"Caesar Borgia!" we cried in chorus.
"Ah!" rumbled Moris Klaw, "your Athenean Harp was indeed made by Paduano Zelloni, the Florentine' It is a clever forge! I have been in Rome until yesterday. You are surprised? I am sorry, for the poor Macalister died. Having perfected, with the aid of Isis, my mind photograph of the lady who plays the harp, I go to Rome to perfect the story of the harp. For why? At my house I have records, but incomplete, useless. In Rome I have a friend, of so old a family, and once so wicked, I shall not name it!
"He has recourse to the great Vatican Library— to the annals of his race. There he finds me an account of such a harp. In those priceless parchments it is called 'a Greek lyre of gold.' It is described. I am convinced. I am sure!
"Once the beautiful Lucrece Borgia play upon this harp. To one who is distasteful to her she says: 'Replace for me my harp.' He does so. He is a dead man! God! what cleverness!
"Where has it lain for generations before your Sir Menzies find it? No man knows. But it has still its virtues! How did the poor Menzies die? Throw himself from his room window, I recently learn. This harp certainly was in his room. Conway, after dashing, mad, about the place, springs head downward from the' attendant's chair. Mac-alister dies in exhaustion and convulsions!"
A silence; when—
"What caused the harp to play?" asked Coram.
Moris Klaw looked hard at him. Then a thrill of new horror ran through my veins. A low moan came from somewhere hard by! Coram turned in a flash!
"Why, my private door is open!" he whispered.
"Where do you keep your private keys?" rumbled Klaw.
"In my study." Coram was staring at the open door, but seemed afraid to approach it. "We have
TRAGEDIES IN THE GREEK ROOM 31
been using the attendant's keys at night. My own are on my study mantelpiece now."
"I think not," continued the thick voice. "Your daughter has them'"
"My daughter!" cried Coram, and sprang to the open door. "Heavens! Hilda! Hilda!"
"She is somnambulistic!" whispered Moris Klaw in my ear. "When certain unusual sounds—such as heavy vehicles at night—reach her in her sleep (ah! how little we know of the phenomenon of sleep!), she arises, and, in common with many sleepwalkers, always acts the same. Something, in the case of Miss Hilda, attracts her to the golden harp "
"She is studying music!"
" She must rest from it. Her brain is overwrought! She unlocks the case and strikes the cords of the harp, relocking the door, replacing the keys—I before have known such cases—then retires as she came. Who takes the harp from her hands, or raises it, if she has laid it down upon its side, dies! These dead attendants were brave fellows both, for, hearing the music, they came running, saw how the matter was, and did not waken the sleeping player. Conway was poisoned as he returned the harp to its case; Macalister, as he took it up from where it lay. Something to-night awoke her ere she could relock the door. The fright of so awaking made her to swoon."
Coram's kindly voice and the sound of a girl sobbing affrightedly reached us.
"It was my yell of fear, Mr. Klaw!" said Grimsby, shamefacedly. "She looked like a ghost!"
"I understand," rumbled Moris Klaw, soothingly. "As I see her in my sleep she is very awesome! I will show you the picture Isis has made from my etheric photograph. I saw it, finished, earlier tonight. It confirmed me that the Miss Hilda with the harp in her hand was poor Conway's last thought in life!"
"Mr. Klaw," said Grimsby, earnestly, "you are a very remarkable man!"
"Yes?" he rumbled, and gingerly placed in its case the "Greek lyre of gold" which Paduano Zelloni had wrought for Caesar Borgia.
From the brown hat he took out his scent spray and squirted verbena upon his heated forehead. "That harp," he explained, "it smells of dead men!"
SECOND EPISODE
CASE OF THE POTSHERD OF ANUBIS
IN EXAMINING the mass of material which I have collated respecting Moris Klaw, several outstanding facts strike me as being worthy of some special notice.
For instance, an unusual number of the cases in which he was concerned centred about curios and relics of various kinds. His personal tastes (he was, I think, primarily, an antiquarian) may have led him to examine such cases in preference to others. Then again, no two of his acquaintances agree upon the point of Moris Klaw's actual identity and personality. He was a master of disguise; and the grand secret of his life was one which he jealously guarded from all.
