The Deadly Curse (6 page)

Delland sat down heavily in his armchair and shook his head. ‘Dear me,’ he said. ‘This case gets stranger by the minute. Why can’t I have a nice stabbing in a Limehouse public house to investigate, with a dozen witnesses and a quick confession? It’s clear from this telegram that Flinzer must have sold the
khopesh
to the Edinburgh Museum. So why didn’t it arrive?’

‘It
might be that it was never packed,’ Mina suggested. ‘If one of Flinzer’s servants had been given the task, they may have kept the sword, hoping to sell it themselves.’

Delland
shook his head. ‘Possible, but hardly likely. Such a theft would be certain to be discovered when Dr Levin opened the case. And as Flinzer would know who had been told to post it, suspicion would immediately fall on the thief. I think it’s far more likely that the
khopesh
was abstracted
after
it left the house – perhaps whilst in the parcel sorting office – with the intention of using it to kill Flinzer.’

Van
Helsing coughed gently. ‘That seems an over-elaborate way to obtain a murder weapon. A visit to a cutler’s shop would be far more straightforward. But suppose there were a
pair
of such objects amongst the tomb items? That would mean that a thief could have stolen it in Edinburgh, or
en
route
. Then – coincidentally – the murderer could have picked up its fellow in the strongroom.’

Sarah
Wilton shook her head. ‘That’s highly unlikely. I know of no cases where more than one
khopesh
would be provided in a single tomb.’

Delland
frowned. ‘I’ll start by questioning everyone in the Flinzer household, to see exactly how the sword was dispatched. I don’t think we can discover any more until then.’

‘Let
me make a suggestion, Inspector,’ I said. ‘I propose that you agree that for, shall we say, the next seven days, the tomb items are kept locked away in Flinzer’s strongroom. Of course when – or if – the murderer is apprehended, I quite see that the
khopesh
will at some stage have to appear in court, which will necessarily mean that it is separated from the rest of the artefacts. However, with all due respect to your powers of detection, that is unlikely to happen within a week. You will of course be conducting your usual examination of such a case – interviewing Flinzer’s business associates and such like. At the same time, with your permission, my friends and I will indulge our more outlandish theories.’

Delland
got to his feet. ‘Agreed!’ he said with a smile. ‘On one condition: should the three of you discover anything that might be pertinent to this case, I’d like you to let me know immediately. And I, in turn, will inform you if I arrest the culprit.’

‘Inspector, are you sure that the tomb objects will be safe at Flinzer’s house?’ I asked.

‘As
safe as if they were taken to Scotland Yard,’ he replied. ‘I have arranged for a constable to be stationed outside the house day and night whilst the relics remain there. They are of course very securely locked away. Also, Mrs Flinzer has insisted on remaining in residence.’

‘She
must be a strong-minded lady,’ Mina observed.

‘Indeed,
Mrs Harker. She does seem to have coped with her husband’s ghastly demise remarkably well. Of course, it helps that she’s a healthy young woman with a strong constitution. I understand that her late husband was her senior by sixteen years.’

*

Inspector Delland declined our suggestion that he should join us for dinner, on the very reasonable grounds that, despite his onerous duties, his wife still expected to see him on occasion. When he had left us, we sat down together and planned the further action that we would take regarding any further dangers presented by the Wilton Collection.

We
decided that the following morning Mina and Sarah would visit Mrs Flinzer to ask if she knew anything concerning the sale of the ceremonial sword or any of the other tomb goods. Meanwhile Professor Van Helsing and I would visit the Clarendon Institute of Archaeology, to try to persuade the Director to return the coffin of Karnos II to the Wilton Collection.

Chapter
4

Next
morning, Mina took a hansom to Endsleigh Street, where she planned to collect Sarah Wilton
en
route
to Mrs Flinzer’s house. Professor Van Helsing and I set off a little later for Bloomsbury, and shortly afterwards we arrived at the impressive reception hall of the Clarendon Institute of Archaeology.

‘The
Clarendon is considerably smaller than the British Museum,’ Van Helsing observed as we waited for the clerk to attend to us. ‘However, last year it received a large endowment from the American meatpacking magnate, Mr Orville Culkin.’

‘Ah
yes,’ I replied. ‘Why did he choose the Clarendon Institute, I wonder?’

‘I
believe that the gentleman is a keen amateur Egyptologist. But if I am not mistaken, here is the clerk now. Let us hope we are not kept waiting for too long.’

*

As it transpired, the Director was able to see us immediately. He announced himself as Dr Franklin Harris, a politeness that was somewhat redundant, given that his title and name was emblazoned on the door of his office in large gold lettering. After we had exchanged customary introductions he asked us to sit down.

‘Mr
Harker, Professor Van Helsing,’ he said with a smile. ‘I am of course familiar with your names, although I do not believe we have met. Let me see – it must have been four years ago that the papers were full of your dramatic adventure in the Carpathian Mountains. Now gentlemen, how may I help you?’

