Agatha & the Scarlet Scarab

by Karl Fish

  ‘Sir!’ Smith called out from the driver’s seat. ‘Is she supposed to be anywhere near here, sir?’

  Thompson looked through the windscreen. Outside of the entrance and being escorted by two of his plain-clothed officers was Hilary Nevis. Next to her was a very tall woman, with straight black hair, clutching an envelope.

  ‘Mr Thompson? Please, Mr Thompson?’ She waved him down and stood in front of his car.

  ‘Shall I deal with this, sir?’ piped up Jones.

  ‘It’s fine,’ Thompson replied, winding down his window. ‘Miss Nevis, you are suspended pending further investigations, you know that.’

  The nervous Hilary Nevis shook her head in acknowledgement.

  ‘I k-k-know, sir,’ she stuttered. ‘I know, but something was bugging me about what I said.’

  ‘OK, tell me.’

  ‘Well, first, may I introduce Lady James. Jennifer’s mother.’

  Thompson looked back confused to his colleagues. Each of them had guns braced in case of any surprises.

  ‘Lady James, a pleasure to meet you, ma’am, but I am afraid I cannot discuss anything with you.’

  The good lady, an imposing figure in comparison to timid Hilary, stepped forward and presented the envelope to Thompson. He looked inside and pulled out several photographs.

  ‘Those are the most recent ones of my daughter and my husband,’ The lady advised pointing to a smiling Jennifer embraced by her father.

  Thompson looked at Jennifer. You could now tell she was definitely the tigress in the photo he held within his pocket. He, in return, produced the image from the OSIRIS fundraiser and shared it with her mother.

  ‘Could this be your daughter?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course, it’s my daughter,’ she replied without hesitation. ‘Why on earth she would wear such a garish wig is beyond me? She has such beautiful jet-black hair. But that’s her alright. That coat I would recognise anywhere. It was a gift from Donald, her fiancé, well – fiancé to be.’

  Thompson was stunned. The Lady didn’t even blink or deny anything. Had she been informed of the seriousness of Jennifer’s crime? ‘Donald?’ Thompson questioned.

  ‘Yes, there he is, looking dapper in his tuxedo,’ she said pointing out Draper in the shadows. ‘Such a sweetie since her father went missing. People talked, about the age gap, you know. But he has been nothing but a rock to our family.’

  Thompson took a deep breath. This was certainly unexpected. No one, not even her best friend Hilary had known of their closer acquaintance; and all relationships should have been declared to superiors.

  ‘Your husband, ma’am. You say he disappeared. What did he do?’

  ‘He’s Sir Wallace James,’ Hilary interjected excitedly.

  ‘The Sir Wallace James? The famous surgeon?’ Thompson replied.

  ‘Well, I doubt that is such a common name, sir, but yes, he was my husband,’ Lady James confirmed.

  ‘Was? I am so sorry. My condolences, did he pass recently.’

  ‘He disappeared; no trace, no note. Very unlike him, who was as conscientious a family man as ever you could meet. We presumed a victim of those dreadful Thunder Machines that plague us,’ Lady James continued. ‘It was he who first introduced Jennifer to Donald. We did not expect any kind of romance but he offered her a job, without hesitation. Could not divulge much, official secrets and so forth. And rightly so. She has a double first from Cambridge. We were so happy, so proud.’

  ‘And where did your husband meet Draper? I mean Donald?’ Thompson asked, correcting himself.

  ‘A charitable dinner. My husband is an expert in the field of rehabilitation for burns victims.’

  Thompson’s obvious confusion was not lost on Lady James.

  ‘Are you OK, young man? You look like you have seen a ghost.’

  ‘Smith, escort Hilary and the good Lady to the office. I shall return imminently. I need you to corroborate what we just heard; times, places, etc. But, please, all remain here just for now. Jones, Whitehall … immediately. And, Smith, mum’s the word. No one knows about this until I contact you via the wire.’

  *****

  Sabine Erket and Professor Meredith Malcolm did not speak to one another as they independently prepared their subjects for Mr Louds.

  The stench of Purrsia’s entrails was enough to make Sabine wretch as Professor Malcolm removed them along with the vital organs to create the cavity so as to preserve the cat. Purrsia’s final journey would come after embalming.

