, I now think, only a little over average height, but his erect, almost arrogant, carriage, and the bulk of his upper torso, created the impression of exceptional stature.
    Dr James introduced us, and explained about the supposed book on John Dee.
    ‘When Mr Crossley here heard that someone else had been studying the material at Trinity, he feared that another book was in production. I have explained that undergraduates have better things to do with their time, but he insisted we talk to you.’
    Young Edward Crowley laughed. ‘You need have no fear, sir. I am not writing a book—not of that kind