But was the Moris Klaw who kept the curio shop in Wapping the real Moris Klaw? And to what extent did he believe in those psychical phenomena upon which professedly his methods were based ? As particularly bearing upon this phase of the matter, I have selected, for narration here, the story of the potsherd.
Since the Boswell, in records of this kind, has often
appeared, to my mind, to overshadow the Johnson, I have decided to present this episode in the words of Mr. J. E. Wilson Clifford, electrical engineer, of Copthall House, Copthall Avenue, E. C, to whom I am indebted for a full and careful account. I do not think I could improve upon his paper, and my own views might unduly intrude upon the story; therefore, with your permission, I will vacate the rostrum in favour of Mr. Clifford, for whom I solicit your attention.
Mr. Clifford's Story of the Egyptian Potsherd
During the autumn of 19—, I was sharing a pleasant set of rooms with Mark Lesty, who was shortly taking up an appointment at a London hospital, and it was, I think, about the middle of that month that the extraordinary affair of Halesowen and his Egyptian potsherd came under our notice.
Our rooms (they were in a southwest suburb) overlooked a fine expanse of Common. Halesowen rented a flat commanding a similar prospect; and, at the time of which I write, he had but recently returned from a protracted visit to Egypt.
Halesowen was a tall, fair man, clean-shaven, very fresh coloured, and wearing his hair cropped close to his head. He was well travelled and no mean
antiquary. He lived entirely by himself; and Lesty and I frequently spent the evening at his place, which was a veritable museum of curiosities. I distinctly recall the first time that he showed us his latest acquisitions.
Both the windows were wide open and the awning fluttered in the slight breeze. Dusk was just descending, and we sat looking out over the Common and puffing silently at our briars. We had been examining the relics that Halesowen had brought back from the land of the Pharaohs, the one, I remember, which had most impressed me, tyro that I was, being the mummy of a sacred cat from Bubastis.
"It wouldn't have been worth bringing back only for the wrapping." Halesowen assured me. "This, now, is really unique."
The object referred to was a broken pot or vase, upon which he pointed out a number of hieroglyphics and a figure with the head of a jackal. "A potsherd inscribed with the figure of Anubis," he explained. "Very valuable."
"Why?" Lesty inquired, in his lazy way.
"Well," Halesowen replied, "the characters of the inscription are of a kind entirely unfamiliar to me. I believe them to be a sort of secret writing, possibly peculiar to some brotherhood. I am risking expert opinion, although, in every sense, I stole the thing!"
"How's that?" I asked.
"Well, Professor Sheraton—you'll see his name on
a row of cases in the B. M.—excavated it. But it's a moral certainty he didn't intend to advise the authorities of his find. He was going to smuggle it out of Egypt into his private collection. I had marked the spot where he found it for inquiries of my own. This dishonest old fossil "
Lesty laughed.
"Oh! my own motives weren't above suspicion! But, anyway, the Professor anticipated me. Accordingly, I employed one Ali, a distinguished member of a family of thieves, to visit the learned gentleman's tent! Cutting the story—there's the pot!"
"Here! I say!" drawled Lesty. "You'll come to a bad end, young fellow!"
"The position is a peculiar one," replied Halesowen, smiling. "Nei
ther of us had any legal claim to the sherd—whilst we were upon Egyptian territory. Therefore, even if the Professor learnt that I had the thing—and he may suspect—he couldn't prosecute me!"
"Devilish high-handed!" commented Lesty.
"Yes. But remember we were well ofF the map— miles away from Cook's route. The possession of this potsherd ought to make a man's reputation— any man who knows a bit about the subject. Curiously enough, a third party had had his eye upon the place where this much-sought sherd was found. And in some mysterious fashion he tumbled to the fact that it had fallen into my hands. He made a sort
of veiled offer of a hundred pounds for it. I refused, but ran across him again, a week or so later, in Cairo, and he raised his price to two hundred."
"That's strange," I said. "Who was he?"