  Softly Sabine dampened Gemima’s brow and removed a combination of dried blood and dirt. Still subdued, Gem’s body was dead weight and awkward to move.

  ‘Professor, I need your assistance,’ she said. ‘Help me sit her up.’

  Meredith Malcolm did not respond verbally but dutifully placed his scalpel down and moved to assist Sabine Erket. They folded Gemima upwards, her head flopping as she sat ‘L-shaped’ like a string-less marionette. Sabine moved behind Gemima and continued cleaning the blood from her hair. The injury sustained while skipping, combined with the hustle and bustle of the car journey, had streamed blood through her newly acquired bob and down her spine. As she reached the shoulder blades, she paused and looked at the semi-circular crescent pattern it had formed. She gently ran her index finger over it but as she did so the blood crumbled and smudged away. Her driver had been wrong. It had been dark when he’d checked but it wasn’t a scar at all, just a dark mark from the blood. She let out a gasp and turned her back to the door. The Professor momentarily paused, sensing Sabine’s concern.

  ‘He’s watching,’ Sabine whispered, her back to the two-way mirror so she couldn’t be seen conversing.

  Professor Meredith Malcolm was unmoved and simply ignored her. Requiring another tool, he stood up and stepped across the room. He wasn’t aware of the open trap door that lay directly beneath the prism ceiling.

  ‘Watch out!’ Sabine cried out as she stretched her slender body to full length and caught the back of his crumpled linen jacket.

  It was enough to rotate his body so his step landed on the floor and he didn’t fall through to his untimely death on the sarcophagus altar below.

  ‘Thank you,’ he replied gratefully. Then continued on with his task.

  Sabine carried on bathing Gemima, and she dressed her in a pure white Egyptian cotton robe that had been laid out by Brain Louds. There was a crackling of interference, and tiny speakers, which were buried beneath the vivarium and glass enclosures, made their presence known for the first time since the Professor’s arrival.

  A deep voice came over against static interference. Repeating itself time and time again as it revolving on a gramophone.

  ‘Work hard, obey. Work hard, obey,’ it announced over and over.

  Gradually, the voice slowed, becoming deeper and deeper until it was an inaudible deep monotone. Then, in pure contrast, a perky violin concerto began. In the background, drowned out by the string instruments the deep monotone continued to loop.

  Sabine and the Professor did not speak, they continued with their tasks.

  *****

  ‘My God, Gideon, all this from one man?’ Noone enquired.

  ‘Indeed. One very industrious man,’ Gideon confirmed.

  Both of them stood in Gideon’s basement laboratory. The looped strings of developed black-and-white images in abundance in front of them. Papers from Lord Huntington’s estate, land registers, images of monuments, ordnance maps, and even a set of documents with nothing on them at all. Each snapped in a hurry, most visible, some blurred and some underdeveloped completely.

  ‘It was everything Tink and Eric could obtain in the time given. He knew damn well we had been sneaking,’ Gideon advised his friend. ‘We did acquire his torches after all.’ He smiled.

  ‘What remains of the originals?’ asked Noone.

  ‘That, we are about to find out.’ Gideon ran his fingers over the leather satchel he had taken from the dead man at the Museum and painstakingly protected for hours on en
d. ‘I think anything that is no longer here may be of vital importance. Unsure of the rest,’ he said as he removed paper upon paper and laid them out uniformly in front of them.

  ‘And you are absolutely sure it was him?’ Noone asked for the final time.

  ‘Positive.’

  Chapter 49

  The Russian Pt.4

  On this particularly late afternoon, where summer heat made way for the autumn chill, the residents of Ambledown were still nervous following the flash floods that the storm had brought and the increased presence of the Huntington households’ guards seeking out clues to the ransacking and recent break-in at Huntington Hall. Of course, they would focus on the Poacher. It was a den of misfits and thieves, but word on the street was that no one, not even Pop, had any idea who had staged the real robbery. In the aftermath, the servants had been light-fingered enough to suggest more than one man was involved and the black market contraband – particularly, eggs and sides of bacon, which they had illicitly procured – had swiftly been traded amongst the regulars of the Poacher. Pop Braggan was, of course, the prime suspect but the Huntington’s did not have the proof or strength to take on the Braggan network.

