Sherlock Holmes: The Shadow From Beyond by Erik Branz

words. Please follow me just a bit further on, as we are almost there.”
    Holmes and Watson exchanged a curious glance between themselves, their intrigue piqued.
    Soon they passed under the great doomed roof of the museum’s reading room where visitors reclined on leather chairs reading and browsing the many books and periodicals available to them. Large racks of oak shelving rose high from the floor, their upper tiers accessible only by the tall ladders that leaned against them. Sunlight streamed in via the tall windows that encircled the majestic public space, filling the area with its golden glow. Overall the large room was well lit and comfortable, a perfect place for the interpretation of the written word.
    Watson assumed that there were thousands of works of literature, and stacks of magazines of various topics to peruse. I must return here when I have more time, he thought to himself as he noticed at least two dozen international newspapers arranged nearby. Watson was a lover of global affairs and often spent hours informing himself of world events.
    The trio proceeded across the wide room and exited through a door at the opposite end that stated ‘Employees Only’. They continued along a narrow hallway and down a spiral wooden staircase that descended to the level below, then past various storage rooms and utility closets until finally they halted before a rather simple yet secure looking iron door, upon which a plaque noted ‘Private Collection. Entry by authorized personnel only.’ Beside this door, seated behind a small desk, a security guard sipped coffee while leafing through a copy of the Morning Post.
    “Good day Stevens,” greeted Wilbey to the guard on duty who looked up from his reading and smiled.
    “Good day to you Mr. Wilbey, and to your guests as well.” he replied and nodded politely in the direction of the Holmes and Watson. “Does the sun still shine on our beautiful London above? Unfortunately there are no windows in this basement for me to know if it shines, rains or even snows outside.” he pleasantly joked as he rose from behind the desk to join them at the door.
    “It’s another beautiful day, one fitting this colorful time of year.” Watson replied politely.
    Stevens grinned and produced a chain from inside his waistcoat, an old brass key dangled at its end. He inserted it into the lock, turned it clockwise and with an audible clicking sound the heavy door slowly opened inward.
    “There you are gentleman. Enjoy your stay,” the guard spoke as he moved aside to allow them entry.
    “Thank you Stevens. I shall see you later, perhaps for a cup of tea at break time,” Wilbey stated before he escorted the Baker Street duo into a low ceiling-ed room of about forty feet square. It was carpeted in a patterned mosaic of deep greens and lit by multiple lamps that hung from the roof. The air inside was moldy with the scent of age.
     
     

Chapter 12

    Books of Antiquity
     
     
    Lining the walls of the private collection were multiple shelves of well classified books and documents, arranged by topic, subject or author. Randomly placed about the area, intermixed with comfortable chairs and wooden tables were small glass cabinets, all locked and climate controlled, each held a literary treasure of its own.
    “These are the rarest and most valuable pieces from our collection of literature,” explained the custodian as he made towards a sealed case located in the far corner of the room. “These books are either the original first published versions or copies of works that are extremely rare or no longer in existence. To reduce degradation and ensure their safety, the books of greatest antiquity and those in advanced state of decomposition are kept in these moisture protected cases.”
    Watson’s eyes widened as Holmes, aided by his deep knowledge of literature, casually pointed out some of the rare items enclosed within those cases: ‘William Shakespeare’s First Folio’: the first