by Robert Warr
‘Good evening, Monsieur Ducroix,’ my master said. ‘My name is Thompson and I am a police inspector. How is Mr Carmichael?’
‘Good evening, Inspector.’ The small man inclined his head politely to my master. ‘You have arrived at the right moment. Could you please help me to lift Mr Carmichael on to his bed, where he will be more comfortable? I think that the poor man will make a full recovery, although his memory, it may be incomplete.’
‘Before we move him, Doctor, was he lying like this when you found him?’
‘Almost. I moved the chair slightly so that I could examine him properly.’
‘What type of injury has he sustained?’
‘He has been hit at least twice about the head with some type of bludgeon. The skull may be cracked and I think he is lucky not to be dead. Sometimes a thick head is advantageous, non?’
‘Thank you Doctor,’ my master replied with equanimity. ‘Now if I lift his shoulders and you take his legs, we can move him to the bed.’
With that, the two men lifted Mr Carmichael and carried him carefully over to the bed. As they put him down they must have jolted him, because suddenly he groaned loudly and I could see his eyelids flutter before opening.
‘Assassin!’ the victim cried loudly, his voice strangely thick and slurred but obviously American. ‘Thief! You have stolen my calf.’
With that announcement, he groaned again and slipped back into unconsciousness.
‘The poor man,’ M. Ducroix exclaimed, obviously concerned. ‘The trauma to his little grey cells has made him delusional. He is obviously reliving some previous event, n’est-ce pass? I will give him the little injection to encourage restful sleep.’
With that the doctor crossed to his case and extracted a small box which proved to contain a syringe and a small bottle.
‘This is an extract of opium, Inspector, and will make him sleep soundly until the morning,’ the doctor remarked in a lecturing tone while drawing up the liquid. ‘I will give him the small dose now.’
‘I would rather you didn’t, Doctor,’ my master said, moving between him and his patient. ‘Mr Carmichael seems to be resting peacefully now and it is possible that he may regain a more coherent consciousness before morning. As you can appreciate, the sooner I talk to him, the more quickly I can catch his assailant.’
‘As you will, Inspector,’ Ducroix said with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘If he becomes distressed, I am only next door in chamber 38.’
With that, he put his equipment away, picked up his bag, and, bowing to your uncle, walked to the door.
‘One moment please, Doctor,’ my master said, before the small man left the room. ‘Could you tell me how you came to find Mr Carmichael?’
‘But of course, Inspector.’ M. Ducroix paused for a second as if remembering. ‘I was sitting in my room writing in my journal when I heard a crash in this room. This was followed by a low cry and another thud. I was sure there had been an accident when I heard a woman’s voice and then someone raced passed my door. The haste suggested to me that someone was going to fetch aid so I decided to see if I could assist.
‘I came out into the corridor and, seeing my neighbour’s door open, approached it and looked into the room, where I saw poor Mr Carmichael lying by his escritoire. Naturally I rushed straight to his aid.’
‘Doctor, I notice there is no key in the lock. Did you see it when you entered the room?’
‘Non.’
‘Did you see or hear anyone else, in the corridor, when you came to Mr Carmichael’s aid?’
‘No, Inspector, the corridor was empty.’ He paused again in thought. ‘Just after I had knelt by Mr Carmichael, I think someone paused in the doorway, but then they walked off up the passage and I heard a door close.’
‘Did you hear any footsteps before they paused at the door?’
‘No, Inspector.’ Ducroix suddenly started and took a half pace towards us before swinging round to look at the door. ‘Mais non! Inspector, could the attacker not have been hiding behind the door as I entered the room?’
‘Dr Ducroix, that does indeed seem to be a logical deduction.’
My master waited for a few seconds after Ducroix had left the room before he walked over to the door and stood behind it. Then stepping round it carefully he paced towards the desk. He paused for a second and looked at the mirror on the dressing table.
‘Mr Crow,’ my master asked, turning to the manager, ‘how long has Mr Carmichael been staying in the hotel?’
