Naturally, his mother was oblivious to his trespassing, for if she had found
out, he would have been banished from the house altogether. Yet the more he
explored the study (tentatively at first, his hands kept in his pockets), the
more daring he becamepeeking inside drawers, shaking letters from
already-opened envelopes, respectfully holding the pen and scissors and
magnifying glass that Holmes had used on a regular basis. Later on, he had begun
sifting through the stacks of handwritten pages upon the desktop, mindful not to
leave any identifying marks on the pages while, at the same time, trying to
decipher Holmes's notes and incomplete paragraphs; except most of what was read
was lost on the boyeither due to the nature of Holmes's often nonsensical
scribbling or as a result of the subject matter being somewhat oblique and
clinical. Still, he had studied every page, wishing to learn something unique or
revealing about the famous man who now reigned over the apiary.
Roger would, in fact, discover little that shed new light on Holmes. The
man's world, it seemed, was one of hard evidence and uncontestable facts,
detailed observations on external matters, with rarely a sentence of
contemplation pertaining to himself. Yet among the many piles of random notes
and writings, buried beneath it all as if hidden, the boy had eventually come
across an item of true interesta short unfinished manuscript entitled "The
Glass Armonicist," the sheaf of pages kept together by a rubber band. As opposed
to Holmes's other writings on the desk, this manuscript, the boy had immediately
noticed, had been composed with great care: The words were easy to distinguish,
nothing had been scratched out, and nothing was crammed into the margins or
obscured by droplets of ink. What he then read had held his attentionfor it was
accessible and somewhat personal in nature, recounting an earlier time in
Holmes's life. But much to Roger's chagrin, the manuscript ended abruptly after
only two chapters, leaving its conclusion a mystery. Even so, the boy would dig
it out again and again, rereading the text with a hope that he might gather some
insight that had previously been missed.
And now, just as during those weeks when Holmes had been gone, Roger sat
nervously at the study desk, methodically extracting the manuscript from
underneath the organized disorder. Soon the rubber band was set aside, the pages
placed near the glow of the table lamp. He studied the manuscript in reverse,
briefly scanning the last few pages, while also feeling certain that Holmes had
not yet had a chance to continue the text. Then he started at the beginning,
bending forward as he read, turning one page over onto another page. If he
concentrated without distractions, Roger believed, he could probably get through
the first chapter that night. Only when his mother called his name would his
head momentarily lift; she was outside, shouting for him from the garden below,
searching for him. After her voice faded, he lowered his head once more,
reminding himself that he didn't have much time leftin less than an hour, he
was expected at the library; before long the manuscript would need to be
concealed exactly as it had originally been found. Until then, an index finger
slid below Holmes's words, blue eyes blinked repeatedly but remained focused,
and lips moved without sound as sentences began conjuring familiar scenes within
the boy's mind.
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