by Otto Penzler
“Quite Teutonic, wasn’t it?”
“Teutonic?—Why, I call it diabolical.”
“The same thing,” Rhymer observed. “Anyhow you did your best, but I fear we shall shortly hear of another of these wretched murders as a result of to-night’s work. You’ve got your electric torch and some skeleton keys, haven’t you?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Good, then we’ll proceed without delay. There’s some more evidence I’m anxious to secure in there,” he added, nodding in the direction of the museum. “I daren’t switch on the light, as they might see the reflection from the house. There’s a safe inside we must investigate. Quite an ordinary affair, I imagine, so one of your skeleton keys should fix up the job.”
It transpired as Rhymer had predicted. The safe was soon opened and the notebook produced. With the aid of Brown’s torch they examined the contents. It proved to be a ruled manuscript, only just commenced. Some brief instructions, written in a German fist, occupied the first two or three pages.
Brown didn’t know any German, but Rhymer was able to read the contents. It only took him a few minutes, and as he proceeded, first bewilderment and then horror gripped him. Turning, at length, to Brown, he exclaimed:
“It’s almost incredible! However, we’ve no time now to go into details. We must get away as quickly and quietly as possible. Every moment increases the risk of discovery.”
He then replaced the incriminating document in the safe and locked it.
Silently the two men left the chamber of mystery by the garden door, closing it carefully behind them. As they were walking to the inn, Rhymer suddenly exclaimed:
“It’s amazing to think what fiends these Boches are. They’ll stick at nothing. That book in the safe yonder contains some documentary evidence revealing one of the most revolting plots that could foul the imagination. Nothing short of Kultur—with a capital K—could hit upon such a conspiracy. Thank goodness, it’s been our good luck to knock up against the thing in time, before these murders became wholesale, which, judging from the evidence, might shortly have been the case.”
“Good heavens! Do you mean to say that these Blankborough murders are part and parcel of a Boche conspiracy?”
“Undoubtedly that’s the bald state of affairs, due, of course, to the tolerance of a naturalised enemy in our midst. And if we are to nip in the bud a scheme devised by demons in human form, we must lose no time in acquainting the authorities with our discovery. Yours is a name to conjure with at the ‘Yard’: could you possibly get me a personal interview with your chief first thing to-morrow morning?”
“Then you believe Holtsner to be responsible for these murders?” Brown asked, evading the other question.
“Undoubtedly so; and for a good deal more besides.”
“Then he must be, somehow, employing demoniacal agencies?”
“That’s more than probable, after what we’ve both witnessed.”
“Well, I’m jiggered! Can’t understand it even now, but I can believe anything of the Boche, and though you’ve not yet told me all the details of the plot revealed in that book, I’m willing to ’phone to my chief and ask him to receive you as early as possible to-morrow morning.”
“Thanks,” was Rhymer’s brief, but grateful response.
BROWN’S CHIEF DIDN’T appear very favourably disposed towards Rhymer as the latter was ushered at eight A.M. the following morning into his sanctum at the “Yard.”
“This is an extraordinarily early hour to fix for an interview, sir,” he curtly announced, as he motioned Rhymer to a chair. “Your business must be correspondingly urgent, I presume.”
“Couldn’t be more so.”
“Humph! Then I hope you’ll waste no time in getting through with it. I’m up to my ears in work, and had it not been for Inspector Brown’s urgent call upon the ’phone, I shouldn’t have been here to meet you. I’m for ever being rung up to listen to matters of so-called ‘national importance’ from unofficial quarters, which usually result in the discovery of a mare’s nest.”
“I don’t think you’ll find my communication to be one of that sort, I only wish you might; besides, Inspector Brown can corroborate it.”
“So I understand. Please proceed, Professor Rhymer.”
Without further preamble he began to relate all that had occurred at Blankborough since his arrival there in Brown’s company, including the evidence he had obtained from the notebook in Holtsner’s safe.
The official listened attentively as Rhymer continued his narrative. He never once interrupted until the report was completed.
