by David Marcum
“Then I have perfect the solution,” said Powell. “Lord Elstack will be joining us that evening. Perhaps you could come along with him.”
Miss Venton looked at me, and smiled. “It sounds like the ideal solution.”
“Then that’s settled,” said Powell. “Seven o’clock at the hospital entrance. Oh, and refreshments will be provided afterwards.”
As we were leaving, Holmes turned to face Powell. “Would you mind my asking one particularly pertinent question, Professor?”
“Of course not.”
“Of what are you a professor?”
“Modern and Ancient Sciences.”
“Of course. Thank you, Professor.” Holmes turned away. “It is just as I thought.”
On the evening for the unrolling of the mummy, a black brougham pulled up directly outside 221b Baker Street. A man stepped down - rotund, ruddy of complexion, and with a winning smile. He wore a top-hat and a frock-coat. Here was Lord Elstack, an important member of Lord Salisbury’s Conservative government.
“Good evening, my Lord,” I greeted him.
“Ah, good evening, Dr. Watson. Mycroft Holmes asked if I wouldn’t mind calling to collect you this evening. I don’t normally act as a taxicab service, but, to tell you the truth, I’d be glad of some company this evening. And some female company at the same time.” He smiled at Miss Venton.
“That’s very good of you, my Lord. Sherlock Holmes has gone off on business of his own. Again.”
The brougham drew up outside the teaching hospital. We climbed down and joined a small group of people already assembled there.
We now numbered eight in total. Four were unknown to me, two ladies and two gentlemen. Then there were the three of us, and the man we had come to know as Professor Tobias Powell.
“Good evening, my Lord, ladies, and gentlemen,” he said. “It seems that we are now all present and correct. I would therefore like to invite you to follow me.”
He led the way in through the main hospital entrance, and then down into the basement area of the building. At the bottom of a flight of stone steps, he pushed open another door, and welcomed us all into a small underground room. The walls were whitewashed, the floor was covered in green ceramic tiles, and a gas-light hissing above a small stone mantelpiece. A second door, on the far side of the room, was shut. A cupboard stood in one corner, and a large table took pride of place in the middle of the room. On this table lay a figure, wrapped in a white sheet. It had the outline shape of a human body.
We gathered around the table.
The door opened again, and an elderly man, bent with the deformity of age, shuffled into the room. He was wearing the overalls of a hospital porter. The man coughed loudly, and introduced himself. “My name’s Jenkins. I work for the hospital. They’ve asked me to come and represent them this evening.”
Powell wasn’t pleased to see the old man. “Very well,” he said, with a hint of impatience. “If you really have to.”
“Don’t worry, sir,” said Jenkins. “I’ll stay in the corner, out of your way.”
Powell now turned to face his guests. “My Lord, ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “welcome to this special event. The unrolling of the mummified remains of an official from Ancient Egypt. After the unrolling, you are invited to join us for refreshments in the room next door. But, back to the business in hand. Many years ago, the official we are about to meet held power in the land of Egypt. Possibly even as a pharaoh. This evening, these remains will see the light of day for the very first time in nearly four-thousand years.”
Everyone in the room was already entranced by this presentation, and we hadn’t even started yet. Miss Venton looked on, with a severe expression on her face. But soon she too was captivated by the occasion.
“However,” continued Powell. “I must warn you. I have received information that this particular burial comes with a curse attached to it. If you believe in such things.”
Miss Venton nodded slowly.
“If any of you would like to leave,” said Powell, “please do so now. Otherwise, you will remain here entirely at your own risk.”
We all remained where we were. Rooted to the spot. Our morbid curiosity now fully aroused.
Powell wandered over to the cupboard, and came back a moment later having exchanged his jacket for a white laboratory coat. He was also carrying a number of modern surgical and medical tools.
The unrolling began. Powell first pulled open the outer rolls of cloth. Dust filled the atmosphere, along with a smell that made us all pull back in disgust. Some of the onlookers had to reach for their handkerchiefs.
The lower part of the corpse appeared first. The legs and torso were withered and blackened with age. The desiccated body had shrivelled so much that the ribs showed through what remained of the skin.
Then, as a climax, Powell unveiled the head. “Behold, the face of the ancient world.”
Now we had our first glimpse of the pharaoh himself. The skin again was black, and pulled taut across the skull. But the face had character. Here was somebody who had once lived and breathed just like each one of us. Each person present had their own reaction. The ladies looked horrified, the gentlemen looked on with a more objective eye, and Powell looked satisfied. Lord Elstack appeared overawed by the sight of the mummy. Miss Venton’s eyebrows narrowed in horror. And, for myself, I have to admit, I could hardly take my eyes away from that face. It was a sight that might haunt a man’s dreams for many years to come. The only person who was unmoved by the experience was the old man, Jenkins. He sat by himself in the corner of the room, and watched the reaction of the others impassively.
Miss Venton spoke up. “This is the pharaoh my father discovered in Upper Egypt.”
“How can you tell that?” I asked her.
