Sherlock in Cheyenne: The Adventure of the Four Houses

No.

I had said that before but, naturally, Mr. Holmes wanted to be sure.

No, I’ve never seen this person before. I realize it is on our page in the newspaper, but it must have some significance for you, not me. I can’t make out the person very well at all. Looks like a photo of a drawing.

Very alert you are my dear boy. Clearcut photographs of Houlihan are few. I can only relate her appearance on our page to the reports of sightings of her in our area. She had been away quite some time. She returns with a colleague, a Mr. Bielseley. She has a justifiable reputation of being a firestarter. She rarely lends herself to an effort to put flames all through a structure. Many times past she has only mentioned the possibility of fire and, after a “contribution” to her general fund, shall we say, no fire eventuated. Mr. Bielseley apparently is new to the game. He may act as the go-between and negotiates deals on her behalf. She has never communicated directly with any “customers.” He may initially pocket the “fee,” take a commission, and Houlihan has the remainder.

I see beside her photo on our page is a shot of the Four Houses.

Yes, apparently They have an interest in them. The obvious indication is that Houlihan and the Four Houses and fire are as one thought.

I have been by the Four Houses a few times. Not distinguished in any way. But they look alike, except for trim and different colors. Big, wide, actually squat, houses of two stories. Each has a full basement. The North House, as it is called, faces North, and there is an alley on its south side. Across the alley, further south, is a half-hearted courtyard. The remaining three of the four houses share that courtyard. The West House faces West into an adjacent lot containing a ranch style house. South House faces a major diagonal of Cheyenne running from downtown and out past Pioneer School. East House is on a major N-S street that ends at the Frontier Days venue. W and E are for rent. N and S are for sale. None are occupied, no furnishings. At least there is a reduced chance of injury should any or all come to a fiery end. (In my imagination I find all ablaze simultaneously. Such big houses on fire but with no wind, so straight up goes the flames and heat and castoff debris.)

Mr. Holmes -  Fire may happen, though even that seems a smallish proposition for Them. Perhaps it is a distraction, though Houlihan’s abilities could be put to broader use through surrogates. Nevertheless, the actual doing of a fire has always been hers alone and no one has ever been burnt.

Me – What a way to evaluate one of Their projects, only is it likely to be favored by Them if people will be hurt.

Ah yes, true enough.

Naturally you are going to the area of the Four Houses rather soon.

I shall repair soon enough.

(I, meanwhile, would be opening yet heavier, bigger, more costly textbooks to acquire knowledge I need not have except for my being here. I was then, before my return, a slightly above average student. I now remain so.)

Mr. Holmes returned from his foray to the Four Houses with nothing amiss to report. He was hailed more than once by the people across the street. They called him “Sherlock.” Next time, surely there will be a next time, he will be in disguise.
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The next issue of the newspaper had a photo on our page of a beheaded Mr. Holmes! He was lying in the street that South House borders on. It was twilight. Rather a shock to be sitting in your armchair, by yourself, as was Mr. Holmes, when you come across a photo of yourself, headless. So someone took the trouble to clothe a dummy approximately as Mr. Holmes and knock off the head. This being the era it is, the “body” was photographed from the shoes looking along toward the head where there was an indication of something missing beyond the neck. No gore, no blood. The caption for the photo – Is this the end of Sherlock?

I made no comment on the photo, nor did Mr. Holmes. Next issue, our page, had an account of Mr. Holmes seen in the area “lurking” about the Four Houses. This was reported by “people across the street.” Nothing more than that. No connection being made to how he recovered his head and has soldiered on.

Our page was getting a workout in that every day brought more “news.” Except, for it seemed at first glance, the next issue. But Mr. Holmes was running his fingers along the outside edge of the page and then its gutter. “Perforation.” He frowned. Then he brought out his magnifying glass and carefully surveyed where his fingers had been.

Ah, my boy, we have a coverup here.

What?

He went over to the card table and placed the paper flat on it and opened to our page.

Please hold this magnifier for my sight at the edges as I move along with the knife and so saying he brought out from his coat a very small jackknife. He then began to cut along the perforated line at the outer edge of the paper. I moved the magnifier as he moved the knife. Then the operation was repeated on the gutter. Underneath was a gigantic black headline: THE ALIENS HAVE LANDED. So black was the ink that it smelled faintly. I was cautious enough not to touch it for fear it would smear.

Mr. Holmes – What idiotic poppycock!

