The Deadly Curse

by Tony Evans

  Sarah Wilton leant towards me. ‘The High Priest,’ she whispered. ‘He is wearing his ceremonial dress, not the robes of a pharaoh.’

  Nebet strode towards Dr Harris, moving to within a yard of the terrified Director. The High Priest pointed an accusing finger, and Harris slumped to the ground, his hands clutching his throat. Before either Van Helsing or I could react, Sarah Wilton swiftly slipped between Nebet and his intended victim.

  She turned to the Priest and lifted up both hands, her fingers spread apart. ‘Nebet!’ she called loudly. ‘Listen to my words. The man who sought to take you from the side of Queen Merhote is dead, killed by the khopesh. He that faces you now is a mere servant, innocent of guilt. Return to your Queen. She needs you, and you can do no more here. Go to her!’

  Nebet dropped his hand, and Harris rolled sideways to the floor, gasping for breath. Once more the blue haze appeared, this time around Nebet and his coffin. The glow increased in intensity until it became too bright to bear and I closed my eyes. When I opened them a second later the two electric lights were once more illuminating every corner of the storeroom, and both Nebet and his coffin had disappeared.

  *

  Fortunately Dr Harris appeared no worse from his experience. He thanked Sarah most fulsomely, believing that if she had not intervened his fate would have been certain. After taking him back to his rooms in the Clarendon, and ensuring that he drank a restorative whisky in defiance of his teetotalism – he kept a bottle for the refreshment of guests – I felt obliged to ask the shaken man a question.

  ‘Think carefully, Dr Harris,’ I said. ‘Have you bought – or perhaps been offered – any other Ancient Egyptian relics in the last few weeks?’

  He looked at me in surprise. ‘Why, yes,’ he said. ‘However did you know? A young woman called just two days ago, on Wednesday. She said she had a life-size figure of Anubis for sale, and wanted fifty guineas in cash. I told her that we could only pay by cheque, and that in any case the purchase would need to be verified by the trustees, upon which she left.’

  A cold certainly began to form in my mind. I recalled the description that Mina and Sarah had given of Mrs Flinzer. ‘Was the woman in her late twenties, slightly built, with pale blond hair?’

  ‘Correct again! Do you know the lady?’

  Instead of answering I turned to address Van Helsing and Mina. ‘It was Mrs Flinzer, I am certain. She failed to sell the Anubis figure to Dr Harris – but she may well have disposed of it since to a less scrupulous buyer. If so, her life could be in imminent danger! We must go to Islington immediately, despite the lateness of the hour. There will be a constable on duty there – we can ask him to summon Inspector Delland. Dr Harris, you must stay here and rest. I advise you to tell no one what you have witnessed.’

  As I left the Clarendon Institute I thought that it was highly unlikely that the Director would speak about his experience of the supernatural. It would hardly endear him to his superiors, and he impressed me as a man who prized his position very highly. No doubt he would think of a reason why the coffin had disappeared; I looked forward to reading the subsequent newspaper reports of a daring and inexplicable theft from the Institute.

  *

  Fortunately we were able to secure a four-wheeler seeking the custom of late night pleasure seekers, and soon reached Mrs Flinzer’s house in Islington.

  The outside of the imposing villa was illuminated faintly by a nearby street light and a small bright glow could be seen moving along the frontage of the house. When our carriage drew up outside it was apparent that this was emanating from a bullseye lantern, carried by the policeman that Inspector Delland had placed on duty. The officer – I recognised him as Constable Jeffries – appeared to be searching for something. Then the Inspector himself appeared round the corner of the house with another constable; both were carrying lanterns.

  Delland strode up to us as we alighted from the four-wheeler. ‘Why, what brings you here?’ he said with an air of surprise.

  ‘There’s no time to explain. Have you seen Mrs Flinzer?’ Van Helsing asked.

  ‘Not ten minutes ago,’ he replied. ‘I woke her after the constable reported the disturbance.’

  ‘We must speak to her immediately,’ I said. ‘What has occurred here?’

