The Deadly Curse (3 page)

Sarah
smiled. ‘That would have been impracticable. No, Mrs Harker, I’m afraid your suspicions are correct. Although there was no absolute requirement for a pharaoh’s queen to join him in death, in practice, many opted to do so. We can be fairly sure that Merhote took poison in time to accompany her husband to the next world, where they would live together for eternity.’

‘Eternity!
Let us hope the couple were more than usually compatible!’ Mina exclaimed. ‘But do continue, Miss Wilton.’

‘I’ll
try to keep my narrative brief. Shortly after his discovery, Sir Edward brought the contents of the tomb back with him to England, including the two sarcophagi containing the inner coffins that held the mummified remains of Karnos and Merhote. At first they were stored in a secure warehouse managed by my father’s bank, Havelocks. Then, for three months, these fascinating treasures were put on public display in the British Museum, where they were seen by thousands of people. After that the most valuable items were taken by my father to his country house in Dorset, where they were kept secured in a strongroom until his death. Scholars were allowed to view them strictly by appointment, but they were no longer available for the public to see. There was some attempt to keep them in the museum, but my father was able to establish his legal ownership.’

As
Sarah spoke I suddenly recollected reading an account of this peculiar arrangement in the
Times
. I was then in my first year at Oxford and remembered that most of my fellow students were in agreement with that newspaper, which felt that Sir Edward Wilton had no business keeping these priceless treasures to himself.

‘Was
there any reason for your father’s adoption of this unusual scheme?’ I asked. ‘Perhaps he had reason to believe that the artefacts might be stolen?’

Sarah
avoided my eyes as she answered. ‘I am not certain,’ she said. ‘At any rate – as I shall explain – it was his intention that they should pass into the hands of a museum upon his death.’

I
glanced at Professor Van Helsing, who was looking at Sarah Wilton with a quizzical expression. She paused for a moment and continued.

‘When
my father died his will stipulated that his whole estate, with the
exception
of the items from the tomb of Karnos II, should be left to me. The tomb items were left to his cousin, Mr Theodore Flinzer. My father was Flinzer’s closest relative until Flinzer’s recent marriage. At his express wish, father’s will stated that the treasures were left to Flinzer “
on
the
understanding
that
my
cousin
disposes
of
them
according
to
my
wishes
,
which
are
well
known
to
him
”. Believe me, I have read those words often enough since to be able to quote them exactly! You will understand, Mr Harker, that my father’s solicitor was most unhappy with such an ambiguous wording, but Sir Edward insisted upon it. The result is that in law it seems Flinzer can now do what he wishes with the remains of the pharaoh and his queen, and the other ancient relics.’

‘That
is extremely interesting,’ I said, thinking that if a client came to me with such foolish instructions I would refuse to act. However, there was nothing illegal about what had occurred. ‘Let me see – if I may hazard a guess, I suppose that you eventually discovered what Sir Edward’s unstated wishes had been; that you then found out that Flinzer has
not
acted upon them; and that now you wish to know if you have any legal redress?’

‘Bravo,
Mr Harker,’ Sarah said. ‘The Professor knows his man. You are exactly right! Three weeks ago I was contacted by one of my colleagues at University College, Miss April Finch. She had heard from her brother – who works at the Clarendon Institute of Archaeology in Bloomsbury – that the Institute was about to take delivery of an important new acquisition: the inner coffin and mummified remains of Karnos II. I made sure that I did not show my concern and pretended that I already knew of the matter. However, this sale runs completely contrary to Sir Edward’s desires. Fortunately, his intentions regarding their disposition were recorded in his papers – as his executor I examined all my father’s correspondence and documents after his death. Given the wording of his will it is inconceivable that he had not explained these wishes to his cousin Theodore.’

‘And
are you able to tell us what Sir Edward had proposed?’ Mina asked.

‘Of
course. My father had wanted the collection to be donated to the Ashington Museum in Oxford, provided that the museum was able to give an assurance that the relics he had brought back to England were to be kept together as one collection, and that individual items were not to be loaned out in any circumstances.’

‘Forgive
my interruption,’ I said. ‘Would it not have been possible for Sir Edward to have bequeathed the relics directly to the museum? Why involve Mr Flinzer at all?’