Me- I, I…

The “aliens” are occupying the Four Houses, said Mr. Holmes, as he read the caption. “They wish us no harm and will be leaving soon.”

Mr. Holmes – Whatever are They up to?

Me – I, I…

It seems They are focusing on the Four Houses as a locus for something yet to come. I now must give more fodder for “the people across the street” as I visit the area. Care to accompany me?

I, I…have parsing to do on some fifty sentences.

Ah well, the student’s life.

Yeah, well watch out for ray guns and worse-than-death Empire games.

Certainly. I’m off, and as myself. My disguise kit is getting vacant.

I did have sentence diagramming to get done. The darn sentences were ones we would never read, much less write. If done at the blackboard during class, I tried to position myself at the far right so the spillover as I edged down and to the right ran up against the end of the board. I couldn’t very well write on the wall, now could I? I gave generous space to my left so that my pal there had to trail down to the right into the abyss as modifiers modified modifiers unto almost infinity.

Mr. Holmes, on his return, said “the people across the street” included Houlihan and Bielseley.

Houlihan?

Yes, she may be reconnoitering and about to issue a threat for fire.

Aliens? Four Houses? Fire? I think They have gone weird.

Certainly if there is rationality herein, it escapes me.

Could it have been someone else? Not Houlihan?

She stood at the curb. She is under five feet and has steel frames, small lenses. Her hair, going gray, is always in very tight ringlets all about her head. Never a dress, always clad as if a workman. Called jeans? Plaid shirt, long sleeves. Brown. The jeans or whatever are brown also. Thin mouth. Never any animation of the face. Yellow bright eyes of a predator. It was Houlihan.

Bielseley?

Average height and build. Also in brown. He wears a soft hat, folded down in front to partially cover his face. Broad face, pallid. Grey eyes. Gloves at all times which are leather and brown of course. Large boots, as if he can never find the right size and fit. Oh yes, he and she were there.

They saw you?

Of course.
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So came the next issue of the newspaper and on our page was a photo of Mr. Holmes “lurking” in the Four Houses area. (Someone in costume as Mr. Holmes. Though the real Holmes was there.) The “people across the street” (pats) smelled something flammable in the air. (Mr. Holmes did not.) Also mentioned was a dismissal of someone having floated the possibility that aliens had come to occupy the Four Houses. Not being of the pats (so it was implied) it was branded as what-will-they-think -of-next stupidity.

Next, in this cavalcade of Four Houses goings-on, Mr. Holmes was seen to have emerged from the bushes on one side of South House’s veranda and then charged across that very wide veranda and dove into the bushes on the other side. Light of various colors were flashing upstairs in South House. Also this “Mr. Holmes,” as seen by some of the pats, had a beard. A Zeegler?

The “our page” output was at a constant flow of Four Houses and Mr. Holmes locked in a common conception. If you had one, you had the other. By then, all sightings of Mr. Holmes were of imposters. Although Mr. Holmes was there, in disguise. He mingled freely with the pats. As the days rolled on, he saw Houlihan, not Bielseley, only once more on the night a fire began upstairs in the East House. Response was swift and only burn marks on the wall and floor resulted. Mr. Holmes and the authorities knew of this concentration on the Four Houses. So it was not if, but when. And what it all could portend for Them vs us, we didn’t know. Nevertheless, fire was coming. It got to the West House one night. The pats crowd saw “Sherlock” there before and during the fire that was of more than a burn but less than structural damage.

Then the unexpected happened. They jailed Mr. Holmes! For “observation” and his “protection.” Houlihan was also in jail. So they could be trying to stop a burn-down but they couldn’t continue such indefinitely. I visited Mr. Holmes in jail. He seemed OK. As probably was Houlihan. He counseled patience. A few days went by. On another visit, Mr. Holmes said he had secured an attorney for Houlihan and that the attorney, upon Houlihan’s release, was to present her with enough money so she could retire to Mexico. She was released.

One night later, the North House was on fire. No doubt about it this time. A great ball of fire, like a smaller Sun, was in the house. Something more than the house itself was burning. The heat was monumental for blocks. Houlihan had disappeared. Of course. And then I met with Mr. Holmes a third time.

Mr. Holmes – I have a revolver in the laboratory in your basement.

OK.

Arm yourself and frequent Woolworths in the town center.

To what purpose?

