The Scroll of the Dead

by David Stuart Davies

  ‘What was your concern about the story of the theft being printed in the newspapers?’ I asked.

  ‘No museum likes to admit that it has lost one of its treasures, Doctor. It would deter potential benefactors, and any story like that would act as an advertisement to the criminal fraternity: come to the British Museum and steal – it is so easy.’

  ‘It was also in our best interests, as I explained,’ added the Scotland Yarder.

  ‘How did the men enter, Hardcastle?’

  In response to my friend’s query, the policeman pointed at the roof of the chamber. Set into the curved ceiling were three large rectangular skylights which provided the main illumination of the room.

  ‘They forced one of them open and dropped down on a rope, and returned by the same route. On leaving, they carelessly dropped their rope and we found it coiled on the floor over by Henntawy’s case.’

  Holmes peered up at the skylights and then back at Sir Charles. ‘Where is the case?’

  ‘This way gentlemen, please,’ replied the Egyptologist, leading us down the central aisle and stopping mid-way before a glass case which was situated on its own. ‘Queen Henntawy,’ he announced with a grand gesture.

  I felt an uneasy prickle at the back of my neck as I gazed down on the remains of this young woman who had been alive more than 3000 years ago. The heavily-painted face was in a fantastic state of preservation, appearing mask-like with false ebony eyes placed in the empty sockets, locked in a dark, vacant stare. A heavy Medusa-like wig spilled out around her shrunken head. The length of her body was covered in rotting brown bandages.

  ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’ said Sir Charles, beaming.

  ‘I must admit,’ said Hardcastle seriously, ‘she’s not exactly my idea of a beauty.’

  Holmes crouched down and slowly circled the case, stopping from time to time with his nose against the glass to scrutinise the mummy within. At length he rose and pointed to a particularly ragged part of the body by the thigh. ‘Is this where the papyrus rested?’

  Sir Charles’ mouth opened in surprise. ‘Why yes, Mr Holmes. How very astute of you.’

  ‘It is clear that those tears are fairly recent – the material shows traces of whiteness here – and it is only the glass on this side of the case that you have had to replace. The putty is quite fresh. Obviously our expert knew exactly where to look.’

  ‘Presumably,’ I observed quietly ‘it was the sound of the breaking glass that alerted the security guard, and he was murdered when he came to investigate.’

  Sir Charles shook his head gravely. ‘Oh no, Doctor. He was killed in his office.’

  ‘What!’ I exclaimed, glancing at Holmes, who was equally shocked.

  ‘Why did you not tell me about this, Hardcastle?’ enquired my friend sharply.

  The Scotland Yarder hesitated, bracing himself for Holmes’ wrath. ‘Well,’ he stammered, his face blanching, ‘I really didn’t consider it an important feature of the crime.’

  Holmes closed his eyes in disgust and gave a derisory snort. ‘It not only provides us with further information concerning the perpetrators of the theft, it also indicates the means by which it was committed.’

  We all fell silent at this declaration, until Sir Charles, eyes wide behind his spectacles, said, ‘Well, this is a most remarkable claim. Pray do expound.’

  ‘I should first like to examine the security guard’s office, if I may.’

  ‘Certainly,’ said Sir Charles. ‘Follow me.’

  The room in question was a small, cluttered chamber filled by a stout wooden table on which stood a gas ring, a couple of mugs, and various items of tea-making equipment. As we entered, a chubby young man, rubicund of visage, who was sitting back in a battered old carver chair with his feet on the table, reading The Racing Gazette, jumped to his feet and stood crookedly to attention.

  ‘Sorry, Sir Charles,’ he croaked in a gentle Cockney accent, the pouches of his rosy cheeks reverberating nervously at the shock of our sudden entrance. ‘I didn’t know you was comin‘, Sir. I’m on my tea-break now.’ Realising the newspaper was still in his hand, he quickly crumpled it up and attempted to hide it behind his back.

  The Egyptologist gave a thin smile. ‘That’s all right, Jenkins. I’m not checking up on my staff today. These gentlemen are investigating the theft of Henntawy’s papyrus and Daventry’s murder, and they wish to examine the room where he died.’ At this point he broke off and turned to Holmes. Jenkins is the regular day guard for this wing of the museum,’ he explained. ‘We haven’t as yet got round to replacing Daventry. His duties are being shared by the other night staff at present.’