“You remember the cartouche we found at Dackford’s warehouse?”
“Yes.”
“Then look.” She grasped hold of the charm around the mummy’s neck. “This has the same name. Amkotep.”
Powell turned towards us. His face twisted into a scowl. “If you’re saying you have a claim to this mummy, then you’re too late. For the moment, I must ask you to remain quiet.”
But Miss Venton would not be silenced. “You rogue,” she shouted. “You thief. My father and I spent many years looking for this mummy.”
“I know nothing about that,” said Powell. “And if you make any trouble in here, young lady, then I shall ask you to leave. If you wish to keep the charm, then you’re welcome to it. But don’t spoil the evening for the rest of us.”
She agreed to accept the necklace, and calmed down.
After several more minutes, we had all had our fill of dust and death.
Powell stepped back, and rubbed his hands. “Now, my Lord, ladies and gentlemen. Refreshments are available for you in the next room. Please make your way through the side-door. And I hope you all manage to stay clear of the pharaoh’s curse.” He laughed, and opened the door.
Miss Venton and I stayed behind. She was still looking at the remains of the mummy. Transfixed.
I was about to follow the others through the door, when I felt somebody tug at my sleeve. I looked round. It was the man, Jenkins.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said. “I have a cab waiting outside. For you and the young lady. I think it would be wise if you left immediately.”
Neither Miss Venton nor I were in any mood for light refreshments and inane small-talk. Without hesitation, we both followed the old man out the way we had come, up the stone steps and out through the main entrance. Then we climbed into the cab that was indeed waiting for us at the roadside. To my surprise, the old man climbed in after us. And sat down opposite me.
I looked at him more closely now. He removed his cap, brushed out his hair, and unbuttoned his overalls.
N
ow I recognised him. “Holmes!”
“You didn’t think I’d leave you there on your own, did you?” said Holmes. “I’ve been investigating our friend back there. It is as I suspected - he is no professor. At least, not of any institution in this country.”
The case, it seemed, was now over. Closed. Our client, Miss Venton, was clearly disappointed, but her questions had now been answered. I had assumed we were dealing with a simple case of grave-robbing. But that assumption was about to be proved wrong.
I called round to Baker Street the following morning.
The room was already filled with tobacco smoke, and the seats beside the fireplace were occupied by two men, Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard, and Holmes’s brother Mycroft. My friend was pacing the carpet, deep in meditation.
As I entered the room, he looked up. “Ah, Watson. About time, too.”
I was taken aback by this abrupt welcome. “I thought the case was closed,” I said. “Miss Venton found her pharaoh, and now at least she has possession of the mummy’s necklace.”
“Perhaps,” said Holmes, “but things have taken a darker turn.” He waved his hand towards the seated men.
I looked towards them. “What’s happened?”
It was Lestrade who answered. “Dr. Watson, did you last night attend an event at which an Egyptian mummy was unwrapped?”
“Yes. I went there with Miss Venton.”
“Was the event organised by a man who called himself Professor Powell?”
“I think you already know it was.”
Mycroft said, “A problem has arisen as a result of that evening.”
“Problem? What problem?”
“There were eight people present, I believe.”
“That’s right.”
“This morning, four of those people are seriously ill in hospital. And one man is dead. They were all taken ill shortly after leaving the hospital building.”
I was horrified. I looked to Holmes. He shook his head, as though to advise me not to mention his presence there.
“And Powell?”
Lestrade replied, “There’s not a sign of him anywhere. We’ve visited his home. We’ve searched the hospital. And now we are having all the ports put on alert for him.”
“A waste of time,” muttered Holmes. “You can be sure the bird will have flown these shores well before dawn.”
“As a man of science,” I said, “I hesitate to mention it, but Powell did warn us that the pharaoh’s tomb had a curse on it. Even Miss Venton found evidence of that. I just wonder if the death have anything to do with that curse.”
Mycroft pulled a sour face. “If you believe in such things.”
“What do the other victims say?”
“They all seem to agree with you, Dr. Watson,” said Lestrade.
“But the symptoms suggest another reason for their illness,” said Mycroft. “It seems they are consistent with strychnine poisoning.”
“Strychnine?”
“Hardly the work of some four-thousand year old mummy,” said Holmes. “I would normally dismiss the story of the curse as superstitious nonsense, and eliminate it as a possibility. But when a man really believes in such things, then a curse had real power. Either way, now we know we are dealing with a poisoning, and we stand on more solid ground.”
“But I’m as fit this morning as I was last night,” I said. “And I haven’t heard that Miss Venton has been taken ill.”
“Miss Venton has left town to visit her father,” said Lestrade, “so we must assume that she also avoided being poisoned.”
Mycroft looked at me. “Why do you imagine that these poor people were affected, when you and Miss Venton were not?”
I made the connection immediately. “They all stayed for refreshments afterwards. That must have been how they were poisoned. Ingestion of contaminated food. Then the symptoms must have come on fairly quickly afterwards. Cramps, stiffness of the joints, agitation, seizures. They would need professional help almost at once. It’s a good job they were already in a hospital at the time.”
