Sherlock Holmes and the Ravenclaw Codex

PART TWO: THE HUNT BEGINS

Chapter Seven: The Codex Chamber

In many years of acquaintance with Sherlock Holmes, I can count but a handful of occasions on which I had seen my friend at a disadvantage. It was therefore with a certain ill-natured complacency in my superior powers with the young that I case my eyes around the Great Hall of Hogwarts for my friend as I entered the following morning.

My own evening had been delightful. My young companions, picked by the Sorting Hat for their sense of fair play and amicable dispositions, had made me most welcome in their common room. Once they overcame their initial shyness they had been charming company: young Stebbins had insisted on showing me his beagle, after which I had had to admire Violet Parker's owl, and Bob McGuire's toad. All the children were full of stories of their exploits and adventures, ranging from the kind of small grievances and japes I remembered from my own schooldays, to others so fantastical that, in any other place than Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I would have considered them a case for an alienist.

It was with some surprise, therefore, that I saw Holmes enter the Great Hall, flanked by the three youngsters from Ravenclaw House and apparently in the best of spirits.

"Ah, Watson," he said, sliding into the seat opposite me and helping himself to kedgeree and mushrooms, "there you are at last! Well, you have been an age getting up and about your business - but no matter. First, let me present to you Miss Hawkes, an accomplished player on the violoncello, " (gesturing to a tall young lady in blue to his right, who blushed deeply), "Mr Lucas, who has taught me a great deal about the theory and practice of magic, " (a plump boy of about fifteen in horn-rimmed spectacles clutching a book, who looked most gratified), "and Miss Robinson, who has a gift for mathematics, and shows unusual promise in the game of chess" (the skinny girl of twelve or so standing between them, whose pinched face was wreathed in smiles at the unexpected compliment). "As for you, Watson, I see you have enjoyed your time and found much pleasure in your company. Tell me, my friend, are they trustworthy?"

"Trustworthy?" I exclaimed. "Why, they were hand-picked by the Sorting Hat for that very quality! A charming set of young people - I would recommend any of them without reserve!"

"That is well," replied my friend, "for if matters fall out as I expect, we may have need of their help before our work here is done - a sort of Hogwarts Irregulars, if you like..."

"Oh, sir!" cried young Stebbins, unable to keep silent any longer. "I should like that above all things!"

"Well," said Holmes, "we shall see. In the mean time, time presses, and we have work to do. Ah, Weaselby, at last!" he called. "Come, man, don't dawdle! I have already spoken to the Headmaster. Although he may feel he has more pressing school matters to attend to, despite his peremptory summons the other day, and he has refused me even the briefest personal interview, pleading pressure of work, he has graciously given me his permission to inspect the Chamber of the Codex and consult any students or staff who can throw light on the problem. Once Watson here has finished his breakfast, we shall repair to the Chamber of the Codex and begin our investigation. I believe you know the way?"

And so it was that five minutes later we found ourselves in the same chamber we had visited briefly the previous evening.

I had seen Holmes at work before, but I knew that Weaselby had not, so I was fully prepared to reassure him, as I had reassured many others, while Holmes flung himself about the room like a man possessed, magnifying glass in one hand, tape measure in the other, sniffing the air at crucial points in his search, like a thoroughbred bloodhound hot on a scent. However, to my surprise, Holmes merely stooped to examine the floor, sniffed once, straightened up with a look of considerable surprise on his face, ran his finger along the mantelpiece and examined it with a grimace.

"Well," he said, "the headmaster has made it very plain that he has no desire to see me, but when you are next in his presence, Weaselby, do compliment him on the efficiency of his cleaning staff. It really is the completest thing - I don't recall ever seeing a scene of such importance rendered so completely clear of any trace of a clue in such a short time." Weaselby looked distressed at this news, at which Holmes brightened considerably. "Well, well, we must make the best of it, that's all. The loss of a vital piece of evidence in our case is hardly an obstacle to us, eh, Watson? In any case, I don't suppose that this extraordinary scrupulousness has extended to the landing!"

With that, he shoved his way past Weaselby and began quartering the little landing outside the Chamber with a calm fixity of purpose that showed me very clearly that my friend was on the track of something that interested him greatly. The area by the fireplace seemed to hold a particular fascination for him, as did the wall and skirting board by the doorframe of the Chamber. At last he pulled himself up to his full height once more, dusting off the knees of his trousers.

"Well," he said with a smile, "all is not lost. The floor is quite hopeless, of course - all traces of footprints have been obliterated since yesterday - but the skirting board shows some promise, and the traces of rather heavily scented hair cream on the wall just by the door are particularly indicative. You have already observed, no doubt, the position of the chest. It would be possible to stand just here" (indicating the spot) "outside the chamber, to watch the chest being opened, maintaining eye contact at all times, without ever having the need to cross the threshold. Indeed, that reminds me," he continued, "there is still the chest in which the Codex was stored. Dare I hope that it has been left in its original condition, or have the cleaning staff tampered with that too?"

"No, indeed," stuttered Weaselby, still obviously upset at the earlier setback. "They know their place better than that, to be sure: they would never presume to touch it. And as to the destruction of such vital evidence, I will report the matter to the caretaker, and the - ahem - creature will be soundly whipped, you may rest assured!"

"Whipped?" I exclaimed in horror. "There is no need for that! We are not in the Dark Ages, sir!"

"I can only concur," said Weaselby with a sigh. "But I am very much afraid that they will insist on it, alas! In any case, you may be quite certain that they have left the chest as they found it. Please, do examine it, if you feel it would be the slightest assistance!"

Holmes strode over to the casket, examining it minutely with his lens.

