Sherlock in Cheyenne: The Adventure of the Night Rain

Before I arrived here, I would have bouts of sleeplessness mostly due to life itself. But sleeplessness here comes from what was then (now) caused by, for example, test worries, a particularly intense argument with Duane, or how I could not always live up to my expectations for myself. I was (am) sorting out what I wanted to be from who I was becoming.

So I was awake one summer night when it continued to be hot and dry and all Sun during the day. In the basement, it was cool enough so that nothing but shorts was passable. If not, the sweat was on me. Mr. Holmes had to modify his usual wardrobe if out during the day. He gave up the cloak and coat topside. He made no modification below the belt.

As I could not sleep, I thought I heard mosquitos flying close to the pipes and wiring above us. Coming from the west side of the basement and passing overhead and out the eastern side. They were in formation, so it sounded. That last feature kept me awake.

Mr. Holmes? – I inquired.

Yes. (He was there in the armchair in the dark, as he now sometimes does.)

Do you hear it?

Yes.

Mosquitoes?  My tone was of disbelief.

I think not, planes.

Here? Above us?

To be sure, perhaps quite high in the sky.

Oh, sheepishly I said. (I might not have been as awake as I thought. Of course, not in the basement, whatever they might be.)

In the morning, I found myself alone. In the afternoon Mr. Holmes was in the armchair after I came downstairs from a visit to the bathroom the family shared.

Mr. Holmes said the Air Force officials at the Base had no knowledge of their aircraft doing W to E night formation flying. In addition, on our page in the newspaper was an article on how the prevailing winds had been carrying aloft insects of all kinds, - some more noisy than others. The Base story was, no doubt, true and the insects aloft was, no doubt, false.

I slept OK, for a few more nights. Then I was awake as the sound, seemingly from very far away, persisted again for perhaps a few minutes. So they could be very high and slow? An inquiry of Mr. Holmes got no result. He wasn’t in the armchair. He explained at daylight for me that he had been outside when they came “buzzing,” as I chose to call it. In succeeding nights, Mr. Holmes again was outside when they did their flyover.

I wasn’t thinking much of them any longer until Mr. Holmes read another article on our page about unexpected but appreciated rainfall on ranchland to the N and E of Cheyenne. Nothing out there but cattle, some on open range, and scruffy plants, dirt, dust, and narrow disheartening paths lacking connection to any significant landscape features. In other words, flat as flat could be. Easterly you could keep going to Pine Bluff and across the border to Kimball and veering more northerly you got to Scottsbluff. Mr. Holmes was proposing to head out at night to go as far as he need go.

Before he started out, I related to him what I had overheard at school in a conversation on the second floor above the gym in “the Cage” at one end of the gym. A guy (1) I didn’t know at all was relating to a guy (2) I sort of knew who was willing to take the place of (1) in the kill ball battle below. They would get a count soon to go down into the gym. Maybe a hundred on a side. Time was running out for our gym session. This would be the last consignment. So (1) in appreciation was telling (2) in a broad brag how he, the night before, had been in a car, smoking, and with a girl at a location East of town. He (1) didn’t have a driver’s license. He estimated he was due East of Cheyenne. Maybe half an hour from town. Rain got the windshield wet, enough so that he turned on the wipers. He heard something, maybe not very high, going along a line to the N and S of him. She heard it too, but only he saw what to him looked like model airplanes starting to ascend. The Moon, like in a different Universe, had its light to come thrown up before its rise and briefly some of them got caught in what the Moon was doing.

(The mention of model airplanes reminded me of my brief, but intense, infatuation with flying model airplanes. So expensive and not radio-controlled. It was a model of a single engine Piper Cub. It had wires attached to it and to handheld controls. It needed gas to fly. Also, a large open space was required. I misjudged how open it had to be on the maiden flight and slammed it into the ground as I dodged a high fence. I was bringing it down short of the fence and was then to go upward and onward, but I only got the downward part of it accomplished. That thing was so darn expensive! I had such limited funds that the smash-up was like a physical hit to me. It was representative of a failure to be able to have what was often so feverishly and fervently desired and unattainable because of cost. I wasn’t in an unheated basement with a card table for a desk for the heck of it.)

So then Mr. Holmes resolved to go East in search of the rain. He started out at night. Before sunup he was into ranch country. With the Sun coming up, he then sat down, placed his cloak over his head, pulled his hat far down and put his hands into his pockets. He looked something like a cloth brown pear. There he sat all day. At night he began to walk. He walked three nights East and then three nights North, and then he walked the hypotenuse back.

All the land he traversed was the same. There were different stars in different parts of the sky. Without them you could have flipped the land for the sky and have just as well walked the sky – however disorienting that might have been had you known of the reversal. Otherwise, in reality the sameness was not endearing. Mr. Holmes walked less quietly than he could have to give his presence a referral for himself. Each of those nights the planes came, low and slow. Of course they didn’t have wires attached. And it rained. After that, they went up and seemed to rendezvous at the highest point in the sky. Naturally, Mr. Holmes collected samples of the rain.

Once back to the basement and our chemistry lab, Mr. Holmes checked out the what were ostensibly water samples. Not much exciting about the results. The samples were loaded with histidine. It is an amino acid we need but don’t have natively; we get it from outside our selves – in food. Well now, They are providing us with something we need? As Mr. Holmes and I well know, the question is, what else is involved here? Certainly Their SOP is that they are up to no good.

