Agatha & the Scarlet Scarab

by Karl Fish

  Descending via the stone staircase and following the route recently disclosed to his niece, he lit the candle where the tunnel divided. ‘Right for flight’ he considered for a couple of moments. However, with his niece now fully under his stewardship, he couldn’t just run away. Instead, he made his way through the secret wooden panel and via the humongous wardrobe, into Aggie’s room. Being sure to close all doorways behind him, he made a final survey of the room and offered an attentive pat on the doll’s house chimney. On the final descent of the staircase, the shadow of Major Collingdale’s cap now presented itself through the frosted glass at the top of the front door. Several knocks on the chrome lion’s head knocker outside made the Major’s presence felt.

  ‘Coming!’ Gideon shouted with a muted undertone, imitating he was at a great distance from the door. He was stalling the military man while he wrote out three letters.

  A few moments passed and three hard knocks spurred his furious scribbles onto paper.

  ‘OK, OK, I’m coming,’ Gideon replied, as he opened the door.

  ‘Doctor Belchambers, I presume?’ came the authoritative tone of Major Boyd Collingdale.

  ‘That’s right. Whom am I speaking to?’ Gideon asked back.

  ‘I am Major Boyd Collingdale.’

  ‘Pleasure, sir,’ Gideon interrupted, offering him his hand. ‘Are you buying or selling?’

  ‘What?’ Collingdale asked slightly surprised. ‘Neither, man. I am hoping you can help me with a peculiar puzzle,’ Collingdale replied.

  ‘Oh, I see. How so, sir?’

  ‘You wrote a letter to a colleague of mine, Professor Malcolm.’

  ‘Professor Malcolm…’ Gideon responded. ‘I’m not familiar with any Professor Malcolm within the forces, sir.’

  ‘What I meant was former colleague at the Museum for Natural History. I am in charge of securing and transferring the exhibits. Professor Mal–’

  ‘Ah, of course … Meredith Malcolm …’ Gideon interrupted, again. ‘World-famous entomology professor and, not known to many, noted taxidermist. How is he? How’s my giraffe?’

  ‘Dead,’ the Major informed him, pulling no punches. ‘The Professor that is, not your giraffe.’

  Gideon’s complexion changed immediately, the colour drained from his face and he looked noticeably shocked.

  ‘Good grief. That’s quite a shock.’ His tone was subdued.

  ‘Did you know him well, Doctor?’

  ‘Not particularly. We met on several occasions. I was trying to procure his services to value a collection of rare insects I am purchasing. And, of course, I donated the giraffe to him. Who was also dead, last time I looked,’ Gideon replied.

  ‘Well enough to send him this warning letter though?’ Collingdale said inquisitively, producing the half-parched correspondence.

  ‘Let me see that.’ Gideon requested, again stalling for time. He read it to himself.

  Dearest Professor Malco….

  I believe yourself or …. ……… ..

  in grave danger.

  Please contact me at yo.. ……. ………..

  Yours sincerely

  Professor G Belch……

  ‘I remember now and I can see why you would have thought it was a warning.’ Gideon offered up a small chuckle.

  ‘The missing words are ‘at least your reputation’. I believe yourself or at least your reputation to be in grave danger. It was following a difference of opinion on a species of Scarabidae I had recently been sold and had asked him to value.’

  Major Collingdale stretched a forefinger under his collar, an obvious admission of embarrassment. All this effort based on a hunch and the presence of a ring finger on an unmarried man. He had assumed the letter a foreboding but hadn’t stopped to consider more obvious options. He still could not understand why Malcolm had left it re-addressed to him.

  ‘Tell me, Doctor. Did you know him well enough to know if he was married?’

  ‘Meredith was definitely not married,’ Gideon replied immediately.

  ‘You’re sure?’ Boyd questioned

  ‘Positive, why?’

  ‘On his ring finger, he had an entwined gold and silver band. Most unusual. Perhaps he was a mason, bit bloody strange for a mason though, incorrect finger too.’

  Gideon was beginning to sense all was not quite as it seemed and the Major was not letting on everything. ‘May I ask you, Major, who identified the body?’

  ‘I did. Well, what I could see of it in the darkness.’

