The First Mystery Novel

by Howard Mason

  I said: “That red bishop. When I told you that I’d had it and lost it, you got pretty wrought up. Why?”

  “Did I?”

  “You did. And the bishop can’t be so important to you, after all these years. Or can it?”

  “Ah,” said Stony, on the same wary note. “It might. And then again it might not. Where did you get it?” He snapped this last question at me, suddenly. I said:

  “It happened to come my way.”

  He watched me, thoughtfully.

  “It was stolen, you say?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who by?”

  “Walter Mott.”

  That shook him a bit.

  “The lawyer? How d’yer know?”

  “You can take my word for it.” I was getting a bit testy. The old man’s habit of always asking questions, instead of answering them, was beginning to get on my nerves. I went on briskly: “What’s more, I think he’s got that globe of yours. The globe with the letter in it. And he’s somewhere quite near Cochem at this moment. And he’s looking for something, and if you want to find what he’s looking for before he does, there’s probably no time to be lost. So if you know anything else about that letter, here I am, waiting, and I’m on your side and at your service. What d’you know?”

  He woke up a bit, then. “John never trusted that feller Mott. Never trust any lawyer myself. Damned crook. Yer say he’s got that bishop?”

  “Yes,” I said, patiently. You couldn’t rush him. He reminded me of a horse I knew, a game old trier, he wouldn’t take the whip, but if you gave him his head he got round the course in the end.

  “Ah. Well, you’re wrong about the globe,” Stony said unexpectedly. “He ain’t got it.”

  “How d’you know?”

  “’Cause I’m expecting a feller to-night that’s going to bring it to me.”

  I stared at him.

  “Six o’clock, he said he’d be here. Nearly that now, ain’t it?” He smiled at me complacently. “Yes, you stay around here for a bit, my boy, and you’ll see something.”

  “Who? What d’you mean?” I looked at him blankly.

  “He advertised for it.” Sophia came to my rescue. “It was after we came back from Switzerland. In all the dealer’s magazines. We thought the war might have stirred the globe up—a lot of old houses were being sold, you know. And now he’s had an answer.”

  I looked back at the old man. “Who from?”

  “A dealer. One of those antique fellers. Says he read my advertisement in the Antique Dealers’ Mart,” Stony pronounced the words with arrogant distaste. “Mind you, he didn’t let on he’d got the letter. ’Course, I didn’t put in anything about that. But the feller’s got it all right; he wants too big a price for the globe. What’s more, he’s come all the way out here to bring it to me.” He surveyed me, gleaming with satisfaction. “What d’yer think of that, hey?”

  I was thinking, if he wanted to know, that this all sounded too easy, and that I still wasn’t satisfied. I said:

  “Maybe it’s Mott.”

  “No, no; yer’ve got poor Mott on the brain. It’s a dealer. A proper firm, yer know. What’s the feller’s name? Here, Sophia, find his letter for me; the first one.”

  I still thought it was Mott, no matter what the name was. I was trying to work out why he would have answered that advertisement. It didn’t seem to make much sense. Sophia was rummaging at a desk; I watched her find the letter, and when she’d got it, she handed it to me and I read it.

  It was, as Stony had said, a “proper firm.” The note-paper was good, and had a printed heading. Above the lettering, there was a little insignia, embossed, like a trademark. It was a tiny chessman.

  The heading read:

  F. Constantine & Son Antiques, Chessmen, Objets d’Art 22 Old Church Street London, S.W.7

  The letter itself merely stated in a business-like manner that the writer believed he possessed the globe decorated with dolphins, early sixteenth century, which the advertiser required, and suggested a meeting to discuss the price. The signature I recognized at once; I had seen it before. On the receipt which Constantine had given me in his shop, only a week before. F. Constantine.

  As I stared at the paper, a bell jangled shrilly, down in the hall below.

  CHAPTER II

  I was still holding the letter when Constantine was shown into the room.

  He sidled in, crab-wise, poking his tortoise-head round the door. He had a briefcase under his arm. Except that the last time I’d seen him he’d been wearing carpet-slippers and a dressing-gown, he looked just the same: a dry, shriveled, reptilian little man, with hooded eyes behind the spectacles. He didn’t see me at first.