After his monumental trek, Mr. Holmes sat in his armchair for hour after hour. He didn’t want to be disturbed. I studied, went upstairs for family life, and out and about for astronomy club meetings, chess with Duane, sports, and girl-boy interaction at school. Mr. Holmes only sat. He was thinking, it was plain, and this could be sensed, that he wasn’t getting clear of dead ends. When he looked at me, if I stood in front of the armchair for an extended period, he had a look of frustration and restlessness. He clearly needed a purpose. Take his mind off. We didn’t know that more progress on the implications of the night rain, provided courtesy of Them, would have to await my singing and the appearance of “rancher’s disease.” In the meantime, I was looking through recent editions of the newspaper in a more or less idle manner, when I came across articles on a kidnap case right here in Cheyenne. A twelve-year-old had been taken. A suspect was in custody. Despite this, nothing was known about the whereabouts of the kidnapped person. I hesitated to mention the case to Mr. Holmes. I didn’t want to be seen as telling him what to do, but this could neutralize the impasse regarding small airplanes that delivered rain spiked with histidine.

Mr. Holmes are you aware… No, that was wrong, of course he knew about it. Even though it is not on “our page” in the Cheyenne newspaper, it has been the talk of the town and I have seen him at least purview the entire paper. So…

Mr. Holmes, would you consider being of assistance in the matter of the kidnapping the paper has referred to these last few days?

Perhaps, although my histidine analysis in the laboratory must continue apace. I will give it at least a brisk concern. Thank you for reminding me of the case. (Well, in truth he had been doing more putzing about the lab of late.)

I know you are reluctant to intervene, but this is really an unusual case for Cheyenne.

Yes, certainly. I will make inquiries. In due time, if you insist.

(Well that wasn’t hard. Mr. Holmes might even solve the case. What am I saying? Of course it is as good as done.)

It turned out that “unofficially” Mr. Holmes had surreptitiously examined the diary and two notes allegedly written by the suspect. The case against him mainly rested on these documents and the suspect, somewhat mentally challenged, could not recall his whereabouts at the time of the kidnapping. Anyway, the suspect said he had no diary. The diary showed planning for the kidnapping. The notes were drafts of what the suspect was purported to have sent to the victim’s parents. Also, Mr. Holmes entered the suspect’s residence without need of an invitation or a warrant and found a grocery list, greasy, under the kitchen stove. It was a lengthy list, maybe the suspect visited the store once a month. Mr. Holmes decided the handwriting of the notes and diary were by the same hand but not by the suspect’s efforts since the grocery list was not in a handwriting identical to the diary and notes – close, but no cigar. One item on the grocery list was circled, “kielbasa.” Mr. Holmes went to the grocery store nearest the suspect’s residence. That store had all the items on the grocery list except for kielbasa. Mr. Holmes inquired where it could be purchased in Cheyenne. Two stores (butcher shops) were the only possibilities. Mr. Holmes went to the one closest to the grocery store the suspect must have frequented.

This butcher shop had specialties of the house. It didn’t have a TV, must mind the cuts, so radio was preferred. They mostly read Polish sources for news. Nevertheless, Mr. Holmes showed a photo of the suspect to the proprietor and he recognized him. Turns out he was a regular customer for items only this shop had on hand. He arrived the day of the kidnapping slightly before noon. He was still in the shop when a local radio station put out the latest installment of “You Be the Detective” which had audience participation to the extent that clues were dropped to enable listeners to pick the villain from among the suspects. The current show could be one in a series involving a case with a persistent crook and the same suspects show to show. At some point, the announcer said enough evidence had built up to the point that listeners should mail in their cards and letters containing the ID of the bad guy. If more than one listener got it right, then one of those entries was drawn from a hat and that listener got ten dollars.

The butcher shop’s owner and employees were devotees of the show and often didn’t get orders out as fast as usual. So the suspect, not in a hurry if he got back to work in time, listened along with them. The suspect got caught up in the show. Then his kielbasa was ready. He had missed the 12:15 bus but as the show ended he hurried out at about 12:30 and caught the 12:45 bus as a woman remembered who also left the shop at the same time as the suspect. She rode the same bus.

Mr. Holmes – Now, now, this was most interesting since the crime was committed sometime between noon and 12:30 of the day the radio show aired. The victim had gone to study in a bedroom for a short time while at lunch and home from school. The mum checked on the victim at 12:30 since it was time to return to school. The victim could not be found.

Me- Well then, obviously the suspect is innocent. Why didn’t he tell them about the butcher shop visit to begin with?

He suffers from befuddlement of memory at times. Under stress he remembered going to the grocers but not that he had also gone to the butcher shop. His stress is understandable as the police can be quite positive that they have their man.

Then the diary and notes are bogus.

It would appear so.

Mr. Holmes presented the grocery list and what amounted to testimony of the butcher shop crowd to the police. He asked that the suspect be allowed to read the diary. (Well well, he hadn’t seen it yet?) After doing so, he said only one other person, dead a few years ago, knew of some events in the diary that put the suspect in a bad light. Mr. Holmes thought the death of the companion of the suspect had not occurred and the only support for his death was from a letter proclaiming to the suspect his soon to be realized demise due to cancer. The suspect wrote to the mother to mourn the passing of the buddy. The previously hostile mother did not respond directly. She alluded to the continued good health of her son and wanted no more to do with the suspect.

Mr. Holmes – I deduced that the former friend of the suspect had forged a diary and the notes, copying the handwriting from their correspondence that had a long history. The “friend” had formed an active dislike of the suspect because the suspect clung tenaciously and irrationally to their no longer existing friendship. The companion wanted to move on from what had become a mental burden that oppressed him. The mother was innocent enough, she had no knowledge of the deed. She gave out some locales where her son was apt to be. Her son and the victim were found. The police crudely entered the hiding place without an attempt at surprise. The kidnapper shot the victim five times – with an air gun. The kidnapper got one bullet in the shoulder.

OK, that diverted Mr. Holmes for a time. But it wasn’t long before he was in the lab again – investigating the degradative pathway of histidine that yielded biochemical facts of no use to Mr. Holmes in his present predicament. He was beside himself with frustration and not able to shape events to his liking. His “black dog” was cozying up to him. Maybe even this mood jumped up into his lap as he sat there again for hour after hour.

