The Deadly Curse (7 page)

‘Well,
Mr Flinzer was well off, but he weren’t what you’d call
rich
. The last few months him and his wife were forever arguing about money – not really rowing, but he’d be talking very loud and then Mrs Flinzer would burst into tears, then they’d make up. You could tell he’d do anything for her – used to look at her sometimes like a grateful puppy what’s been rescued. But I mustn’t talk out of turn.’

‘Not
at all,’ Mina said. ‘Do go on. This is most helpful. Do you know what these money problems were?’

‘Yes
miss, it was all to do with Mrs Flinzer’s brother, Mr Algernon Manton. He’s a gambler so they say, forever in debt, and forced poor Mrs Flinzer to pay off his creditors with money she got from master. He’s a wine merchant of sorts – Mr Manton, I mean – and was forever round the house trying to get Mr Flinzer to buy cases of claret and such like.’

‘Is
Manton older or younger than his sister?’ Mina asked.

‘Oh,
much the same age, miss. He’s a pleasant enough young man, but then a lot of those wastrels are, aren’t they?’

Sarah
Wilton refilled Edith’s teacup, offering our visitor another slice of cake. After it had been devoured Sarah leaned forward.

‘Tell
me, Miss Hawthorne, have you noticed any large parcels or packages being removed from the house during the last few weeks?’

Edith’s
eyes widened. ‘Yes Miss! However did you know that? It was a Tuesday, ’bout three weeks ago. I’m sure of the day because it was my ma’s birthday and I’d had the morning off to visit her. That afternoon – it would have been about three o’clock – I’d taken a turn in the garden, to get some fresh air. Master and mistress rarely walked in the grounds, so it was quite safe for us servants to stroll there when we wished. Now, there’s a door at the back of the house that leads to the entrance above the old cellar, what Mr Flinzer has turned into a strongroom to keep the paintings and such like he dealt in. That entrance isn’t often used, but I’d just turned the corner past the shrubbery when Mr Flinzer stepped out. I jumped back out of sight and saw all that happened. Four other men came out carrying something like a big box, covered in sacking. I’d not seen none of them before, looked like workmen to me. I watched them take the box over to the drive, load it onto the back of a cart and drive off.’

‘And
did you witness any other such incidents?’ I asked.

Edith
shook her head. ‘That’s all sir. I really can’t think of anything else that left the house that I know of.’

‘Very
well, Edith,’ I said. ‘You have been extremely helpful. If you remember anything else that you think might be of interest, do please call on us. Mina, could you give our visitor the two sovereigns that she has been promised? Thank you.’

Edith
pocketed the coins with evident satisfaction.

‘I
hope that you will not get into trouble because of your absence?’ Mina asked.

‘Oh
no, miss. I told the mistress my poor old mum was ill, and got the evening off. As it happens she ain’t so well, and I’m going to see her now, so I won’t be found out.’

‘Let’s
hope not,’ Mina said. ‘I will take you downstairs, Miss Hawthorne, and call you a cab. Do not be concerned – I’ll pay the driver in advance.’

Chapter
5

Next morning, we decided that Mina and I would call upon Inspector Delland at Scotland Yard, to tell him what we had learned from Edith Hawthorne. Sarah had a class to teach at University College, and Van Helsing wished to attend a conference at the Greenwich Observatory. However, our plans were thoroughly overturned by the advent of the unexpected.

Just
after breakfast a young police officer was shown into the drawing room somewhat out of breath. He seemed unsure whom to address, then consulted his notebook and spoke to Van Helsing.

‘Detective
Inspector Delland sends his regards sir, and says that if Mr and Mrs Harker and Professor Van Helsing are free this morning, he would greatly appreciate your advice. I’ve a carriage outside and can take you there directly – if you can come.’

The
Professor consulted his pocket watch. ‘I am Van Helsing. Are you able to explain what awaits us, if we accept the Inspector’s invitation?

The
constable hesitated for a moment. ‘Well sir, I suppose it’s alright – you’ll find out anyway if you come with me. There been a murder in Mayfair – worst I’ve seen. Poor man was butchered something horrible.’ He looked dubiously at Mina. ‘With respect, you might find the sight of it a bit strong, ma’am.’

*

Some thirty minutes later Van Helsing, Mina and I alighted from the police four-wheeler and followed the young constable into an imposing white stucco townhouse just off Berkeley Square. The Professor had decided to abandon his conference, and the three of us were in a state of high anticipation after the constable’s lurid description of the crime.

I
experienced a sense of
déjà
vu
as we were shown upstairs, where Inspector Delland was waiting for us outside one of the doors that led off the landing.

‘This
is becoming something of a habit,’ Mina said to Delland with a smile. ‘I shall soon feel unable to visit any large house in London without finding you and a corpse on the premises. In this instance your officer intimated that the scene within might be rather too much for my feminine sensibilities.’