Then abruptly turning towards the professor, exclaimed:
“This is indeed a serious matter, if you are correct in your allegations, but I can hardly believe it.”
“Surely, sir, nothing the Boche might do is beyond your powers of credibility?”
“Under the circumstances, I admit you have acted judiciously in reporting the matter so promptly,” said he, ignoring Rhymer’s last remark, “but it’s scarcely comprehensible.”
“Anyhow, I’ve clearly stated the facts, sir.”
“I know, and I’m quite aware there’s something out of the ordinary rut in these Blankborough crimes, and though I’m not predisposed to place much faith in psychological phenomena, you have certainly impressed me with your view of the matter.”
Just then the telephone on the chief’s desk rang up. He picked up the receiver and held it to his ear, thoughtfully replacing it a few moments later.
“These crimes are decidedly getting ahead of us. I’ve just received intimation of another murder last night at Blankborough, so your inference, sir, has been corroborated.”
Rhymer exhibited no surprise at this statement.
“It’s only what I expected,” said he, “and it supplements my plea for immediate and drastic measures.”
The official regarded him meditatively.
“May I make a suggestion?” Rhymer ventured.
“By all means.”
“Then, for goodness sake, sir, do use your influence to set the machinery in motion. Issue a confidential communication to every police centre throughout the British Isles, with instructions to furnish fresh reports relating to any naturalised Boches residing in each locality; especially ear-marking those engaged in scientific pursuits, and noting whether they are in possession of any Egyptian mummies. It would be well to insist upon all cargoes, shipped through neutral ports, being searched, and if any of these embalmed specimens are found on board, have them instantly confiscated as contraband. That would effectually put a stop to these atrocities.”
“I can see no difficulty in adopting the first part of your suggestion, but the latter might meet with serious obstacles.”
“Well, all I can say is that the safety of hundreds of human lives depends upon it.”
The chief fell to brooding again.
“Upon my word,” said he, “I believe you’re right, and I’m half inclined to try it—as far as it lies in my power; but others in authority will have to be consulted first.”
“I realised that from the commencement, but surely no responsible person in his right senses would hesitate to take prompt measures to quell a serious menace like this, for, should the German Intelligence Department get an inkling that we are on their tracks, all evidence would quickly be effaced by them.”
“That’s very evident, but we must arrest this Holtsner fellow first.”
“Exactly: and if you’ll give me a free hand, I’ll undertake to catch him red-handed. Then you can more easily effect a wholesale arrest of naturalised Boches throughout the country on a charge of conspiracy, once their leader is safely under lock and key.”
“I’m relying a lot upon your assurances, Professor, and if you have made a blunder, then there’ll be the deuce of a row.”
“I assure you I’ve made no mistake.”
“Well, I’ll risk it.”
“And you’ll let me have Brown’s services for a little wh
ile longer at Blankborough?”
The chief pondered, and then with a look of resignation, said:
“Quite irregular, you know, since this case is officially in Brown’s hands. It’ll be creating a precedent, too. But the circumstances are exceptional, so I suppose I must agree.”
“Then Brown may return with me to Blankborough with a warrant for Holtsner’s and Ball’s arrest, and act under my directions?”
“Since you urge it, yes,” he reluctantly replied.
He pressed an electric push at the side of his desk, a plain-clothes officer shortly making his appearance.
“Tell Detective-Inspector Brown I want to see him.”
In a few moments the latter arrived.
“Professor Rhymer’s officially assisting in the Blankborough murder case. You will return with him and work together until further notice.”
AFTER LEAVING SCOTLAND Yard, Rhymer and the detective entered the first small restaurant they came across.
“We can discuss some breakfast here, and our future plans into the bargain, for we appear to be the sole occupants,” Rhymer remarked as he sat down at a small table.
“Not a bad idea either, sir, a journey before breakfast gives one an appetite.”
“Our case is almost complete,” Rhymer affirmed after the waitress had departed with their order, “but even now we mustn’t err on the side of over-confidence.”