  The Inspector looked somewhat embarrassed. ‘Perhaps nothing. However, Jeffries is a reliable officer, not given to imagining things. About half an hour ago he was sure that he’d seen a large black dog running wild in the garden. Foreign looking thing with big ears. Well, he went after it, and it disappeared into a small patch of rhododendrons. Jeffries thought he’d cornered it, and very bravely pushed through the leaves to investigate – but the creature had somehow vanished. Then the next instant he heard it barking at the other side of the house. At that he sent for me, and I don’t blame him. We’ve made sure that the household is secure, and are having another look round, but there’s no trace of the creature now.’

  ‘Please take us to Mrs Flinzer,’ I said. ‘We will explain everything when we have seen her.’

  The Inspector must have noted the air of urgency in my request, for he immediately rang the bell. We were admitted by Simpkins.

  ‘Has your mistress gone back to bed?’ Delland asked.

  ‘No, sir. She told me she intended to visit the strongroom, to check on the Wilton Collection.’

  I hurried down to the old cellar, followed closely by Mina, Sarah, Van Helsing and the Inspector. We all paused in front of the heavy metal door. It had been opened and pulled almost closed behind whoever had entered, leaving a gap of several inches. A dim yellow light from the gas jet that lit the room escaped into the corridor.

  I pulled open the door, and my friends entered swiftly behind me. I stepped into the strongroom then came to a sudden stop as I heard Van Helsing gasp with surprise behind me. The coffin of Karnos II – which we now knew contained the remains of High Priest Nebet – was once more in its place next to that of Queen Merhote. I forced myself towards it, and lifted the lid. Inside was a shrunken and mummified body wrapped in ancient bindings. I sighed in relief, for I had half expected to see the High Priest as he had appeared to us at the Clarendon Institute, in the prime of life.

  Next to the mummy something glinted in the gaslight – it had fallen between the cloth wrappings and the side of the coffin. Even before I had extricated it and held it up in the dim light I had guessed what I would find: it was the snake armlet that we had found by the body of Dr Limonov, and which I had stowed away in the bottom drawer of my room in Van Helsing’s villa.

  I turned to show my discovery to my friends, but as I looked towards them I noticed that the life size statue of the jackal god Anubis stood against the far wall of the room. I had begun to step towards it when I felt an urgent grip on my upper arm. It was Mina: she was pointing towards the twin thrones, and something had made her turn rigid with shock. Then the rest of us saw it, too. Protruding from behind the wooden plinth on which the thrones were fixed was a pair of woman’s indoor shoes – with a few inches of ankle visible above each. I ran towards the thrones, knowing only too well what we would find there.

  My premonition was sadly quite correct. There on the floor lay Mrs Cynthia Flinzer, stone dead. It would not in this case require the expertise of a police doctor to determine the cause of her demise: her throat was horribly torn and disfigured, and the teeth marks around her neck showed that this was the work of a large and vicious carnivore.

  ‘Quickly – come here!’ Sarah Wilton shouted from the end of the room. She was standing over the black marble statue of Anubis. Sarah touched the jackal’s muzzle and held up her hand. The dim lighting in the room meant that we had to peer closely to see what she had discovered, but when we came closer it was clear that her fingers were covered with fresh, sticky blood. The yellow gemstones that formed the creature’s eyes glittered in the reflected gaslight, briefly giving its cold marble features a malign, intelligent animation.

  Chapter 9

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p; We did not remain long in the house of the late Mr and Mrs Flinzer after our ghastly discovery in the strongroom. Inspector Delland expressed his intention to rouse the household and question each servant one by one, but it was clear from his subdued manner that his rational theories had suffered a severe blow. As it was by now very late, Miss Wilton agreed to return to St John’s Wood with us, and to occupy one of Van Helsing’s guest rooms that night. Before we left we arranged with the Inspector that he would call on us at ten o’clock on the following morning, when Sarah would be able to present him with her translation of the inscription in the canopic jars.

  *

  Just before the appointed hour on Saturday morning, Mina and I were seated in Van Helsing’s drawing room awaiting the arrival of Sarah, the Professor and Inspector Delland. An hour earlier a telegram had arrived for Mina – a maid had brought it up to our bedroom – and she had read it with evident interest. As she had not been inclined to volunteer the contents I decided not to give her the satisfaction of a direct request, as I was sure that she would reveal the secret later that morning.