Meanwhile, out of the chair, Mr. Holmes had inched close to a desirable outcome. A critical mass was approaching. On “our page,” the newspaper related how a “rancher’s disease” was making itself known. Some cattle ranchers E and N of town were becoming ill. No one of them had the same symptoms despite it being called a disease. Mr. Holmes was certain They provided rains for plants that the cattle ate. The ranchers ate the cattle, as steaks. Well, at least most them had steak. One rancher Mr. Holmes had met here in town at a saloon had no illness. He was a vegetarian, pretty unusual, given the time and place. But there it was. And, too, another rancher, a steak-eater, was not ill either. He had a skin problem and covered up when outside so the Sun couldn’t worsen his condition. Skin vs. vegetarianism. Same side of a cognitive coin? Or two separate paths leading away from illness?

Continuing to divert Mr. Holmes, I invited Mr. Holmes to accompany me to the Veterans Administration Hospital for a performance by my school’s choir. It was late in the school year and the music department wanted this annual, up to now, event to continue. We got out of school early to be bussed to the VA. There were girls. The boys wore black shoes, black pants and white short-sleeved shirts. Girls were in white tops and black dresses and black shoes. No uniforms, just get the colors right and sing loudly. (Mostly we shouted.) A choirmaster popped up occasionally and we went through the repertoire in a desultory way. Anyone listening was in a wheelchair. Maybe five. I felt good about doing it, though I knew I wasn’t going to do it again.

At the end, I needed a visit to a restroom pronto. I found one and then I got lost. They were battleship gray walls and unmarked corridors with recessed doorways. Confusing. After thinking this wandering had gone on for entirely too long, I heard a crash near an entryway that had “Laboratory” (handwritten in pencil) over the door. I knocked. No answer. I went in and found a very short man in the ubiquitous VA gray smock, with the name “Grady” on it, sweeping up a broken Erlenmeyer. Obviously some kind of biochemistry lab. Column chromatography, tabletop centrifuges, and a spectrophotometer on wooden shelves of a homebrew carpentry effort piled on the counter space proper. It was a large closet crammed, utterly crammed, with whatever Grady thought necessary.

His hair was straight back from the forehead and temples with streaks of gray. He had on goggles, steamed by the warmth of the close and confining space, over his very thick blue lenses that were in a huge black frame. There was also a tremendous drooping grayish moustache. Clean shaven otherwise but restless in the face from agitating thoughts. Not agitation of a rough sort but of a brilliant sort, as I came to surmise. Off came the goggles and he saw me.

Me – I heard the smash.

Grady – Forgot to get the goggles off. Had some acid somewhere here. But I couldn’t find it what with the steam. I found a flask, I don’t need it, I mean not now, may be in a few days and now I won’t have it so I have to find another – flask, I mean. So where is the acid? How’s Holmes?

What? Who? Uh, I…

Saw him lurking about in the shadows of the Visitors Gallery above the choir. I was passing by from the dining hall. (He was assistant manager of Dining Services).

He came on his own. He is my tutor.

Detective?

Why lie? Ah, I, er… well he is an amateur sleuth.

Awfully good for an amateur – solving that kidnapping.

Oh well sometimes he gets lucky. (And I saw, on a small blackboard propped up on a wooden shelf high up, the word “histidine” and then symbols.)

Me – histidine?

Holmes interested in that?

Why would he be interested?

The rains over the ranchland are full of it.

So?

So, doesn’t Holmes like a good mystery?

Well I suppose Mr. Holmes has as much interest as the next newspaper reader.

Oh come on. Mr. Holmes? I have seen him about town asking pointed questions about all sorts of things, including these rains. I’ve seen you two near the junior high more than once. I live in the area.

Well he is my tutor. (About here I was ready to give it up and confess a true Sherlock Holmes-like personage was known to me.)

Grady – Tell him about the degradative pathway of histidine. Especially about urocanase.

OK.

He turned his back to me, and he was repeatedly saying “acid” as I decided enough had been said.

I walked home. In the basement was Mr. Holmes with perfunctory congrats on the choir’s effort. He wanted to know where had I got to.

I got lost after a trip to the restroom.

Indeed? Then you must have walked home.

Yeah, and while lost in the VA I came across a lab and a guy named Grady in that lab. I tried to ward off his probing about your identity. I am sorry to say I got you down as an amateur.

Never mind and never fear. I can play ignorant if need be.

He knew what you did concerning the kidnapping. He is convinced we are more than student and tutor.

Hm, I may have to have a word with him.

By all means do so, his chalkboard was pertaining to histidine. He thought you are interested in the night rains and he said to tell you about Euro cane us.

Urocanase?

Isn’t that what I said?

With allowances, yes. Remarkable! A kindred spirit. I certainly must visit him.

I can’t help you find him. I don’t know where his lab is located. He has some association with Dining Services at the VA.

Mr. Holmes encountered Grady in the VA cafeteria as Grady was wiping down tables.

Grady – Ah, Mr. Holmes, I presume?

And you are no doubt Mr. Grady.

Ah, well it is Grady to one and all. I told your “student” what I believe to be the key to the rancher's disease as caused by the rains after the sun goes down.

Mr. Holmes – Yes, urocanase. And in its cis form brought on by exposure to sunlight. Isomerization.

Grady – From the UV of the Sun. Photoactivation.

Mr. Holmes – Of course! The urocanase resides in the stratum corneum epidermidis, a part of what is otherwise known imprecisely as the skin, then it must subsequently adversely affect a rancher. This happens in the plant to steak to rancher scheme when the histidine (too much in the rain) is broken down enroute and sunlight is brought into it.

Grady – Yeah, immunity gets out of whack.