  “Herr von Arnhem?” He approached the bed, holding out a hand. “I am a little early, I believe. But not too early, I hope.”

  Stony said: “No, no. Sit down.”

  Constantine subsided into a big carved chair, dwarfed by it. “Thank you. The climb is a little distressing, you know. Quite a climb, yes.”

  Stony waved a hand towards Sophia and me. “My daughter. And Lord Stonybridge.”

  The little dealer turned then, rearing his head with a startled air. His eyes met mine; I left the window and crossed the room to him. He rose uncertainly.

  “Why, we have met, haven’t we—yes, a little matter of a chess bishop, I remember—most unfortunate—I trust you recovered the object?”

  I said: “No.”

  He talked nervously, fluttering his hands. “I’m sorry to hear that. I couldn’t help feeling responsible—left in my care—not my fault of course, but still, responsible, one feels—”

  I’ll bet you do, I thought. I’ll bet you do. The first attempt at burgling my flat, I was remembering now, had taken place the day after my first visit to the dealer. There were a lot of other things I was remembering, too, and I hadn’t sorted them all out, yet; I decided to let him flounder for a while. My questions could wait. There were plenty of them, and I wanted to see what line he was going to take up.

  Stony cleared his throat with one of his rasping grunts.

  “Come, then, Mr.—eh—Constantine. Have yer got it?”

  “Got it?” The dealer turned to Stony, adjusting his spectacles; behind them the hooded eyes were sly and cautious. “You refer to the object, the globe that is. I recognized the description at once. Most interesting, early sixteenth century, not many like it, I should imagine.” He licked his lips; I saw that he was watching me out of the corner of his eye. “I must explain, Herr von Arnhem, that I have not brought the object with me.”

  Stony said: “What?”

  “I feared—that is, it had occurred to me that your interest might lie not so much in the object itself, as in its contents.”

  Stony leaned forward, eagerly. “Yer found something in it—hey? That’s it, ain’t it?”

  Constantine fingered his briefcase. “Yes,” he said at length. “Yes, that is it. A letter. I found a letter.”

  “Ah…” Stony breathed out heavily and with satisfaction. “Let’s have it.” He was holding out his hand; his expression, I thought, was avid.

  Constantine blinked at him warily. “It is of course—it seems to me to be a document of considerable value. As I pointed out in my letter to you, sir. Perhaps we could agree upon a price—”

  Stony’s massive face began to turn red. “Don’t be silly, man. How can I give yer a price till I’ve seen the letter?” His fingers were drumming a tattoo on the counterpane. He was so impatient that I was unable to suspect him of guile. But Constantine was clearly afraid that once he had let the old man read the document, he might never get his money.

  As he hesitated, I said smoothly, “You’d better show us the letter. Herr von Arnhem is right, you know. He can’t offer you a price until he’s seen it.”

  “It is only, you un
derstand, that the information contained in the letter is of greater value than the actual—”

  I cut in. “Don’t worry, Herr von Arnhem isn’t going to rob you.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of suggesting—”

  “Then let’s see the letter.”

  He glanced from me to Stony, blinking rapidly; then, evidently deciding that he was among gentlemen, he nodded, and began to feel in his breast pocket. Stony was leaning forward again. Constantine drew out a leather wallet. From it he took a big, folded packet; there were several sheets, I noticed.

  “The handwriting is not easy, you’ll observe.” He smoothed the paper out with his dry little hand; it rustled. “But readable. A fine sixteenth-century hand, a scholar’s hand, in fact. The date, you will notice, is fifteen fifty-seven, the third of March. And the signature—” he thumbed the pages over, and poked a finger at the last sheet. “Yes, Truelove, Nicholas Truelove.” He clutched the letter, unwilling to see it leave his hands. “The price I had in mind, Herr von Arnhem—”

  “Hand it over,” said Stony.

  Constantine handed it over.