  Holmes nodded and, stepping forward, addressed the young guard. ‘You found the body, Jenkins?’

  ‘Er, yes, sir. On Saturday mornin‘. I... I came on at eight in the mornin’ as usual. At first everything seemed as right as pie... until I got in here. I found him there, on the rug.’ He pointed and we all gazed at the floor space where, clearly, a rug had been laid. The faint rectangular outline was visible against the dark brown of the scuffed floorboards. ‘There wasn’t much blood – just a dark spot on the side of his head.’ The chubby cheeks paled momentarily and then the young man afforded himself a little affectionate grin. ‘Old Sammy – that’s Mr Daventry, like – old Sammy, he was a nice bloke. Him an’ me would often have a cuppa and a natter together in the mornin’ before he went off to his kip.’

  ‘You would discuss racing, perhaps? Choose the best bets for the day?’ said Holmes.

  Nervously, Jenkins crumpled the paper behind his back and glanced at Sir Charles. ‘Ye– Yes, sir.’

  ‘Don’t be nervous,’ continued Holmes. ‘Gambling is not against the law, despite it being a somewhat reckless pursuit. Indeed, I have a friend who fritters a fair deal of his income away on the fickleness of the turf.’

  ‘Well, it is true that we liked a flutter. We’d often have a bet together. I have a wife and a young ‘un on the way so I daren’t risk much, but old Sammy..’

  ‘He was a big gambler.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And a big loser.’

  The brown eyes fixed in that apple-red face dimmed and shifted once more to Sir Charles.

  Holmes carried on relentlessly. ‘In fact, Jenkins, I would suspect that your friend was up to his eyes in debt. Am I correct?’

  Jenkins faltered once more.

  ‘Tell the truth, Jenkins,’ prompted Sir Charles as the guard stared dumbly at his feet. ‘Whatever Daventry did, it is no reflection on you.’

  ‘Well,’ said Jenkins, clearing his throat and coughing nervously as he began, ‘if the truth be known, old Sammy was in quite deep with the money lenders. It frightened me what he told me about their threats to him if he didn’t pay up. He always laughed it off, sayin’ that somethin’ would always turn up.’

  And it did,’ said Holmes, grimly.

  Just a minute, Mr Holmes. You’re not suggesting that his murder was committed by money-lender’s thugs, are you?’ asked Hardcastle, a note of incredulity in his voice.

  Holmes gave a shake of the head. ‘Tell me, Jenkins, where did Daventry keep his private belongings?’

  ‘In his locker, sir. We each have one.’ He pointed to the corner of the room where two tall rusty metal lockers leaned drunkenly against each other.

  Holmes crossed to them. ‘Which was Daventry’s?’

  Jenkins pointed again.

  Holmes turned the handle. ‘It’s locked. Has this been opened since the murder?’ He addressed the question to Hardcastle and all heads turned in his direction.

  The policeman shrugged with as much nonchalance as his obvious bewilderment and unease would allow. ‘We haven’t touched it at all. It’s not really relevant to the theft... or the murder.’

  ‘Where is the key?’ snapped Holmes.

  ‘I expect it’ll be down at the Yard with the rest of Daventry’s effects.’

  ‘Hah!’ Holmes snarled, and fumbled for a moment in his w
aistcoat pocket, before producing a small penknife. ‘In the absence of a key, this makeshift burgling kit will have to suffice.’

  So saying, he inserted the small blade into the gap between the door and the side of the locker and applied some pressure on the lock. ‘A little knowledge... and a great deal more brute force... should win the day,’ he grunted as he worked at his task.

  After less than a minute, there was a reverberating clang and the locker door sprang open. ‘Voilá!’ cried my friend.

  ‘What is all this, Mr Holmes?’ cried Hardcastle warily, unable to contain his bewilderment. ‘What tricks are you playing now?’

  ‘No tricks, I assure you, Inspector – and I will explain everything in just a moment.’