  The entrance of Sarah and Van Helsing was followed very shortly by Inspector Delland, who had lost some of the brisk enthusiasm that had typified our previous meetings with him. After tea had been served and the maid had departed, the Inspector turned to us glumly.

  ‘As you’ve taken such an interest in this puzzling case, and provided such expert advice’ – he nodded towards Sarah, who coloured slightly – ‘let me tell you the latest developments. First thing this morning I broke open the late Mr Flinzer’s writing desk and discovered the notebook where he kept an inventory of the Wilton Collection. Fortunately the items were described – intentionally, I believe – in such a way as to allow an ordinary person like me to identify each one. I went through the strongroom with Constable Jeffries and the collection now seems complete once more, other than the canopic jars, which we can of course return. The rest of my news is less helpful, more’s the pity. I’ve found out that Signor Fosco Peretti left Italy after he’d fallen foul of a group of Sicilian criminals, and was himself entirely blameless. Likewise, Dr Limonov appears to be a perfectly respectable gentleman –foreign of course, but otherwise above suspicion. I have to admit that my theory regarding a vendetta has suffered a severe setback. As to the mysterious dark-haired youth who delivered the vases to Peretti – there’s no report of him anywhere.’

  Mina cleared her throat. ‘It’s possible that I may be able to help you there, Inspector,’ she said with a smile. ‘However, let us not forget the purpose of your visit. I’m sure you’d like to have Miss Wilton’s explanation of the inscription we found inside the vases.’

  The Inspector agreed, and Sarah Wilton passed him her translation, which he read in silence. When he had finished, the Inspector sat back in his comfortable armchair and surveyed us one by one.

  ‘I’m not what you might call an educated man, ladies and gentlemen, but I hope I’m not a fool either. And a man with a closed mind is a fool. Taking the transcription together with the tablet that Sir Edward found in the tomb – and the two are of a piece, as you’ll agree – I confess that we have a possible explanation of the horrible deaths that we have witnessed in London this week. The Assistant Commissioner has asked to see me on Monday, to find out what progress I’ve made. How do you think he will react if I tell him that I believe the four fatalities to be the direct result of a powerful spell or curse invoked by an Egyptian priest over three thousand years ago? I’d be confined to an asylum – or thrown out of the police force at the very least. No, I’ll have to think of another explanation. Now, Mrs Harker: did you say that you had some information for me?’

  ‘Why yes,’ Mina said. ‘And I have not yet shared it with my husband and friends, so I expect everyone to listen with great avidity! Yesterday morning, when Jonathan and Professor Van Helsing visited Havelocks Bank, I decided to carry out my own investigation into the Flinzer ménage. Adopting the persona of the owner of a private hotel, I approached a number of the smaller wine merchants in the capital, and managed to introduce the name of Mr Algernon Manton into the conversation.’

  ‘Ah – the brother of the late Mrs Flinzer,’ Van Helsing said. ‘I wonder if that gentleman is now to inherit his sister’s estate? But do continue, Mina.’

  ‘The second wholesaler that I visited was most upset when he heard the name, and I had to assure him that I had no personal connection with the gentleman, but that an acquaintance had mentioned that he had bought wine from Manton. The wholesaler – Mr Reginald Skipton, of Piccadilly – told me that Manton had swindled him out of the cost of a dozen cases of Burgundy, and that Algernon Manton was not the man’s real name. He’d discovered that “Manton” was actually called Harland Delacroix, an Englishman of French parentage.

  ‘I then visited the General Register Office at Somerset House. There was no time for me to undertake the research that I wished to carry out, and so I persuaded a young clerk to help me. The staff at the office are not, strictly speaking, empowered to provide such a service, but I paid him two pounds down, with the promise of a further two pounds if he could provide the answer to my question.

  ‘Well, this morning I got a telegram from the clerk, and I will certainly send him his two pounds before we leave London. My query was something of a long odds bet, but in this case – to continue the metaphor – the horse has won by a length. In short, it appears that on February 1st 1894 a marriage was contracted between a Miss Cynthia Anne Pettigrew, spinster, aged twenty-three, and a Mr Harland Jules Delacroix, bachelor, aged twenty-eight.’

