“Now, what do you make of that, Holmes?’ I asked as I returned to my armchair. Mr. Twain Todd’s arrival had interrupted our post-breakfast cigarettes and I found mine still smouldering in the dish where I had dropped it.
“I must admit that the little exercises in deduction which I always considered a normal part of my detecting method had never produced such a reaction before, Watson. Until he handed me his card, I had never heard of Mr. Twain Todd in my life. Emerging from one of his waistcoat pockets was a receipt for a restaurant meal at the Langham Hotel dated last evening. The paper was twisted but I am familiar with the appearance of many different hotel receipts and easily recognized this as from the Langham. I could read the date from my seat. From another pocket I smelled the distinctive odour of lavender-flavoured tobacco that is normally reserved for use in the hookah, a Middle Eastern pipe. Lavender is a well-known fragrance used for calming purposes. Egypt is indicated by the address on his card and the scarab hanging from his watch chain.”
“How did you know he recently returned to England?”
“Mr. Todd’s card gave an address in a Cairo hotel. He was now here. The man had not had time to order new cards.”
“It is all so simple, Holmes. Now that you have explained it, why, anyone could do it.”
“So I have been told,” replied Holmes wryly. He then picked up a morning newspaper from the stack and opened it.
The rest of that day was spent deep in the details of the Mulberry Bush Farms case and I had nearly forgotten about our agitated visitor until three days later when Mrs. Hudson ushered two gentlemen into our sitting room.
“Mr. Holmes? My name is Rafferty and this is Professor Molesley. Professor Molesley is head of the Egyptology department of Westminster College and I am the author of several books on the Old and New Kingdoms. We have come here to enlist your help in the matter of Mr. Twain Todd.”
Mr. Rafferty was a man of thirty-eight, of medium height, a dark-haired man wearing a Savile Row suit. He had a long nose with black eyes set close together and had a ready smile. His arms and shoulders were thick and his handshake displayed a show of strength that surprised me. Professor Molesley was ten years older, clad in black, pudgy and out of shape, with thinning brown hair and the slight stoop of the scholar. The light coming through our windows flashed off the thick lens of his gold spectacles. Holmes waved them to seats on the sofa and picked up a page of notes from his desk.
“Since Dr. Watson and I were visited by Mr. Twain Todd a few days ago I have arranged to learn more about him,” he remarked. “My agents have been swift but thorough. Please correct me if any of my information is wrong.
“Mr. Twain Todd was the last twig of an old family tree rooted in Kent. His father and his before him, indeed many generations of Todds, grew up at Todd Hall. It was a large old house, built in the days of the first Charles, and with enough land for some excellent shooting, hunting and fishing. But he cared for none of that and the house needed extensive repairs by the time Mr. Todd inherited it, fifteen years ago. He turned his back on the estate, sold it all to the highest bidder and departed to sunnier climes to pursue his true life’s calling.
“The man packed a bag, made arrangements with his bank, and ended up, after a little travelling, in Egypt. It was there that he began gathering his collection of Egyptian antiquities. He got items from the local markets until he realized the best and rarest finds were still buried in the sands of the Valley of the Kings. He found several knowledgeable men and began financing digs. Questions arose about the legalities of his business, but there was never enough evidence to persuade the authorities to do more than occasionally bring him in for questioning. He was always released, after which he usually moved on to a new city. His men would find something unusual, notify him and in a few days the object would be on its way to a warehouse in East London. Meanwhile Mr. Todd travelled from water-hole to watering-hole, with his base in Cairo. He was always on the look-out for rare bits of the Old Kingdoms and his men saw to it he got them. More than one dealer or digger may have had grounds to complain as to his methods or his prices, but nothing was ever proven
“After fifteen years he decided to come back to England and take stock of what he had gathered. He signed a lease on a large house in Alexandria Square and had all the crates delivered there before he took possession.”