‘He arrived late yesterday evening, sir,’ the manager replied. ‘He has stayed with us several times before and he’s never been any trouble.’
‘Thank you, Mr Crow,’ your uncle said with a smile. ‘Could you please ask Miss Rodgers to step into the room for a moment? I will not need to detain you from your duties any more. When the local police arrive please send them up.’
The manager left the room and my master turned his attention to the objects on the escritoire. A soft and discreet knock heralded the arrival of Miss Rodgers, who entered the room at my master’s invitation.
‘You wanted me, Inspector?’ she said curiously. ‘I don’t think I know anything more about this matter than Mr Crow.’
‘You are undoubtedly correct, Miss Rodgers,’ your uncle replied. ‘I do, however, like hearing the details from the actual witness just to be certain that I understand the evidence correctly.’
‘I understand precisely, sir. Do you want me to tell you what happened?’ She paused and at my master’s nod started her account.
‘I had just finished resolving a small difficulty for one of our guests and was on my way back to my own room when I heard a sudden loud crash. Naturally I stopped and listened. A low pitiful cry came from this room and there was a second crash, although this one was somehow duller.
‘I knocked at the door, and remembering that the room had been taken by Mr Carmichael, I called his name. There was no reply, so I tried the door and found that it was locked. Fearing for Mr Carmichael’s safety, I tried to open the door with my pass key, but discovered that I could not insert it because the room’s key was in the lock on the other side.
‘I called out to Mr Carmichael that I was going for help and then ran to the stairs, intending to call down to one of the porters. Fortunately, Mr Crow was on the landing below and I was able to apprise him rapidly of the situation. He followed me back to the room, intending to break the lock.
‘We were surprised to see the door open, and on looking into the room I thought we had caught the assailant literally red-handed. You can imagine my relief on discovering that it was kind M.Ducroix, and that Mr Carmichael was in good hands.
‘The doctor sent Mr Crow to summon the police and then asked me to fetch his bag from his room. I did this and was then asked to stop anyone entering while he treated his patient. I was doing this when you arrived.’
‘Thank you Miss Rodgers,’ my master said. ‘Can you tell me if you saw or heard anyone else in this corridor in the time between your leaving Mr Carmichael’s door and your returning with Mr Crow.’
‘No, sir.’
‘Thank you, Miss Rodgers. That will be all.’
Once we were alone, my master sat down in a chair and began writing in his notebook. After a while, he put his book away and started looking round the room. Suddenly he got to his feet and walking over to the window reached up to the top of the curtain. With an expression of satisfaction, he pulled an ebony cane from where it had been hidden in the curtain rings.
‘Well, well,’ he said reflectively. ‘I believe this must be the weapon; something has caused the silver head to crumple and split.’
Your uncle was still examining his find when a knock on the door heralded the arrival of Inspector James and Sergeant Yates from the local station.
‘Good evening, Richard,’ Inspector James said, entering the room. ‘The manager sent word that an American guest had been assaulted and that you were investigating the case. Naturally I hurried over as qu
ickly as possible.’
My master greeted his colleagues and then quickly summarised the situation. Once he had finished he told the sergeant to sit by Mr Carmichael. The sergeant was to ensure that nothing further untoward happened to the victim. Handing the cane to Inspector James, my master asked him to show it to the staff to see if anyone could identify the owner.
My master left the room and walked purposefully along the corridor to the door marked ‘38’ upon which he knocked.
‘Yes? Who is it?’ came a muffled reply.
‘Inspector Thompson,’ your uncle replied. ‘There is one more thing I need your assistance with.’
The muffled voice invited us in, and I followed my master into the room. M. Ducroix was sitting writing at his escritoire. One glance confirmed that he was a precise and fussy man: not only was he dressed in a dapper fashion but the pens and papers on his desk were arranged with almost military precision. Some letters were weighted down with a small metal paperweight, shaped like some type of bovine.