‘That
is something I, too, have puzzled over,’ Sarah said. ‘I believe that my father was worried that, after his death, the museum might not be inclined to follow his instructions to the letter. Theodore was nine years younger than my father and so might reasonably be expected to outlive him. In other words, Sir Edward probably felt less anxious thinking Flinzer would ensure that his wishes were carried out – which, in the circumstances, is most ironic. I only wish father had asked
me
to supervise the disposition of his legacy. No doubt he was old-fashioned enough to feel that a mature man might be a more effective guardian than a young woman. My question, Mr Harker, is a simple one: is there any prospect of a successful legal action to prevent Theodore Flinzer disposing of any more treasures from the tomb of Karnos II?’

I
shook my head. ‘I’m afraid my answer is also simple: no, there is not. If there are any conditions applicable to a legacy, they need to be clearly spelt out in the original will. That is clearly not the case here. However, there is one possible avenue to explore. If the Professor is agreeable, I suggest that he and I visit Mr Theodore Flinzer tomorrow morning on your behalf. Since there is no legal action that can prevent him from disposing of Sir Edward’s collection, we will have to rely upon an appeal to his good nature.’

Chapter
2

Shortly after breakfast on the following day, Van Helsing and I took a hansom to Theodore Flinzer’s house in Islington. During the six-mile journey, the Professor told me all he knew about the gentleman upon whom we were calling. He was not acquainted with Flinzer in person, but Sarah Wilton had given him what information she possessed.

‘Miss
Wilton has met Flinzer on a number of occasions, the last time two months ago, at the reading of her father’s will,’ my friend said. ‘And she was not impressed. The man was all smiles, but she detected a certain untrustworthiness beneath his veneer of
bonhomie
. She was not surprised to hear that he was blatantly ignoring her father’s wishes and suspects his motive may be purely financial. As Flinzer is an art dealer, he would know how to dispose of the collection. Apparently he lives with his wife in a detached house near Barnard Park. It has a large cellar, where the contents of the tomb of Karnos II are currently stored. He has told Sarah – Miss Wilton – that his cellar serves as a strongroom, and is constructed so as to frustrate any burglars, but I cannot imagine that it provides a suitable setting in which to store relics that are over three thousand years old.’

‘Probably
not.’ I paused for a moment. ‘Tell me, does Miss Wilton intend eventually to live at her late father’s residence in Dorset?’

‘She
does not. In fact that estate has recently been sold. Sarah Wilton – now a wealthy young woman – has taken a house in Endsleigh Gardens, close to University College. I believe that she shares it with a housekeeper and several other female academics: a most modern
ménage
. However, now that I have told you what I can about Mr Flinzer, perhaps we should consider in more detail how we might persuade that gentleman of the error of his ways.’

As
the Professor spoke, I noticed that he appeared somewhat ill at ease. To someone who knew Van Helsing less well than I, and was unfamiliar with his usual frank and open demeanour, it would not have been apparent, but I was sure that some information was being withheld from me. However, if the Professor had more to tell me I was sure that he would do so just as soon as he was able.

*

As it turned out, our further speculations concerning our appeal to Flinzer proved to be unnecessary. It was just half-past nine when we arrived at the art dealer’s villa, an impressive brick-built residence in the Gothic style. When our hansom disgorged us at the end of the short gravel drive we were greeted by a police constable stationed at the front door. A few yards away stood a dark-coloured four-wheeler of the type commonly used by the Metropolitan police force.

‘I’m
very sorry gentlemen, but you can’t go in,’ he said. ‘Inspector Delland’s orders. I can tell him you’ve called, if you’d like to leave your names with me.’

‘Professor,
do you have your card?’ I asked. When Van Helsing passed it to me, I took out mine and gave both to the constable.

‘Please
give these to the Inspector and tell him we shall wait,’ I said. ‘I take it that something significant must have occurred here in order to bring a senior officer to the house.’

We
did not have long to wait. After less than five minutes the front door opened and a large, thickset man stepped out to greet us. He appeared to be in his early forties and projected that air of brisk, confident authority that is so often associated with the senior ranks of his profession.

‘Inspector
Delland,’ he announced, holding out his hand.

As
Van Helsing and I introduced ourselves I stared at his dark, rather rumpled, ready-made suit. ‘
Detective
Inspector, I assume?’ I asked.