  * * * *

  It was an extraordinary document, I must say, and it took a bit of deciphering. Constantine had said that the writing was not easy; personally, I thought it impossible. Nicholas Truelove may have been a scholar, but his spelling was atrocious; I’ve modified it, copying the thing out. Here’s how it went.

  The heading, at the top right-hand corner, was;

  At Burg Endert

  Kochem, by the Mosell

  The Rhine Land

  and the superscription:

  To my dear Wife, Anny. Truelove

  For three days now, my dearest Wife, I have been a prisoner, locked within mine own schoolroom here at Endert. The Count hath intentions against me, the which I fear to be evil, and I fear that my life will shortly be at an end. I have therefore set down the history of the acts of Curtius, whom men call the Spider, in this last year of my unhappy stay, that you shall know what has befallen your Nicholas, for there is none other who shall care what is to become of me, nor who hath recorded this history. I fear, my dear Wife, that the Count hath lost his reason, whereof I shall speak more and you shall judge.

  Now I have told you ere now of the Count’s fondness for the game of chess, which game indeed was as a kind of passion with him, as it might be of hunting, nay of eating and drinking, with another man. Few men dared to play with him, for if ever he should be checkmated, as happened rarely enough, then was his adversary wont to find himself in the dungeons holding fast to his head, and this is a sorry ending to any game as you will readily grant. And I have told you also of the many sets of chess-pieces of divers shapes and forms and origins, with which he would divert himself, ever seeking some new pieces that should be yet more remarkable than the last; and alas that he could not remain satisfied with such as he possessed, for then would your Nicholas not be in such sorry state; but to my tale.

  Now the Count had heard tell of the game of living chess, which the great Akbar was wont to play at his country palace at Fatehpuri, near Agra; and in this game were real elephants, camels, and horses used upon a monstrous checker-board, as it were serving for pieces in the game; nor were there animals only, but also the ladies of the harem, and serving-lads that did act as pawns.

  Now the Count was much moved by this account, which he had from a traveller from the Indies. And he took the fancy to this game that was called living chess; and since he would outdo even the great Akbar, he observed, on hearing this tale, that “if man could play living chess, why should he not also play dying chess?” which remark did greatly throw into consternation and fear those about him, for it was a strange conceit as you will readily grant, and no man’s head is worth a groat when the Spider is in his killing vein; which indeed he had the semblance of being that day, having drunk too deep of this foul Rhenish wine, which I would willingly exchange for a tankard of good Gloster ale by any reckoning.

  So then did those about him laugh heartily at his strange fancy, the while putting their hands about their necks to feel them still safe upon their shoulders. For none was certain what the Spider meant, nor what they should say.

  The Spider laughed also with consumed mirth, whereupon all took it to be a jest, and felt some measure of instant relief. Nor was there any further talk that day of the conceit of dying chess.

  Now it befell soon after that day that the strange happenings began at Endert, of the which I cannot speak properly, for I am only the poor Tutor and must spend my days in the school-room with the Count’s sons (of whom the elder doth put me in mind of our own Nicky whom I greet and bless); but I heard of many strange deaths among the Count’s friends as also among his enemies, and stranger deaths of those who came to the castle, men of high estate often, who entered the walls as guests, but were not seen to leave. This I knew, but no further; till this last sennight when I heard the tale told by the Count’s goldsmith, Meister Brandt, with whom I held converse one night when he was sodden with wine. This Brandt I have spoken of, that was the Master goldsmith and skilled in his craft. All that he told me I know to be true, so help me God, for little service has the knowledge done to me.

  This then was the way of it. The Count had an enemy, a Bishop, who became his prisoner (for these be troubled times, as well you know, and the Count hath enemies in many principalities, for ever feuding and making small wars one against the other) and for some while this Bishop languished in captivity here at Endert, awaiting the Count’s will. Now then began the Count’s fearful madness; for he commanded Meister Brandt the goldsmith to build him a Chess-piece, who should be a Laufer or Bishop as we should call the piece, and this to be of life-size and all of gold. The piece was to be hollowed within, and hinged to open as it might be like a mummy-case such as we have heard tell of from travellers to Africa. And this figure being constructed, then was the Count’s enemy, miserabilis episcopus, shut up alive within this golden carcase; and thus was he privily murdered; for thus entered in so close a prison, within a while, smothered and stifled, his breath failing, he gave up to God his soul, and was left his body to rot piece-meal away within his tomb of gold.

