‘Randolph,’ he said, ‘let us go and lay an ambush for this assassin. He is on the way here.’
And it was a strange ambush that he laid. When they were come again into the chamber where Doomdorf died he bolted the door; then he loaded the fowling piece and put it carefully back on its rack against the wall. After that he did another curious thing: He took the blood-stained coat, which they had stripped off the dead man when they had prepared his body for the earth, put a pillow in it and laid it on the couch precisely where Doomdorf had slept. And while he did these things Randolph stood in wonder and Abner talked:
‘Look you, Randolph… We will trick the murderer… We will catch him in the act.’
Then he went over and took the puzzled justice by the arm.
‘Watch!’ he said. ‘The assassin is coming along the wall!’
But Randolph heard nothing, saw nothing. Only the sun entered. Abner’s hand tightened on his arm.
‘It is here! Look!’ And he pointed to the wall.
Randolph, following the extended finger, saw a tiny brilliant disk of light moving slowly up the wall toward the lock of the fowling piece. Abner’s hand became a vise and his voice rang as over metal.
‘“He that killeth with the sword must be killed with the sword.” It is the water bottle, full of Doomdorf’s liquor, focusing the sun… And look, Randolph, how Bronson’s prayer was answered!’
The tiny disk of light traveled on the plate of the lock.
‘It is fire from heaven!’
The words rang above the roar of the fowling piece, and Randolph saw the dead man’s coat leap up on the couch, riddled by the shot. The gun, in its natural position on the rack, pointed to the couch standing at the end of the chamber, beyond the offset of the wall, and the focused sun had exploded the percussion cap.
Randolph made a great gesture, with his arm extended.
‘It is a world,’ he said, ‘filled with the mysterious joinder of accident!’
‘It is a world,’ replied Abner, ‘filled with the mysterious justice of God!’
BROMLEY BARNES
Created by George Barton (1866-1940)
A former Secret Service agent with thirty years’ experience, Bromley Barnes is supposedly retired from US government work but government seems incapable of functioning well without him. In the stories by George Barton, the sophisticated Mr Barnes, a collector of first editions and connoisseur of fine living, is regularly called back to deal with sensitive investigations in both Washington and New York. He looks into the mysterious death of an inventor, identifies the source of a series of White House leaks and thwarts a bomb attack on the National Arsenal. Many of the tales in the 1918 volume The Strange Adventures of Bromley Barnes are closer to spy fiction than crime fiction but ‘Adventure of the Cleopatra Necklace’, in which Bromley Barnes tracks down the man who stole a priceless Ancient Egyptian artefact from the renowned ‘Cosmopolitan Museum’, is a fairly traditional detective story. Barnes, who also appeared in a 1920 novel entitled The Pembroke Mason Affair, was the creation of George Barton, a regular contributor to story magazines throughout the first three decades of the twentieth century. In addition, Barton compiled a number of non-fiction works with titles such as Adventures of the World’s Greatest Detectives, Celebrated Crimes and Their Solutions, and The World’s Greatest Military Spies and Secret Service Agents.
ADVENTURE OF THE CLEOPATRA NECKLACE
It doesn’t pay to advertise – always. At least that was the conclusion of the trustees of the great Cosmopolitan Museum after the antiquarians of the country were thrown into a state of hysteria over the strange disappearance of the Cleopatra necklace. The sensational business started with a newspaper paragraph in the Clarion, reading something like this:
‘The trustees of the Cosmopolitan Museum have added to the collection of curios in Egyptian Hall a rare old necklace which they say belonged, beyond the shadow of a doubt, to the famous sorceress of the Nile. As a relic of the civilization which existed three thousand years before Christ, the collar is naturally priceless. Its intrinsic value is placed at $30,000.’
The announcement brought a crush of visitors to Egyptian Hall. The curator, Dr Randall-Brown, had provided a strong plate glass case for the precious relic, and had given it the place of honor in the very center of the marble-tiled hall. The collar of the late – very late – Queen of Egypt reposed on a velvet-covered stand which displayed its rare qualities to excellent advantage. The setting was of some curious metal that was neither gold nor silver, but the necklace itself was a collection of amethysts, pearls and diamonds.
Egyptian Hall was one of a number of large rooms in the Cosmopolitan Museum, which was part of the educational system of the famous University where some eighteen hundred young men, from all parts of the world, were preparing themselves for their attack on the world. The Cosmopolitan Museum, it might be added, was regarded as burglar-proof, as well as fire-proof. One watchman was employed during the day and another by night. George Young, the day watchman, also acted as a sort of guide, and when the trouble came he admitted that he had not remained in Egyptian Hall continuously; that, at one time, he had been out of the room for fifteen minutes.
It was Dr Randall-Brown, the curator, who first made the astonishing discovery. He had brought a connoisseur from Harvard to look at the treasure.
‘You will notice,’ said the curator, gloating over the prize as only an antiquarian can, ‘that there are three pearls, three amethysts and three diamonds in succession, and after that they come in twos and then in ones.’
