“Sherlock Holmes, though a natural-born actor, was not a man given to public speaking,” the old man observed in a firm, loud voice, “and I always try to emulate the Master. Consequently, you can be sure this will be brief.”

And it was - just three pages in the little notebook where I was recording events for an article in the alumni magazine. Having already exceeded his Biblically allotted three score and ten years, Chalmers said, it was only natural that he began to think about what would ultimately happen to the Woollcott Chalmers Collection when he had gone to that great Baker Street in the sky. At the urging of Professor Sebastian McCabe, he had decided to donate the collection before his death to a fine institution where he could spend his final years helping to catalogue it. He knew, he said, that the collection would be in good hands. Somehow he managed to deliver that last line with a straight face, which was not only remarkable but gracious considering what had happened last night.

Ralph was equally gracious, for him.

“St. Benignus College is honored indeed to be the new home of the Woollcott Chalmers Collection,” he declaimed. “This makes us number one in the Midwest as a research resource for, uh, Sherlockiana. And let me add that we are fortunate indeed to have generous outside funding, primarily from the Altiora Corporation and from the Burger Castle Company, to maintain the Collection.”

He really said that, and I can prove it: I got it all on video with my iPhone, figuring I could post it later on the St. Benignus website.

Ralph then called on two dyspeptic corporate types in the crowd to take a bow for spending the shareholders’ money so wisely.

Lynda stepped forward, crouched, and snapped what I figured would be a satisfying shot of Ralph, Chalmers and the corporate sponsors shaking hands all around. Ralph would love it.

That concluded the ceremony. The crowd broke up into little groups knotted around various exhibits as at a cocktail party. Matheson chatted with Gene Pfannenstiel, Judge Crocker and Dr. Queensbury huddled around the wax bust of Sherlock Holmes, and my sister and Renata listened to Al Kane hold forth.

A few people even looked at books. One of these was an older man, about six-three in height if he would stand up straight, with thick whitish-blond hair falling over one eye. Maybe I noticed him at first because he was by himself, even seeming aloof as he walked among the display cases with his hands behind his back. Or maybe it was the way he repeatedly mumbled exclamations as some title caught his attention. For whatever reason, I was already eyeing him with suspicion when he reached over as if maybe he were going to try to open the display case.

“I know what you’re up to, T.J.”

I whirled around and grunted at my sister, “Not exactly a secret. My job description says public relations. This is the public and I’m relating.”

When I looked back the bent-over bookman was moving on to the next display.

“You know what I mean,” Kate said, stepping around to get in front of me. “You’re playing detective.”

“Who isn’t?” I grumped. “Mac insists he’s going to solve this caper using his great brain, even if he doesn’t leave the colloquium for the next two days. Dr. Queensbury is running around in his deerstalker cap trying to ask revealing questions. Even Al Kane has a theory. It’s like they’ve all been infected by the Sherlock Holmes virus.”

Kate absent-mindedly fingered her copper tresses. “Apparently you weren’t immune from the awful contagion yourself.”

“This is no game to me, Sis. There’s an issue of job security, for one thing. If I can retrieve those stolen books or goose Decker into doing it, there should be enough positive media coverage in that to make even Ralph happy for a while.”

The older gentleman with the hands-on approach to the Holmes display was next to Mac now, still stooped as though he were permanently bent from years of reading book titles on the lower shelves. Mac simultaneously slapped him on the arm and stole the watch off his wrist, magician-style. My brother-in-law thinks that that kind of thing is funny. What a card. Apparently the guy was a friend of Mac’s. At least I hoped he was, although I hadn’t noticed him at the party last night or earlier in the Hearth Room.

“I’m sure Ralph is being his usual irksome self,” Kate said, “but I wonder if that’s the only reason you’re on this sleuthing kick?”

Thirteen lousy months - that’s all that separates my sister and me in age. But she insists on being Big Sister, which includes the right to psychoanalyze me like she’s Sigmunda Freud or Carla Jung or some other shrink. I wish she would stick to illustrating children’s books.

“What other reasons could there possibly be?” I said, foolishly holding the door wide open for her.

“Why, to compensate for your unsuccessful attempts at mystery writing, of course - especially if you can out-sleuth Sebastian in the process. We both know it drives you crazy that his amateur detective books keep selling while your private eye novels can’t find a publisher. You should try self-publishing on Kindle, by the way.”

Thanks for the advice, sis. The implication of pettiness on my part stung. That was unworthy of Kate.

“You think this is some kind of ego contest between Mac and me? That’s a laugh.” I forced a laugh. “Besides, there isn’t going to be any contest. I’m going to beat his oversized posterior.”

I turned away from my sister, looking around the room for that suspicious character I’d last seen with Mac. Instead I spotted Lynda with Ralph, a truly strange duo. He was pontificating and she was getting it down in a notebook, her pen flying across the pages.

“You still look at her the same way, you know,” Kate said.

“Lynda? You’re imagining things. I’m just happy she asked Ralph a few questions. I’ll be even happier if his deathless quotes are part of her story in tomorrow’s paper.”

“Don’t try to tell me that lovesick expression on your face has anything to do with business. I’m an artist, remember? I’ve been trained to observe what I see.”

“Oh, for... Quit trying to get into my head, will you? There’s barely enough room in there for me, let alone the rest of my family.”

“And it isn’t just the way you look at Lynda, either,” Kate persisted. “I’ve seen the hairy eyeball you’ve been giving Hugh Matheson every time he gets close to her. If looks could kill...”

“Sure, I’ve been watching him,” I acknowledged. “Matheson happens to be a choice suspect in this little caper, that’s all.”

Kate just looked at me. That woman could stare down Svengali.

“Okay, okay,” I said. “How am I supposed to feel when I see a woman I used to be pretty close to chumming it up with a guy like that? I’ve read all those stories about Matheson’s three ex-wives and too many bimbos to count. He may be rich and famous and handsome, but I don’t think he’d be any good for her.”

“There you go again, T.J., deciding what’s good for Lynda. You know she-”

“I know she’s through with me for good. Oh, except that she wants to be friends. Don’t forget that part.” Did I sound bitter?

I moved to leave on that exit line, but Kate tugged on my shoulder. “She still looks at you the same way, too, T.J. And not like a friend.”

Session Two

2:00

“Nick Carter, Alias Sherlock Holmes” - Professor Malcolm Whippet, Licking Falls State College

2:30

“Sherlock Holmes in Scandinavia” - Lars Jenson, Lund, Sweden

3:00

“Holmes and Drugs: Was Sherlock’s Coke the Real Thing?” - Dr. Noah Queensbury, BSI, Cincinnati

3:30

Interval: Field Bazaar

4:00

“Disguise in the Canon” - Barry Landers, St. Benignus College

4:30

“And Ladies of the Canon” - Kathleen Cody McCabe, Erin, Ohio