by Otto Penzler
“Thanks, I should like to see these specimens; but I fear I can’t stop now. I’m overdue to join my friend at our hotel, but as he is also keen on geology, may I bring him along as well? Shall we say to-morrow?”
“By all means. How would the morning suit you? I’m a man of leisure, so my time’s at your convenience.”
“That’ll do admirably,” he replied, and, bidding his host good-bye, took his departure, rejoining Brown a few minutes later in the lane.
“Thought you were never coming,” was the detective’s greeting. “I was going to call for you in another minute. You’ve exceeded your time-limit and I was beginning to get anxious.”
“It’s fortunate you didn’t; as it was, I had some difficulty in getting away when I did, and if you had suddenly turned up we should have been in the deuce of a mess. So far I’ve fixed things up all right. The man acknowledges he’s the owner of the knife, and though he seemed suspicious at first, I think I succeeded in blinding him as to the purpose of my visit. Told him I was down here with a friend to make a geological survey. He seemed to swallow the fable readily enough, and invited me to look at a museum he has on the premises. I’d have liked to go, there and then, but the event of your sudden appearance upon the scene—as requested—precluded my doing so. I got him, however, to ask the two of us to see the museum to-morrow morning.”
Brown pondered a few moments.
“That’s top hole,” he at length exclaimed, “for now we may be able to pick up some evidence in that place.”
“Exactly what I hope to do, for he let out that the knife was stolen from it.”
“Then in all probability the assassin will have left some traces there—finger marks or similar clues,” Brown hazarded.
“I hope to find something more tangible than that.”
“Hang it all, sir, what more could you find without you knocked up against the actual criminal?”
“Nothing whatever.”
Brown stared at his collaborator, and was on the point of making some further remark when he suddenly remembered the professor’s former tip—“Try and do a little analysis yourself”—so he tried and relapsed into silence.
“By the way,” Rhymer presently inquired, “do you know anything about geology?”
“Well—yes—a trifle. I studied it a little in my school days; but I’ve only a very hazy recollection of the subject now.”
“No matter, all I want you to do is to make out you’re keen on the thing when we visit Holtsner to-morrow morning.”
IN DUE COURSE Rhymer and Brown turned up at the Gables, and were courteously received by Holtsner. Without wasting any time, their host led them into the museum—a large and lofty apartment built off from the house, though connected by a short passage with a door at either end.
Brown no sooner entered this apartment than he experienced a sensation of vague, unaccountable horror. A conviction of some eerie presence gripped tight hold of him. He advanced into the centre of the room, still oppressed with this novel sensation, which increased rather than diminished. He was no coward, neither was he superstitious, so the horror which obsessed him was all the more apprehensive.
Suddenly his gaze was attracted by a row of mummy cases which stood on end in a long showcase—fitted with glass doors—extending the full length of one end of the building.
He stared, awe-inspired, at the row of garishly-painted wooden boxes, containing their human relics of a bygone age. The lid of one was open, disclosing a swathed and bandaged form. Its lofty cheek bones, massive jaw, and aquiline nose depicted power and diffused a subtle influence—a latent force which was indefinable.
“My Egyptian mummies seem to interest you, sir,” Holtsner exclaimed, mistaking the keen attention Brown bestowed upon these curiosities as indicating admiration rather than horror.
“They’re apt to give one the creeps,” he replied with an effort to hide his uneasiness, “but that object in the open box seems to be in good condition—”
“What on earth do you know, Brown, about the condition of mummies?” Rhymer suddenly interrupted, giving the detective a warning look, unobserved by Holtsner. “Geology is more in your line, so, for goodness sake, stick to it and don’t air your views upon matters you know nothing about.”
“What do you know about mummies?” Brown retorted.
“Not much,” said Rhymer, flashing him another significant glance, “but sufficient to convince me the Egyptian lady or gentleman in that box is as old as Adam and not any better preserved than the majority of its class.”
