Sherlock Holmes and the Mummy's Curse Read Online Free PDF Page B

possessed of a white beard and moustache beneath his pith helmet, stood patiently at the entrance to the awning, gazing down the rutted track to the river with bright blue eyes. Upon spying the dogcart, a huge smile spread across his wizened face; he clapped his hands in delight and stepped forward to meet the cart, as Phillips drew the pony to a halt.
    “Holmes!” he cried with enthusiasm. “Ah, young Holmes, it is so good to see you!”
    Holmes sprang nimbly from the rear of the dogcart, hurrying to the older man, a broad grin on his face. “Professor Whitesell!” he exclaimed. “How delightful to see you again! I’d swear you haven’t changed at all!”
    He held out his hand to shake, but Whitesell caught him in a fatherly embrace. Holmes stiffened instinctively, but relaxed slightly after a moment, and gently patted the older man on the back. As the embrace eased, he turned to Watson.
    “Professor, allow me to present my friend, colleague, and sometime Boswell, Doctor John H. Watson, late of Her Majesty’s Army medical department. Watson, this is Professor Willingham Adelbert Whitesell, Quatermain Professor of Archaeology at Oxbridge.”
    * * *
    “Pleased,” Watson said, beaming beneath his moustache, stepping forward and taking the professor’s hand in a firm grip before shaking. “I’m looking forward to picking your brains about what Holmes, here, was like when he was younger.”
    Holmes’ eyebrows shot up, in what Watson mischievously interpreted as surprised dismay, and Whitesell chuckled impishly.
    “I think I may just be able to oblige, Doctor. And I’m looking forward to finding out more about the adventures the pair of you have had,” Whitesell responded with a grin. “I knew young Holmes was destined for something great, but I’d be damned if I could figure out, at the time, what it was.”
    “He does hide it well, doesn’t he?” an impish Watson tossed back, and watched in amusement as Holmes’ eyebrows shifted into a considering, one-raised, one-not configuration. A faint crease of annoyance developed between them. “I swear I could not make out what he was about, when we had only just moved into the flat and were still getting to know each other. The fact that he was pulling my leg half the time, and actually pretended not to know the Earth went around the Sun, only served to throw red herrings across my path.” Watson shot a glance at Holmes from the corner of his eye, and noted the detective’s cheekbones had grown ruddy.
    “Ah! You young scamp, Holmes! I taught you better than that!” Whitesell said, shaking his fist, but with lips twitching, and Watson knew he was trying not to laugh at Holmes’ discomfiture.
    “A wise man does not always admit to everything he knows,” Holmes decreed, giving Watson an austere glance. “Especially when he does not yet fully know the gentleman to whom he speaks.”
    “You thought enough of me to share a flat,” Watson riposted smartly, by way of reminder.
    “You had Stamford to vouch for your antecedents,” Holmes pointed out. Whitesell laughed.
    “Gentlemen, is this a true disagreement, or merely a show put on for my entertainment?” he wondered.
    “Neither,” Watson offered sheepishly, as a diffident Holmes broke off the conversation. “We are prone to chaffing each other unmercifully when no one else is about, and I fear we forgot we had… an audience.”
    “Quite,” Holmes murmured.
    “Then this is a strong friendship! Brothers in all but blood, I should say, by the look of it. Well, well, come along, Doctor, and let me introduce you and Holmes to the others. Holmes, do you remember my daugh—”
    A petite, human-sized cannonball with golden hair abruptly launched itself at Holmes, only slowing when it fairly bounced off his chest. He seemed to freeze in place as his arms became unexpectedly full of a very attractive, and very shapely, young woman.
    “SHERRY!” she cried, hugging him enthusiastically. “Oh, my dear