Delland
grimaced. ‘Constable Peters doesn’t have the advantage of knowing you, Mrs Harker. However, I’m afraid this is no laughing matter. I’ve invited you here because I think there’s a connection between this affair and the Flinzer murder. Please come through – but keep to the sides of the room as far as you can.’

We
entered what was clearly a gentleman’s study. Deep bookshelves lined two walls and a large writing desk stood under the bay window at the far end. A police sergeant stood in front of an ornate cast-iron fireplace. In the middle of the carpet a man lay on his back, his arms and legs stretched out at each side. His torso had been covered with a table-cloth, which was now stained bright red. He was lying in a spectacularly large pool of blood; I wondered what dreadful wound he must have received in order to have suffered such a dramatic exsanguination.

At
the opposite side of the room I noticed that a small object, about the size of a cushion, rested on the floor, and was entirely covered with another cloth of some kind –perhaps a bed-sheet. This covering, too, was soaked with blood, as if from another corpse, yet the bulge below it was far too small for a body – even that of a child. A vague premonition of the horrible truth hovered at the edge of my consciousness, and I glanced at Mina who stood next to me, her face pale and anxious.

‘Sergeant
Drew, I won’t need you while I’m here,’ Delland said to his colleague. ‘I’d get some fresh air, if I were you. If the doctor arrives, show him up.’

The
sergeant left with some alacrity, and Delland stepped towards the corpse.

‘This
gentleman is – or rather was – Signor Fosco Peretti,’ he said. ‘I’ve spoken to his butler who tells me that Peretti moved to London from Naples four years ago, and was a bachelor of independent means who patronised the arts. That’s all I know of him as yet. At six o’clock this morning the parlourmaid came into this study to lay the fire – and found Peretti as you see him. The body – and that other thing over there – were covered up by the sergeant on my orders. Peretti has suffered a violent assault – to be blunt, he’s been disembowelled. Opened up from his breastbone to his groin, as if he’d been sent to a slaughterhouse. And no sign of a weapon to be found.’

As
Delland spoke, Van Helsing advanced gingerly towards the half-shrouded corpse and took hold of one corner of the tablecloth.

‘May
I?’ he asked. ‘I’m a doctor of medicine, and would be interested to see exactly what has been done to this poor fellow.’

The
inspector nodded and Van Helsing peeled away the cloth, which had started to adhere to the body below as the blood continued to dry. As the full ghastliness of the sight was revealed, Mina gave a short involuntary cry. Even to the layman it was all too clear that the thorax had been wholly eviscerated, leaving only a ghastly cavity in place of the stomach, heart and other organs. The same thought must have occurred to the three of us, as Van Helsing, Mina and I turned our eyes to the small bloodstained mound at the side of the room.

‘I
see you’ve guessed what’s under there,’ Delland said. ‘I’m afraid you’re right. It’s Peretti’s innards, as far as I can tell. I ordered them covered up. Scooped out like the filling from a pie, and dumped on the floor. Doctor Crawford should be here any minute – he’ll be able to tell for sure. Of course if you’d like a peep, Professor, feel free.’

Van
Helsing lifted the sheet from the little mound in such a way that the horror beneath was mercifully shielded from the rest of us.

He
nodded. ‘Yes, these are certainly internal organs of a human adult, inspector. It should be possible for the police doctor to confirm that they are from this corpse’ – he pointed at Peretti’s remains – ‘by ascertaining if the cut or torn ends of the larger blood vessels match those in the chest cavity.’

At
that moment there was a knock on the study door. Sergeant Drew entered, followed by an elderly man with old-fashioned, ginger side-whiskers and the professional air of a physician.

‘Ah,
Doctor Crawford,’ Delland said. ‘Has the sergeant explained the situation? Good. In that case I’ll leave you to your business and talk to these gentlemen and the lady outside.’

I have to confess that it was with some relief that I found myself outside Peretti’s study.

‘Tell
me, Inspector,’ I said. ‘A short while ago, you said that you suspected a connection between this ghastly business and the Flinzer affair. Are you able to enlighten us?’

‘That’s
my intention,’ Delland said. ‘If you’ll follow me, I’d like to take you to Signor Peretti’s drawing room.’

When
we arrived at the opulently furnished room the inspector led us to the large fireplace. There, in front of it, were two large ceramic pots, badly broken, with shards scattered around as if they had been dropped from a great height. The lids of each were still almost intact and made it immediately obvious even to one with no specialist knowledge that they were Ancient Egyptian artefacts. Both lids were in the shape of a stylised animal head: the first of a powerful bull, the second of a fearsome falcon.

‘You
see what I mean?’ Delland said. ‘This is old Egyptian pottery, sure as eggs. Found by the servants this morning – they’ve never seen these jars before. Now, one thing that my job’s taught me over the years is to be very suspicious of coincidence. Here we are on Thursday morning in Mayfair with a horrible murder on our hands, and some old Egyptian items – perhaps valuable, perhaps not –¬ at the scene. Now, last Monday night – or early Tuesday morning – another bizarre killing took place in Islington in a house cluttered up with Egyptian tomb relics. There has to be some connection.’