But even as he spoke, he realized that this orderly arrangement no longer existed. One of the amethysts had been misplaced. Filled with the gloomiest forebodings, he examined the outside of the case. Casually, all seemed well, but the use of a magnifying glass proved that the twelve screws which fastened the case to the flat table, on which it reposed, had been disturbed.
‘Close the doors,’ cried the curator, nervously, ‘and we’ll look into this business.’
The case was opened and the astounding discovery was made that someone had taken the stones from the priceless Cleopatra necklace and had substituted paste diamonds and imitation gems in their place.
The news, which leaked out in spite of the caution of the trustees, made a tremendous sensation. The telegraph and the cable were called into requisition to beseech the police everywhere, and the learned men of the world, to join in the search for the missing treasure. Dealers in precious stones and pawnbrokers were given the description of the gems taken from the necklace, with instructions to arrest the first person who offered such stones for sale. Their curious size and shape, it was added, would make their identification comparatively easy.
The local police made a determined effort to locate the stolen property and to unravel the mystery of the robbery. Everyone connected with the museum, in any capacity whatever, was subjected to a rigid inquiry but without result. The curator and the trustees wrung their hands in despair. They were estimable gentlemen, but their brows were so high and their intellects so keen that they were absolutely helpless in solving everyday problems of life. The University was becoming the laughing stock of the world. It was inconceivable, said outsiders, that such a crime could be committed without the police speedily detecting the criminal.
It was at this stage of the game that Barnes, going into the Clarion office, met his friend Curley, of that paper, and was given this command: ‘Solve the museum mystery.’ He had been given many difficult orders in the past, but this seemed the most impossible of all. Perhaps they were trying to have some fun with him at the office. ‘If so,’ he said to himself, ‘I’ll put the laugh on the other side.’
That afternoon he called up Dr Randall-Brown and told him that he had been commissioned to solve the mystery. The learned curator smiled through his perplexity and said fervently:
‘Do so, and you’ll win my ev
erlasting gratitude.’
‘But,’ insisted Barnes, ‘I must have your authority to cross-examine the employees and to conduct the investigation in any way I see fit.’
‘You have all that,’ replied the doctor. ‘I’ll see that no obstacles are placed in your way.’
The first thing that Barnes considered was the substitution of the fake necklace for the real one in the day time. He interrogated George Young, the day watchman, at some length, and that officer persisted in his statement that his longest length of absence from Egyptian Hall was for fifteen minutes.
‘Didn’t you go out for luncheon?’
‘No, sir; I carried it with me as usual and ate it at that little desk over in the corner of the room, where I had a full view of the case containing the relic.’
‘Have you had many visitors?’
‘Yes, sir; especially since the necklace came.’
‘How many at one time?’
‘The number varied. Sometimes the room was crowded, and again there would be only two or three.’
The detective reflected that it might have been possible for a trained gang of thieves to do the job in fifteen minutes. One man might have stood guard at the door while a half-dozen confederates unscrewed the case and made the substitution. But, of course, they would be subjected to interruption. Altogether, Barnes felt rather skeptical about his theory.
His next move was to put Adam Markley, the night watchman, through the third degree. The results were far from satisfactory, Adam Markley had been with the museum for fifteen years, and his reputation for integrity was very high. Indeed, he almost took a childish interest in the rare objects that were in his charge. He was an illiterate man, but what he lacked in education he supplied with enthusiasm and devotion to duty.
Dr Randall-Brown shook his head smilingly when Barnes spoke of the night watchman.
‘It’s all right to put him on the griddle,’ he said, ‘but you might as well suspect me as old Adam Markley.’
‘I do suspect you,’ began the detective.
The venerable Egyptologist gave a start of surprise. He spoke sharply:
‘Well of all the cheeky –’
Barnes lifted an interrupting hand.
‘I suspect you and everyone connected with this place,’ he finished. ‘You know,’ he added, ‘I am working on the French principle that you’re all guilty until you prove your innocence.’
‘Ah,’ was the relieved reply, ‘that’s different, but I’m sure you’re wasting your time on the night watchman.’
Adam Markley told his story in a straightforward way, and although he was called upon to repeat it, he never once deviated from any of the essential details. He was cherubic in appearance, and in spite of his years, his cheeks were round and rosy, and his blue eyes looked out at his inquisitor with child-like innocence and freshness. He constantly ran his hand through his brown hair, and his manner seemed to say, ‘Why don’t you look for the thief instead of bothering with me?’
Barnes, not content with examining the employees, made an exhaustive investigation into their antecedents. He paid particular attention to the two watchmen. Young, he found, was a married man with a large family living in a modest house in the suburbs. Markley resided in bachelor apartments in the city, living comfortably but inexpensively. Those who knew him were loud in his praise. Some of his older friends recalled him as a child. He had a brother, and the two of them, with long brown curls and rosy cheeks, went about hand in hand like two babes in the wood. The brother, who, unfortunately, had left the straight and narrow path, was now living in the West.