  Several ales had been eagerly consumed as Tink, Pop and Gideon regaled stories and adventures. Their Sunday meetings were often about business but masqueraded as jovial catch-ups and banter. As they left the Poacher, Tink led, Pop followed with The Lady and Luna, while Gideon settled up, as he so often did. Opposite them, stepping out from The Crown was a gentleman dressed in fine fettle, pure white linens, a straw boater and the most marvellous moustache, which he thumbed down eagerly.

  ‘Oh deary dear, look at ’im.’ Pop laughed, pointing at the man. ‘The Huntington’s are looking for strangers, are they? Look no further.’ He chortled loudly.

  Gideon stepped out from the Poacher, looked upon the man and momentarily froze.

  ‘Gideon, are you OK?’ Tink asked him. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ Gideon broke from his stare and returned into the pub. ‘Eric,’ he called over. ‘I have a job for you.’

  The enthusiastic boy jumped off of the barstool and sprung over.

  ‘You see that man, heading up the hill?’ Gideon asked. ‘I need his room key.’

  ‘I thought our rule was that I am never not to pickpocket anyone ever again?’ Eric replied candidly.

  ‘This is an exceptional case,’ Gideon replied. And with little encouragement, Eric was gone.

  ‘What is it, Gideon?’ Tink enquired, joining him back in the bar.

  ‘Yea, wot’s got into ya?’ Pop interrupted, re-joining them in the pub for fear he was missing out on a free ale. ‘You seen a ghost?’ he asked Gideon.

  ‘I believe I actually have,’ Gideon confirmed.

  ‘Wot, a real ghost?’ Pop replied in amazement.

  ‘Someone I thought was dead already,’ Gideon replied as he nervously awaited Eric’s return. His friends turned to each other confused.

  ‘Well, that was easy,’ came Eric’s chipper voice as he re-entered the Poacher in no time at all. ‘He was waiting outside yer shop, Giddy.’

  Gideon’s suspicions were confirmed. This man was masquerading as someone he was not.

  ‘OK, Plan B.’ Gideon turned to his cohort. ‘Tink, I need to know the name he is using. Here, take the key, return it to The Crown, and find it out. Make sure they write it down.’

  Tink left immediately.

  ‘Pop, go to my shop, stall him, and do one favour for me. Make sure you get a good look at his eyes, then report back.’

  Gideon didn’t have to ask twice. Pop waddled out with Luna and The Lady, whistling a drunken tune.

  Gideon waited patiently with Eric, peeping through the shutter gaps of the Poacher. Tink had taken less than five minutes to return having procured the name.

  ‘Professor Meredith Malcolm,’ Tink advised, passing Gideon the headed paper from The Crown where he had scrawled the name. ‘Professor of insects at the Natural History or something like that.’

  ‘That is very specific, thanks,’ Gideon replied with a curious look across his face.

  Just moments later, Pop’s whistling introduced him back into the Poacher. ‘As green as emeralds, his eyes are, Gideon. Green as emeralds,’ Pop confirmed to his friend.

  Gideon exhaled a sigh of concern, sat down in a corner and began writing on the paper that Tink had just procured for him.

  ‘Pop, I need one last favour from you. I need you to take this letter to London and hand-deliver it to the real Professor Meredith Malcolm.’

  ‘London, but I’m three sheets to the wind already,’ Pop argued.

  ‘Plenty of fresh air on those smuggler roads for you to sober up then,’ Gideon responded curtly.

  ‘A letter to London, why can’t you just post it?’ Pop continued.

  ‘Oh, it’s not just a letter, Pop.’ Gideon smiled. ‘You’ll have company. Eric!’ Gideon ordered the boy over.

  ‘I don’t wanna take the boy,’ Pop moaned.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, he’s not travelling with you. Eric, prepare Geoffrey for travel.’

  ‘A bleedin’ giraffe?’ Pop frowned.

  ‘A bust of a giraffe, if we’re being picky.’ Gideon smiled at him. ‘Eric will prepare him. Now go, go on, go,’ Gideon encouraged his giant gipsy friend.

  Pop sauntered out of the pub slowly as Eric rushed before him to help prepare the stuffed animal. Gideon remained behind with Tink.