Delland
chuckled. ‘Well yes, sir, that’s my full title, but “Inspector” will do nicely. Now, Mr Harker, I rarely forget a name, or a face for that matter – goes with the job, I suppose. Would you be the young Mr Harker who was involved in a dreadful business over in Europe? The newspaper reports gave my wife the horrors. She made sure she read them all!’

I
glanced at the Professor, who was clearly amused

‘You
have correctly identified me, Inspector,’ I said with a nod. ‘Although Professor Van Helsing here played as big a part as I in consigning Count Dracula to hell. And now that we have established our
bona
fides
, are you able to tell us what has occurred?’

‘You’re
welcome to see for yourselves, gentlemen. Let me lead the way. I’ll be interested to know why you’ve called here this morning.’

As
we followed the detective up the broad flight of stairs, Van Helsing explained the purpose of our visit. Delland paused on the landing outside a bedroom.

‘I’m
afraid that it won’t be possible for you to speak to Mr Flinzer,’ he said. ‘Although I can promise you he won’t be selling any more items from Sir Edward Wilton’s collection – or anything else for that matter. Now, you gentlemen have had some experience of the less pleasant encounters that this world has to offer, or I wouldn’t be letting you in. It’s not a pretty sight, I must warn you.’

At
this the detective opened the bedroom door and ushered us inside. The centre of the room was occupied by a huddle of people: two police constables and a gentleman wearing a black jacket and pinstriped trousers. They were bending over something that was obscured from my sight, then they moved to one side as Delland, Van Helsing and I entered the room.

‘I’m
sorry to interrupt you, Doctor,’ the detective said. ‘I’ve given these two gentlemen permission to view the scene. They’d come to call on Flinzer, and it’s possible they may be able to cast some light on this ugly business.’

I
stepped back with an involuntary shudder.

‘Good
G-d!’ Professor Van Helsing exclaimed. ‘What has happened here?’

A
body of a man lay stretched out on its back in the centre of a rich oriental carpet. The corpse wore a plush velvet smoking jacket, and its legs were clad in black silk pyjamas. An embroidered slipper was on one foot and the other slipper lay close by. However, it was not the somewhat exotic apparel of the unfortunate gentleman that inexorably drew my gaze, but the ragged stub of his neck, which lay in the centre of a large pool of congealed, red-brown blood. The head was missing, and nowhere to be seen. On the floor near the body lay what appeared to be a farm worker’s sickle. It was clotted with gore, and was evidently the weapon used for the murder.

‘I’ll
explain,’ Inspector Delland said. ‘But can I first ask Doctor Morton if he’s formed an opinion about the time of death?’

The
Doctor nodded. ‘Probably between midnight and three o’clock this morning,’ he said. ‘Rigor suggests it is unlikely to be earlier. I would have wished to have measured the temperature of the brain to be more certain, but of course cannot do so in this case.’

Delland
turned to face Van Helsing and I. ‘Mr Flinzer lives – I should say, lived – here alone with his wife, and of course the servants. His wife sleeps in the adjoining room.’ The detective indicated a door in the wall to our left, and continued. ‘As usual, his valet, Simpkins, came to wake to him at eight o’clock this morning, bringing a cup of tea and a jug of hot water. He found his master exactly as you see him. Fortunately Simpkins is an old soldier who saw service in the Crimea, and kept his wits about him. He made sure that Mrs Flinzer was prevented from entering the room, and sent the parlourmaid to the nearest police station for help.’

‘Could
Simpkins himself be implicated in this horrible crime?’ I asked.

Delland
shook his head. ‘I don’t believe so. If he
had
wanted to kill Flinzer for some reason, why go to the trouble of hiding his victim’s head? Or, come to that, cutting it off in the first place? Slashing Flinzer’s throat would have done just as well. Unless Simpkins is a lunatic, but I’d swear he’s as sane as you or I.’

Van
Helsing walked over to the corpse, carefully avoiding the blood on the floor, and stared down thoughtfully at what remained of the unfortunate man.

‘I
suppose we can be sure that this body
is
that of Theodore Flinzer?’ the Professor asked.

‘A
good question,’ Delland replied. ‘Fortunately for my investigation, there seems little doubt. Mrs Flinzer has told me that her husband has a distinctive raised scar on his left forearm, the result of a riding accident in his youth - a fact that the servants have confirmed. As you can see, it is there now.’