Mr. Holmes – May I ask what is your source for the urocanase?

Grady - Pseudomonas putida. Not here in this lab. In my lab at home. I have also been checking on bacteria of the skin.

As he talked, Grady was still wiping as he went from table to table, and looked this way and that with a swift motion of his head.

Grady – Have to do it at home, can’t get permission for biological growth from the VA, budget too strict. No proper lab here.

Mr. Holmes followed Grady’s glances and saw a person, arms folded, watching Grady.

Mr. Holmes – You dare not stop?

Right. While on duty, no “malingering” is tolerated.

Mr. Holmes – Should we meet elsewhere?

This is OK, I really haven’t got much more to say. The data and analysis are done. The best of the rest is synthesis or, in this case, action. To stop the rain.

Mr. Holmes, in his full regalia, all tweed, had been standing ramrod straight with his umbrella hooked over an arm that was in a pocket. His other arm he held across his waist. He was bemused by the ad hoc conference they were having. Certainly Grady was his kind of person. Grady was moving in jerky sweeps of tables, he moved his body in large exaggerated sweeps to demonstrate what was being done could obviously be seen by the one watching him. He appeared to be half the height of Mr. Holmes and as he spoke he literally barked out the words, making his body jump like a little dog that would put its body into jumping with each bark so the front legs left the ground. Grady’s head went up for as long as words were said. Grady had no need of his blue lenses for table wiping. The ubiquitous smock was extra large today. He was watching whoever was watching him and glancing at Mr. Holmes. So it was visual contact with the supervisor and auditory contact with Mr. Holmes.

Mr. Holmes mostly watched Grady but he occasionally looked over at the supervisor. Once Mr. Holmes made penetrating eye contact even from that distance and the supervisor moved back and rubbed his eyes.

Mr. Holmes – Yes, the rain is the culprit. It will be stopped, I promise you. Do you have other projects to research?

Grady gave a swift look of annoyance at Mr. Holmes.

Mr. Holmes – Oh, of course, and I wish you all the best and thank you for your time.

Yea bye, said Grady.

Me – So, OK, Mr. Holmes, this Grady knows his stuff, right?

Indeed. A researcher needing to accomplish more and so he shall.

Are you to talk to the VA research committee?

I have done so. Grady’s efforts will be greatly enhanced to such an extent that he need no longer have Dining Service duties.

Ah, Mr. Holmes, you don’t only thwart Them you further others’ work here.

This furtherance may not be intended, but it certainly is not harmful.

Collateral fallout.

I must add, we, are so involved.

Thanks.

The Air Base was put on notice by Mr. Holmes through Dr. Kipowitz. In four nights time, they would act against Them. It would take that long to bring in the proper “agent” as they put it. So Mr. Holmes departed that night for parts E and N. He traversed the country as he had before -  an immobile “pear” by day and at a walk by night. On the fourth night, the planes had come over him. They rose to the great zenith. Mr. Holmes stood facing West in the direction of the Air Base. At the horizon, there was a vague grumble though it had to be a blast and a roar at the origin. A hurtful flash of light came next. Then this light elongated into a straw of destruction and, as it zoomed upward toward the zenith and its planes, the thin shaft of light became foreshortened and as a stub it closed in on the top of the sky. It disappeared and then Mr. Holmes had to wince repeatedly as jumps of light were propelled across the uppermost Zone like firecrackers in a zig-zag, hundreds of them. There was no crash nor ash, the sky had no sounds nor remnants to offer. Mr. Holmes blinked away the afterimages and immediately set out for Cheyenne.

Once Mr. Holmes returned, I decided to try some kielbasa and I won ten bucks by listening to the radio. The creek just north of us became wet for a time and I swear I swatted mosquitos every night for a week.

The End

The Darkest Hour and A. O. Scott

The film “The Darkest Hour” is a representative interpretation of truth in regard to Winston Churchill becoming Prime Minister, nearly becoming an ex-PM in a matter of days and the beginning of a great sacrifice, and a great triumph.

Before Churchill became PM, he realized for a long time a need for Great Britain to rearm, such as in 1935 when the Anglo-German Naval Treaty conceded to Hitler up to 35% of British Navy strength. There was the Italian attack on Abyssinia. In 1936 Hitler reintroduced conscription and placed troops into the demilitarized Rhineland. Churchill thought strong resistance by the French to the Rhineland occupation would have forced Hitler to withdraw, be discredited, and removed from power by the German General Staff.

In 1936 Churchill stood for Epping and did well, but received no office in the government. He was moving to the center, courting those in power to be in power. He had fame, a recognized personality, and his oratory in his approach to government office. In not getting in, he could devote time to his book, Marlborough, articles for the “Evening Standard,” painting, and another book, A History of English Speaking Peoples. By 1937, only war would bring Churchill into office in the government, not that he was a warmonger.

In the Fall of 1938 at Munich, The Prime Minister, Chamberlain, secured “peace with honor” and came to be affixed with the label of appeasement. The Nazi-Soviet Pact came along. Hitler took Poland. Then, in 1939, Churchill was summoned to take a position in the War Cabinet. They had wondered should he be admitted to office in the government? Some in the press and many Britons outside the government had him as the one to do what was becoming necessary. Churchill had been sending off memos to government officials and others at a great rate such that he needed a stenographer by day and often deep into the night.

The misadventure in Norway led to the expectation that someone resolute and resourceful in dealing with the Germans was required, Chamberlain did not fit the bill and nor did Halifax, who shared some of Chamberlain’s views. Halifax wanted Churchill in for a short time and fail so that they would turn to him. He had in mind no destruction of Britain, give it over to Hitler, thereby war would be avoided. He did not want to be a wartime Prime Minister.

