The Scroll of the Dead (14 page)

‘So who broke into the Museum and made away with it then?’

‘Sebastian Melmoth and Tobias Felshaw.’

Hardcastle opened his mouth, as if he were about to question Holmes regarding the certainty of this assertion; and then shut it again as he thought better of it. He had learned, as I had, that it was foolish and pointless to question Holmes when he was in mid-flow

‘You know Melmoth and his little aristocratic friend, Felshaw, of course?’

Hardcastle nodded. ‘Not personally, mind. We don’t exactly move in the same circles, but we are aware of the strange couple at the Yard. I know they get up to some funny business, but I must say I hadn’t pegged them for the type who would commit murder.’

‘They are exactly that type,’ replied Holmes coolly.

The inspector sucked on his pipe and frowned. ‘But there’s one little fly in your ointment: Melmoth is dead. He was killed in a shooting accident a few days ago.’

Holmes grinned. ‘Never believe all you hear about that scoundrel. Rumours of his death are much exaggerated. Take it from me, Inspector, Sebastian Melmoth is very much alive. Indeed, for Melmoth and his crony, death is not an issue. They intend to rise above that particular rite of passage. Hence their urgent desire to get their hands on the Scroll of the Dead. They believe that it will give them a kind of immortality.’

‘What nonsense!’ exclaimed the policeman.

‘Indeed, but Melmoth is convinced otherwise. Setaph’s scriptures are his holy grail and salvation. He is prepared to kill to own the Scroll. For several years he has been searching, experimenting, reaching out into the realms of darkness to discover the way to conquer death. Recently he acquired what he really believed was the answer to his unholy prayers: a document which he thought would unlock the secrets of Henntawy’s papyrus. Therefore, he became determined to get his clutches on it by fair means or foul. Inevitably, he chose the foul. With his acolyte, Felshaw, he stole the papyrus from the British Museum. The act of murder added zest to the exploit. He is that kind of man.’

Hardcastle inhaled noisily and shuddered. ‘I had heard he was odd.’

‘He is more than odd,’ I said. ‘He is evil.’

‘However,’ continued Holmes, ‘after some study, I am now convinced
that this “key” is worthless. It is merely a devious piece of nonsense created by Setaph himself to fool and mislead those who would discover his secret. Or to be more precise, those who lacked the appropriate wisdom and insight he deemed necessary to share his secret.’

Hardcastle scratched his head. ‘Let me get this straight. You’re saying that this key as you call it, if it does exist, is a useless trick.’

‘Exactly It is a false trail set by Setaph for the unworthy.’

The policeman allowed himself a throaty chuckle. ‘He was a tricky so and so, this Setaph, wasn’t he?’

Holmes nodded. ‘Now this is how I see the chain of events following the theft. Once Melmoth had both the key and Henntawy’s papyrus in his possession, he believed it would be a simple matter to decipher the symbols and crack the code which would reveal the location of Setaph’s magical Scroll of the Dead. Such was his arrogance. Of course, he was wrong. He was as much in the dark as ever. Not realising that the key document was useless, he sought expert help. He approached Sir George Faversham, who refused to help him. Sir George was desperate to locate the Scroll of the Dead for himself in order to beat his rival Andrews to it and earn himself a large entry in the history books. He was hardly likely to assist those two scoundrels in
their
pursuit of
his
goal. We cannot be sure if Faversham’s death was premeditated or if it was the unpleasant outcome of the visit that Melmoth and Felshaw paid upon the old archaeologist. However, it is certainly clear to me that our two friends murdered Sir George Faversham and ransacked his house in order to make it appear as though a common burglary had occurred.’

‘If what you say is true, that’s two murders on their heads.’

‘At least.’ Holmes relit his pipe and beamed warmly. He was now in his element: explaining the complex details of a case to a captive audience. ‘Our two antagonists then approached Sir Alistair Andrews for assistance. Sir Alistair Andrews was already involved with Melmoth and
his crony. He was far less scrupulous than his fellow archaeologist, and no doubt he agreed to help them on the understanding that, once they had gleaned the requisite information from the Scroll of the Dead, he would be allowed to claim credit for discovering it. However, he was obviously having difficulty in deciphering the code, and that is why, in desperation, they approached Faversham for help.’ It was Holmes’ turn to chuckle now. ‘And all the collected brainpower of Melmoth, Felshaw, Andrews, and his daughter still could not break the code set by a man over 2000 years ago. Of course, they were hindered somewhat by attempting to read the message by using the useless key, just as the wily Setaph had planned. His trickery reached over the centuries to block their malevolent plans. That’s when they brought me into the matter.’