“I’m quite alive to that fact, sir.”
“I don’t propose returning to Blankborough till later in the day. Then we’ll hire a car and arrange to be dropped within easy walking distance of the Gables. After breakfast I want you to ’phone to the local superintendent at Blankborough, and get him to send two plain-clothes men to meet us at some convenient spot, which I’ll leave you to fix up.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Be sure you warn the superintendent to make all arrangements strictly on the Q.T.”
“I’ll take care of that.”
“Well, now—I think—we’ve fairly staged the scene for Holtsner’s final appearance, so it only remains for you to ring up the Blankborough superintendent—the curtain must wait till tonight—while I go and secure a car.”
“What time do you propose starting from town?”
“We don’t want to reach our destination before dusk, so if we leave about seven-thirty, that will get us to our rendezvous by nine o’clock.”
“Then I had better mention that to the superintendent when ’phoning?”
“Of course. Tell him nine or thereabouts; better make it rather before than after.”
“Where shall we meet, sir?”
“Oh, at my flat in Whitehall Court—you know the number. Come early and we’ll have a bite of something before starting.”
“Thanks, I’m much obliged.”
“So long then, Brown—don’t forget your warrant for arrest.”
SHORTLY AFTER DUSK four men silently approached the garden door of Holtsner’s museum: Rhymer, Brown, and two stalwart fellows from the local police force; the latter having met the car, containing the former, at a prearranged spot on the outskirts of the town.
“Conceal yourself with the two men behind that bush, Brown, while I manoeuvre the enemy’s camp,” Rhymer enjoined as he crept up to the door. He found it shut. Bending down he peered through the keyhole. The inspection appeared to satisfy him, for he turned and beckoned to the others. They all three approached, led by Brown, and assembled in a group at the threshold. Rhymer then inserted a skeleton key in the latch. Cautiously opening the door he peeped within, and, pointing to the curtained recess, said:
“Inspector Brown and I will hide in there, and you two will return to your former place of concealment. Take this,” he added, giving the foremost of the two the skeleton key, “but don’t attempt to use it under any circumstances, unless you hear two loud blasts of a whistle. Then enter sharp—understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Remember not to stir before the given signal.”
The two men saluted and returned to their allotted post, whereupon Rhymer immediately entered the museum with the detective, noiselessly latching the door behind them.
“Now then, quick!” he exclaimed, slipping across the apartment and raising the curtain which covered the recess. A moment later they were both hidden behind its folds.
They were only there about ten minutes—which seemed to them as many hours—when the door communicating with the house suddenly opened. Glancing through a couple of slits in the curtain, they distinguished, in the dim light, Holtsner and his servant Ball entering the room. The former switched on the light, and together they approached the large case with the glass doors. Opening this they lifted out one of the mummy cases, which Rhymer observed was not the same as that they had replaced the night before.
“It’s number three’s turn now,” Ball remarked with a malicious grin.
Holtsner grunted some unintelligible reply. Then they propped up the box on end against the wall. Holtsner produced a key and, unlocking the receptacle of death, threw back the lid, exposing the effigy within.
A gaunt, shrivelled, parchment-like freak was exhibited. The emaciated neck and head surmounted by a shock of tousled hair. The bulbous, moist-lipped mouth leering with vapid expression. Then Holtsner, with a deep sigh, stretched himself upon the couch, while Ball, crouching over him, passed his hands backwards and forwards across the recumbent man’s face.
He had not made more than a dozen “passes” before his body became perfectly rigid, and at the same moment Rhymer observed a distinct tremor passing through the mummified figure occupying the open case.
The Thing appeared to be suscipient to some mysterious endowment of life and motion. Brown evidently observed this manifestation as well, for he laid a trembling hand upon Rhymer’s arm, as if to draw his attention to the abnormal change. The Creature’s lips were now puckered with a sucking motion, relaxing into a diabolical grin. Then the nostrils dilated, as though about to renew their former function of breathing—and—then—two shrill screams pierced the horrible silence. Rhymer could stand it no longer. He had seen enough.