“Professor Rhymer is quite right,” Holtsner was quick to assert, with what appeared to Rhymer undue emphasis; “all these mummies date back to a remote Egyptian dynasty; but,” he added with precipitancy, “as you and your friend are keen on geological specimens, if you’ll look at this case over here, you’ll find some fossils of local interest.”
“Ah, that’s more in our line, Brown, isn’t it?” said Rhymer as he moved towards his host, followed by the detective.
The specimens indicated were mainly echinoderms, lamellibranchs, and gasteropods, which were neatly labelled and displayed in glass cases. While they were inspecting these, Holtsner moved away in another direction in order to pick up some object off a table, apart from where they had all been standing.
Rhymer seized this opportunity to whisper into the detective’s ear:
“For heaven’s sake, man, don’t allude again to those mummies, but do try and feign some sort of enthusiasm over these blessed fossils.” Then, raising his voice for Holtsner’s benefit, exclaimed:
“What a topping specimen of the Tritonium corrugatum! Observe the fusiform shell—the elongated spire and the slightly curved anterior canal. The gasteropods are very beautiful. Well, I fear we must be making a move if we are to get to town in time for that lecture to-night, and I don’t want to miss it. I’ve some letters to get off, too, before we leave by the afternoon train.”
Holtsner overheard these remarks, as Rhymer intended he should, and as he again approached his guests, a look of satisfaction overspread his features.
“Jolly fine collection of yours, Mr. Holtsner,” Rhymer enthusiastically observed, “sorry we must be going—awfully obliged to you for showing us round.—Quite envy you the possession of such a museum.”
“Pray don’t mention it, sir; only too delighted, I’m sure. It’s a pleasure to show one’s things to those who can appreciate them. Hope you and your friend will drop in again, when you’ve more time at your disposal.”
“I can promise you that much,” was Rhymer’s unspoken comment, “only the visit will be a strictly private one as far as your knowledge is concerned.” Then aloud he exclaimed:
“Many thanks, some day we may, I hope, have another look round.”
As soon as Rhymer and the detective had left the Gables, the former exclaimed:
“By Jove! But you made an unfortunate remark about that mummy, and, unwittingly—I presume—stumbled nearer the truth than you had any idea of. Holtsner, too, pricked up his ears. You kind of ‘put the wind up him,’ as the ‘Tommies’ say. However, I doubt if any real harm’s done, since he appeared somewhat reassured after I’d chipped in with my contradictory remark.”
“Whatever are you driving at?” Brown exclaimed, apparently nettled.
“Wait till you and I have got into that museum alone—which we must do to-night by hook or by crook—and then you’ll know. We’ve got to fix up a private view of those mummies. I’ve made it pretty clear to the Boche, our professed intention of going to London this afternoon, and though he’s still inclined to suspicion, I think we’ve managed fairly to mislead him with regard to our interest in his mummies. Anyhow, he won’t be expecting us back in Blankborough until to-morrow, and that’s a feather in the cap of our plan.”
AFTER LUNCH RHYMER and Brown left the hotel for the station, with a handbag apiece, in order to convey the impression they were off for the night. Upon their arrival at the booking-office, R
hymer loudly demanded two tickets for Charing Cross. Having entered a first-class smoker and finding themselves alone, Brown remarked:
“You seemed anxious to let everybody know where we were going, sir, by the way you yelled out for the tickets.”
“Not every one, Brown—only Ball, Holtsner’s servant, whom I spotted spying upon us—as he imagined unobserved—from behind a barrow piled up with luggage. I warned you that the Boche was still suspicious. Now he’ll soon be posted up with the information that we have cleared out, with our kit, for a night in town.”
As the train approached the next station—three miles from Blankborough—Rhymer abruptly signified that it was to be their destination. A few minutes later they were out on the platform. Then, without any further word of explanation, Rhymer set off at a leisurely pace along the road, in the direction from which they had just come, with Brown—looking annoyed and puzzled—following in his wake.
The former volunteered no explanation until they arrived opposite a stile, where he suddenly halted.
