The Adventure of the Homicidal Automatons, Parts the Fourth and Fifth

This is a Sherlock Holmes story I wrote a few years ago, set in an alternate London where the British Empire expanded into the reaches of outer space. Will be posted in chapters on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Scroll to the end for chapter list. (Two parts in this installment because Part Four is fairly short.)

Once we had made our way back to the house, Holmes took charge of the police officers. The victim was, of course, a scientist: Professor Richard Sadd of Oxford University. He had recently returned from an expedition to Mars and had an impressive collection of Aphros. The refined sap of these trees is the Venusian Lubricant relied on by robots and humautomatons. It was at the time uncommon but not unheard of to own a few of the trees on Earth, rather like owning an exotic bird or a pet hedgehog.

            Holmes examined the study, where once again the crime had taken place, and saw that more research had been stolen. Sadd had apparently been an expert in physics and Martian biology.

            Holmes carefully leaned over the desk, the lenses of his goggles glinting. He frowned and tapped it before glancing at the ceiling. Following his gaze, I saw a large golden stain on the white wall and ceiling. “Ah,” said Holmes, turning to the young Martian officer, who standing in the corner. “Could you be so kind as to get that down for me, please?”

            “Yes, sir,” said the lad, lisping slightly as all Martians do, because of their sharp, pointed teeth. He peeled off his boots and, carefully placing his hands and feet upon the wall, scaled it as easily as a gecko might. I had read in a medical journal of the tiny filaments on the hands and feet of Martians, which allow them to stick to sheer surfaces and even hang upside down. It had given them an advantage in the Martian War and indeed, it had cost me my arm, but now that the war was over and the Martians at peace with England it made for a handy trait in police officers.

            The officer cut the stained plaster off the wall and sprang down to land lightly beside Holmes. “What is your name?” my friend inquired

            “Ygruky, sir.”

            “Thank you, Ygruky.” Holmes examined the piece of wall. “Interesting.” He adjusted his goggles. Ygruky looked delighted to have been of use. I believe he was a bit in awe of Holmes, going by his physiognomy. Martians are very expressive and cannot hide their emotions.

            Leaning against a wall, I stifled a yawn. The adrenaline from our chase had worn off and the incredible events of the day were taking their toll on me.

            Holmes glanced at me and, taking one more look through the study, decided that he had seen enough. We retired to Baker Street for the night, where I slept uneasily, plagued by nightmares of an unseen force controlling me.

***

            The next morning, as Holmes and I took breakfast, we heard the doorbell downstairs. Holmes sighed. “That will no doubt be Miss Morstan.”

            I put down my teacup. “How can you possibly know that?”

            “I expected that she would come to inquire as to whether her analysis was in fact correct. It is what I would do, given her situation.” Holmes frowned. “What is taking her so long?”

            I volunteered to go see.

            I went down to the door and found Miss Morstan talking with MRS Hudson. She was in a state of excitement, and upon seeing me she cried, “Hello, Doctor! What a wonderful robot you have here! She’s beautiful!”

            “Thank you.”

            “Do you know how rare these old Hudsons are? I haven’t seen one for years, and this is a particularly lovely model! She’s in wonderful condition, too!”

            “I wasn’t aware that they are rare,” I said truthfully, although I could not recall seeing another like MRS Hudson at any other house.

            “Oh, yes. The Hudson corporation went out of business about a year after yours was built. They used to make robots specifically for houses, you know, so yours is really MRS Hudson221B. Was there ever an MRS Hudson221A?” This last inquiry was directed to the robot.

            “She was sold by 221’s previous owners, before Mr. Holmes rented here,” responded our landlady.

            “Pity. Still, you’re an absolute wonder!” Miss Morstan suddenly looked alarmed as a thought crossed her mind. “Er…Mr. Holmes hasn’t made any, ah, temporary fixes, has he?”

            I daresay MRS Hudson would have smiled had her face been mobile. “He has done nothing more drastic that replacing a few bolts and changing my oil.”
            “Ah. Good. Still, tell Doctor Watson to bring you down to my shop some time.”

            I cleared my throat. “You may tell me that yourself, Miss Morstan. I believe you wish to ask Holmes the results of his inquiries?”

            She blinked. “Why, yes. Did you deduce that yourself, or did he?”

            “It was Holmes,” I admitted, leading her up the stairs. “And you were perfectly correct, as was confirmed by the six other mechanics he visited.”

            Miss Morstan let out a relieved sigh. “Thank God. I was beginning to wonder if I was losing my touch. I am sure you understand, Doctor—in your case it would be like being unable to find anything wrong with a patient who was sick and dying.”

            I winced. “A most unsettling notion, indeed. Will you step inside?”

            Holmes looked up from the paper he was reading as we entered the room. He rose from his chair to shake Miss Morstan’s hand.

            “I understand that I was correct?” she said with a small smile. “Or at least the six other mechanics made the same mistake I did?”

            Holmes gave me an irritated look. I suppose he had wished to downplay her victory. “Yes. Thank you for visiting us this morning, Miss Morstan. I think, however—”

            Miss Morstan pounced upon the paper Holmes had left lying on his footrest. “What’s this?” She scanned the front page. “Oh, dear! Another attack of the same kind! I expect you will be going over the robot once again.”

            Holmes nodded. “I have a better idea of what to look for this time.”

            “You do? Then let’s go.” Miss Morstan tossed the paper aside and headed for the door.

            She turned back to find both of us frowning at her, perplexed. She sighed. “If you’re going to examine a robot, what better place to do it than the shop of a professional mechanic?”

            Holmes’s voice was icy. “I am sure that this room will be perfectly adequate.”

            “Really.” Miss Morstan tilted her head. “Tell me, Mr. Holmes, will you be searching for something that could receive a transmitted signal?”

            Holmes was momentarily surprised before nodding wryly. “A trade journal, I suppose.”

            “Exactly.”

            “As I said, this space is adequate.”

            “Do you have a Moxillian hydraulic screwdriver?”

            “As a matter of fact, I do.”

            “What about a Galaxiantic socket wrench?”

            “I possess that as well.”

            “Really. Well, then, do you have a Hansom robotic clamp?”

            Holmes paused. “I won’t need one.”

            “You certainly will. How do you propose to hold the robot steady?”

            “I can find some way.”

            “Ah! More jury-rigging. Tut, tut, Mr. Holmes, I expected better. There’s nothing that’s going to work in here. And besides,” Miss Morstan continued as she gestured around her, “if you examine that here, either you’ll lose something or it will be stolen by those awful clockwork boggarts you’ve made to keep yourself amused. The light isn’t bright enough for this kind of work, and you’ll never find what you’re looking for. The whole process will be one disaster after another.”
            Holmes hesitated, then icily conceded. “Very well, Miss Morstan. We shall meet you at your shop in half an hour.”  

Part One
Part Two
Part Three