But then A. O. Scott of the NY Times writing about “The Darkest Hour,” doesn’t dwell on this. Instead: He faults the film for lacking details and insights into statecraft; but for one detail of Churchill’s doubt about how to proceed vs. Hitler, there is assumed a great deal of hesitation on Churchill’s part; Churchill, used now as an ego boost and an actor’s project supported by the notion Churchill regarded women as throwaways; Churchill derived pleasure from his being on the scene during national predicaments; Churchill produced rhetoric for a war effort; and his Britons are seen by Scott as reactionary, empty, passive, and considered as a sop to gumption and unity; writing in the Nazis on the “pay to” line on a moral check to be paid for by the Britons that is not transferable; any pride derived from “The Darkest Hour” can’t apply to us, since we have nothing to be proud of; and, most of all, Churchill in the subway getting a confidence boost for opposing Hitler from the occupants of the subway car, is exasperatingly “ridiculous” as sham populism.

Thank you, Scott, and what is so “ridiculous” about the subway scene in comparison to much else that is “ridiculous’ : a Churchill family tableau; Clementine upbraiding Churchill for rudeness; Churchill and King sitting side by side and getting chummy as the King is coming to adopt Churchill’s stance; a person as his regular typist who wasn’t there yet, and when she did arrive, she did not have a brother who died in the fall back to Dunkirk; the doomed British commander at Calais looking skyward as German bombers completed a run; and Chamberlain’s hanky displayed in Commons to rouse his supporters?

All “ridiculous” but true enough in intent? Churchill’s own party, the Conservatives, did not fully support him. The opposition, the Labor Party, couldn’t any longer support Chamberlain. Who else was there? Halifax, if he had roared to be Prime Minister would have had it, but he wasn’t going to get it with Churchill as an alternative and at least not just yet. Let Churchill fail, Halifax would be in and he could be with Hitler for a second “Munich.”

Only the Britons could yet oppose Hitler. The U.S. was in isolation. Russia was sidelined, Japan was readying an attack on the U.S. No other great power could intervene. Without much effort, Hitler had Europe. The British were woefully prepared. Their forces of the Continent were trapped at Dunkirk.

Churchill did not have rousing support. He was not the preferred man. The crux of world history in May 1940 was nine meetings in three days by the War Cabinet, of which Churchill, Chamberlain, Halifax, Attlee, and Greenwood were the members. Five people. Churchill was adamant in opposition to Hitler. Churchill had commented on Halifax’s continual effort to surrender to Hitler by acknowledging it, if Hitler gave autonomy to Great Britain. Churchill knew Hitler would not accept such. Churchill was buying time. Churchill thought he momentarily was forced to make concessions to Halifax. Churchill needed to get Chamberlain to his side. He did so. Attlee and Greenwood were already in Churchill’s camp. If Chamberlain and Halifax had resigned, Churchill would have been out and Halifax in. But Chamberlain came over and no ridiculous scene was contrived to show how it was done. It was done, that is the point. Five people, only five and two of them could have destroyed Great Britain.

One of the five certainly believed that tyranny must not be allowed to flourish, it must be opposed, and destroyed if necessary. He was a great man and a hero. “The Darkest Hour” supports the obvious and does so in a most entertaining manner. The national mood, led by Churchill’s words, wasn’t defiant nor brave. It was a belief that the worst that could happen would not happen. Churchill fostered an irrational belief in the ultimate outcome even as they teetered on a very thin support against disaster.

On June 18, 1940 Churchill said the battle of Britain was to begin and the fate of Christian civilization would be decided. The world faced a dark age and some might well live “their finest hour.”

Sherlock in Cheyenne: The Adventure of Moonlight and the Arrow of Time

Mr. Holmes does not laugh. Nor does he chuckle. But he does have a sense of humor. He has been seen smiling. Such a sense and smile does not include Zeeglers wearing colored armbands for quick identification. Imagining a grim Zeegler with a bright yellow armband brings a smile to my face.

Mr. Holmes was not smiling as he called me over to his armchair to look over his shoulder at “our page” in the latest edition of the Cheyenne newspaper. There on that page was a picture of a Zeegler, or at least I took it to be a Zeegler. The photo had been shot with surrounding dim light, a bit fuzzy, and the Zeegler had his arm across this face. His features were not totally obscured.

Mr. Holmes read the text accompanying the photo. It seems that the Zeegler had been found at my astronomy club’s observatory. When discovered, he was pinned to the section where the dome and the wall of the observatory meet. There is a thin ledge that he was slumped against. The telescope had pushed and held him against the dome-wall. Apparently he had started the scope in motion before he got on the ledge.

I could well understand how this came about, since you detach from the wall a very long thin rod with a right angle at your end to crank the dome up above along to create the slit to the outside sky. Where the rod meets the dome can stick. Probably he was in a hurry and switched on the scope, then he was opening the slit when the action faltered. He must have thought he could quickly go up to loosen the stiffness and misjudged the speed of the scope as it swung toward him. He was found with this back to the scope so he didn’t see it coming. The scope didn’t crush him. It isn’t that big, being a 12 inch Cassegrainian, and it moves smoothly once the drive is engaged. The scope, in truth, kept him there.

He was found by a group on an impromptu tour of the observatory given by the club president, Austin De Beer. The observatory is the De Beer Observatory. The telescope is the De Beer Telescope. Luckily, the club is called the Greater Southeastern Wyoming Astronomy Club. De Beer paid for the observatory and scope and sometimes chairs the monthly meetings. (We then have guest speakers presenting slides and talks about common astronomy topics. Usually the presenters are from the University of Wyoming in Laramie. Members give updates on club activities such as their observations of the Moon, Messiers, double stars, NGC objects, and the usual Solar System big targets. Some pet projects get tolerated time to tell us what they are building or what is the latest addition to their total of every object down to X magnitude in Ursa Major or whatever. We are unusual in that we have no variable star observers.)