“We’ll take it easy for a bit here. Hope you’ve brought your pipe, Brown?—Then let’s light up, for on no account must we turn up at Blankborough again before dusk.”
THE MUSEUM ATTACHED to the Gables had two entrances. One leading from the house, through which Holtsner had conducted his visitors that morning, the other giving access from the garden.
Outside the latter entrance—in the evening—Rhymer and Brown, concealed behind a thick bush, were watching the door, which was slightly ajar.
Suddenly the former slipped from his hiding-place—motioning the detective to remain where he was—and advanced on tiptoe towards the entrance.
Upon arriving there, he glued his eye to the chink between the hinges, intently observing something within. His inspection appeared to afford him satisfaction, judging by his expression when he subsequently returned to the seclusion of the bush.
“Sure enough, we’re on the right track,” he whispered. “Pay careful attention to what I’m going to say now.”
“I’m listening, sir.”
“At any moment a figure may slip out of that door, closely resembling the freak we saw the night before last. Follow it, only keep at a safe distance, to avoid being seen if possible.”
Brown stifled an exclamation, and as a ray of moonlight struck his face, forcing its way through an aperture in the bush, Rhymer detected an expression akin to fear. Then with a challenging glance the former asserted:
“I’m no coward, sir, and I’ve yet to meet the crook I wouldn’t tackle—provided it’s human—but to stand up against a fiend like the one that went for you the other night—well—it’s a bit more than I bargained for.”
“Don’t blame you either, but so far my investigations give me confidence in assuming that as long as you don’t directly impede this Creature’s progress, it won’t attack you. Follow at a safe distance and watch, that’s all I ask you to do. I don’t think I should have been mauled the other night had I not mentally registered a determination to go for the brute. My intentions were apparently conveyed by telepathy to the Creature’s system of comprehension, hence the ‘scrap,’ which proved a ‘knock-out’ for me.”
A creaking sound in the direction of the museum caused both men to turn round sharply, and there, illuminated by a ray of light from the now wide-opened door, a figure glided into the moonlight without.
“Quick!” Rhymer exclaimed with bated breath, “don’t lose sight of it.”
With a sharp intaking of breath, Brown started in pursuit, keeping his distance as directed, while Rhymer, with one rapid glance around, slipped through the open door of the museum.
Within the threshold he halted, as his eyes fell upon a recumbent figure stretched on a couch, over which a shaded electric lamp was burning, suspended from the vaulted ceiling.
Approaching on tiptoe, he recognised Holtsner. The German appeared to be in a deep sleep. A closer examination, however, revealed the man to be in a sort of trance, for his breathing was imperceptible. But for the faint trace of colour in his face, he might have been dead.
Rhymer then produced a small pocket mirror, and, placing it close to the man’s nostrils, observed a slight blur on the surface. With a nod of satisfaction he replaced the glass in his pocket and was about to make a further inspection of the apartment, when his attention was suddenly arrested by the sound of stealthy footsteps in the passage that connected the museum with the house.
In a flash he surveyed his surroundings, and, spotting a curtained recess in the wall nearest him, slipped within. He had barely covered his retreat when the door slowly opened and some one entered whom he recognised—through a small rent in the curtain—as Alfred Ball.
The latter carefully closed the door behind him and locked it. Next he cautiously approached the couch upon which his master lay, as if anxious to avoid disturbing him. Bestowing a cursory glance at the sleeper, he fetched a small table from another part of the room, placing it by the couch. Going to a cabinet he produced two stoppered bottles and a graduated glass measure, which he laid on the table by Holtsner’s side. Then he crossed to another cupboard from which he took a coil of stout cord. Retaining this, he placed a chair close to the outer door—which was still slightly ajar—and sat down, with his head thrown forward, in an attitude of alertness.
About ten minutes later, without any warning, the door was violently flung back, and in rushed a figure which Rhymer recognised to be the one he and Brown had previously seen leaving the museum.