  Having delivered this coup de théâtre, Mina sat back with an expression that the uncharitable might have characterised as self-satisfaction.

  Inspector Delland clapped his hands. ‘Excellent work, Mrs Harker. Of course the unusual names of the couple have helped enormously. If they’d been Miss Smith and Mr Jones...but as it is there can hardly be any mistake. I take it that you have a theory as to the actions of this couple?’

  ‘At any rate I have a hypothesis,’ Mina said. ‘A bigamous marriage is relatively easy to contract without detection, and Mrs Flinzer (or rather Mrs Delacroix) and her husband must have seen poor Theodore Flinzer as a means of obtaining a considerable sum of money, ostensibly to support Mrs Flinzer’s “brother”. No doubt when they had accumulated enough, Mrs Flinzer would have announced that she was leaving her husband and that would have been the end of the matter. When he so inconveniently died, she must have resolved to turn the relics into cash as quickly as she could. I believe that there is every possibility that the delicate and handsome young man employed to take the canopic jars to Signor Peretti was in fact Mrs Flinzer in disguise! It was her good fortune that in that instance Nebet’s protectors took their revenge on the recipient of the relics – poor Dr Limonov. On the next occasion she was not so lucky – Anubis turned upon her, and not on the purchaser.’

  ‘It may be that whoever bought the statue has suffered a similar fate,’ Sarah said. ‘If so, we shall doubtless hear of it soon. But why did “Mrs Flinzer” not wait quietly until she had inherited her supposed husband’s estate?’

  Mina shrugged. ‘I dare say that she did not welcome the scrutiny that she would have been under when probate was proved, which might have risked her discovery. I suspect that she and Delacroix intended to raise what money they could and then disappear.’

  ‘Mina may well have cast some light on how and why the relics were disposed of,’ I said. ‘But we have still to decide on our next steps. It is apparent, however, that the bigamous marriage of Mrs Flinzer/Delacroix has simplified matters somewhat. Miss Wilton, I have every confidence that your father’s collection – the items in Flinzer’s strongroom – will shortly belong to you.’

  Sarah looked puzzled for a moment. ‘But...ah, I see it! Cynthia Delacroix can have no claim, as they were never married – and so as my father was Flinzer’s closest relative, I will inherit the Wilton Collection! That is excellent news, but
whatever am I to do with it? I have to say I would like to snap my fingers and have it safely reburied in the Valley of the Kings forever.’

  Van Helsing chuckled. ‘That is unfortunately impracticable! Such a scheme could hardly be accomplished in secret, and if we were observed by the local inhabitants, the relics would soon be dug up again. However, perhaps I can suggest a plan of action almost as satisfactory. The villa that I now occupy’ – the Professor waved his hand around the room – ‘was built with half a dozen others ten years ago in the grounds of a much larger dwelling, Brentley Hall. That edifice – now demolished – had in its extensive acres an icehouse, dug deep into the side of a hillock. It is still there, although long disused, and is now within the boundaries of my own garden. Once Flinzer’s inheritance has been settled and the Wilton Collection passes in the ownership of his daughter, I would be happy for the Egyptian tomb relics to be placed there. My servants are loyal, and I’m sure would never speak of the matter. I would of course first put the old structure in good repair. Once sealed up behind a new stone wall and a few tons of earth the collection could happily remain hidden forever.’

  *

  Unsurprisingly, Miss Wilton agreed with the Professor’s scheme, and Inspector Delland promised to ensure that the storeroom in Flinzer’s house would remain locked until Sarah took up her ownership of it. The Inspector had decided that he would tell the Assistant Commissioner that his informants had revealed that the four murders had indeed been perpetrated by the Sicilian Mantello Rosso, and that the perpetrators had fled the country. Delland’s high standing in the Metropolitan Police Force would, he hoped, protect his subterfuge from too great a scrutiny.

  One last task lay before me. On Monday afternoon I arrived at Flinzer’s house in Islington carrying the two cardboard boxes that contained the broken canopic jars and the desiccated internal organs of High Priest Nebet and Queen Merhote. Delland met me there, and we descended the stairs to the strongroom.