Once the tour members reversed the direction of the scope drive, the Zeegler fell to the floor. He was conscious and wanted to be left alone, but being on the club’s premises and having perhaps internal injuries (he looked to be OK), they drove him to Memorial. There in the ER, he “disappeared” as the newspaper had it. Before he vanished, another visitor to the ER snapped the photo of the Zeegler-with-arm-across-face. No one actually saw his departure.

I asked Mr. Holmes – Whatever could a Zeegler be up to at the Observatory?

Mr. Holmes replied – Most irregular. A Zeegler cannot persist once touched. Once that telescope arrived at his position, then the Zeegler should have departed.

Right, and there was no frozen moment for us. Can there be other moments away from us?

Who is to say? But that seems very doubtful.

Me – The Zeegler remained visible for a very long time. He finally had his opportunity to vacate in the ER. Before that, I presume he didn’t want to alarm the tour members and hospital staff by suddenly blinking away.

Hm, it could be that, but this photo is odd. He looks strange, as if he was...

Well, no doubt he was roughed up by the pin and the fall.

No doubt.

Therefore, he could not be seen at his best.

Perhaps. The newspaper article goes on to say snow had fallen before the Moon had come up and before the tour arrived. No tracks leading up to the Observatory door were seen.

Me -  Well we know they can pop into location suddenly.

Mr. Holmes – With a frozen moment.

Of course, that goes without saying. Then he did disappear, as the newspaper says.

Hm, nevertheless his activities merit suspicion.

Me – OK, and what was he doing at the Observatory?  (Here and later I had suspected, as Mr. Holmes was famous for not being an astronomy buff, I needed to supply astronomical generalities.) It was a full Moon. The full Moon with its washout of the sky prevents viewing of anything else. There is the Moon itself. Nothing much of interest at full Moon except for the ray systems coming from some craters.

Mr. Holmes – Extensive?

Yes, and so They wanted to examine how projectiles could be sent skimming along a surface? Could They be imitating such trajectories in a plot to make it difficult for us after They hatch a blowup among objects of future operations?

Mr. Holmes – They have never been interested in destroying what would remain after They would be the self-chosen Few. They have wanted to inherit, so to speak, a pristine resultant.

Yes, well then I can’t imagine why a Zeegler without benefit of a frozen moment would be using our club scope for selenography.  At low magnification the lunar landscape would hurt your eyes, not harm them, but make you wince, at least it does for me.

Mr. Holmes – Very good, he was wanting the light.

Huh? Why not the Sun or arc lights or whatever?

Is there nothing distinctive about moonlight?

It is sunlight, reflected, and reflected by something, that on the whole and on average, has the albedo of coal.

Mr. Holmes – Nevertheless, he was there to be put to some purpose. Therefore, he had something with him for which the moonlight could serve that purpose. Simply to gaze upon the Moon is too trivial. Superfluous indeed. He could hardly remove it with him given the circumstances of being discovered there. A device it is, no doubt.

OK, something They are going to use?

I rather think someone brought a device there to the observatory. That it is still there and he will return to try again. I must intervene before he returns. May I have your key to the Observatory?

Well then here is the key. It is a long drive there and as you well know, I can’t forego schoolwork on a weekday. The forecast is for clear skies, and it is still near enough to a full Moon.

Thank you my dear boy. A full report I shall give you upon my return. I’m off.

When Mr. Holmes returned, he did have a “device” and a satchel. In explanation he stated he found no one there. Usually it is first come first served though at a monthly meeting someone can reserve scope time, if well in advance. No one was down for its use when Mr. Holmes showed up.

The operating instructions for the scope are on the wall near the scope’s pier that mostly supports its weight and contains the drive. Mr. Holmes had no difficulty opening the dome, that is, in getting a slit going. He placed the scope at the Moon and turned on the tracking so the Moon would remain in the view of the scope. Then he looked about to see where a device could be hidden, but he didn’t spend much time on a thorough search, who knows who might come along? He quickly decided the pier should be investigated. Its lower tall portion he found to be hollow. Only a line was scored on the surface of the pier near the base. He ran a finger along this line, pressing strongly inward. As he did so, he heard a click. A door came ajar. Inside the pier and standing on end was a long rectangular case. With much effort in tilting and wedging, Mr. Holmes brought the case out.

The case was of wood and hinged. Opening the case, Mr. Holmes found two plates, or so they looked. As if they were the old photographic plates used in astronomy, rather large. There was a small gap between them maintained by a strip of pine. They were dark brown and appeared smoky. The smoke, so it seemed, was moving, churning.

Mr. Holmes was nearly onto a momentous discovery, stunning in its implications. Still, Mr. Holmes wondered what was to be made of the very bright moonlight coming from the eyepiece already inserted in the scope? He held the plates up to the red light that provided routine nighttime illumination under the dome of the Observatory. Nothing. He couldn’t see the light. He switched on the Observatory lights for ordinary illumination. He held the plates up to one of them. Nothing.

Then Mr. Holmes, in a masterstroke of intuition, set the plates on a high metal counter on high metal legs. That counter had a clock on it set to sidereal time and some star charts and lists of common sky spectaculars plus bios of astro greats, etc. With the observatory now having had enough time to equalize its temperature with the outside temp (more of a problem on hot nights) he walked over to the eyepiece and had a look. Gazing steadily for as long as he could, with eyes beginning to ache, he then went back to the plates.

A fantastic event was waiting for him. Actually three events, since he, with smarting eyes, looked through the plate at the clock and paraphernalia that was on the counter.  Mr. Holmes was quick to note a left panel of the plate nearest him showed the scene on the counter. Then he looked at the counter top without the plates. Looking again at the left panel, he realized the clock was a few minutes ahead. In the second panel, in the middle, the clock was many minutes ahead, and the right panel showed the clock hours ahead.