‘Do
you have a theory, Inspector?’ Van Helsing asked.

‘I
do,’ Delland said with an air of some satisfaction. ‘And that’s where you can help me. I’d be greatly obliged if you could take the remains of the pots and ask your friend Miss Wilton if she could give me her opinion of them. I’d particularly like to know if they came from the Wilton Collection. I’ll be honest with you – I could get someone at Scotland Yard to look into it, and I’d get my answers next week if I’m lucky, or the week after if not. But I need to know in the next few days, while the case is fresh.’

We
agreed to Delland’s request and were soon loading the remnants of the pots into two cardboard boxes provided by Peretti’s butler. I noticed that within the largely intact base of each pot there was a handful or two of what looked like dried vegetables or seaweed.

‘Do
you think these containers were used for food storage?’ I said to Van Helsing.

‘I
rather think not,’ he replied. ‘If I am right, they are what’s known as canopic jars – but Sarah will be able to explain their purpose better than I.’

Mina
held up a shard. ‘This piece is covered in little signs and symbols,’ she said. ‘In fact, the whole jar is.’

I
examined the fragment. ‘I don’t see anything,’ I said.

Mina
took the piece and turned it around so that the concave side faced towards me. Van Helsing peered over my shoulder. ‘No, the symbols are inscribed on the
inside
of the jar,’ she said. She picked up another shard. ‘You see - the whole of the inner surface is covered with them.’

‘Remarkable,’
Van Helsing observed with excitement. ‘First the craftsman throws the pot on his wheel and then inscribes the wet clay on the inside with a stylus before firing it. But how? The necks of these vessels are narrower than the walls. I shall be most interested to hear what Miss Wilton makes of it all. Inspector Delland, may I ask you what you were able to discover regarding the dispatch of the
khopesh
– the item that failed to reach Dr Levin in Edinburgh?’

‘Of
course. Flinzer’s valet has explained the matter very clearly, and the parlourmaid has corroborated his statement. Three weeks ago Flinzer instructed Simpkins to have a small wooden crate prepared and to line it with straw. Last week – on Wednesday November 3rd – Simpkins was summoned by his master, who wanted the crate nailed up and posted. It so happened that Flinzer left the room for a few minutes, and in his absence Simpkins gave way to his curiosity and took a look inside. He described to me what he saw – it was definitely the
khopesh
. The nailing up was completed, and Simpkins took the crate to the post office. He remembers that it was sent to an address in Edinburgh.’

‘That
is most interesting,’ Van Helsing said, glancing at me. I guessed that he was thinking the same as I: that it was most unlikely that the weapon had been stolen on its journey to Edinburgh and later used by the thief to murder Flinzer.

‘Now, before we take the remnants of these pots to Miss Wilton, we must tell you what we learned last night about the state of Flinzer’s finances,’ I said to Delland. ‘I believe we may have discovered why he felt obliged to sell off the Wilton Collection. He was evidently supporting the indiscretions of his wife’s brother: a wastrel, by all accounts.’

*

By
lunchtime Van Helsing, Mina and I were back at the Professor’s house, having waited for Sarah Wilton to deliver her lecture and collected her
en
route
. The young academic was both shocked and intrigued at what we had told her regarding the horrible scene we had witnessed in Mayfair. After a hurried cold luncheon we took the two cardboard boxes to Van Helsing’s study. Once Maxwell had brought a tarpaulin to cover the Turkish carpet, Van Helsing and I carefully removed the contents of each box, making sure that the remains of each pot were kept separate.

Sarah
knelt down beside the fragments and took out a large magnifying glass from her handbag. She held up a shard from each vessel and studied the edges of the fragments carefully through the powerful lens.

‘I’m
delighted to say that these canopic jars are perfectly genuine,’ she said. ‘Almost certainly Eighteenth Dynasty and no earlier than 1,500 BC. How unfortunate that they have been so badly damaged. Ironically it would have been much harder to gauge their
bona
fides
had they not been broken. Modern copies of such objects look surprisingly authentic on the surface, but the ancient method used for producing the glaze has proved impossible to replicate – and can be judged by examining a cross-section of the pottery. We can tell Inspector Delland that in their unbroken state the jars would have had a considerable value: of course the damaged items are worth far less.’

I
leaned forward and poked my finger into the mass of what I had taken to be dried vegetables or other foodstuffs, which adhered to the base inside each pot.

‘And
what of these remains?’ I asked. ‘Are these pots cooking utensils?’

Sarah
shook her head. ‘You are rather wide of the mark, Mr Harker,’ she said. ‘Canopic jars are found exclusively in burial chambers. They contain the internal organs of the mummified bodies that have been entombed: removal of the organs is an essential part of the preservation process, but it was believed that in the afterlife the reanimated beings would still need access to their heart, lungs,
et
cetera
. The remains you have been prodding so disrespectfully are the dried remnants of such organs.’