  ‘Sorry, I don’t follow,’ Gideon said, confused.

  ‘His body was, is, under a large exhibit case. Crushed after an air raid. His hat was just next to him. I could just see his moustache protruding from beneath, his perfect linens all dirty and dusty now. Poor fella’s hand was reaching out claw-like from beneath the rubble. As if he was trying to clutch to life itself.’

  ‘You haven’t seen his face though? You couldn’t positively identify him, not one hundred per cent?’ Gideon continued to question.

  ‘To the best of those circumstances, I could,’ the Major responded defensively. ‘Anyway, I doubt there’ll be much of his face left to look at once all those beastly little monsters have devoured him. I wager one of those abominable scorpions has stung him too.’

  ‘Scorpions?’ Gideon asked, surprised. ‘He kept scorpions?’

  ‘Those bloody Death-stalkers or that’s what he told me they were.’

  Gideon now realised all that he had feared had come to fruition.

  ‘Major, I am a doctor of archaeology, antiquity and also ancient pathology. I believe my latter skill, albeit this cadaver is much fresher, may help determine what happened to our dear friend. That is if you suspect foul play. He definitely was not married. I know him well enough to positively identify him, if you would like a second opinion.’

  ‘Very well. If you can spare half a day,’ Collingdale replied. ‘I’ll be waiting in the van.’

  Gideon hurried to collect several items that he placed into a leather Gladstone bag. He went back to the three notices he had left. One was for his housekeeper Nan, the other two were for Aggie. The first of Aggie’s he ripped up and discarded onto the floor. The second he re-read to make sure it made sense.

  Dearest Aggie,

  Business takes me to London. So much to tell you still. I shall return this evening. Nan will take care of things in the meantime.

  The Peabodys are your friends. They will help you where they can.

  Remember this, trust No one!

  Love

  G x

  *****

  ‘What’s that pulling away from your uncle’s?’ Elizabeth pointed out to Aggie as the two girls looked up the hill.

  The large green automobile wobbled from side to side and coughed out another plume of acrid smoke. Aggie’s sense of urgency increased as she left her friend lagging behind. Breathless, she reached the foot of The Keep as the van disappeared into the distance.

  ‘Why didn’t you wait for me?’ Elizabeth panted, now drawing level.

  Aggie’s mind was singularly focused on Gideon and her need for his protection right now. She stumbled up the flagstone stairs and engaged with the lion’s head for three solid knocks. She began clicking her fingers nervously in anticipation before engaging the knocker for several more quick bursts. No one answered.

  ‘Haven’t you got a key?’ Elizabeth asked.

  ‘It’s in my cloak pocket. I’ve left it at school.’ Aggie sighed, lashing a kick at the door.

  ‘We need Eric,’ Elizabeth replied.

  ‘At your service, ladies,’ came the welcoming voice of Eric Peabody.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Elizabeth asked.

  ‘Charming, Lizzy. First, you wish for your knight in shining armour only to question him when he doth appear,’ Eric replied with his mischievous tone, bowing towards them both.

  Aggie smiled. Twice already he had helped her today, much to his own detriment.

  ‘Didn’t see ya at l
unch. Gem told me you’d both got past Dove. I wasn’t missin’ all the action. So, what’s going on?’

  ‘I need you to break in,’ Aggie ordered.

  ‘Whoa! I ain’t smashin’ any of Mr Gideon’s windows. What d’ya take me for a common criminal,’ Eric responded with a categorical denial.

  ‘Come on, Eric. You must have some sort of way in?’ Elizabeth asked.

  ‘Turn your backs and close your eyes.’ Eric smiled.

  ‘Eric! It’s not a joke,’ Elizabeth informed him in her serious voice.

  ‘Turn your backs and close your eyes,’ Eric emphasised the second time.

  Aggie and Elizabeth duly did as they were asked. They listened intently as Eric scrambled around the foot of the stairs turning stones and cobbles over.

  ‘Just pick one, Eric,’ Aggie ordered him impatiently, waiting for the inevitable smash of glass.

  ‘Yes, Eric, just do it. Time is ticking,’ Elizabeth agreed.

  ‘Da daah!’ Eric shouted out, bowing in front of the now opened door.

  ‘How did you do that?’ Came the question from both of the girls in unison.