A great deal of wonder and appreciation came over Mr. Holmes. Also, his eyes began to lose that wincing factor, and he saw the panels losing the scene on the counter and become swirls of smoke. He went back to the scope and got another “dose” of the light. And yes! Looking through the plates again, he saw the scene again, with the three clocks having advanced for as long as he had taken at the scope.

What a device! A time machine! Utterly fantastic! With the “house lights” on and his attention away from the plates, he spotted a small satchel on the floor almost under the legs of a neighboring counter. He found inside it a racing (horse) form for the Los Alamitos track and odds for various games of football and basketball with numbers to call.

Now what would a Zeegler have need of winning at gambling? Have They entered a cash-poor era and need an infusion of greenbacks to sustain Them? Not to mention other uses of much more importance should be on tap. But OK, why the moonlight? Why the heck did he need that particular indirect sunlight? Using moonlight to beat the point spread? Like the Ten Commandments could have had more umph in Old Gothic script?

I asked Mr. Holmes if the photo of the Zeegler in the ER was placed to put us on notice that They were going to be after Their device.

Mr. Holmes – I think not. They would have been upon us by now. I do not believe they know the device exists.

Me -  This is a rogue Zeegler? Out on his own making a few bucks? Somehow that doesn’t get past first base.

Regardless of what base he operates from, I think monetary gain would be a transitory goal.

Yeah, right. What should we do with the device? As a student I could see straight A’s on all tests taken through college. And of course I’m not serious.

Of course not, I know well enough your jesting – like Zeegler armbands. (He half smiled then.) And so too readily does use of the device run to questionable outcomes. Thus, I am to endeavor to negate its usefulness.

Will doing so bring on a pack of Zeeglers?

No, the device has not been operated to any advantage. If such an advantage were to be denied Them, I would presume visitors would at once appear.

Me -  But to “negate” it?

I must study approaches. A process via quantum physics may be in order.

That leaves me out. 

Actually, upon further reflection involving many hours in the quantum mechanics book piles near the armchair, he was coming up empty. We couldn’t use it without a telescope. We tried a moonlit night and, though the smoke in the dark plate stirred, it did not have three panels on display. As Mr. Holmes pondered the possible demise of the plates, I, of all people, found out why the Moon’s light was needed. Presumably light of the full Moon enhanced the effect, but the observer required a crater, Alphonsus, in view and at low magnification so the eye ache was present. Nikolai Alexandrovich Kozyrev was the name. That name was in a brief report in our mimeographed astronomy club newsletter scheduled quarterly and actually issued irregularly. One of those irregulars had been mailed to me and I kept it because I had appeared in a group photo that includes members caught in supposedly rapt attention listening to astro news of the day or month or whatever.

Kozyrev, a Russian, had recently, it was reported, recorded a spectral signal of a gas emission from Alphonsus. He had used the 50 inch (very big) reflector at the Crimean Astrophysical Observatory. He had hand guided the thirty minute exposure. He was noting a brightness not normally seen. Then the brightness dimmed. He went after a 10 minute exposure of the normal state. He concluded a cloud of gas had been expelled and emission bands were seen by him. As usual some saw tints or diffuse clouds in Alphonsus in following-up Kozyrev’s work. Those follow-ups were very much in dispute. Our speaker who conveyed the news of what could be none other than volcanic activity on the Moon, offered as an aside that, in truth, not all the emission lines could be identified by Kozyrev. Some unknown lines, weak, persisted. Others “knew” this strange evidence of heretofore unknown-in the-cosmos substance or substances was or were still being outgassed in a region of the central peak of Alphonsus.

Mr. Holmes thought this “wondrous, very much so.” He wished we had time to see the Moon without Alphonsus or to block out the central peak and check to see how the device would operate. He said too little time remained for experimentation. The device had to be altered before someone could claim it. Before “someone,” not a Zeegler? Somehow that set me to mulling over all these goings on. Meantime, Mr. Holmes succeeded in his negation.

What he did was to intuit that only two things had come with him that could never be depleted – money and tobacco. He thought, in the scheme of things, one of them could be the negating agent. From his previous studies, he knew a good deal about tobacco. Many chemicals given off in its burning had yet to be identified. He had a hunch that in the abundant hot fumes from his tobacco could be a negator or two. He constructed a metallic box and closed it with a floor of tobacco inside. Close above the tobacco were the plates. He heated the bottom of the box and dense hot fumes filled the box. In other words, he had an oven. He baked them. He poured on the heat overnight.

That next night, as the nearly full Moon was going into a gibbous phase, he again was at the eyepiece of the club scope and then observed the tableau that included the clock, as before. This time the plates had been baked. In the left panel there was seen the clock running a few seconds slow. The middle panel showed the clock a minute or so slow and the right panel showed the clock a few minutes slow. Now the plates showed the past! The arrow of time had been reversed! Mr. Holmes returned from the Observatory in a speechless state. Only after an hour could he recount what he had experienced.

Such a remarkable change could not be made known. No one could know how it had previously worked and now how it was. Mr. Holmes didn’t know what compound or combo in the fumes had done the trick. Such a fantastic technique that foretold the future could not be allowed to survive.

Mr. Holmes put an ad in the paper. It was in general terms but got across that a three panel plate was now ready for pickup if the full Moon was out. Next day there was a knock on the door. My “come in” revealed a bedraggled Zeegler who swiftly gathered up the box containing the plates. Mr. Holmes had put the box on a low bookshelf opposite my study area. Mr. H’s eyes X-rayed the Zeegler, and I was astonished at how odd the Zeegler looked. But saying nothing, he exited.

Say, wait a second, said I to Mr. Holmes, what goes on here? Odd looking is one thing, but he is too odd looking.  Mr. Holmes, with a half-smile, was watching me expectantly. What? I asked. He only sighed and turned around in his chair, pipe without tobacco in his mouth and books in his lap. He began to read but said – we will have a chat soon.

