Black Cat Weekly #76

Chapter 5-4

,Seeing that it was still early in the day, Sherlock retrieved his Gladstone bag from Mycroft’s rooms and headed for Cavor’s residence. Directly across the street from it was a small park. Taking an untenanted bench, Sherlock withdrew a newspaper from the bag and sat pretending to read it while he kept an eye on Cavor’s door.

Over the course of the day, he saw four other men, two alone and two together, enter the lab. Sherlock carefully noted their appearance. One pair of men happened to walk right past Sherlock, who did not look at them. One man addressed the other as Julius. Aha. Julius Gibberne, Sherlock said to himself. Gibberne had a high forehead and singularly long black eyebrows that lent a Mephistophelean touch to his face.

Aha. Julius GibberneAround tea-time, Sherlock decided he’d learned enough for one day. Besides, he wanted to do some background checking on Gibberne, so he returned to the public library and dug into the reference section. He soon learned that Gibberne attended Oxford, where he conducted research into stimulants of various types.

“Most intriguing!” he whispered to himself. Such research might possibly result in physical enhancements leading to an ability to run at a highly accelerated pace. He’s our man, Sherlock thought as he gathered up the papers on which he had scribbled his notes.

He’s our man,When Mycroft arrived home that evening, he found Sherlock waiting for him, a vulpine expression on his narrow face.

“I know that look,” Mycroft said, taking off his hat and gloves. He squinted at his brother. “You’ve found something.”

“I have indeed.” Eagerly Sherlock laid out the fruits of his labors.

Mycroft nodded slowly as he weighed Sherlock’s discoveries. “Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “Most intriguing.” A quick smile flited across Sherlock’s face as he heard Mycroft echo his own thought. Mycroft added, “Now, here’s what I think we might do.”

The next morning, Sherlock and Mycroft stood before a slightly rundown home in Mayfair, where Julius Gibberne lived. Gibberne answered Mycroft’s peremptory tapping of the doorknocker, peering at his visitors with some annoyance. His scowl gave his rather wolfish features a forbidding cast.

“Yes?” he rapped out. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“Mycroft Holmes,” said Mycroft in his most supercilious tone, presenting his card. “I am an intelligence agent of the Crown. This is my brother, Sherlock, a consulting detective.”

Gibberne sneered. “You’re two young scalawags,” he said, “and you’re interrupting a critical experiment. Now be off with you.”

“Mmm. I can return with the police if you’d prefer,” Mycroft said.

canGibberne glowered at him, then stepped back and opened the door more widely so they could enter. He conducted the brothers to a small sitting room just down a short hallway from the door.

“What is your business?” he demanded without bothering with any niceties of tea or biscuits.

Mycroft laid it out with brutal efficiency. “We know your discoveries have made it possible for Miss Adler to commit her crimes. Of course, we cannot allow her to continue.” He concluded by saying, “I would like to offer you an opportunity to help us, Mr. Gibberne.”

Gibberne scowled, which made his features appear even more Mephistophelian. “I am engaged in private research,” he said. “I see no need to share my discoveries with you or anyone.”

“We are aware of your association with Roger Cavor,” Mycroft said smoothly, “and others whose concerns seem…less than mainstream, shall we say?”

“I don’t follow you,” Gibberne said, though Sherlock though it obvious that he did.

“Then let me put it to you more bluntly.” Mycroft leaned forward. “By cooperating with us you will avoid prosecution, receive a pardon, and be allowed to continue your work—under official auspices. Her Majesty’s government will sponsor your project as well as those of your scientific associates. Any future discoveries you make will be used for the benefit of…certain government programs.”

Gibberne ground his teeth. “You would seem to have me over the proverbial barrel,” he growled. “I have no choice. I must agree to do as you wish.”

“Thank you,” said Mycroft. “Now, I would like you to hand over your notes concerning your experiments in human acceleration.”

“Would that I could! Our Miss Adler has proved to be larcenous. She stole my hypodermic and the remaining serum, as well as all my notes, while moving at speed. I didn’t even see her do it! If you can get them back for me, I will be more than happy to cooperate with you.”

“Have you none of the serum left?” Sherlock asked.

“Barely enough for one last injection. It’s difficult and time-consuming to make. I’m sure she thought she got all of it, but there happened to be a little residue in my glassware. You may use that. It will confer the accelerative effect on you for a very brief time, less than a second or two—though that will seem like several minutes to you.”

“One injection…” Sherlock rubbed his chin. “Mycroft, I wonder if one of your colleagues might be willing to take that injection and pursue her?”

“Hmm. You say it speeds up reaction time, Professor?”

“Yes. To you, your movements will seem normal, but the entire rest of the world will appear to be moving like snails, or even standing still.”