  Holmes began rummaging around in the locker. Moments later he emitted a cry of triumph as he extricated a small brown parcel from its recesses. ‘Here,’ he cried, throwing it to Jenkins. ‘Unwrap that, my boy and feast your eyes on the contents.’

  On receiving a nod of approval from Sir Charles, Jenkins set about his appointed task. With nervous fingers he began to pare away the brown wrapping, slowly at first and then with feverish excitement as the last layer was exposed. Finally the contents of the parcel were revealed: a large brown leather purse. Holmes took it from the lad and spilled out the contents on to the table. An irregular pyramid of bright yellow coins glittered before us.

  ‘Blimey!’ cried Jenkins. ‘There’s a fortune here.’

  ‘Some would say so, lad.’ Holmes ran his long fingers through the pile, scooped up a few of the coins, and held them before the astonished faces of Sir Charles and Hardcastle. ‘There will be a hundred guineas here. Not bad for a night’s work. That’s if Daventry had lived to reap the benefit from his ill-gotten gains.’

  ‘Ill-gotten?’ I said.

  ‘Yes. This is the fee our friend Daventry was paid to admit the thieves to the museum and then to turn a blind eye while they went about their business.’

  ‘You mean to say he was in league with the criminals?’ gasped Sir Charles.

  ‘In a manner of speaking. A fellow’s debts have a habit of becoming well-known in certain circles. Those with a need to know can easily find out these things. In such circumstances, there is little difficulty in bribing a man who is desperate for money.’

  ‘Bribing?’

  ‘Yes, Inspector.’ Holmes pointed to the pile of sovereigns. ‘Daventry was offered this princely sum to aid in the theft of the Henntawy papyrus.’

  ‘So you’re saying they just walked in, took the papyrus, and walked out again, while Daventry held the door for them.’

  ‘Yes, in a manner of speaking. Very civilised, eh?’

  ‘But what about the rope and the footprints?’

  ‘False clues to lead you astray. The method of entry and exit was rather too obviously presented to us. We were being led by the nose to believe that the crimes had been perpetrated by two experienced but common burglars. Think, man. How did they get up on the roof in the first place? Surely their presence there would have attracted the attention of other officers?’ Holmes glanced at Sir Charles for confirmation of this and received a hesitant nod of agreement. ‘Have your men been on the roof to check these things out, Hardcastle?’

  ‘I sent a couple of constables up there. But they found nothing.’

  ‘You did not go up yourself?’

  ‘Why no. I did not think there would be any point.’ The inspector looked perplexed.

  ‘In this instance you were correct. You would have found nothing there. The skylights can be opened from inside by using one of the long window poles designed for the purpose. I observed two in the Egyptology room. Then it is a simple task to drop a coil of rope under one such open skylight and leave a few false muddy footprints to create the impression that two men had dropped from the heavens, snatched a precious document, and ascended like dark angels.’

  ‘If this is so, why go to all the bother?’

  Holmes smiled. ‘To muddy the waters – to help disguise the identity of the intruders. What we have here, gentlemen, is not a simple crime but the cunning theft of an object of antiquity with a cold-blooded murder as merely an unfortunate side-issue. The preposterous clues of the rope and the footprints were unnecessary if the only object of the operation was to steal the papyrus. But they were necessary to the perpetrators – they were part of their game, to enhance the excitement of the venture and to ridicule the authorities. I am convinced that these fellows fully intended to shoot the security guard before they set foot in the building. The murder was more or less gratuitous, adding an extra frisson of pleasure to their nocturnal exploits.’

  ‘If what you say is true, then we are dealing with madmen,’ retorted Sir Charles.

  ‘To some extent, I agree with you. What normal felons would leave behind their bribe of a hundred guineas, when they had murdered its recipient? As our antagonists saw it, they were merely carrying out the perverted rules of their contract with Daventry – paying for services rendered. It did not matter whether the fellow was dead or not. They had honoured their agreement. Rich men, then, and indeed, tainted with madness.’

  Before Sir Charles could respond, Hardcastle thrust an indignant finger towards my friend’s face. ‘This is mere guesswork,’ he retorted.