Delland
bent down and drew up the sleeve of the corpse’s smoking jacket, revealing a livid welt where the damaged skin had knitted together many years earlier.

‘And
what of the implement used for the murder?’ I said. ‘That, too, seems bizarre. The property of some deranged countryman, perhaps, who happened to have his sickle with him?’

Doctor
Morton took out his pocket handkerchief and bent over the implement, looking up at Delland, who nodded. The doctor lifted up the blade by its tip and held it towards me. Van Helsing and I peered at it together. It had a curved, thick, crescent shaped blade, with a notch beneath the pointed end. Underneath the smears of gore the metal looked mottled and brown. The most notable feature of the unpleasant device was the hilt. Formed from a black metal or perhaps ebony, it was inlaid with bands of silver and gold, and studded with polished gemstones. The end of the hilt was embossed with a golden beetle.

‘Why,
that’s no sickle,’ Van Helsing said. ‘It is some kind of ceremonial sword. Ancient, by the look of it. Perhaps even bronze.’

Inspector
Delland looked at us both very closely. ‘Indeed, gentlemen. I’ll need to get an expert opinion. But to my eye, it has an eastern look, don’t you think? Turkish, perhaps? Ugly weapon, whatever it is. Now, we’ve searched the house and grounds very carefully, and haven’t found Flinzer’s head. There’s one place, however, that I’ve not yet visited: his strongroom, where I’ve been told he keeps his valuables and such like. Perhaps you two gentlemen will come with me, as you have an interest in the Wilton Collection.’

*

Shortly afterwards, Delland, one of the constables, Van Helsing and I walked down the short flight of steps that led to the former cellar. The strongroom door was of a most unusual construction, quite unlike anything I had seen before. It appeared to be made of some grey-painted metal and a spoked wheel about the size of a large dinner plate was placed in the centre. Under this was a smaller device: a concentric set of metal discs with the numbers zero to nine around the circumference of each. Surprisingly there was no keyhole visible.

The
detective took a slip of paper from his pocketbook.

‘I’ve
got Mrs Flinzer’s permission to enter,’ he said. ‘This kind of apparatus is common enough in the more modern of our banks, but this is the first time I have seen one in a private house.’

Van
Helsing stepped towards the door and examined the mechanism. ‘A combination lock – most ingenious.’

Delland
bent over the metal discs, consulting the numbers he had written down. After the fifth one had been set to the correct position, I heard a dull metallic click. Delland took hold of the wheel with both hands and turned it to the left; as he did so the door swung open. I noticed that it was about three inches thick, and mounted on half a dozen massive hinges which had been let into the stone walls of the room.

‘According
to Mrs Flinzer, there’s a gas jet here somewhere,’ Delland said, reaching to his left. ‘Ah – I see it.’

He
took out a box of matches, turned on the gas and lit it. There was no mantle, and the flickering yellow flame cast dancing shadows into the recesses of the brick-lined cellar that lay in front of us.

The
scene that was illuminated before me was strange and unsettling, combining impressive craftsmanship and great beauty with a chilling sense of an alien and long-gone culture. Close to the doorway lay an elaborately decorated wooden coffin, with a convex lid and sides curved like a gigantic Russian doll. It represented the stylised figure of the body that lay within, and the carved head and face were those of a beautiful young woman: Queen Merhote, I was sure. Next to it there was an outline where another coffin had rested on the dusty floor of the cellar – no doubt the one occupied by the preserved remains of Karnos II, which Flinzer had recently sold to the Clarendon Institute. I could see two massive stone sarcophagi at the far end of the cellar, from which the inner coffins had presumably been removed.

Behind
and at each side of Queen Merhote’s coffin were stacked a profusion of other goods taken from the tomb, some of the small items still packed away in wooden crates. Of the larger items on display, two in particular stood out. The first was an ornate, gilded double throne and the second was a representation of Anubis, the jackal god: not in this case as a human with a jackal’s head, but a lifelike animal. The creature was sculpted in some kind of black material – possibly marble or polished granite – and wore an ornate collar. It lay with front legs extended and the head tilted up; its eyes, set with bright yellow gemstones, had a peculiarly intelligent and lifelike quality.