Mycroft and Sherlock escorted Gibberne to the headquarters of the Intelligence Service. Britain had had men and women gathering information for hundreds of years, but the Topographical and Statistical Department, the umbrella agency covering intelligence activities, had only that year been reorganized and given new life by Captain Sir Charles Wilson. Mycroft had been hired by the Department and was helping to re-orient its focus. To that end he had overseen the hiring of several aggressive young agents, all highly motivated to be of service to Her Royal Majesty.

But, as Mycroft and Sherlock learned when they canvassed the agents for volunteers to test Gibberne’s concoction, their patriotism didn’t extend to “volunteering” to be injected with potentially dangerous drugs, despite Gibberne’s assurances that the compound was perfectly safe.

“We can’t force them to do it,” Mycroft said after the final candidate of eight had turned down the assignment. “I don’t know where that leaves us.” He sighed. He, Gibberne, and Sherlock were sitting in his office, where they had interviewed the young intelligence agents.

force“Let us suppose,” Sherlock said, slowly, “that I volunteer.”

IMycroft looked at him. “You’re joking,” he said. “You’re not even in the agency’s employ, Sherlock. I couldn’t possibly hear of it. What would Mother and Father think?”

“How else do you propose to catch Miss Adler? Besides, I’ve just turned seventeen. I’m not a child.”

“No one said you were.” Mycroft tapped his fingers on his desktop. “That’s not the issue.”

“Come on, Mycroft…you’ve no one else willing to do it.”

“Because it represents a hell of a risk!” Mycroft sighed. “But it’s true, nobody has stepped up.” He swore.

“It truly is safe,” Gibberne said, “if the amount isn’t too great. Five milligrams will do the trick, and what remains is considerably less than that, as I have explained. You are in no danger of overdosing.”

Mycroft growled to himself. “Very well,” he said at last, “I consent.” He turned a fierce gaze on Gibberne. “I warn you, sir, if any harm comes to my brother, I will hold you solely responsible.”

“Miss Adler has proved beyond dispute the formula is safe,” Gibberne said, biting off his words with scorn.

“A matter of some pride to you, sir, is it?” Sherlock observed. Gibberne sniffed without deigning to reply.

“There is a piece of the puzzle missing,” Mycroft said. “How are we to know where she’s going to be?”

“A good point,” said Sherlock. Turning to Gibberne, he said, “Have you any suggestions?”

The scientist said, “She has stolen only a small amount of serum, not enough for more than one more speedy theft. I’m certain she’ll try to get more from my laboratory, assuming she wants to continue with her super-fast thieving. Either that or she will attempt to make it herself. She is not a chemist, however, and its synthesis will require specialized knowledge.”

Mycroft and Sherlock eyed each other. “She might essay to kidnap Mr. Gibberne, here, hoping to force him to assist her,” said Mycroft.

“Yes, and we’d be hard pressed to stop her. But what if she thinks there is more serum? Some that she missed?”

“Interesting.”

Within an hour the brothers devised a plan. Mycroft arranged to publish a second notice to the effect that Gibberne’s lab was, for undisclosed reasons, being moved to Shepherd’s Bush, an undeveloped area west of London beginning to become urbanized as the city expanded.

“The services own a small farmhouse there we use as a place to meet with heads of state traveling incognito,” Mycroft said. “It should do nicely.”

“We’ve tried to lure her using notices in the papers before, so we know she reads them,” Sherlock said. “She may be suspicious.”

Mycroft spread his hands. “What else can we do?”

“What about this? Put the notice in, naming the day. Move Gibberne’s lab from the city to the farmhouse over the course of that entire day, making several trips in multiple caravans. If she’s hoping to steal more formula, she’ll be watching, awaiting a chance to swoop in and steal the serum. Her dilemma will be, which wagon will be the proper one?” Sherlock turned to Gibberne. “Given the dosage she has acquired,” he said, “how long can we expect the effects of your potion to last once she takes it?”

Gibberne thought about it. “No more than fifteen minutes at most. Fifteen minutes our time. That’s well over five hours for her, at a factor of about twenty.”

our“And she’ll give herself the entire dose, I should think, yes?”

“I should think so. Multiple injections in the same day would likely lead to disorientation and organ damage. She knows this.”

“No doubt you did, too, but you downplayed it. Be that as it may, if we arrange for three or four multi-wagon caravans, she will simply not know which one to attack.”

“But we want her to attack the correct one,” Mycroft said. “How will she determine which one that is?”

wantcorrect“Let us put ourselves in her position,” Sherlock said, steepling his hands. “She will know we are moving Gibberne and all his works to a supposedly safe house. She can’t spend all day ripping through crates and whatnot. Eh? We need to supply her with a strong clue as to which cart is the proper one.”

“How are we to do that?” Mycroft asked crossly.

“Rather simply, I daresay,” Sherlock replied. “She’s seen me, hasn’t she. I confronted her at the Tower of London. She’s bound to recognize me. If she spots me riding along on one of the wagons, she is likely to conclude that’s the one with the potion. As an added attraction, Mr. Gibberne should accompany me. Our combined presence is sure to draw her in.”