“Brown,” he cried as he replaced the police whistle in his pocket, “get your pistol ready,” and smartly drawing back the curtain, the rings rattling along the rod supporting it, discovered himself and his companion to the other occupants of the room.
The effect of this dramatic stroke was instantaneous, for Holtsner immediately awoke, and leapt off the couch. Simultaneously the flicker of returning animation left the mummified corpse, while Ball and Holtsner—their features distorted with uncontrollable fury—sprang, with one accord, towards the intruders.
Their action, however, was abruptly checked by the gleaming barrels of their adversaries’ pistols. Then the sound of a key grating in the latch of the garden door caused the two Boches to wheel round in that direction, only to find their retreat cut off by the entry of two more men similarly armed.
“Hands up! Herr Graf Friedrich von Verheim and Otto Krupp of the German Secret Service,” cried Rhymer, “attempt any resistance and you’ll be shot at sight as dangerous spies. The game’s up, let me tell you.”
The two men instantly obeyed, unadulterated “hate” written broadcast on their faces. Turning to Brown, Rhymer added:
“Search these men for any weapons they may have concealed.”
The subsequent examination only produced a sheathed knife, found on the pseudo Alfred Ball.
“What’s the meaning of this unwarrantable outrage?” von Verheim blustered with a forced expression of outraged innocence. “Himmel! but I’ll have the law upon you for forcing your way into my house.”
“It’s no use, von Verheim, we’ve nabbed you red-handed, and Detective-Inspector Brown, here, from Scotland Yard, has a warrant for your arrest, so you’d better come quietly.”
“Bah! What evidence have you?” he sneered with a cunning look of effrontery.
“Sufficient to have you both convict
ed and hanged for conniving in the act of wilful and premeditated murder.”
At this retort a vague look of relief illuminated the crafty face of the Boche.
“So!” he hissed with unbridled derision, “you think, then, you clever pig of an Englishman, that one of your juries will convict me and my comrade of murder, committed by some madman running riot about the country, and whom your clever policemen are incapable of arresting.”
“No, von Verheim, it won’t be necessary for a jury to convict on that score, for we’ve a far graver charge to bring against you and your accomplices than murder—in the ordinary sense of the word.”
Von Verheim arrogantly raised his eyebrows.
“The contents of a notebook in your safe over there—”
“Mein Gott!” he gasped, interrupting Rhymer as the latter produced this trump card. His face underwent an appalling change. From a semblance of arrogance and bravado, it assumed a deathly pallor. “Ach Himmel!” he spluttered. “So! you’ve been to that safe—Otto, what did I tell you? I suspected these English pigs were thieves.—Donner und blitzen! What will the All Highest say?”
Then, in a burst of frenzy, turning his twitching face towards his confederate, he cried:
“The elixir—quick, Otto—I’m faint—the bottle—it’s in the drawer there!”
The servant made a move in obedience to von Verheim’s demand, but was quickly arrested in the act by a sharp command from Rhymer:
“Move another step,” he cried, “and you’re a dead man. I’ll get the bottle.” And, motioning Brown to keep an extra watchful eye on Otto Krupp, he quickly approached the table indicated by von Verheim. The latter made a sly movement as though to intercept him, but was promptly pulled up by the detective.
“Remember you’re covered by the police officers behind you,” he barked, “and they’ve instructions to shoot.”
The threat was effectual, and Rhymer reached the table without further interruption. Opening the drawer, he produced a small though businesslike bomb, quite big enough to have blown the whole place to atoms.
“So this is your bottle of elixir, von Verheim?” he queried with sarcasm, regarding the Boche with a gleam of triumph in his eyes. “An effective dose, too, for strafing the safe and its contents, ourselves into the bargain. I suppose that wouldn’t have been of any account, provided you were able to obliterate all evidence of your Hunnish plot.”
