THE IRREGULAR CASEBOOK OF SHERLOCK HOLMES (9 page)

‘It was a fearful burden,’ said Holmes gently.

‘I did it for him. By that time I had come to love him, though I told no one. And yet I failed him. I accidentally spilled some of the potion, and did not have enough when the full moon came.

‘Freya was playing with her brother Karl here,’ she continued, stroking the head of the gaunt silent man by her side. ‘They did not return at sunset. It was a childish game, but the consequences were disastrous.

‘After a desperate search we found Karl covered in blood, crouched over the body of one of their playmates. Karl could not speak, and the continued absence of Freya encouraged them to conclude that he had killed her too. When she was found next day, alive but unable to remember anything, it only seemed to confirm her innocence. Only I had reason to know that she had committed the atrocity, leaving Karl, who had witnessed the horror, frozen with shock.

‘Her father was convinced that the curse had fallen on his eldest son. I remember him thanking God that Freya had been spared. How could I have told him the truth, Mr Holmes? It would have destroyed him.

‘As it was he fell into an even blacker depression. Only Freya could make him happy. I was able to distil more Moon Balm which held Freya in a state of relative normality for years. Mrs Sturleson died, and in time I took her place in the household.

‘All this time I had visited Karl, who was being held at St Anthony’s. For all the years I went there he neither spoke nor responded, but I felt that it might do him some good. So things went on, in an uneasy truce, until this winter. One morning I found that most of the poppies essential for my distillations had died. Some blight or pest had wiped them out. Once more my supply of the potion would run out, but this time I feared I could produce no more. You know what followed.

‘On my last visit to Karl, I had poured out all my troubles, as I always did, and told him of my fears. Before the end of my visit he had begun to show signs of distress, though there was no way of knowing the cause. I now realise that he had understood, and sought the first opportunity to escape and make his way here.’

‘Too late,’ croaked a hoarse, faint voice, dry with years of unuse.

Sherlock Holmes showed no emotion but shook his head and replied in a level tone.

‘Not too late. I would say just in the nick of time.’

Once more in the warmth and comfort of Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes stirred up a good blaze in the hearth and settled back in his favourite armchair.

‘Your conclusions concerning the other unmentioned son were right as far as they went, Watson, but left certain questions unanswered. Freya claimed her stepmother was trying to kill her. Why would it take so long? She could have been poisoned in days or weeks, and would not still be healthy after decades. Clearly her interpretation that the drugs she was being given had harmful intent could not be correct. It seemed more likely to be treatment for some regularly occurring malady. Do you remember how upset Mrs Sturleson was when she told us of the death of her Tibetan blossoms? More than she would have been over a mere hobby. And the death of those flowers occurred around the time when the “werewolf” began to appear.

‘My memories of Tibet may have been prompted by Mrs Sturleson’s clothing and conservatory, but a mind trained to analyse goes on analysing even when one is not conscious of the process, and rarely fixes on anything that is not germane to the matter in hand. I simply applied my Everest experiences to the present matter.

‘For instance, my vision of Moriarty was so real, but it was a symptom of my own mental state. Freya had claimed to “see” a werewolf, but was it any more external to her than Moriarty was to me? What if it were a symptom of her malady? I also considered the general assumption that the mountain man of Tibet was a dangerous monster. That had proved false. In fact the killer was a quite different, and altogether unexpected, person. What if the “werewolf” was not the person you suspected, and had been blamed for the clandestine activities of another less likely culprit?

‘The theft of a knife made of silver, the material traditionally anathema to werewolves, and faint marks of dirty wet soles on the floor by the cutlery cabinet, forewarned me that someone had arrived from outside, and was taking an extreme hand in the matter. You prompted my realisation of the significance of the silver knife by your comment that no one would steal a single item among so many if it were merely for gain. Only after I realised there was a world unseen and unexplored above our heads did it occur to me that Freya, devoted, doting Freya, had a room next door to her father. In other words, on the top floor and only a short scramble from the roof.’

