The Case of the Stolen Keepsake

Chapter 7

by Stacey (SST205 at aol.com)
11/23/02

The young American leaned back in his seat, blinking confusedly. How did all this happen? All I wanted to do was get a story on a 'resurrected' Victorian detective...now Dr. Moriarty has that garnet....?

"Holy cow -- Mikey, I just thought of something!"

Michael snapped out of his thoughts. "What, Brand?"

"Have you got your inhaler?"

Michael couldn't help but grin at his brother's 'motherliness'. "Yes, Brand," he said, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out the device. "It's right here."

Brand exhaled. "Good. I don't want you running all over the world without that."

Now the younger Walsh brother grinned. "Yes, Mom."

 

Within hours, the plane landed. The group traveled in separate cabs to a hotel, where they divided into yet smaller groups.

"Why are we doing this, Mister Holmes?" Clark asked as he paired off with Stephanie.

"To 'cover our tracks', if you will, Mr. Devereaux," Holmes answered. "Moriarty may find out about our presence, and if we at least register as separate parties, he will at least not expect a group as large as ours is."

With that, he ushered Clark and Stephanie on.

The last of the group to go in were Michael and Brandon. As they came through the revolving door of the building, a hunched-over bellhop ran into Brandon.

"Oh, esscuse meh, m'sieu. Terribly clumsy of me."

"Not a problem," the elder Walsh brother said, patting the man's shoulder. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

The man scurried off, and Brandon went over to where Michael stood, looking quizzically after the little man.

"Room for two, please," Brandon told the clerk behind the desk, then repeated it more slowly, as he didn't seem to speak much English. Brandon then looked over at his brother. "Mikey, you in there?"

Michael blinked, still looking toward the door the hunched-over man had gone out. "Was there--did you notice something weird about that guy?"

Brandon shook his head. "Mikey, do you ever let the reporter inside you sleep?" He took the key handed to him by the desk clerk, placed his arm around his brother's shoulders, and guided him toward the stairwell at the other end of the lobby. "Come on, let's take a rest. I've got some serious jet lag."

Michael sighed. Maybe that was his problem. He allowed himself to be led up the stairs and tried to let the odd man slip from his mind.

TO BE CONTINUED

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