  ‘A gentleman never tells.’ Eric winked back, his arm directing Aggie to enter.

  Eric and Elizabeth stood on the step outside while Aggie entered.

  ‘Gideon!’ she called out. ‘Gideon? Are you in here.’ There was no response. Nan wasn’t there either.

  Spying the letters on the table she reached for the one addressed to her and unfolded it. She read through the message and tried to digest it. The Peabodys are your friends – that was good. Trust No one – that was confusing. At least she would see him tonight to ask him what he meant. Eric and his sister all the while remained outside but he was nosing about nevertheless

  ‘What’s it say?’ he shouted over.

  ‘Eric, it’s none of your business,’ Elizabeth reprimanded him with a nudge.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Aggie called back, now walking towards them with the letter. ‘Gideon’s in London on business. He’ll be back later.’

  ‘That’s a relief,’ Eric sighed. ‘Thought the military police had nabbed ’im. Or those Yanks.’

  ‘Why would you say that?’ Aggie enquired.

  Elizabeth was quick to interject. ‘You should know what he’s like by now, Aggie. A boy with a wayward imagination!’ she said, semi-scolding her brother.

  ‘We best get back to school. I’ll be joining you for detention for sure. Don’t fancy a week though,’ said Eric, as he ushered the girls down the stone stairs.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ he said again. ‘Don’t want you knowing my little secret.’

  Aggie and Elizabeth turned their backs and began walking downwards as Eric closed and locked the large door of 1a.

  ‘So how did you get out of the school, Eric?’ Aggie asked as she walked in front of him.

  ‘I climbed the fence. My fence, as everyone now calls it.’

  ‘Don’t lie, Eric Peabody. There’s a ten-foot drop, at least, straight into marshland.’

  ‘Honest, cross my heart,’ he continued, imitating a large cross across his chest. ‘It’s only a small drop when you know how.’

  Both girls looked at each other confused but laughing never the same.

  ‘If you say so, Eric,’ they replied together, making their way back down the Steep towards the new schoolhouse.

  Perhaps two hours detention was a good thing. Gideon would not arrive home until later that evening and her only trusted friends in the world right now would be spending it with her. Trust no one, she thought. Not even Eric and Elizabeth?

  As they reached the cenotaph, she noticed more people. It was certainly busy, particularly surrounding the funeral parlour. There were much talk and whispering of the body in the brook, Lyle Braggan. ‘Foul play,’ and ‘Murder,’ she heard as she passed the large Shire horse outside Closet and Cleaves.

  ‘According to Mr Cleave,’ she overheard as she passed by. ‘He had a large sum of American currency upon him.’

  Her thoughts flashed back to the previous evening. The men in Le Chat Noir were American! They had offered their services to Uncle Gideon and now Lyle was dead. Perhaps it was them, disposing of Lyle in a way they saw fit. But that didn’t make sense. Why would Lyle have their money?

  All this information, but no answers. She really did require her uncle to explain everything and not just from last night. The remaining afternoon of school and two hours detention seemed like a lifetime away. Peering down the Steep, where the bridge crossed the Amble, she looked at the wooden shoe that hung outside of the cobbler’s shop. ‘Tinks’ if she recalled her uncle correctly. Beneath the shoe sat Luna and upon her head, the Lady was randomly cawing out.

  Chapter 25

  Illuminating

  Professor Meredith Malcolm had an encyclopaedic knowledge of insects. Botanicals he was an accomplished expert in too but would admit it, himself, it was second to his passion for all things that crept and crawled.

  The leaves that had been left in the pestle were dry and had not made his investigations any easier. His first attempts to examine one had resulted in a crumbling of dust and he now had only a few well-worn samples to investigate.

  Returning to the scrolls, he examined the reliefs below the amber varnish that preserved them. His first challenge was to ensure the paper jigsaw of papyri bonded below, could be properly observed. The dark veins that separated the pieces made the job intrinsically difficult and he needed to remove a sliver of the amber to be sure of what lay beneath. It may even provide further clues to the true pigment of the plant. The laboratory had every type of instrument he could have wished for. In this circumstance, a small magnifying glass fixed to a steel rod served as his observation tower, while a tiny pinhead pick would act as his etching tool.

