The Future Door by Jason Lethcoe Page A

shredded. Beneath the pant leg, bloodstained bandages, hastily wrapped, could be seen peeping through.
    In spite of his tattered appearance, the professor’s cousin seemed filled with a vigor that defied his middle years. For he held something underneath his arm that was and was not from the world in which he lived. And the thing that he’d found while on his unusual journey would change his and everyone else’s lives forever.
    He didn’t hesitate before entering his cousin’s private chambers. His was a rare privilege, the ability to enter the inner sanctum unannounced. This hidden lair was the most secret of the professor’s holdings. Unlike the warehouse apartment, it was a location so private that only the highest ranking and most dangerous of Moriarty’s henchmen were allowed to know about it.
    Nigel turned the lion-headed knob and opened the heavy door. Then he stepped inside the lavishly apportioned room.
    The room was lit by the bright glow of electric light, a rare luxury. Furnishings of the finest quality were arranged around a Persian rug, a carpet that Nigel knew came from a Turkish prince. Nigel hid his jealousy over his cousin’s wealth behind a carefully constructed mask of indifference. He couldn’t let on that he planned to make them his own by any means necessary.
    â€œSo, you have returned,” croaked a voice. Nigel turned and saw the familiar, spidery shape of his cousin’s steam-driven wheelchair emerge from the shadows. “Because the world around us appears to be quite unchanged, I deduce that you were unable to properly affect the past.”
    Nigel shook his head. “The blasted machine is completely unpredictable. That idiot Snodgrass didn’t create a way to pinpoint where and when a person can travel. All it’s got on it is a switch that says ‘Past,’ ‘Present,’ and ‘Future.’ The only thing that can be safely relied on is, once a trip is embarked upon, the machine will return to the point of departure. That’s it.
    Otherwise, I would have never gotten back.”
    The professor studied his cousin’s battered leg. “And you had a bit of trouble, I take it?”
    â€œTyrannosaurus rex. Barely escaped with my life.”
    â€œAnd what have you got under your arm?” the professor said, eyeing the small package.
    â€œAfter numerous attempts, I decided that I wasn’t getting anywhere. So I made a leap into the future and found this.”
    He removed the wrapped package from under his arm and handed it to his cousin. The professor studied the unusual bag for a moment, noting the strange, florid colors that decorated its surface and the unique material of which it was made.
    â€œSome kind of synthetic material. A chemical compound woven together by scientific means. Hmmm.” He examined it more closely, studying the words The Book Loft printed on its surface.
    Nigel had a hard time containing his impatience. He wanted his cousin to get on with it. The bag wasn’t important; what was inside it was.
    After what seemed an eternity, the professor finally reached inside the bag and pulled out a hardback book. When he saw the title, his eyes grew wide.
    The Complete Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
    He cracked open the book and scanned the table of contents. “A collection of that fool doctor’s magazine articles. Nigel, I asked you to come back with historical documents, not sensational stories. The only consolation I have is that in the future, James Watson has been relegated to obscurity by a usurper. Someone who has apparently taken credit for his writing . . . this Conan Doyle chap. Humph.”
    But before Nigel Moriarty had a chance to respond, his cousin spotted what had made Nigel buy the book. Listed among the various adventures was a collection of stories titled The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes .
    â€œAh. Now here indeed is something of