Bring in Bielseley.
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I went to Woolworths. It was a Thursday. I knew the guy behind the counter was wondering what I was doing not in school. In those days, it was school or a certain elsewhere. I much preferred school. My Mom, I said, would be in shortly. I was to see a doc about a sore back. So I said. He shrugged. I ordered a banana spilt which Bielseley was reputed to favor. Honestly I had no problem with a revolver and encountering Bielseley. I wasn’t certain I would see Bielseley. Mr. Holmes thought he would come in to contact others, some of the pats could be about. With Mr. Holmes in jail, who was to carry on? I was here for a purpose allied to what Mr. Holmes was doing here in Cheyenne. I had shot lots of Zeeglers. So bring on Bielseley. But why should he show? Besides, a banana spilt I hadn’t had in ages. Woolworths put it in a glass schooner like for ocean going if it had not been glass and, anyway I could never finish it. But there it sat, on the long counter that curved off to the left far down the store. Mirrors on the wall lined the entire counter opposite the seats. A lunch counter really but it was mid-afternoon. Just me and the guy behind the counter who busied himself at the far end and a guy sitting at a table to my right, reading the paper.

And Bielseley. He had come in the side door, as I had done that puts you immediately at the lunch counter. The front door led to the merchandise area where noise could be heard as women (all women by the way) were perhaps appraising and ready to purchase goods. It was Woolworths – the Five and Dime.  Bielseley was beside me on my right. Hi, kid, how’s Sherlock?

No need to express surprise. So he knew me. Don’t know how. He sat down two chairs from me at the counter. Hey barkeep, he turned and said to the counter guy. A spoon. I pulled the revolver from a jacket pocket as he was turned. I held it under the counter pointing mostly at his kneecaps. Yes sir, I could and would fire it. Bielseley got his spoon, the counter guy moved back to where he had come from. Bielseley leaned in toward the spilt. He noticed the revolver. He dug into the end of the spilt that was toward him. He took a big portion. He downed it extravagantly, like a much appreciated luxury, his mouth moving every which way. Then he slowly stood up. The guy at my right reading the newspaper dropped it on the table. He had  a gun leveled at Bielseley. A cop.

That had been easy. Bielseley in jail. And Mr. Holmes had got out. Why I asked. Gratitude he said. From whom? Houlihan. North House.

We were home, in the basement. Mr. Holmes had delayed his exit from jail, but I wanted home and school and Mom and siblings and friends and books and TV and …. Not jail.

I do thank you for apprehending Bielseley.

Nothing to it.

Oh, by the way, Bielseley is out.

What? How?

A bribe. He bribed a guard.

And so what was all this about putting you in the cooler?

Our opposition wanted to associate me with what was occurring at the Four Houses.

Enough repetition and it would become fact – you as an arsonist.

Correct.

Oh, wait a minute. This may have been the best plan They have ever come up with. You out of circulation, and They could do whatever they wanted.

Except for you, of course.

Yeah, right, I flunk out while opposing them at every turn. Really, the setup was to establish the bizarre linked to you and then move it down to more commonplace arson.

Yes, in some ways this was truly the better plan. A guilt by association from false witnesses and my reputation used to put me where They wanted me – at the scene They selected with Houlihan as a “smoke screen.” How clever, me behind bars and They had far more freedom in which to operate.

But it didn’t come off eventually as they had wanted.

They did not choose wisely. Houlihan had too much gray.

How’s that?

Retirement, shall we say, loomed large for her. I soon enough suspected as much, so she was offered freedom and funds and she honored the implicit agreement.

The North House. But what of Bielseley?

As I said, I know he is gone.

But he had just got there! So he had money for a bribe that he should have paid to Houlihan.

Why?

Well, wasn’t he the paymaster, the go-between for Them and Houlihan?

Have we ever known Them to employ go-betweens? I could never with certainty conclude he was such.

But, but who was Bielseley?

Mr. Holmes was watching me intently, hopefully, with a now-drop-the-other-shoe expectation.

Indeed, said he. Must you guess? Recall that in Woolworths he knew who you were and They have always been hands on for whatever was going on except, of course, for the Zeeglers. Recall the grey eyes.

You mean he was not a substitute, a shave of the beard, not a Zeegler? Not an arsonist and not truly in league with Houlihan? One who hires and pays but he wasn’t.

Yes and no, then…

That means now I don’t know if I could have pulled the trigger in Woolsworths.

Tut, tut, Wilson was there, but only to make it official.

Yes, a backup or a takeover.

Never you mind, you are a crack shot.

So, so…  and I then said exasperatingly, finally, at long last – he was one of Them!

Yes.

The end