As
the Director spoke I observed him closely. Even to someone as uninterested in the fashionable world as I, it was clear that his bespoke lounge suit of fine dark wool was the epitome of modern tailoring. He wore highly-polished, patent leather shoes, which chimed congruously with his carefully-pomaded, dark hair and neatly-clipped goatee beard. The whole effect – taken together with his somewhat artificial smile, which gave his physiognomy an unpleasant, frozen character – was somehow un-British: if I had not been aware of his status, I might have taken him for an ambassador from one of the smaller, Middle European nations. His office, likewise, had crossed that subtle threshold between opulence and vulgarity: its contents included a deep, luxurious carpet and heavy, ornate mahogany furniture, evidently recently manufactured. Surprisingly there were no books or papers to be seen, his shelves being occupied by tastefully arranged
objets
d’art
of miscellaneous provenance.

I
looked towards Van Helsing, who gave me a barely perceptible nod. ‘Dr Harris, I will come straight to the point,’ I said. ‘I am led to understand that some three weeks ago you – or rather the Clarendon Institute – purchased the coffin of the Pharaoh Karnos II.’

‘Yes, indeed. We bought it from a Mr Theodore Flinzer, a dealer in art who had very recently inherited a valuable collection of tomb goods. I can tell you in confidence that we would have been happy to have purchased the collection in its entirety, but unfortunately Flinzer wanted an excessive sum for it. However, once he has tried his luck elsewhere I hope we can persuade him to deal with us.’

‘I’m
afraid that will be impossible,’ I said. ‘Poor Flinzer died on Monday night, in most unfortunate circumstances. I am afraid that I cannot reveal more to you, as the whole business in currently being investigated by the Metropolitan Police. However, I expect that Scotland Yard will be releasing a statement to the newspapers in due course.’

‘Let
me explain exactly why we are here’, Van Helsing said to Harris, who was clearly taken aback by my news. ‘We would like to ensure that the Wilton Collection remains complete. We therefore wish to buy back the coffin of Karnos II, repaying you exactly what you gave for it.’

I
looked at the Professor in some surprise. If Harris agreed to our request, and Mrs Flinzer – who had presumably inherited her husband’s estate – was not inclined to acquire the coffin, how did he intend to proceed? I was aware that my friend was a wealthy man, so could only assume he would in those circumstances find the money himself. However, Harris’s response made my speculations irrelevant.

‘I’m
afraid that would be quite impossible!’ the Director exclaimed, his veneer of urbanity dissolving rapidly. ‘Our main benefactor, Mr Orville Culkin, is most enthusiastic about the purchase. Indeed he hopes to make it the nucleus of an important new repository of Ancient Egyptian relics, to be called the Culkin Collection.’

‘As
you may know,’ I said, ‘my profession is that of a solicitor. In strictly legal terms I should point out that Mr Culkin has no veto over the disposal of objects owned by your Institute. That is a matter for your board of trustees. Perhaps you could put our request to them? There may be certain dangers associated with your retention of the coffin, which might make it prudent for you to relinquish ownership of it.’

‘Dangers!’
Harris exclaimed scornfully. ‘I must tell you that I am fully aware of the absurd rumours which have been in circulation for some years regarding the Wilton Collection. However, the Clarendon Institute prides itself on its scientific modernity. We have no interest in djinns, genies or other such bugaboos here, Mr Harker. Now, if I cannot be of further assistance, I must bid you good day.’

As
the Director ushered us to the door, I paused and turned towards him. ‘May I ask if the coffin is kept in a secure place within the Clarendon?’ I asked.

‘I
can assure you that our storeroom is kept locked at all times,’ Harris answered with a trace of self-satisfaction. ‘Also – as I am a bachelor – the trustees have kindly allowed me to reside here in the Institute, in a set of rooms on the second floor. So, you see, the building is never left unoccupied. Farewell, gentlemen. I am truly sorry I have been unable to help you.’

*

Moments later Van Helsing and I walked through the grand portico of the Clarendon Institute and stepped out into Great Russell Street.

‘Truly
sorry!’ Van Helsing snorted. ‘What an odious little man! I’m sure the only time he would be truly sorry would be if his favourite brand of Makassar oil became unobtainable. I will make a point of checking his credentials. I’ll wager he’s never crossed the threshold of a respectable university, or published anything more scholarly than a receipt or invoice.’

I chuckled. ‘Do not be despondent, Professor. We may have failed in our endeavours, but perhaps Mina and Miss Wilton will have been more successful.’

*

When my wife and her friend joined us at Van Helsing’s house just before luncheon, it seemed at first that they, too, had been unsuccessful. The two ladies consumed several cups of restorative tea, then told us what had occurred.

‘Mrs
Flinzer is clearly very shocked by the tragic death of her husband’, Mina said, at which Sarah nodded in assent. ‘I would not put her age at more than twenty-six or -seven: she is a pretty young woman, and very neatly turned out, despite her mourning clothes. I cannot imagine that she will continue to wear them for quite so long as our current Monarch.’

‘Mr
Flinzer’s qualities could hardly have rivalled those of the late Prince Albert,’ I said. ‘How did the young widow respond to your questions?’