Adam Markley, in the course of his examination, let fall one remark which Barnes thought might develop into a clue. He said that Professor von Hermann had paid five or six visits to the museum and had stood before the case containing the necklace like a man fascinated. Professor von Hermann was one of the world’s greatest archaeologists, and there is no doubt that he keenly felt the disappointment which comes to such a man when a rival – even though that rival be an institution – secures the prize he covets. Barnes, in the course of his investigation, learned that the professor, on one occasion, had told a friend that the only thing he needed to complete his own collection was just such a necklace as the trustees of the Cosmopolitan Museum had fondly believed to be safe in Egyptian Hall. Barnes called at the professor’s home with the idea of gaining some impressions of the venerable connoisseur, but that gentleman bluntly informed him through a servant that he ‘had no time to give to gossiping detectives.’
Barnes relished this greatly, and made a mental resolution to remember the eccentricity – or worse – of the savant at the proper time and place. In the meantime he called upon the curator of the museum for the purpose of asking some further questions.
‘Well, my man,’ cried Dr Randall-Brown, with wet-blanket cordiality, ‘I suppose you’ve come to tell me you’re stumped.’
‘Nothing of the kind,’ protested the detective.
‘You haven’t found the thief?’
‘No,’ admitted Barnes, ‘not yet, but I’ve got a bully good theory.’
‘What is it?’
‘I’m not ready to give it out. What I want to know from you is whether you haven’t forgotten to tell me something.’
‘Sir!’ exclaimed the doctor, with a rising and highly indignant inflection, ‘I’ve told you all I know.’
‘You were in your office in this building the day before the theft was discovered? ‘
‘I was.’
‘Did anything unusual occur?’
‘No, sir.’
‘You stepped out of your office for a few minutes?’
‘Yes, I was in and out several times.’
‘And once, when you returned, you found a young man fumbling in the drawer of your desk?’
The curator’s face lengthened.
‘You’re right, Barnes, I forgot all about that. It seemed such a trifling matter.’
‘It’s the trifles that count, doctor. Who was the young man?’
‘I never learned. He ran out as I came in. I imagine it was one of the students from the University.’
‘Wasn’t he dark-complexioned?’
‘Now that you mention it, I believe that he was.’
‘Haven’t they some Egyptian students in the University?’
‘By Jove, they have five or six. My boy, I believe you’re on the right track!’
Barnes sighed. ‘I doubt it, but I’ve got to clean all of these things up, you know.’
‘Shall I send for the Egyptian students?’
‘No – at least not at present. By the way, do you know Professor von Hermann?’
‘Yes.’
‘Has he ever said anything about the necklace?’
‘Yes, he told me that his collection was incomplete without it and that our collection was incomplete without his Egyptian antiquities. He wondered if the trustees would consider a suggestion to sell him the necklace. I told him the proposition was preposterous.’
‘He thought the collection should be merged?’
‘Exactly, only his plan would be to have the tail wag the dog.’
Six days had now gone and Barnes apparently was no nearer the truth than he had been in the beginning. Every day regularly he reported at the Clarion office and found against his name on the assignment book in the Clarion office the command, ‘Solve the museum mystery.’ The city editor, in his dry mirthless way, did his best to tease the emergency man.
‘If you want to give up the assignment, Barnes,’ he said, ‘I’ll let you report the meetings of the Universal Peace Union.’
‘No,’ said the baited one, clicking his teeth with determination, ‘I’ll finish this job first if you don’t mind.’
That night he enlisted the aid of his friend and fellow worker, Clancy.
&
nbsp; ‘You needn’t tell me what you want,’ said the loyal Con, ‘I’ll go with you anywhere without asking questions.’
At midnight the two of them were prowling about the dark stone walls of the Cosmopolitan Museum. The place was on the outskirts of the city, and at that hour was lonely and deserted. A dim light shone from one of the small windows near the entrance. It was too high for either of them to look inside.
‘I’d give a dollar for a soap box or something to stand on,’ grunted Barnes.
Clancy never hesitated for an instant.
‘Let’s play horsey,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Why, I’ll get down on my hands and knees,’ quoth the faithful one, ‘and you can stand on my back and peep inside.’
It was no sooner said than done. The improvised stand proved to be just the right height.
By clutching the window sill with his fingertips Barnes was able to draw himself up and peer into the little room that led to the museum.
There sat old Markley tilted back in a chair with his feet on the window ledge reading a book. A half smile wreathed his cherubic face, and he had the appearance of a man who, as one of our Presidents once remarked, was ‘at peace with the world and the rest of mankind.’
There was certainly nothing to excite suspicion in appearance or the action of the venerable person, and yet the mere sight of him seemed to throw Barnes into a state of intense excitement
‘I’ve got it! I’ve got it!’ he whispered hoarsely to his friend, as he jumped from Clancy’s willing back.
‘Got what?’
‘Never mind,’ was the impatient retort as he grabbed his associate by the coat sleeve, ‘come with me.’
‘What are you going to do now?’ ventured Clancy.
‘Commit burglary, I hope,’ ejaculated Barnes fervently.
Clancy looked at Barnes with real concern. He wondered whether he could, by any possibility, be taking leave of his senses. In spite of this momentary doubt he followed his friend with the blind devotion which was his most becoming trait. Soon after leaving the museum they were able to get a cab and in a little while the vehicle, pursuant to Barnes’s directions, drew up in front of Adam Markley’s lodgings.
American Sherlocks Page 3