Free Sherlock Holmes and the Mummy's Curse by Stephanie Osborn Page A

one more elderly, and I should think they might not be able to hammer tent pegs into the ground with a heavy mallet. It would hardly be good for my first patients to be my own staff.”
    “Good point,” Whitesell decided. “Cortland, any news on that front?”
    “None, Will,” the Earl of Trenthume replied. “The thing has simply vanished into thin air, as that American magician is wont to say. I have sent downriver to see about purchasing another one. We cannot go on like this, should something serious happen; Dr. Watson would be overrun, and poor Holmes here would have nowhere to sleep, even with the lean-to arrangement.” He shook his head. “And if a haboob 30 should come in, it would well and truly be a mess.”
    “Ooo, good point,” Phillips murmured.
    “The bloody damn—oh, forgive me, Miss Whitesell—the blasted canopy is likely still lying in the ship’s hold, wherever THAT has got to. Off to Timbuktu, I suppose.” Cortland rolled his eyes in annoyance.
    “How long before the replacement arrives?” Whitesell asked.
    “The tentmaker in Luxor indicates we will have it within the week… if nothing else goes wrong.”
    “Then in the meanwhile,” Beaumont offered, “may I suggest that we strapping men go with the doctor after luncheon, and assist him in erecting his, ah, ‘adjunct office,’ gentlemen?”
    “Sounds like a cracking good plan, Beaumont,” Nichols-Woodall agreed. “You never know, after all: one of us might wind up needing it! With all of us at it, we can erect the canvas, tie it down well, set up tables and cots, position all the equipment Dr. Watson is willing to leave exposed to the elements under it, and still have plenty of time for a nice cool nap in our own tents.”
    “Consider it done,” Professor Whitesell decreed.
    * * *
    After the meal, they all traipsed off to Holmes’ and Watson’s tent, where in only a scant quarter-hour, the makeshift medical office was erected and its furnishings positioned; even Leighton got into the act, helping determine the best layout for the furnishings, based upon efficiency of movement.
    “There,” Watson said, hot and tired, but with a satisfied light in his eyes. “Even after the hospital tent is set up and a proper surgery in operation, I think I shall leave this; smaller matters, especially anything that may crop up in off-hours, can be tended here, rather than having to go over to the hospital.”
    “And you have overflow room, in the event of something… catastrophic,” Nichols-Woodall murmured.
    “Of course, of course,” Watson said. “But let us hope and pray nothing does.”
    “Quite,” Holmes agreed, growing solemn as his eyes became distant with memory. “May Providence watch over us all, in this treacherous desert. I shall never forget the young boy who… became lost in the haboob … on my second expedition with the Professor…” He averted his face briefly.
    “Oh,” Whitesell said, sobering. “I… recollect that…”
    “Well, let us all go back to our own tents, relax, and cool down,” Beaumont suggested, changing the subject before the conversation became too maudlin. “It has become uncomfortably hot to-day.”
    “It has, indeed. Absolutely excellent notion, that,” Watson declared, mopping his profusely perspiring brow.
    The other men dispersed. Watson went straight into the tent; Holmes heard the soft creak of his cot as he stretched out upon it. He turned, intent on going back to the artefact tent to spend more time studying the maps…
    …And nearly tripped over Leighton.
    “Now for a walk?” she asked with a smile. Holmes subtly took a deep, exasperated breath, let it out; reined in his irritation. It will not do, he thought, to upset Leigh or her father. I should much prefer to remain on good terms with the both of them. I shall have to be gentle, but firm.
    “No, Leigh,” he told her quietly. “I have some catching-up to do, relative to the rest of your father’s team, as I am so late