"Called himself Zeda—Dr. Louis Zeda. He quite lost his temper when I declined to sell, and I've not set eyes on him since."
He relocked the fragment in his cabinet, and we lapsed into silence, to sit gazing meditatively across the Common, picturesque in the dim autumn twilight.
"By the way, Halesowen," I said, "I see that the flat next door, same floor as this, is to let."
"That's so," he replied. "Why don't you men take it?"
"We'll think about it," yawned Lesty, stretching his long limbs. "Might look over it in the morn-
ing."
The following day we viewed the vacant flat, but found, upon inquiry of the agent, that it had already been let. However, as our own rooms suited us very well, we were not greatly concerned. Just as we finished dinner the same evening, Halesowen came in, and, without preamble, plunged into a surprising tale of uncanny happenings at his place.
"Take it slow," said Lesty. "You say it was after we came away?"
"About an hour after," replied Halesowen. "I had brought out the potsherd, and had it in the
wooden stand on the table before me. I was copying the hieroglyphics, which are unusual, and had my reading lamp burning only, the rest of the room being consequently in shadow. I was sitting with my back to the windows, facing the door, so no one could possibly have entered the room unseen by me. It was as I bent down to scrutinize a badly defaced character that I felt a queer sensation stealing over me, as though someone were standing close behind my chair, watching me!"
"Very common," explained Lesty; "merely
nerves."
"Yes, I know; but not what followed. The sensation became so pronounced that I stood up. No one was in the room. I determined to take a stroll, concluding that the fresh air would clear these uncanny cobwebs out of my brain. Accordingly, I extinguished the lamp and went out. I was just putting my cap on when something prompted me to return and lock up the potsherd."
He fixed his eyes upon us with an expression of doubt.
"There was someone, or something, in the room!"
"What do you mean?" asked Lesty, incredulously.
"I quite distinctly saw a hand and bare white arm pass away from the table—and vanish! It was dark in the room, remember; but I could see the arm well enough. I switched on the reading lamp. Not a thing was to be seen. There was no
one in the room and no one but myself in the flat, for I searched it thoroughly!"
Some moments of silence followed this remarkable story, and I sat watching Lesty, who, in turn, was regarding Halesowen with the stolid, vacant stare which sometimes served to conceal the working of his keen brain.
"Pity you didn't let us know sooner," he said, rising slowly to his feet. "This is interesting."
II
Halesowen's nerves evidently had been shaken by the inexplicable incident. As the three of us strode across the corner of the Common, he informed us that the new tenant of the adjoining flat had moved in. "I have been away all day," he said; "but the stuff was bundled in some time during the afternoon."
We proceeded upstairs and into the cosy room which had been the scene of the remarkable occurrence related. As it was growing dark, Halesowen turned on the electric light, and, indicating a chair by the writing table, explained that it was there he had been seated at the time.
"Did you have the windows open?" asked Lesty.
"Yes," was the reply. "I left the chairs and the awning out, too, as it was a fine night; in fact, you can see that they still remain practically as you left them."
"When you returned, and saw, or thought you
saw, the hand and arm—you would have to pass around to this side of the table in order to reach the lamp?"
"Yes."
Apparently Lesty was about to make some observation, when an interruption occurred in the form of a ringing on the door bell, followed by a discreet fandango on the knocker.
"Who the deuce have we here!" muttered Halesowen. "I saw no one go in below."
As our host passed through the lighted room and into the hall, my friend and I both leant forward in our chairs, the better to hear what should pass; nor were we kept long in suspense, for, as we heard the outer door opened, an odd, rumbling voice came, with a queer accent:
"Ah, my dear Mr. Halesowen, it is indeed an intrusion of me! But when I find how we are neighbours I cannot resist to make the call and renew a so pleasant acquaintance!"
"Doctor Zeda!" we heard Halesowen exclaim, with little cordiality.
"Ever your devoted servant!" replied the courteous foreigner.
I glanced at Lesty, and we rose together and stepped through the open window in time to see a truly remarkable personage enter.