“All that is true, Mr. Holmes,” said Mr. Rafferty. “The circle of Egyptologists in England is small and upon his return word of his collection spread quickly. Some description of several of the more choice items had been released and drew our attention. In particular, a certain miniature dhow, of unusual design and rarity and found in an ancient tomb, intrigued me. If I can authenticate it, it may fill in a crucial piece of information needed to explain certain manuscripts pertaining to the reign of Imhopen VII.”
Professor Molesley now took up the narrative. “My interest in Mr. Todd’s collection is centred on a certain ceremonial dagger and sheath, carved from alabaster and covered with symbols pertaining to the lives of the goddess Isis and her son Horus. The workmanship is reputed to be that of Manunetti. It was unheard of that a woman would be allowed to learn the skills needed to produce such an artefact. I am eager to write a paper for the Royal Egyptology Society that would prove she created such a work of art. It will make my name and the prestige to the College will be enormous.”
“Both researches promise to extend human knowledge. I fail to see your problem, gentlemen,” said Sherlock Holmes.
“The problem is that Mr. Twain Todd is behaving like an old dog in the manger, Mr. Holmes!” exclaimed Mr. Rafferty. “We are both members of the Royal Egyptology Society. In fact, I am currently President. We have sent letters, messages, even stood on his doorstep and knocked on his door and he refuses to allow us to see his collection. Can you imagine possible answers to questions that have plagued scientists for thousands of years locked away and no reason given?”
“What do you expect me to do, gentlemen?”
“We want you to convince Mr. Todd to let us examine at least the items we have described in the interest of research. When Mr. Todd returned to London he brought back two men. Sevilen Ottersby is half-Turkish and acts as Todd’s secretary. He worked for Todd for the last twelve years, keeping track of the collection. Baj Jhar is Todd’s personal servant. He was hired in Luxor six years ago. We have spoken to them and they indicated that they would each be willing, for a consideration, to let us see the collection. But without Todd’s permission we feel such a move would be unethical. We need someone to act as our emissary, to convince Mr. Twain Todd of the benefit to mankind that would come from an examination of his collection of Egyptian artefacts.”
“Don’t you think that Mr. Todd already knows that?”
“Yes, of course,” interjected Professor Molesley. “But if an impartial third party, one with no especial interest in Egyptian historical objects, talks to him, he may be persuaded to open his treasure trove to science. We need a dispassionate, logical voice, Mr. Holmes, and that is why we have turned to you.”
“When Mr. Todd was here in my sitting room a few days ago, he gave every sign that he was in fear of his life. Would either of you gentlemen know why he would believe that?”
Mr. Rafferty and Professor Molesley looked confused. “No,” they said in unison.
Holmes rose to his feet. “I do not believe I am the one to convince Mr. Todd to allow you to view his collection, but I will meet you at his home this afternoon at two o’clock. Please leave the address with Dr. Watson. I am curious enough about that little man to wish to meet him again.”
At the time appointed we drew up to an impressive mansion located on Alexandria Square in Belgravia. Mr. Rafferty and Professor Molesley were already waiting. To our surprise Mr. Rafferty’s knock was answered at once by a butler of obvious Egyptian ancestry, dressed in the flowing robes of that region. He had to
be Baj Jhar, Twain Todd’s native servant.
The Oriental ushered us into the foyer where another man was waiting. Professor Molesley introduced him to Holmes and me as Sevilen Ottersby, Todd’s secretary. He, too, was clad in robes, but of a Turkish fashion. He was tall, over six feet, and carried himself with an air of great dignity. His face was swarthy and he cultivated a large thick, black moustache under an impressive hooked nose. He agreed at once to bring us to Mr. Twain Todd.
“Holmes,” I whispered to my friend as the secretary led us down a wide hall. “I don’t understand. Why are guests being welcomed, after so many previous rejections by Mr. Todd? What has changed?”
Holmes shook his head. “Possess your soul in patience, Watson. I do not know, but Mr. Todd might explain it all to us.”