Holmes looked towards me. His eyes flashing. “Once again, it all points to this fellow Powell. Don’t you see it?”
I shook my head. “Who was the poor fellow who died?”
“Lord Elstack,” said Mycroft. “That’s why I’m here. He was a senior member of the government. The P.M. is livid about this. He wants the perpetrator’s head on a platter. As soon as ever possible.”
“But you can’t find him.”
Lestrade shook his head sadly.
Holmes strode towards the door. “Then it’s up to us to solve the riddle. Come along, Watson. You too, Mycroft. We must visit the scene of the crime.”
“The hospital?”
“No. The home of Lord Elstack.”
The house was swathed in gloom when we arrived. The curtains were closed. The servants were moving around more quietly than usual. And the man’s wife was sitting in the front reception room. She looked deflated, and her eyes were red with crying.
“Good morning, your ladyship. My name is Sherlock Holmes, and this is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson.”
“Welcome, gentlemen,” said the lady. “I’m sorry I can’t greet you more warmly this morning.”
“Indeed. It must be a very difficult time for you.”
“I’ve already given the police a statement, so I don’t think I can tell you anything new, Mr. Holmes.”
He drew up a chair, and sat down beside the grieving widow. “I’m sure this has come as a great shock to you, Lady Elstrack, but I would like you to tell me anything that might be relevant. However odd or peculiar it might seem.”
She looked up at him. “My husband was taken ill even before he walked through the door. Oh, it was terrible. His muscles went into spasm. But that was only the start of it. He became agitated. Soon he was sweating like a pig, and his heart was beating rapidly. It only grew worse during the night. Mr. Holmes, my husband was turning blue. I called in the family doctor, but he felt my husband was too ill to move. So I stayed with him. And I didn’t leave his side for one moment. Until he finally passed away. In the end, it was his heart that failed.”
“All classic signs of acute strychnine poisoning,” I said gently.
“And, did he say anything at all?” asked Holmes.
Lady Elstrack pressed a black silk handkerchief to her eyes. “There was something. I think.”
“Please, try to remember. Any detail might hold the key to uncovering the mystery behind this terrible event.”
“At first, he told me it was the Curse of the Pharaoh. Punishment meted out to anyone who disturbed his ancient bones”
“And then?”
“Then, towards the end, he tried to say something else.”
“Yes?”
“His mind was clearly deranged. As far as I could make out, he said ‘green the land, red the cliffs and white the sand.’”
Holmes looked up, as though a great light had shone into a darkened room. “‘These are the colours...’”
“’...of Heligoland.’” Mycroft completed the proverb.
Holmes looked up at me. “Watson. When we visited Powell in his home, what did you see there?”
“Some flowers.”
“Yes, but what colours were they?”
“A red rose and a white carnation. Flowers with a message. Both messages of hope and love.”
“And lily of the valley. Sweet flowers with green leaves.”
“A message of sweetness and happiness.”
“And,” said Mycroft, “put together, they are the colours which represent the island of Heligoland.”
“But there was more,” said Holmes. “In the entrance hallway, I noticed a pair of boots. Ingrained in the cleat
s were small particles of red sandstone. Add to that the fact that our friend Powell was wearing a watch-chain with a fob in the shape of an anchor. Then add the fact that the smoke of German tobacco was hanging in the air.”
“I don’t follow.”
“We have a Germanophile, with a love of the sea, who has recently been walking on red sandstone. There is only one place anywhere near the coast of Germany where red sandstone can be found.”
“The island of Heligoland?”
“Precisely.”
“And the poisoning?”
“If you wanted to hide a murder by poison, the best way to evade detection is to make it look like an accident. Hide it amongst other poisonings that can be explained.”
I rubbed my brow. “I see. So, presumably his Lordship ingested a much larger dose than any of the others, and suffered much more serious effects as a result.”
Holmes struck his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Watson, I’ve been a complete idiot. I should be kicked all the way from here to Charing Cross. This isn’t a pharaoh’s curse. It isn’t even a careless death or a mindless murder. This is a political assassination.”
Back at Baker Street, Mycroft sat back in an armchair, and began to explain the situation. “The island of Heligoland lies twenty-eight miles from the North Sea coast of Germany. It was ceded to Britain from Denmark after the Napoleonic Wars. Apart from a roost for thousands of seabirds, it also provides a strategic location for its British garrison. When the Kiel Canal is finally completed, Heligoland will lie like a dagger at the very jugular of German power in the North Sea. Lord Salisbury is currently negotiating to exchange the island for control over certain territories held by Germany in Central and Eastern Africa. The Germans want that island, and intend to have it. The Prime Minister is equally determined to have those territories.”
“And where does Lord Elstrack fit into the picture?” I asked.
“Isn’t it obvious? He has always been opposed to the idea. Bitterly opposed. And he’s been making enemies over the issue. The Prime Minister, for one, together with certain powerful figures on both sides of the North Sea.”