Sarah
took up the story. ‘The woman was very courteous,’ she said. ‘And remarkably self-effacing. When she learned that her late husband was my first cousin once removed, she greeted me in a most friendly manner, although exhibiting a good deal of shyness. However, her response to our queries was disappointing. Firstly, she said that she had very little knowledge of her late husband’s business affairs. She was aware that he had recently inherited a large quantity of valuable antiquities, but could not say if a sword, or indeed anything else from the collection, had been sold. I then asked if she would be willing to look through her late husband’s papers to see if he possessed Sir Edward’s inventory book, or had kept any record of sales. Her apologetic response was that at present she felt too upset to delve into his writing desk. She told us that her brother would be helping her go through Flinzer’s papers next week, and of course Flinzer’s executor – his solicitor, I believe – will also need to do so in due course.’

‘So
you left empty-handed, as it were?’ Van Helsing asked.

‘Not
entirely,’ Mina said, with an expression of considerable self-satisfaction. ‘As we passed through the front gate we met a young woman on her way to the house. From her appearance I guessed that she was a servant, and asked her some spurious question regarding the cook, with whom I pretended to be acquainted.’

I
chuckled. ‘Mina is a great admirer of Sherlock Holmes,’ I said to Sarah. ‘The
Strand
is always eagerly awaited at our house. It appears that some of that great detective’s methods have been co-opted by her. But do go on, my dear.’

‘Miss
Edith Hawthorne is a parlourmaid at the house,’ Mina continued. ‘She was returning from an errand for Mrs Flinzer. She volunteered that she had given a month’s notice following the dreadful events of Monday night, which are now well known to all the servants, even though no word has yet reached the press or public. On a whim, I suggested that she might wish to call here this evening, and share her knowledge of the Flinzer household with us. I cannot help feeling that there is more to be learnt, and who better to tell us than one of the servants? She agreed, and will be here at six o’clock.’

‘Your
powers of persuasion are remarkable!’ Van Helsing exclaimed. ‘How much did you offer her? You cannot be allowed to bear the whole cost.’

‘I’m
afraid I gave her a sovereign, and promised her two more if she kept her appointment,’ Mina said. ‘And I insist on paying her from my own pocket. The sales of
The
Secret
of
Lady
Connaught
have been most satisfactory, and I cannot think of a more interesting way of investing some of my earnings.’

*

Five minutes after the time arranged, Edith Hawthorne was shown into the drawing room by Van Helsing’s butler. She was an attractive young woman with carefully-curled brown hair, and was smartly dressed in a three-quarter coat.

‘Do
sit down, Miss Hawthorne,’ Sarah said. ‘I have explained to my associates – she indicated us with a wave of her hand – that you have kindly agreed to give us what information you can about your late master and his household. We will of course treat anything you sat with the utmost confidence. If our host will allow me I will ring for tea. I’m sure our visitor would appreciate a cup.’

Edith
stared at us with great intensity, her mouth slightly open with surprise.

‘Are
you gents coppers? I’ve already spoke to that Inspector Delland. All he asked was if I’d noticed anything on Monday night, when poor master was killed. I told him I’d seen and heard nothing, and that’s true, so help me.’

‘We
are not police officers, Miss Hawthorne,’ I said, ‘and we have no doubt that you told the inspector the truth. My name is Mr Harker; the other gentleman is Professor Van Helsing. I believe you have already met my wife and Miss Wilton. I am an old friend of the late Mr Flinzer, but have not seen him for several years.’

Mina
raised her eyebrows at my minor deception as I continued. ‘We are anxious to find out what we can about any out of the ordinary events in the weeks and days before the crime. For instance, did Mr Flinzer have any unusual visitors? Did he appear worried, or out of spirits? Do take your time, my dear.’

Edith
frowned as she collected her thoughts. ‘Well, let’s see. I’ve been with the family since October 1896 – just over a year. That was only a few months after the master got married. ’Course I knew nothing different, but the other servants told me that they’d had it a lot easier when Mr Flinzer was a bachelor. It takes a woman to run a house, I always say, and the new Mrs Flinzer likes to have everything just so.’

At
that point the tea tray arrived: Van Helsing dismissed his servant and filled the cups himself. Some chocolate cake had also been brought, and Edith seized the largest slice with alacrity. After a necessary interval of enthusiastic munching, she continued.

‘Prime
cake sir. Fit for the Queen, God bless her. Now what was I saying?’

‘You
were telling us about Mrs Flinzer,’ I said.

‘Oh
yes sir. Well, like I say, she liked everything clean and tidy, but that’s only to be expected. Strange thing was no one knows anything about her. All we’ve found out is that she was called Cynthia Pettigrew before her marriage, and that’s only because Lily – the parlourmaid – had gone with mistress to the shops, and a man at the draper’s called her “Miss Pettigrew.” Mrs Flinzer put him right straight away, but it weren’t his fault he didn’t know she was married, was it? As for where she’s come from, it’s a mystery. They say master met her in the Criterion Bar.