Its eyes were lit up with a fierce passion. The lips and chin daubed with blood—fresh blood—hardly yet dry. It made straight for the couch upon which Holtsner was lying, and, in another moment, would have reached him, had not Ball sprung up and whisked the cord—which was fitted with a running noose—neatly over the Creature’s head, fetching it, with a smart jerk, sprawling on the floor.
Simultaneously with the crash occasioned by the falling body, Holtsner languidly raised himself, stretching his arms; and, as he moved, the monster—struggling violently on the floor, hampered by the coils of the lasso—became motionless—a horrid, inert mass of bone and sinew.
Holtsner wearily dragged himself into a sitting posture and, leaning towards the table, poured out a few drops of liquid from each of the two bottles into the glass measure, and, with a trembling hand, tossed the stuff down his throat.
“That’s better, Otto,” he gasped. “These frequent trances are beginning to take it out of me.”
“Number two has strafed another enemy of the Fatherland,” the servant vehemently asserted, his features fairly distorted with “hate.” “Look! there’s the blood of some pig-swine on its lips.”
The two wretches were conversing in German, a language with which Rhymer was well acquainted. He was not a little surprised to discover that Ball was a Boche, for his cockney accent and speech, when recently in the King’s Arms, was so perfectly assumed. But, when he gathered, from their recent remarks, that another murder had undoubtedly been committed, he became intensely anxious about Brown; and keen though he was to see what else Holtsner and his accomplice were up to, he inwardly raved to get away and find out where the inspector might be.
“Must stick where I am for the present,” he soliloquised, “until those two devils clear out. Confound it all!—I do hope poor Brown’s all right.”
Meanwhile, Holtsner and Otto (to give the latter his correct name) set about a very revolting performance. A basin of water and a sponge were first produced, with which Otto, kneeling on the floor, carefully removed the bloodstains from the jaws of the motionless Thing lying there.
He then approached the large case with the glass doors—in which the mummies were stored—and, lifting out one of the tawdry Egyptian death-boxes, which was empty, laid it, with Holtsner’s assistance, upon the floor. Opening the lid, they proceeded to place the inanimate Creature within, having first removed the lasso. Shutting down the hinged lid, they locked it, and, lifting the case between th
em, deposited it in its former place. Crossing the apartment to a small steel safe let into the wall, Holtsner unlocked the door, taking from within a leather notebook. Opening it he made an entry with a fountain pen.
He then put it back in the safe and began a rapid conversation with Otto, but their voices were so low that Rhymer was unable to hear what they said.
However, he was not kept much longer in suspense, for after stowing away the several articles they had been using, and carefully scrutinising the apartment to make sure nothing incriminating was left about, they left the museum by the door communicating with the house, having first switched off the electric light.
Rhymer lost no time in quitting his cramped quarters. Noiselessly crossing the floor, he slipped back the latch of the garden door, opened it, and, as he bolted out, suddenly found himself confronted by a figure.
“Great Scot! How you startled me, Brown,” he exclaimed, upon discovering he had barged into the burly figure of the detective, “how long have you been here?”
“For some little while, and I’ve seen what’s been going on inside there, through a chink in the door. But where on earth have you been? I didn’t see you in the place.”
“I was there right enough, concealed behind a curtain, where, like you, I could see without being seen. I’m glad you saw this sickening spectacle, since a witness will be useful. Why didn’t you follow up the Thing as I asked?”
“I did my best, but It was too much for me. I couldn’t keep up the pace. Lor’! how the Thing did scoot. Lost sight of it at the high boundary wall—topped with broken glass—which encloses the grounds. It scaled this with perfect ease, though it was too high for me to attempt. There I remained on the look-out for about a quarter of an hour, when I suddenly spotted it again doubling back on its original tracks. So, quickly hiding behind the trunk of a tree until it had passed, I followed it back here again. Had it not been for the bright moonlight, I couldn’t have done as much as I did—but preserve me from ever seeing a sight like that in the museum again.”