‘One thing still haunts me, Holmes. Can there really be such a thing as a werewolf? The body on the roof was that of a young girl, yet only seconds before, the thing that attacked you was more like a ferocious beast than a human being. I have sought for a rational explanation, but I can think of no more fitting description for what I saw than a werewolf! How can that be?’

‘Oh Watson, Watson! The vanity of Humankind! Our time on this planet has been but the blink of an eye. Only yesterday our ancestors emerged from caves and gazed out over dense forests and endless plains that teemed with the claws and teeth of sudden death. Every living thing was a potential threat or a potential victim, every day a struggle for survival which depended upon the ruthless wielding of deadly weapons. I say to you, Watson, that each of us stands hardly more than a hand’s span from nature red in tooth and claw. The real wonder is not that there was indeed a curse of Tarn Lodge, but that such things are not more common. There are depths in each of us, labyrinths wherein the beast still lurks.’

Holmes paused to light his pipe, blew out the pungent smoke luxuriously, and smiled.

‘You have commented before upon my poor knowledge of literature, but this is a good example of what little help such things may be in my work. Even so great a poet as Lord Byron was a little misleading in two respects at least when he wrote:

“‘Some people have accused me of Misanthropy;

And yet I know no more than the mahogany

That forms this desk, of what they mean;

—Lykanthropy I comprehend, for
without transformation

Men
become wolves on any slight occasion.”’

The Curse of Nectanebo

ARRIVING AT BAKER STREET one bright, spring morning, I found Sherlock Holmes chuckling over the latest pearl of wisdom from Lestrade. It was a newspaper report of a case in the solution of which Holmes had played no small part. Lestrade had expressed the opinion that the successful conclusion was a triumph for steady, patient, routine work by the police, and served as a warning against the ‘modem, flashy element’ who tried to introduce newfangled methods. There could be, in Lestrade’s opinion, no substitute for the constable on the beat with his trusty truncheon.

‘A timely warning,’ laughed Holmes. ‘Let us never waste our energies in scientific analysis, minute examination of clues, and strict application of logic, when we can leave everything in the hands of a man with size fifteen boots and a wooden stick. However, let us turn to more interesting matters. Would you be so kind as to read this letter, Watson?’

“‘Dear Mr Sherlock Holmes,

“‘I know how busy you must be, but I need your assistance in a matter of great urgency.

“‘I am engaged in a study of Egyptian Hieroglyphics under the tutelage of Dr Edward Wallis, keeper of Egyptian Antiquities at the British Museum. In the course of my studies I have come upon a very vexing mystery that concerns one of the objects on display in the museum.

“‘Unfortunately, Dr Wallis is very busy preparing a forthcoming exhibition, and therefore cannot involve himself in this matter. All my instincts tell me that there is something very wrong, and that it should not be left until Dr Wallis has time to take the matter in hand. I have therefore taken the liberty of writing to you in the hope that you can meet me in the Egyptian Gallery of the British Museum tomorrow morning at nine o’clock, and investigate this problem.

“‘Yours sincerely,

“‘Miss D Edney”‘

‘What do you make of it, Watson?’

‘It is from a female employee of the British Museum who needs your help in a mystery concerning an ancient Egyptian object.’

‘Nothing more than that?’

‘What else is there to see?’

‘Well, you could have begun by saying that she is a middle-aged woman, who had a strict schooling; and is probably in line for promotion to a position of significance at the museum. She also, evidently, has a flair for the dramatic.

‘Her age can be deduced from the serious, calm tone in which she discusses a matter that is clearly very worrying to her. Similarly, we can see the strict schooling in the fact that her handwriting is perfect school copperplate; time has done nothing to erode, or elaborate, the style in which she was originally taught.

‘Note that she is under the tutelage of the Keeper of Antiquities, no less! Either she is being trained for some important post, or is engaged in work of value to the museum.’