This was a large-framed man, with snow-white hair cut close to his skull, French fashion. He had
a high and very wrinkled brow and wore gold-rimmed pince-nez. Jet-black and heavy eyebrows were his, and his waxed moustache, his neat imperial, were likewise of the hue of coal. His complexion was pallid; and in his well-cut frock coat, with a loose black tie overhanging his vest, he made a striking picture, standing bowing profoundly in the doorway.
Halesowen rapidly muttered the usual formalities; in fact, I remember mentally contrasting our friend's unceremonious manners with the courtly deportment of Doctor Zeda.
The latter explained that he had taken the adjacent flat, only learning, that evening, whom he had for a neighbour, and, despite the lateness of the hour, he said, he could not resist the desire to see Halesowen, of whose company in Egypt he retained such pleasant memories. Allowing for his effusiveness, there was nothing one could take exception to in his behaviour, and I rather wondered at the brusque responses of our usually polite host.
When, after a brief chat, the foreign gentleman rose to take his leave, he extended an invitation to all of us to lunch with him on the following day. "My place is in somewhat disorder," he said, smiling, "but you are Bohemian, like myself, and will not care!"
Though I half expected that Halesowen would decline, he did not do so; I, therefore, also accepted, as did Lesty. Whereupon, Zeda departed.
Halesowen, returning to the chair which he had
vacated to usher out his visitor, lighted a cigarette, regarded it for a moment, meditatively, and then frankly expressed his doubts.
"He's been watching me!" he said; "and when he saw the next flat vacant he jumped at the chance."
"My dear chap," I retorted, "he must be very keen on securing your potsherd if he is prepared to take and furnish a flat next door to you simply with a view to keeping an eye on it!"
"You have no idea how anxious he is," he assured me. "If you had seen his face, in Cairo, when I flatly declined to sell, you would be better able to understand."
"Why not sell, then?"
"I'm dashed if I do!" said Halesowen, stubbornly.
On the following day we lunched with Doctor Zeda and were surprised at the orderly state of his establishment. Everything, from floor to ceiling, was in its proper place.
"It hasn't taken you long to get things straight," commented Lesty.
"Ah, no," replied the other. "These big firms, they do it all in a day if you insist—and I insist, s
ee?"
I thoroughly enjoyed my visit, for he proved an excellent host, and I think even Lesty grew less suspicious of him. During the weeks that followed, the doctor came several times to our rooms, and we frequently met at Halesowen's. The latter, who boldly had submitted photographs and drawings of
the sherd to the British Museum, experienced no repetition of the mysterious phenomenon already described. Then, about seven o'clock one morning, when the mists hung low over the Common in promise of a hot day, a boy came for Lesty and myself with news of a fresh development. He was a lad who did odd jobs for Halesowen, and he brought word of an attempted burglary, together with a request that we should go over without delay.
Our curiosity keenly aroused, we were soon with our friend, and found him seated in the familiar room, before a large cabinet, with double glass doors, which, as was clearly evident, had been hastily ransacked. Other cases in which he kept various curios were also opened, and the place was in general disorder.
"What's gone?" asked Lesty, quickly.
"Nothing!" was the answer. "The potsherd is in the safe, and the safe is in my bedroom—or perhaps something might have gone!"
"You lock it up at night, then? I thought you kept it in the cabinet."
"Only during the day. It goes in the safe, with one or two other trifles, at night; but everybody doesn't know that!"
We looked at one another, silently; but the name that was on all our lips remained unspoken—for we were startled by a loud knocking and ringing at the door. Carter opening it, into the room ran Doctor Zeda!
"Oh, my dear friends!" he cried, in his hoarse, rumbling voice, "there has been to my flat a midnight robber! He has turned completely upside-down all my collections!"
Lesty coughed loudly; but, as I turned my head to look at him, his face was quite expressionless. Halesowen seemed stricken dumb by surprise; whilst, for my own part, as I watched the foreigner staring about the disordered room, and noted the growing look of bewilderment creeping over his pallid countenance, I was compelled to admit to myself that here was either a consummate actor or a man of whom we hastily had formed a most unwarrantable opinion.
The dream detective: being some account of the methods of Moris Klaw Page 3