  Softly and steadily, he made his first incision into a corner of the amber covered-paper. The immediacy of his actions took him by surprise. Like a slingshot stone shattering a plate-glass window into innumerable pieces, the fracturing impact of the small metal pick shattered the amber, splintering the image below into a thousand minuscule pieces, turning it to dust.

  The professor pulled back from the small magnifying tower he had created for himself and just sat there in shock. Why on earth would the amber varnish react in such a manner?

  Just then, the door to the laboratory opened and in strode Mr Louds dressed in the customary facemask and surgical scrubs. There was no hiding the Professor’s alarm penetrating from his eyes.

  ‘I see you too have fallen foul to the secrets of the scrolls,’ Louds directed towards him.

  ‘I’m lost for words, Mr Louds. I – I apologise,’ the Professor expressed, genuinely alarmed.

  ‘Can you smell that, Professor?’ Louds said, sniffing the air.

  Meredith Malcolm’s large moustache always obscured his sense of smell. He could not detect any change in scent.

  ‘Don’t worry Professor, those who have failed before you only ever got as far as this point too. Why is it, do you think, we can smell citrus every time one of the tableaux disintegrates?’

  Professor Malcolm, who was now pre-occupied by what had happened to those who had failed before, took his time considering his answer. ‘Citrus?’ he questioned Mr Louds.

  ‘A distinct lemon smell, come.’ Mr Louds picked up a thumb and forefinger of the dust and imitated inhaling a pinch of snuff. Professor Malcolm followed his lead.

  ‘Go ahead, Professor, take a good whiff,’ Louds encouraged.

  Being careful not to ingest the powder, Meredith Malcolm held his moustache down with two fingers from his left hand while in his right hand he held the particles and inhaled a deep breath. Sure enough, there was a strong smell of lemon that permeated through.

  ‘Lemon?’ he mumbled to himself. ‘Why lemon, Meredith?’

  ‘A very good question to ask yourself, Professor,’ Louds agreed.

  The Professor then took the tip of his tongue and tasted the dust.

  ‘Profess
or, what are you playing at?’ Louds called out.

  ‘It’s sweet, not bitter or sharp,’ Malcolm explained. ‘You can taste the lemon but there is an overwhelming sweetness. See for yourself,’ he explained, offering a finger of dust to Mr Louds.

  Mr Louds was not following and was in no mood to indulge the eccentricities of Professor Malcolm’s dust consumption. Although unsure what it meant, the Professor approached the scrolls again. He sniffed them over and over as if a bloodhound securing a scent before the hunt. Sure enough, he smelt the fragrant citrus, as subtle as it was. He lifted the vellum swatches guarding them and took a deeper inhalation from the protected drawings. Then, taking Mr Louds by complete surprise, he licked one of the varnished glyphs as if it was a lollipop.

  ‘Good heavens, Professor. Have you lost your mind?’ Louds alarmed.

  Professor Malcolm began to laugh. It was sweet but he hadn’t been able to determine it amongst the lemon-infused paper dust he had just tried. But, sure enough, as he had suspected, the varnish protection was nature’s sweetest gift bestowed to us.

  ‘Ingenious!’ He turned to Mr Louds, laughing uncontrollably. ‘Ingenious…it’s glazed in …honey!’ the excited Professor repeated.

  ‘I do not follow, Professor,’ Louds interrupted.

  ‘Allow me to explain.’ Malcolm smiled, using the point of his tongue to taste part of the ancient scroll one last time. ‘Honey! The lacquer that protected the parchment and what we assumed to be an ancient varnish is actually brittle honey.’ Professor Malcolm exclaimed, particularly pleased with himself.

  ‘We have just lost another part of the relief. I do not share your enthusiasm, Professor,’ Louds replied, angering.

  Professor Meredith Malcolm had now switched his attention to the vellum swatches that acted as protective guards to the glazed glyphs. He sniffed them with a powerful inhalation to ensure the subtle scent penetrated his formidable moustache.

  ‘Please, Mr Louds, smell.’

  Brian Louds who was characteristically a calm man was beginning to lose his patience with the Professor. ‘Will you please explain what you are doing. Why are you so excited?’ he questioned Meredith.