Such a man would feed his dog at precisely the same time of day and take it for a walk of exactly the same length in exactly the same place. I shivered at the thought of being owned by someone like that. His pets would not swim in muddy water or have the last inch of sausage from his plate. There would be none of the spontaneous chaos so dear to a Spaniel’s heart.
‘Doctor, I must ask you to write a statement for me concerning Mr Carmichael’s injury, your treatment and how you discovered him.’
‘Certainement, Inspector,’ Ducroix answered with a sympathetic smile. ‘The paperwork is the curse of an official’s life, n’est pas?’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ your uncle said with a laugh. ‘Talking about paperwork, I do like your paperweight. It looks quite ancient.’
‘Inspector, are you also a student of past civilisations?’
‘Not really, M. Ducroix. The London criminals keep me fully employed.’
‘You are correct in saying that my paperweight is old.’ Ducroix spoke with a slightly superior tone. ‘I bought it in a curio shop in Paris. The proprietor said that it was Minoan and part of their bull worship.’
The two men exchanged some small pleasantries before my master left wishing, M. Ducroix a pleasant evening.
We went downstairs and into the lobby, where my master quickly made his way over to Mr Crow, who was standing by the reception desk talking to an elderly and very distinguished-looking man.
‘Inspector Thompson,’ Mr Crow said, with obvious relief, ‘this is Dr Wareham from the British Museum. He has an appointment with Mr Carmichael. I have told him that the poor man is indisposed and that he should talk to you. May I suggest you use my office?’
‘Thank you, Mr Crow. That would be most helpful.’
Mr Crow indicated a door behind the reception desk and my master led Dr Wareham into a small room. The two men settled themselves into the only chairs and my master began to speak; but the doctor waved him to silence.
‘Inspector, the fact that the manager asked me to talk to you suggests that Mr Carmichael has not become indisposed in any normal manner.’ He paused before continuing. ‘Am I right in assuming that my young friend has been attacked? If that is the case, how is he?’
‘Dr Wareham, you are correct in assuming that Mr Carmichael has been assaulted. He is currently unconscious, but he has been treated by a doctor.’ It was my master’s turn to pause. ‘I don’t think that you are surprised by this news. Can you tell me why?’
‘Certainly. I received a letter from my young friend while he was in Cairo, in which he related that he had been attacked by a gang of toughs. The local authorities established that they had been hired by a European to rob and then kill him. Fortunately he normally carries a revolver, with which he has an admirable proficiency.’
‘Cairo?’ prompted your uncle. ‘What was Mr Carmichael doing in Cairo?’
‘Oh, I am sorry, Inspector,’ Dr Wareham said contritely. ‘Mr Carmichael is so well regarded within my field that I forgot that others might not know of him. I will give you a quick summation of his recent career.
‘Adam Carmichael is an archaeologist. To be more exact, he is an Egyptologist who, despite his relative youth, has already built a reputation in the field. He has recently been financed by the Museum in a bid to locate a lost Serapeum that is mentioned in several texts.’
‘Serapeum?’ queried your master.
‘A Serapeum is a special catacomb in which the priests of the Apis cult buried the Apis bulls when they died.’ Dr Wareham laughed. ‘I can see from your expression that you do not understand me. I think I should digress slightly and explain the Apis cult.
‘The Apis bull was thought by the ancient Egyptians to be an incarnation of the God Ptah. These were very special bulls and from various wall paintings we can deduce that they were basically black and white with white blazes on their forehead and throat. The bull also had to have a red saddle marking. When one of these bulls died, and I believe that there was only ever one at a time, the body was mummified and interred with great ceremony in the Serapeum.
‘People searched for the Serapeum in vain for a long time, but eventually in 1850 it was discovered by Mariette, a discovery that was one of the great moments of this century. This discovery, however, left some major questions unanswered. Several texts mention a catacomb where the calves of the Apis bulls were buried and we do not know where it can be found. My young friend was hunting for this catacomb.