‘And the flair for the dramatic?’

‘Come, Watson. She has requested a meeting at the museum, rather than visit us here, and has carefully avoided giving any clue as to the nature of the mystery.’

‘Will you take the case?’

‘If the matter is serious enough to concern such a person, I feel I should give it my attention. There are no other cases at present. If you are prepared to accompany me, we will keep the appointment.’

We duly arrived in the Egyptian rooms at the appointed hour, and found the great halls of statues and display cases empty, but for a striking young woman, somewhat younger than Holmes had deduced, accompanying a female child of about ten years.

‘Miss Edney?’ called Holmes. ‘I am Sherlock Holmes; this is Dr Watson. How can we be of service to you?’

The young woman laughed most charmingly, and shook her head. ‘I think you are mistaken, Mr Holmes. My name is Florence Farrell. This,’ she added, pointing to the child, ‘is your Miss Edney.’

The child came forward with an intensely serious expression on her young face.

‘Thank you for coming, Mr Holmes. I must apologise again for monopolising the time of such a busy and important person, but you are the only one who can help me.’

Sherlock Holmes’s face betrayed no emotion, but Miss Farrell must have sensed his reaction, for she said smoothly, ‘I think it might be as well to explain to Mr Holmes that you are a very special student of Dr Wallis. Dorothy is a brilliant linguist, gentlemen, and reads hieroglyphics as if she had grown up in ancient Egypt. If this matter concerns her, you can be confident that it is worthy of your attention.’

Sherlock Holmes nodded and turned to the little girl. ‘I will do the best I can for you, Miss Edney. Perhaps you might begin by recounting your experience.’

‘It would be easier to show you, Mr Holmes. If you would be so kind as to step this way?’

She led us with great self-importance through the museum. As we walked, I could not resist quietly congratulating Holmes on the accuracy of his deductions, although I had to admit that he had been a little astray in the matter of her age!

Miss Edney stopped in front of a glass cabinet in one of the rooms.

‘I come and stand here every day, in order to commune with the spirit of King Seti I, whose bust you see there on the middle shelf. He is very handsome, is he not? I feel a very deep affinity with him, Mr Holmes. I believe that one day I can use my gifts to increase our knowledge of his Dynasty.

‘Two days ago, I came here, as always, and found that something had happened. Seti I had moved! There, you will think me a silly child who is dreaming! I mean to say that he had been moved. I thought his new position was not a fitting one, and asked Dr Wallis if he might be returned to his old place. He assured me that the case has not been opened. He is very busy at present, but everyone I asked said the same thing. No one has opened the case, yet the bust has moved. That, Mr Holmes, is my mystery.’

This was so picturesque, and so beautiftilly told, that I felt myself charmed by the story. It was no more than a quaint trifle, admittedly’ but of sufficient interest to justify a walk on a fine day, and half an hour of the great detective’s time. And although Holmes evinced no particular fondness for children, he had a natural way with them, and they liked him.

I was, then, somewhat surprised to find that he had already lost interest in the little girl’s account, and had transferred his attention to another display case on the far side of the room.

‘The covering on the shelves in these cases is badly faded,’ he observed, irrelevantly. ‘Did you say in your letter that Dr Wallis was preparing for an exhibition?’

‘That is so,’ said Miss Farrell, a little testily, placing her arm around Dorothy’s shoulder. ‘The Metterling Stelé is to go on display soon, so he is too busy to address Dorothy’s question. Clearly, you also think the matter too trivial for your attention.’

‘On the contrary, Miss Farrell, it is a very serious matter’ a substantial theft at the very least, and young Miss Edney’s sharp powers of observation have brought it to light.

‘Do you see how the faded fabric on the shelves reveals the outline of any object that has been recently moved? It tells quite a tale to the trained eye. The portrait bust of Seti I has indeed been moved, as have several other pieces in that case. Their new positions serve to conceal the absence of a single object with a distinctive heptagonal base. The object in question, a fine falcon, now stands in the other case.’