  ‘Anything you’d like to share with me?’ Tink asked of his friend.

  ‘That man we saw, he’s no professor. He’s a Russian, an imposter, and until many moments ago, I believed he was dead. Pop was right without really knowing. He would be the man that broke into Huntington Hall. That man knows who I am, who we all are, we must warn Florrie.’

  Chapter 50

  Conundrum

  ‘East Croydon!’ came the guard’s welcome voice, finally.

  Belle was impatient to get back to London. Several hours had been wasted already. All she now required was a Hackney carriage and she would be there within the hour.

  ‘Be careful if you’re heading back in town miss,’ advised the guard. ‘There’s a storm coming and you know what follows; thunder and lightning!’

  Belle thanked the guard and made her way to find transport. The roads were deserted with the exception of few stranded commuters to the coast that were ambling around. Mostly, however, the streets were empty. She waited patiently to hail a taxicab but with little success. A single street vendor was huddled within their booth trying to shield the daily papers from the wind. The clouds were drawing darker and the gusts beginning to howl through.

  ‘Where is everybody?’ Belle enquired.

  ‘Air-raid warning; came through half an hour ago,’ the vendor replied.

  ‘In daytime?’ Belle questioned.

  ‘Big storm brewing. Reckon Adolf’s mob will see it as an opportunity,’ the vendor replied. ‘Best get indoors, love.’

  Belle had nowhere to go. No trains, no cars, just the vendor and a littering of papers and leaves that began to swirl and dance in the air.

  ‘Do you have a street map?’ she asked.

  The vendor produced an illustrated map of London from behind his booth. Belle reached inside her pockets but she didn’t have anything on her but the torch. She had not taken her purse. She didn’t even have an umbrella and by the heavy droplets of water now beginning to fall she was going to need one fast.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, patting down her body. ‘I’ve misplaced my purse. I’m desperate.’

  ‘No money, no map!’ the vendor replied, unrelenting.

  ‘Please? I need to get back to central London. I will send you the money. It’s of national importance.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure it is, Mrs Churchill.’ the vendor replied sarcastically. ‘In that case … No! No money, no map. Now move along cos I’m buggerin off now before this storm comes in proper.’

  Belle was furious. As the vendor turned t
o button his coat, Belle snatched the map from the counter and kicked the display of daily papers so hard they were sent scattering into the increasing winds. Cascades of Fleet Street’s finest danced in black and white forming a barrier between herself and the vendor before she ran for her life back into the station. She ran downstairs, crossed a walkway, and exited the station on the other side. Belle didn’t stop running for a full ten minutes, exhausting every breath in her lungs as the heavens opened and lashed down torrents of heavy rain. Certain she was safe, she took refuge in a shop doorway. Opening the ordnance, she then carefully plotted her route to Whitehall. It was quite obvious the map was out-dated and who knew how many roads had changed due to bombing or were blocked on the way. Nevertheless, she calculated if she continued at walking pace, it would take her four hours minimum. That is if she wasn’t subject to an incendiary attack, or hypothermia hadn’t claimed her first.

  *****

  ‘It’s time, Gideon,’ Noone advised his friend.

  Several hours of deciphering maps of Egypt and Mesopotamia, land registers in English and Arabic and much information they had not understood, not really, had taken Gideon and Noone a couple of hours. A picture of what all the moving parts and detail meant was forming in their minds but with many components still missing.

  ‘Did you think Ilya would make it easy for you?’ Noone asked him, remembering the dead Russian.

  ‘Not after the robbery. Not ever, considering Cairo, I would have guessed,’ Gideon replied.

  ‘Come, they’ll be waiting,’ Noone urged him.

  They finished packing the canvas duffle bag. Predominantly, it held explosives and guns and two large brown cloaks.

  ‘Ready?’ Gideon asked his dear friend.

  ‘Ready,’ Noone replied with a childlike grin.

  Le Chat Noir was a minor amble downhill. On approaching the war memorial, they spied Sheriff Wilson Bott, holding court with a deflated crowd in front of him.

  ‘I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen. There is a storm fast approaching and we cannot risk being caught out in it. I will not be held accountable for any of your deaths.’ Wilson shouted.