  Holmes shook his head. ‘Consider the evidence,’ he replied softly. ‘First: the obvious way in which clues were left to indicate the means of entry. It was too simplistic. The operation was carried out with such panache that these clues were preserved like clumsy signs in a children’s game. To an experienced investigator like myself, it is clear that they were planted. This was in order to further confuse the issues. A successful ruse, for three days later you are no wiser as to the culprits or the motive. Secondly: the object of the crime, the theft of an obscure papyrus, can really only be of interest to specialists, individuals – strange individuals – who desire the item desperately, for whatever purpose, and are prepared to kill for it. Thirdly: the fact that the security guard was shot in his own office indicates that in some way he was implicated in the crime. The only real need to kill him would arise if he had surprised the intruders while they were about their nefarious task. In that case there would have been a struggle resulting in a rather messy killing, which is not our villains’ style at all. Remember there was no struggle and only one bullet in the gun. Daventry died because he trusted the man who had bribed him. He was like a lamb to the slaughter: the killer, most likely just came up to the guard, little gun in hand, and fired so...’

  Holmes demonstrated by placing two fingers at Jenkins’s temples. The young man groaned and dropped into his chair.

  ‘Quite clearly Daventry was “in” on the job, and that would make just one accomplice too many in this affair. I believe this to be the work of a brilliant but sadistic mind – someone who is obsessed and desperate enough to want the papyrus for himself. It will not be passed on to others. Why else would he kill a foolish and impoverished security guard? In order that there was no possibility however remote, that anyone would be able to trace him. Our villain is a cunning and dangerous creature.’

  ‘You have reverted to the singular, Mr Holmes. I thought you said there were two of them involved in this business,’ said Hardcastle smoothly.

  ‘I do not deny that there were two malefactors who perpetrated this audacious crime, but the conception and the purpose...’ He paused and turned his steely gaze on the inspector. ‘There is but one brain behind this affair and it is as perverted as it is clever.’

  ‘Who is this mastermind, then?’ asked Hardcastle. ‘You cannot blame Professor Moriarty this time.’

  Holmes eyed the police inspector coldly. ‘One of your more astute observations, Hardcastle. Whoever we are dealing with has something of the professor’s ingenuity, daring and, I am afraid, cold-bloodedness. A man of great intelligence and a man to fear.’

  Four

  AN UNEXPECTED EVENT

  ‘The heavily notated racing calendar
on the wall and the discarded copies of The Racing Gazette on the table informed me that Jenkins and Daventry were betting men and, as you well know, Watson, gambling men are rarely in pocket.’

  I nodded with a smile.

  My friend struck a match and applied it to his pipe. For a brief moment, dense grey clouds obliterated his face. It was now some hours since we had left the British Museum and we were back once more in our Baker Street rooms. The gas mantles had just been lit as the day began to fade. Holmes, wrapped in his blue dressing gown, was pleased with himself and in a communicative mood. ‘I do not think,’ said he, throwing his match to the back of the grate, ‘that it will be many days before this case is wrapped up.’

  ‘But there are so many unanswered questions.’

  ‘I can answer them.’

  ‘Really,’ I said gruffly, trying to restrain the note of incredulity in my voice.

  ‘There is no great mystery, Watson.’

  ‘Then who is the culprit? Who is the thief?’

  Holmes beamed. ‘Consider the problem objectively and logically. A document has been stolen. Other, more valuable artefacts were ignored in favour of this crumbling and indecipherable papyrus. Therefore, the scroll was purloined for its singular contents rather than for its intrinsic value.’

  ‘Well, yes, I can see that; but, really, all it contained was some obscure writings about the location of Setaph’s tomb.’

  ‘And his Scroll of the Dead.’

  ‘But what use is that? Experts have tried to solve the riddle and discover the whereabouts of this Scroll of the Dead and failed. What chance has anyone else?’

  Sherlock Holmes emitted a faint groan. ‘Watson, Watson,’ he said with some passion, ‘extend the boundaries of thought. Don’t always remain with the possible or the probable. Consider also the unlikely, the improbable – and the obvious.’

  ‘The obvious,’ I echoed, shaking my head. ‘I’m afraid you have lost me.’

  ‘The Henntawy papyrus contains a code. A code is merely a means of presenting information in a hidden form. In order to avail yourself of this information, what do you need?’