Sevilen Ottersby stopped at a door at the end of the hall and flung it open. Mr. Twain Todd sat behind a huge carved desk, a cup of tea before him. The room was used as an office, with file cabinets, travelling trunks and stacks of papers crowding out the tables and armchairs of the drawing room it had been intended to be. Mr. Ottersby motioned us to chairs and Mr. Todd pushed away his cup. He smirked at us as Mr. Rafferty asked again to see the Egyptian collection, or at least those items he and Professor Molesley were particularly interested in.
“I have allowed you into my home to make my position plain, gentlemen. I will not allow anyone to examine the crates and packages I had shipped back to England from Egypt. In fact, I am not permitted.”
Mr. Rafferty and Professor Molesley were astonished. They erupted with protests. “What are you saying? What is to stop you? You know how important the collection is to science! To deny us access is criminal! We demand you lead us to the collection this minute!”
Mr. Todd stilled their clamour with a wave of his broad hand. His voice was smooth and silky with self-satisfaction. “I cannot allow you to see the collection because it is no longer my property. This morning I concluded the final details of a sale of the entire thing to Major Beauregard Stoat of Topeka, Kansas in the United States. It has been agreed that every crate will be delivered without delay to the docks tomorrow to be loaded upon the freighter Willows for departure for America. It sails in three days. If you wish to study the items, gentlemen, I suggest that you open negotiations with Major Stoat.”
“Where can we find him?” asked Professor Molesley.
“Major Stoat demanded that the papers be signed this morning because he had to catch a train to Southampton at noon. He is leaving on the steamer Rackham tonight. He has urgent business in New York and could not wait to accompany his new purchase. I can give you his address in Topeka if you wish it.”
“We will never see the collection after it is taken to America!” Mr. Rafferty and Professor Molesley looked at each other in despair. Twain Todd pressed a bell on his desk, pushed back his chair and stood up.
“I believe our business here is concluded, gentlemen, and Ottersby will see you out. I will thank you never to return here or bother me again with your silly interest in my antiquities.”
Sherlock Holmes spoke before anyone could say a word. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Todd., but would you indulge me in answering a question before we go?”
“I have heard of your bump of curiosity, Mr. Holmes, and I suppose you want to know why I behaved as I did when we met in your sitting room.”
“Yes. Why did you think you were going to die then but now are so calm? Has the threat been averted?”
Todd sat down again. “I have removed the danger to myself.”
“In fact, at that time you believed you were threatened by an old Egyptian pharaoh’s curse.”
“Do not scoff at things you don’t understand, Mr. Holmes. I have spent many years in the East and I have seen things there that no Westerner could explain. The threat was real, I can assure you, but now it has been removed.”
“By selling the collection to Major Stoat. Now the curse is his problem.”
“That is correct. Now, Ottersby, show these gentlemen the door. I am sure that, like me, they are all busy men who have other things to do today.”
With that we soon found ourselves on the pavement of Alexandria Square. Mr. Rafferty and Professor Molesley hailed a cab and drove away; each slumped in a corner with a doleful face. Holmes suggested that, since the day was fine, that we stroll back to Baker Street. He wanted to think.
Our walk was interrupted by one of Holmes’ Baker Street Irregulars. The young boy, Lane by name, had a message from the barman of a public house that figured in a smuggling ring Holmes had been investigating for months. We followed the child and in the next hours resolved the matter I have written up in my notes as the case of the “Black Sheep”, three bags of fuller’s earth and the Dame.
Out to an advanced hour the night before, we rose late the next morning. The last of the coffee still remained in the coffeepot when Inspector Lestrade appeared at our door.
“I have come on official business, Mr. Holmes. I’m glad to find both you and Dr. Watson here. I must have your statements as to your meeting with Mr. Twain Todd yesterday.” His sharp nose and beady eyes bore into us. Lestrade was only a few months from retirement and his thinning grey hair and wrinkled face told of his decades of service to Scotland Yard. He sat down on the sofa and whipped out his notebook. He poised a pencil over a fresh page and blinked. “Of course, I know what you both were doing from four o’clock on. I read the report Hopkins filed. Good work, by the way.”
