Abberline stepped up to a formidable-looking oaken door. A placard set in it proclaimed it the Stranger’s Room. Burton had heard that name uttered among his friends in hushed tones. This was the Diogenes Club’s inner sanctum. Abberline tapped on it three times, leaned his head toward the wood, listening, then opened it. Burton followed him inside.
A large man, Mycroft Holmes sat in a green wingback chair that faced the entrance to the Stranger’s Room, his right elbow resting on an ornate wood and marble side table upon which sat a cup and saucer. He wore a crisp suit obviously tailor-made for him, and he projected a haughty, self-assured air that was almost palpable. This, Burton knew, was a formidable fellow. One who was used to being obeyed.
Abberline closed the door and breathed a heavy sigh, as if relieved to speak again. “Mr. Holmes, sir. I present Captain Richard Francis Burton.”
Mycroft made no move to get up or shake Burton’s hand.
“Please have a seat, Captain Burton. We have much to discuss.”
Burton took a similar chair across from Holmes, while Abberline leaned against the wall next to the side table and crossed his arms.
“You are a very interesting fellow,” said Mycroft Holmes. “You are a soldier, ethnologist, spy, writer, the first white man to journey to Mecca, and one of the finest swordsmen the Empire has ever produced.”
“I try,” said Burton, glib.
Holmes ignored his quip and continued. “But what is more interesting, to me, is that some weeks ago you departed England with one George Edward Challenger and a young inventor from Kew and returned almost four weeks later. How you left England is a mystery. You did not book passage on any passenger or cargo ship, nor did you leave the city over land by any route or mode of transport. In fact, you seem to have just up and vanished, traveling on some mode of conveyance unknown to current science.”
“You are quite well informed,” said Burton. “Am I to take it that you have had me under some sort of surveillance?”
“Not at all,” said Mycroft Holmes. “Just a bit of deduction on my part. I am skilled at taking many disparate, seemingly unrelated details and putting them together to form one broad, clear picture of an event.”
“I see,” said Burton.
“After I learned of the mysterious circumstances of your departure, I recalled an odd item from a few years ago.” He tapped a sheaf of yellowed papers on the table next to him. “It seems several years ago that a French marine biologist named Professor Pierre Arronax joined a unique expedition to track down an unknown sea creature that was believed to be attacking several ships.”
“I recall reading about that,” said Burton.
“Monsieur Arronax was tossed overboard in an encounter with the beast, along with a harpooner named Ned Land. Several weeks later, they were discovered on a small island off the Norwegian coast and had a very strange story, which has been recorded in these pages and kept under lock and key by me. Arronax claimed that the sea creature they were tracking was nothing of the sort, but was, in fact, a large submarine vessel piloted by an enigmatic captain who called himself Nemo. I believe this is the self-same vessel in which you, Professor Challenger, and the inventor departed London.”
Mycroft went silent, keen eyes staring into Burton’s. The explorer considered him for a time, wondering how much he should tell him. After all they had been through together, he respected Captain Nemo’s privacy. But the proverbial cat was already out of the bag. Mycroft Holmes knew about Nemo and his fabulous underwater vessel. And what could he do to Nemo anyway? The man was untouchable. No one on Earth could find him, let alone match the power and agility of the Nautilus.
“It’s true,” Burton said at last, and told the tale of his strange journey across oceans and Time with Captain Nemo. He held nothing back, even adding the strange circumstances that led to his departure, the spiritualist madness that had so piqued the curiosity of Professor Challenger, as well as the trouble brewing in the South Seas that led Captain Nemo and the American woman Elizabeth Marsh to seek Burton’s and Challenger’s help.
“Good Lord,” said Abberline when Burton had finished. “I need a drink.”
Mycroft Holmes looked at Burton appraisingly.
“You don’t believe me,” he said.
“On the contrary,” said Mycroft. “Under the circumstances, I have no choice but to believe you. As my brother is fond of saying, once you have eliminated every possibility, whatever is left, no matter how improbable, is the truth. Now, what of this Herbert?”
“He’s mad,” said Burton. “He tried to kill me this morning because he thought I was something called a Morlock. Of course, seven days ago I thought my fellow Cannibal Club members had all been transmogrified into the creatures we encountered on our voyage aboard the Nautilus.”
“And I take it these Morlocks were not present during your adventure,” said Mycroft.
“No. They were something he encountered the first time he activated his Time Machine, on a journey into far futurity.”
Mycroft nodded. “I see. Is he the only one who can operate the machine?”
Burton stroked his beard, staring off into space. “Well, no. I don’t think so. He explained its operations before our journey back through time aboard Nemo’s submarine. It seemed simple enough. The controls are composed of only two levers made of crystal. One controls the motion—forward or backward—through Time. The other controls the speed.” Burton returned his gaze to Mycroft Holmes.
“Why did you visit him this morning?”
“I wanted to know if his memories surrounding our return to London are the same as mine.” Burton told them of his conflicting memories, and the differing events that took place before he left. “I needed to see if Herbert had the same recollections. If so, it would point to…” He let his voice trail off. Chief Inspector Abberline stared down at him as if he had just sprouted a second head. Mycroft appeared more understanding.
“This spiritualist madness sounds interesting,” he said. “I do not recall any such incidents. But let’s table this for now. I’d like you to forget about the Time Traveler as well for the time being, for we have more pressing concerns. And I think you are just the man for the job.”
“Why me?” said Burton. “Why not Challenger?”
“You know what a difficult man Challenger can be,” said Mycroft Holmes. “I have sent him several invitations to meet me here at the Diogenes Club; he has denied them all. I have sent messengers around with an official summons, and he has thrown them out bodily, sometimes violently. Besides, he is much too boisterous. What I need requires tact and subtlety.”
Burton nodded. “Neither a quality the good professor possesses in abundance.”
“Exactly,” said Mycroft.
“But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?” asked Burton. “I’m not here just because I boarded a secret submarine.”
“Your brother recommended you,” said Mycroft.
“Edward? You know Edward?”
Mycroft nodded once. “As you well know, your brother Edward Burton holds a vaunted position within the British government, as do I. He thinks you are just the man I need, and after careful investigation, so do I.”
“And what of your famous younger brother?” asked Burton. “Why not the illustrious Sherlock Holmes?”
“He is otherwise engaged. Like yourself, my brother is a member of the Shadow Council.”