‘You mean to say that it was moved from one case to another?’ I exclaimed. ‘For what reason?’

‘Why obviously to help mask a gap left by the removal of something large from the second case! As you can see, from the unfaded area left behind, the bottom edge of it was some fourteen inches long by two inches wide. Where can we find a full list of the contents of this second case?’

‘I have a guide book with me,’ offered Miss Farrell. ‘It should be a simple process of elimination to find what is missing.’

She consulted the book, then shook her head. ‘This cannot be! The missing item appears to be a carved stone plaque of late manufacture and indifferent workmanship. Yet the object moved in to help mask its absence is a quite exquisite statue carved in haematite, and three thousand years old. Mr Holmes, the object used to mask the theft is worth many times the value of the object stolen.’

The moods of Sherlock Holmes were certainly mercurial. A moment before he had been deeply interested in the theft revealed by the young girl’s observations. Now, with the mystery deepened, rather than resolved, he seemed to lose all interest, and changed the subject abruptly.

‘Did you say that Dr Wallis is preparing an exhibition at present?’

‘The Metterling Stelé,’ replied Miss Farrell. ‘The museum has been trying to arrange its loan for over a decade.’

‘A Stelé is a kind of plaque is it not? Where is the object now?’

‘Still inside the case in which it arrived. It was removed and checked, of course, but then re-sealed until the day of the exhibition.’

‘Then I must see the Metterling Stelé immediately,’ said Holmes.

So insistent was he that Miss Farrell was forced to lead us to the office of Dr Wallis. He was a remarkable looking individual, short and stout with snow white hair that fell over his shoulders, a gigantic watch chain with an enormous gold coin, and a huge scarab ring almost covering a finger of his tiny white hands. He greeted us effusively, and made a particular fuss of Miss Edney. There was another man in the room who looked oddly familiar. To our surprise he turned out to be an eminent figure in Diplomatic Circles, and a friend of Holmes’s brother, Mycroft. I remembered then that we had seen him at the Diogenes Club.

Holmes recounted the sequence of events, and asked to see the Stelé. The old man shook his head angrily. ‘Mr Holmes, I am far too busy for this. The exhibition is very close now, its success is of particular importance, as Mr Crossland here can confirm; and to make matters worse my assistant, a man to whom I have entrusted the running of the department while I am so engaged, has gone missing.’

‘Nevertheless, doctor, I must urge you most strongly to examine the Metterling Stelé.’

‘Oh, very well, then; but it is a waste of precious time. It is here, in its case. As you can see the wax seal, which I placed upon it myself after examining the Stelé on arrival, is intact.’

‘Green wax, I see,’ observed Holmes.

‘Nile green actually,’ said Wallis with a smile. ‘A little touch of ours. Now, if we break the seal and open the lid. . . . There, as you see, the Stelé is wrapped in cloth, but clearly quite safe.’

‘Quite so. A glimpse of it would be quite enough to reassure you. Now be so kind as to unwrap it.’

‘Really, Mr Holmes, I know you mean well, but——’

Wallis froze in the act of unwrapping the contents. ‘This is not the Metterling Stelé!’

‘No, it is the plaque taken from the second case. It was chosen because it is exactly the same size and weight. Had it not been for young Miss Edney’s eye for detail, the disappearance might have remained undiscovered.’

‘Oh, my word!’ gasped Wallis, his face suffused with crimson at the thought. ‘Oh, my word!’

Mr Crossland seemed hardly less discomfited.

‘This is terrible, Mr Holmes. You cannot appreciate the significance of this. The loan of this object is the result of years of effort, and is part of diplomatic moves intended to stabilise a very volatile area of the Balkans. Count Metterling himself is part of the diplomatic negotiations, and he is very influential. We have cultivated his support for years. The loan of the Stelé is part of extended cultural exchanges, intended to lead up to the signing of several treaties and trade agreements.