  Now this Bishop was but the first; for then did the Count resolve to pursue in all points his game of “dying chess,” and determined now to complete his set with Konig, Konigin, Springer, Turm and Bauer, as here they call the King, Queen, Knight, Rook and Pawn. All these to be in their numbers, so many of each, so to make up a side. And each of the victims to be in his true rank and estate.

  And thus, saith Meister Brandt, did he do in every particle, and so it all came to pass. Fourteen enemies did he thus make captive, slaying in this wise yet another Bishop, two Knights that were of the Ritterschaft, followers of this Franz von Sickingen now long dead that made war against the League; and divers lowlier men, these serving to fill the pawns. And each golden figure did the goldsmith and his companions fashion in all points to satisfy their master’s whim, with much skilled wreaking of the gold, and inlaying of jewells and other sundry decorations, of silver and christall, and other precious metalls. And each in its shape was thus become a lethal chamber, and all were filled at the last, save only the King and the Queen, these pieces being the most splendidly fashioned of all, saith Meister Brandt, and richly crowned; and many months went by, and still these two remained mercifully empty of their dreadful stuffings.

  And then at the last there came hunting that way the King of Luxemburg, that was Sigismund the second of unhappy memory, of whose mysterious demise no man knows the true cause and manner, save only we of Burg Endert; for he, with Elise his queen, and his train, were invited up to the castle, and there spent a sennight, the which I remember well, for it was a time of great feasting and cheer; and some say that the Count was enamoured of Elise, the Queen, and did assault her virtue, she being, so men say, not unwilling; then the King rising up against the Count his
host did quarrel with him in his chamber, the Queen watching; the Count then seizing him captive with his queen, all privily and unknown to the King’s train, and having put it about that the King and Queen were by accident drowned in the river, they being wont to take their pleasure thereon in a little craft, did seal them up alive in their last resting-place, the Golden King and Queen of Chess; and so met their end, God rest their bones, and this Meister Brandt swore to be the truth, so help him God.

  Then the king’s train departed in much sorrow and morning, they suspecting not of the Count, who for their better deceiving did drag the river from end to end as though to recover the bodies, and made much weeping and mourning for his dead guests. Some there were who suspected ill of the Count and would have made battle against him, yet nought could be proven against him. And thus was his infamous army completed in all points so to make up a side.

  Now these golden figures, saith Meister Brandt, were set up, not within the castle walls, but in the Great Tower that was the look-out tower on the peak across the river. And within this tower were constructed walls, very strong, within the inner walls; and within the corridor thus formed were constructed steps, mounting circular to the top of the tower; and at each turn of the stair, set into niches in the lining of the outer wall, were these golden chess-pieces set up, as each was constructed; and thus, circling the Tower upward and upward, within their own corridor of stone, the figures stood with their dreadful burdens, and at either extremity the Turme or Rooks, stood like watchdogs, these containing the loots and treasures which the Count obtained from his dead enemies, among them jewels stolen of Elise of Luxemburg.

  And this Tower was joined to the castle by a passage that was constructed in time of seige, for the withdrawing of those within the fort; and led subterrene, passing below the river, from the turret-chamber in the castle; and now the Count sealed up fast all other entry to the Tower, save only the mouth of this passage, that entered within the walls to the Corridor of Chessmen. And so did he likewise at the castle end, having constructed a new postern or port in the wall of the turret chamber, that should be privy to him; and was concealed behind his own portrait (and many thought it strange that he should cause this portrait to be painted, for it is full length the whole figure, and the Spider liking not his own shape, from which came the name he was called by, cared not to be painted whole, save only with the greatest flattery). And to this port of stone, set flush and concealed to the eye, was a lock made, to the which the red bishop of his most favoured set of pieces was the key; this being carved and shaped in the mitre and upper parts so as to fit in all points the lock for which it was formed.