Hours went by, I was getting very sleepy as I lay on my bed, hands behind my head and looking up at the pipes and wiring that were under the flooring above. My mulling about this affair had gone on without any conscious prodding from me. The mull was about to give up or out with it.

Bam! It hit me. Wait a minute! I shouted (I later explained to those upstairs that I had cracked a particularly nutty math problem.) Mr. Holmes quickly swiveled in his chair to look at me. He then got up and sat on the bed next to me and placed a hand on my shoulder. Wait just a darn minute – I almost hissed. That was not a Zeegler who got the device. In fact, I’ll bet he was also at the Observatory. He didn’t blink in, he was waiting in the Observatory before the snow fell so he was assured of scope time.  He had hours to explore the interior of the observatory and found the pier compartment. But he wasn’t familiar enough with the ops of the slit and scope and got in between. He probably had a key to the Observatory door made on the sly. And he didn’t “disappear” from the ER, that use by the journalist was biased as far as I am concerned, it fell in with my knowing how Zeeglers get gone. But, Mr. Holmes, that means you knew all along and you wouldn’t clue me in?

Now, now, dear boy, I had said I was suspicious, but that I had no alternative to then offer. I rather hoped you, my esteemed colleague, would work it out on your own. Is not such an achievement to be more savory than being spoon-fed? Is it not?

OK, OK, I admit I was troubled from the get-go, but not able to get it sorted out, until now.

Now Mr. Holmes gave me a big smile, not one of amusement, but I took it as congratulatory.

Said I – so what did They make of the ER photo in the newspaper? They know it wasn’t one of Theirs. Since only you and I know of Zeeglers, as it has now been reestablished, then, since it was a man and not a boy, it had to be you. They must not think highly of your costume creating style. Yet I know you are excellent in disguise.

I do thank you.

Of course, should you be pressed to do so, I would not know which was a Zeegler and which was Mr. Holmes. Isn’t it possible They can only assume you have an intention of infiltrate Their Zeeglers?

I dare say they might, but I have no intention of becoming one of them – even as a ploy.

They may counter by showing up next time with armbands or headbands that you could not anticipate, yet to judge from the photo, they shouldn’t work too hard on differentiation of Their Zeeglers. Right?

If They expend a second on preparing for my “threat” to Them, then They cannot be seen as adequate adversaries.

Me – Though I have gotten this far in knowing the truth, I am without a clue as to who the Zeegler impersonator might be. I bet you can find out.

Indeed, my boy, I already know. I suspected quantum physics to be at play in this matter, and I visited with Dr. Kipowitz, liaison to the Air Base (Special Projects) over a spot of tea. He informed me that regionally only one person is listed in the Air Force dossiers that was known to him to possess a quite good knowledge of quantum physics. That would be Professor Hockensmith, retired, recently and formerly of the University of Wyoming in Laramie and a genius without parallel. He is a man who gives slight patience to separation of physics and metaphysics as, also lacking such patience, were Berkeley and Leibnitz, and with a dash of Hamilton’s quaternions in service to Kant’s intuition of pure time.

Mr. Holmes continued – I was told by Dr. Kipowitz that Professor Hockensmith had taught general physics for many years at the University. In his last years there, he was also teaching a seminar on very advanced quantum theory. On his lecture stage he had then chalkboards on wheels crammed with equations and notes. Each board could be flipped over to reveal yet more of the same dense knowledge. Therefore, that made for twenty boards. He never got beyond Board 3, such was the fascinating complexity at his command.

He lives in a block of flats in Laramie. He is regarded by one and all where he lives as being a good chap. He has a laboratory in a warehouse not far off since his residence is in a light industrial district of town. He has been struggling to secure funds to continue his research. Ergo, once the device was in his hands, and it got there with a good amount of happenstance, he was to use it to obtain those needed funds. He knew use of it might call down on him a mysterious force represented by what we call Zeeglers. I had on occasion made indirect lightly sketched reference to them in chatting up Dr. Kipowitz in exchange for assistance we needed. My description of a Zeegler was, then, perfunctory. Given that, Professor Hockensmith’s costume effort turned out rather well.

Nevertheless, had he succeeded in using his device to foretell the future of gambling enterprises, he would have provided a frozen moment, and he would have never been seen or heard of again. He was, in the event, impatient with the faulty opening of the slit, and after his fall he could not return immediately. He did have unseen injuries, but did not want a public hospital’s staff to know of them. He went painfully to a physician in Chugwater that would remain quiet about it.

I said – His not knowing the scope well enough saved him. But isn’t it sad he had to lose his windows on the future?

I rather hope he thinks his life can be now devoted to pure science. I have tried to dissuade him from resuming experiments in time at our level. If he concerns himself with quantum time, he may be rewarded with entirely fantastic data.

He didn’t resent what you had done to the plates?

No, I assured him of what his fate would have been had he persisted in using the plates for monetary gain. He has come into money quite recently, and there is a fund set up to further his foreseeable efforts.

Your bottomless money supply, I’ll bet.

Correct.

Me - Somehow it’s a comfort that frozen moments pertain only to us.

You seem a bit jealous of what never existed.

Well maybe it came out like that, but if we still have our purpose, then however it is carried out suits me.

Oh yes, we are still a going concern. Our exclusivity vis a vis Their efforts will, I trust, again tax us.

Ah well, Mr. Holmes, I carry away from this adventure a persistent image of a fierce and gritty Zeegler wearing a bright yellow headband to avoid Their acceptance of a person well disguised to fool Them, and there is a loose long end of the band hanging down like a pigtail but near an ear. Isn’t that a laugh?

What a revolting prospect.

And I had to laugh.

The End