“Thank you, Inspector. Some coffee? Oh, very well. May I ask why you are so interested in our meeting with Mr. Todd?”
“His body was found strangled and hidden in one of his own mummy cases at his house this morning. You and Dr. Watson were two of the last men known to have spoken to him yesterday.”
“My God!” I stared at Lestrade in disbelief.
Sherlock Holmes was no less moved.
“That is a bad business, Lestrade. I found Mr. Todd’s personality unpleasant but I would never wish on him an ending such as that. Are we under suspicion?”
“You might have been if you hadn’t spent last night in the company of four policemen cleaning up that gang down by the docks. We have enough suspects as it stands. Give me your version of yesterday’s events and I’ll tell you what other information we have gathered.
Holmes quickly gave a complete account of our encounter with Mr. Twain Todd, both the day before and the first time Todd had come to Baker Street. I concurred in every detail. The old Scotland Yard man wrote it all down and agreed to that cup of coffee. Holmes asked Mrs. Hudson to make a fresh pot.
“I have talked to the houseman and the secretary and bless me if it helps clear up anything,” he said. “The servant, Baj Jhar, says that after he let you in at two o’clock, he went back to the kitchen and spent the rest of the time there, preparing dinner. After the meal, he went out and didn’t get back until after one. He went to bed and heard nothing. His room was next to the kitchen in the basement. This morning he got up to fix breakfast at six. He came up out of the kitchen at a quarter to seven to lay out the hot dishes in the dining room. He noticed that the carpet in the hallway was disturbed. He followed the marks to the room where the meeting had been held. The furniture was knocked about and papers scattered. There was no sign of Mr. Todd. He called Mr. Ottersby, who came down out of his first-floor room only half-dressed. The secretary walked down the hall in the other direction to the large bare room where Todd’s Egyptian collection had been stored.
“The door had been locked but the door jamb was smashed. There was a trio of mummy cases laid out on trestle tables in the centre of the room. Mr. Ottersby lifted the lids one by one. The two men were horrified to find Twain Todd’s dead body stuffed into the third case on top of a crumbling dry Egyptian corpse at least three thousand years old.
“Ottersby sent Baj Jhar for the police. After the first
officer arrived Ottersby showed him that one of the windows on the ground floor had been pried open. Entry had most likely been gained there. Scotland Yard was called in and I have just come from Alexandria Square to see you both. Mr. Ottersby told me you had been there to speak with Mr. Todd yesterday.”
“Have you questioned Mr. Rafferty or Professor Molesley?” asked Holmes.
“I sent for the two men and they should be at Todd’s house by now. I thought you would like to join me when I questioned them.”
“I am always happy to assist the Yard, Lestrade.” We went down the seventeen steps of the stairs and out the front door just as Mrs. Hudson stepped out into the hallway bearing a silver coffeepot and three clean cups on a tray. I could hear her helpless protests as I shut the door.
The scene at Alexandria Square when we arrived was very different from the day before. The street had been roped off and several patrolmen were diverting traffic, both pedestrian and vehicular, away from Todd’s rented mansion. There was a crush of official carriages and vans around the front door and it took us several minutes to make our way through the crowd of excited onlookers and pressmen on the pavement to the front hall.
Holmes drew out his magnifying lens and examined the rumpled carpet runner in the hall, then looked into the sitting room where we had met with Mr. Todd the day before. It showed quite a lot of disturbance. Piles of papers had been knocked over and files had been tore apart. A broken plate and some chicken bones lay on the floor next to a pair of backless Turkish slippers on the carpet by the hall door.
Holmes paid particular attention to the fireplace. From out of the ashes he pulled two blacken strips, spines from a couple of office ledgers. Carefully he wrapped them in his handkerchief and placed them in his pocket.
Sherlock Holmes and the Folk Tale Mysteries - Volume 2 Page 17