‘Mr Carmichael wrote to me regularly, as the Museum had sponsored him, so I was able to follow his expedition quite closely. At times his journal more closely resembled a story written for the Strand Magazine than a scientific report.
‘About five months ago he stumbled by chance on a small bronze figurine. The statuette was in itself quite unimportant, but there was an inscription carved on it and a cartouche. Mr Carmichael spent some time translating this inscription, because the cartouche contained the name of the builder of the Serapeum found by Mariette. A full translation showed that the figurine had been given to a priest of Ptah after he had constructed the calves’ catacomb.
‘As you can appreciate, this was a real breakthrough, as this priest’s tomb had been recently excavated. Accordingly, Mr Carmichael travelled to this site and spent a not inconsiderable time studying all the wall paintings. You can imagine his delight when he realised that the artist had left clues to the location of the priest’s greatest work, the catacombs of the Apis calves.
‘He returned to Cairo to report fully to me and to gather a small team, as he wanted to reconnoitre the site. While he was in the city, a French archaeologist called Petit introduced himself to Mr Carmichael, and initially proved to be good company. After a few days, though, my young friend found his new companion to be extremely annoying. It seemed as if he was trying to get him to talk about his recent discoveries. About this time, Mr Carmichael realised that he was being followed and decided to leave Cairo quietly.’
‘Mr Carmichael managed to slip away with his two most loyal native assistants and managed to confirm that the supposed site of the catacombs was worth the cost of a full expedition. On his last day, a local headman approached and asked if he was willing to buy a strange antiquity. Adam agreed to consider purchasing the object and the headman produced the lower part of a calf’s leg that had been mummified: proof that the catacombs were nearby, evidence also that they had been violated. Such proofs are important as they encourage institutions such as mine to fund full-scale excavations of a site.
‘Soon after that, I received a letter saying that on his return to Cairo, he had been attacked by a gang whose purpose in assaulting him seemed to be to steal the evidence he had acquired, an attack he felt that had been instigated by Petit. He informed me that he would be catching the next available boat to England.
‘This morning I received a telegram asking me to call on him this evening so that he could show me his finds.’
‘Thank you, Dr Wareham. That
was most informative.’ My master smiled. ‘I think I have nearly been fooled by a clever man. Could Mr Carmichael’s statuette be described as a figure of a calf?’
‘Yes.’ Dr Wareham looked surprised. ‘But how did you deduce that, young man?’
‘I will come and tell you soon, Dr Wareham,’ my master said. ‘At the moment I have a villain to catch, a rogue I might have missed without your timely help.’
‘Can I look in and see Mr Carmichael?’ Dr Wareham asked.
‘Of course, Dr Wareham. Would you mind waiting here for a few minutes until I can tell the sergeant guarding him that I’ve authorised your visit.’
We left the room to find Mr Crow waiting by the reception desk.
‘Mr Crow, I think it would be a good idea if you asked the hotel’s regular doctor to attend Mr Carmichael as a matter of urgency,’ my master requested in a tone that brooked no refusal. ‘I would take it as a kindness if you would escort both him and Dr Wareham to Mr Carmichael’s room yourself.’
At that moment, Inspector James came into the lobby and beckoned to your uncle to join him in a quiet corner.
‘I’ve spoken to several of the staff, and one of the maids is certain that the cane belongs to M. Ducroix,’ he said as we joined him.
‘I am on my way to have words with Ducroix myself,’ your uncle said in a tight voice. ‘Perhaps you would be so good as to accompany us, Andrew, in case our conversation becomes forceful.’
‘With pleasure,’ Inspector James replied. ‘So you are sure he’s your man?’
‘Absolutely. His real name is Petit.’
With that the determined detectives headed for the staircase and room 38 where a villain lurked. Unaware as he was, I hoped that he was trapped. In all it was with a light frame of mind and a cheerful wag of the tail that I followed the two men.
‘Dr Ducroix,’ your uncle called whilst knocking on the door. ‘There’s one more small point you can help me resolve.’