‘They
brought
you in?’

‘In a manner of speaking. Melmoth must have been be aware of my monograph on codes, and realised that I was probably the only man capable of breaking the one set by Setaph. In this instance, he was right. Disregarding the fraudulent key, I discovered that the real message concerning the location of the Scroll of the Dead was coded within another code in Henntawy’s papyrus. I have come across this device only twice before, most notably in the case of the Vatican cameos. Interestingly enough, that was another instance where a priest proved to be skilful at deception.

‘Our motley crew had to be very cunning and devious concerning the manner in which they secured my services. They knew that I would not respond kindly to an open request. Melmoth was shrewd enough to realise that I suspected him of the museum theft and the murder of the night watchman, so in order to prevent me from getting any closer to that particular truth, he organised his own death. He killed one of Felshaw’s estate workers, damaging his face so that the poor man was unrecognisable. Felshaw presented the world with the shocking news that
Sebastian Melmoth had been involved in an unfortunate shooting accident and was dead, thus superficially blocking off one of my avenues of investigation. But they knew that while the world mourned his demise, I would not be fooled by this rather transparent ruse. They were sure that I would investigate and I was led, like an ass by the nose, to a cottage on the Felshaw estate in Norfolk, where sufficient clues were left for me to stumble upon, providing me with enough information to work on the code and Henntawy’s papyrus. This I did. I approached the puzzle not as an Egyptologist but as a detective; and I solved the mystery.’

‘You did?’ Hardcastle beamed, sitting forward in his chair eagerly. ‘You are a wonder, Mr Holmes, you really are. You say you know where this so-called Scroll of the Dead is located?’

Holmes gave him a brief smile. ‘At least, I know where it
was
,’ he replied quietly. ‘But let me finish my tale in order, my friend, before we come on to the whereabouts of the magic Scroll. Having kindly cracked the code for Melmoth and company, they needed to know my findings, so they presented me with another mystery. This is where Miss Catriona Andrews came into the picture. She gave me sufficient information to lead me to deduce that her missing father had been abducted, the implication being that he was being forced to work on the papyrus for Melmoth. In engaging me to find Sir Alistair, she had a strong, legitimate reason for staying close by my side. They hoped to convince me that they had already broken the code and that I would hare after them in order to apprehend them at the site of Setaph’s tomb somewhere in Egypt, when in reality they would be following
me
to learn of its location. Their grave error was assuming that the Scroll of the Dead was lodged somewhere in Egypt. It is not. It is in this country.’

‘This country!’ gasped the Scotland Yarder. ‘Where?’

Holmes shot him a frosty glance. ‘All in good time and proper order. They waited for me to make arrangements to travel to Egypt, receiving
detailed reports of all my plans and movements from their spy in the camp, Miss Catriona Andrews. With the help of the Baker Street Irregulars, I soon located the hotel where the girl’s father was in waiting. I sent her a telegram this evening, purporting to come from him, requesting her to meet him at the hotel at eight this evening. I couched the message in suitably dramatic terms, stating that the matter was most urgent. And thus we were able to nab two of our birds.’

‘What about Melmoth and Felshaw?’ I asked.

‘They are shrewd fellows. No doubt they are already aware of the situation.’

‘It’s rather a complicated affair, Mr Holmes, and while I can only applaud your detective work up to now, it seems it does not get us much further down the road of apprehending the murderers and restoring Henntawy’s papyrus to the British Museum.’

‘Patience was never one of your virtues, my friend,’ remarked Holmes languidly, stretching himself in the chair. ‘I believe that within forty-eight hours, the other two birds will be in our net and the manuscript safely restored to the museum.’

‘I am pleased to hear it. Then allow me return to an earlier question. Where is this blasted Scroll of the Dead?’