"First, observe the state of the lock," he said. "Whatever your respected Headmaster may think, no professional would have tackled it in this manner. This lock may be heavily warded against all manner of spells, but had I wished to relieve Hogwarts of the Codex, I would have picked the lock using a simple hairpin, no more. I would never have considered a crowbar, for it is a bulky object that is hard to explain away, and the noise of splintering wood" (Weaselby winced at the idea) "might well have attracted the attention of passers by, especially in the dead of night. Note also no less than three shallow notches beside the main break - practice cuts, weak and indecisive. No doubt the fellow was summoning his resolve for the final blow. No, there is no doubt at all - whoever did this was the rankest amateur, and may well have been acting under duress."

He placed both hands on the lid of the casket and pulled upwards. The lid opened smoothly on well-oiled hinges, to reveal a richly embroidered length of cloth of gold, and on top of that a large bag of the softest velvet. Holmes shook both of these, examined the fabric carefully, then folded both of them and returned them to the casket.

"There," he continued. "Fine material, and, you will observe, neatly folded - I might almost say reverently folded. You may set your mind at rest on this at least, Weaselby: whatever the motive behind the theft, there was no attempt at desecration. The Codex is safe and sound, wherever it may be."

"But where is it?" I asked "And where is the thief? Who is the thief?"

"As to that," replied Holmes, "we have been instructed that the most probable culprit is Godfrey Easingwold, of Ravenclaw House. While I decline - as always - to draw my conclusions to order, I believe we might still learn something from a visit to his quarters, since we are already on the premises."

Weaselby led us up two more flights of stairs, through a low, oak door into a room furnished with three four-poster beds, of which only one was made up, four bookshelves, four desks and all the usual paraphernalia of a school dormitory. What set it apart from all other school dormitories of my experience, however, was its preternatural cleanliness and orderliness, quite unlike the normal residence of any schoolboy I had ever met.

Holmes glanced briefly around the room, looking irritated, but not particularly surprised.

"It seems that your cleaners have beaten us to it once again," he said. "Never mind. Perhaps his desk will cast some light on young Easingwold's disappearance."

With that, he turned his attention to the only desk that showed any signs of recent occupation, turning over the books, dismembering the blotter, sniffing at the inkwell and rummaging through the racks of quills and parchment, before turning his attention to the desk drawers. Suddenly he took a leather purse from the bottom drawer and flung it on the table, spilling out silver and bronze coins, as well as two that appeared to be made of gold.

"Intriguing!" he said. "Easingwold was singularly ill prepared for his journey - a man fleeing the school with his ill-gotten gains might not pause to collect his cloak," he gestured at the black school cloak hanging from a peg behind the door, "but he would hardly leave without his money!"

"Not necessarily," said Weaselby. "This is all Wizarding money. If he wished to hide himself among the Muggles (saving your presence) he would have no need of Wizarding silver - not even for the train, if he had bought his ticket in advance."

"True," said Holmes, "and if that were all, you would be correct. But how do you explain this?"

He took a second purse from the same drawer, and opened it to reveal the contents. I saw quantities of our good English pounds, shillings and pence, all marked with the familiar head of Queen Victoria.

"So," he continued, "there you have it. Easingwold left in the middle of the night, in foul weather, without his cloak and without his money. He did not take the train, for an unaccompanied, panic-stricken student at such a late hour would have been noticed and reported. He will not have got far."

"But where can he be?" asked Weaselby, clasping his hands with impatience and anxiety. "And where is the Codex? And, above all, where is the villain who took it?"

Holmes looked searchingly at the young professor.

"Your Headmaster," he said at last, choosing his words with care, "would have us believe that Master Godfrey Easingwold is the only possible culprit. Am I to take it from what you have just said that you do not share that learned gentleman's opinion?"

This time, Weaselby did not flinch under Holmes's penetrating gaze.

"I am not a fool, Mr Holmes," he said quietly. "I have watched you at work and listened to your questions, and it is plain to me that you are far from convinced of the case against poor Godfrey. Indeed, I would rejoice to see him exonerated, for he was as promising a student as I have ever taught - did you know that he was a strong candidate for Head Boy? The Codex must be returned to Hogwarts, of course it must, for it is a part of our history, but it is more important to see justice done. I know you have little reason to think well of me after the unfortunate manner of our meeting. But I am not the Headmaster's puppet, Mr Holmes, and no spy either. If you require my aid to clear Godfrey and bring the guilty to justice, then I am your man, whatever it takes!"

There was an oddly touching dignity to Weaselby at that moment, despite his nervous, ragamuffin air, wild hair and mended clothes. Holmes, I am sure, sensed it too, for he reached over and clapped Weaselby on the back.

"Well, well!" he said. "I hope it will not come to that, to be sure, but it is a noble offer and I thank you for it! But we must not get ahead of ourselves. Our next task must be to speak to young Easingwold's teachers. Time may well be of the essence, so we will double up. Watson, who knows my methods as well as any man alive, will take Professors Drummond and Blenkinsop; I shall speak to Binns, since he is the nearest thing Ravenclaw has at present to a Head of House, and to Professor O'Connell. Can you see to that, Weaselby?"

"Gladly!" said Weaselby, and rushed off eagerly down the stairs.

"But Holmes," I protested, once I had made sure we were alone, "I thought you said that Godfrey Easingwold was innocent! Why, then, are we still on his trail? Would it not make more sense to go after the true villain of the piece?"

"I do not believe that he is guilty," my friend replied. "But Godfrey Easingwold is inextricably bound up in this case, and, by following his trail we will be led to the Codex, as surely as if he had drawn us a map with his own hands. Now let us get to work, Watson - too much valuable time has been wasted already, and there is not a moment to be lost!"