The Clockwork Scarab

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There are a limited number of excuses for a young, intelligent woman of seventeen to be traversing the fog-shrouded streets of London at midnight. A matter of protecting one’s life or preventing another’s death are two obvious ones.

But as far as I knew, I was neither in danger for my life, nor was I about to forestall the death of another.

Being a Holmes, I had my theories and suspicions as to who had summoned me and why.

The handwritten message had told me that its author was not only female, but a person of high intellect, excellent taste, and measurable wealth. Its content had been straightforward:

Your assistance is requested in a most pressing matter. If you are willing to follow in the footsteps of your family, please present yourself at the British Museum tonight at midnight. Further direction will be provided at that time.

As I looked at the letter, I saw so much more than those simple yet mysterious words.

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