S
herlock Holmes was enjoying himself too much simply to hand over the reins of the case to Hardcastle at this juncture. He had been happy enough to relate how he had reached his conclusions regarding the investigation so far, but he artfully deflected all the policeman’s questions regarding the location of Setaph’s Scroll of the Dead. I knew my friend believed that he had passed on sufficient information to enable the inspector to continue his own detective work without his assistance. As always, Holmes was determined to plough a solitary furrow. Once he had started an investigation, he became determined to be the one to bring it to a satisfactory conclusion.

‘As Ihave already intimated,’ Holmes announced firmly to silence the protesting inspector, ‘I believe that within forty-eight hours I will have the Scroll in my possession and Melmoth and Felshaw will have been apprehended.’

‘But this is police business!’

‘Then be about it. I am not preventing you. But let me remind you, my friend, it was your good self who sought out my assistance in the first
instance, and it was I who presented two of the quartet of malefactors on a plate for you this evening.’ Holmes’ stern expression softened as he tapped the Scotland Yarder on the knee. ‘I am a lone hound. I work better that way. I now have a strong scent, and my quarry is near. I am not going to pass it over to a pack of professionals.’

Hardcastle rose stiffly to his feet. ‘It’s not right, Mr Holmes. It’s not right; and no fancy words about lone hounds will make it so. You talk about a pack of professionals – well, yes, I am a professional and I’m proud of it. What you are doing – withholding information – is most
un
professional to my mind.’ He made his way to the door but turned again to address my friend before leaving. ‘I hope you change your mind about this, Mr Holmes. If you do, you know how to find me.’ With these parting words, he shut the door fiercely and thumped his way down the stairs.

Holmes smiled gently and stirred the fading embers of our fire. ‘He will get over it. Especially when Melmoth and Felshaw are behind bars and the British Museum has its precious papyrus back.’

‘You believe that Sir George Faversham had Setaph’s Scroll all the time, don’t you?’ I said.

Holmes gave a start and almost dropped the poker. ‘Why my dear Watson, this is wonderful. You have followed things marvellously.’

‘I listened and observed. I have had years of practice.’

‘Yes, yes, of course,’ he said, grinning. ‘I shall have to watch myself or you will be undermining my magician’s art. Well done, Watson. I must say I am fascinated to learn how you reached this conclusion. Do tell me how you read the riddle. Let’s see if there are any gaps.’

I smiled, pleased that I had surprised and impressed my friend with my statement in very much the same manner that he had amazed me on numerous occasions. ‘Very well,’ I said, lounging back in my chair. ‘I cannot claim to have made any startling deductions, but the fact that you made enquiries about that dog-headed Canopic jar taken from the tomb
of Queen Henntawy, and that Sir George Faversham had requested possession of it, was suggestive. Knowing of the devious mind of Setaph and that such jars are meant to contain a person’s entrails, their essential body parts as it were, it would be fitting for this devious priest to secrete the Scroll of the Dead within the jar. How Sir George discovered this fact, I know not. I am also unclear why he did not announce his finding to the world, but kept it secret for many years. So you see, in essence, my knowledge is only slightly greater than Hardcastle’s.’

‘You do yourself a disservice, old fellow. Your gaps of knowledge are my gaps too. You are correct about Faversham. He discovered that the Scroll of the Dead was concealed in the jar by breaking the code in the papyrus found in Henntawy’s tomb, as I did. The information is there if you know how to interpret it. Sir Alistair Andrews couldn’t see it and indeed, still cannot see it, but Faversham must have approached the problem much in the same manner as myself: with a scientific eye rather than that of an archaeologist. Setaph knew that those who came after him seeking his magical text would assume it was hidden in his own secret tomb; so, to confound them, he placed it in the tomb of Queen Henntawy, secreted in the innocent Canopic jar. Faversham’s request to take possession of a simple item like the jar would have seemed quite innocent to the authorities of the British Museum. Little did they know that he was holding the most precious relic from the whole expedition. As to why he kept his discovery of the Scroll of the Dead a secret, I cannot be sure. It is one of the missing pieces of the puzzle. It may be that Faversham had that peculiar passion which some collectors have. There are those who possess great works of art but keep them locked away in darkened rooms and never let anyone view them. The possession is all. It may have been the same with Faversham. One can imagine his delight at the frustration of his rival, Andrews, who was so desperate and determined to locate the very piece that Sir George kept in his own house.’