Sherlock Holmes and the Folk Tale Mysteries - Volume 2

by Puhl, Gayle Lange

  Lestrade showed him the room where the body had been found. Here Holmes became animated, walking, crawling and even wriggling on his stomach to examine the crates and the bundles stacked all over the room. Several crates had been opened. On top of a pile of excelsior in one was a small carved wooden boat. He gave equal attention to the two uninvolved mummy cases. Finally, after a quarter-hour of such activity, Sherlock Holmes advanced to the fatal Egyptian container.

  It had been stored lying on its back on two rough wooden trestles. Its lid was elaborately painted with a depiction of an ancient Egyptian man. I helped Lestrade open it. Twain Todd’s body was stuffed into the box, smashed down and crushing the original inhabitant. His lumpy body was dressed in pyjamas wrapped in a garish dressing gown and his feet were bare. The sight of his face was horrible; bloated purple with a gaping mouth and staring eyes glazed in death. Finger marks showed where the murderer’s hands had choked the life from the hard-hearted antiquities collector. I helped to sit him up so his back could be examined. The back of his dressing gown was covered with grey powder from the mummy’s body. There were no other wounds. We laid him back down, a little clumsily because of the stiffening that was spreading, and I lowered the lid gently to cover the dreadful sight.

  “What would you say as to the time of death, doctor?” asked Holmes.

  “An autopsy should be able to pinpoint the time better, but by the stiffening of the corpse I would think before midnight,” I replied.

  The open window was in the back of the room. Holmes looked it over carefully with his lens, especially faint marks on the sill he pointed out to me. Then he examined the marks in the thick dust on the floor around the mummy case, but rose to his feet with an air of disappointment. “A herd of buffaloes couldn’t have mussed up the footprints better,” he sighed.

  A constable led us to the library. After we found seats Inspector Lestrade called for one of his men to bring in the first man, Baj Jhar, the Egyptian servant.

  The upset houseman entered and sat down. Lestrade rattled some papers on the table before him and asked the Egyptian to tell his story again. The native wailed and cried about the death of his employer, but after a few minutes he composed himself and began to talk. He spoke in slow, deliberate but clear English tinged with a thick Middle East accent.

  “After the meeting the Master told me to go back to the kitchen. I remained there, fixing the meal, until six o’clock, when he ate. The Master always ate early, even in Cairo. Then he would have a bowl of soup or some roast chicken later in the evening before he went to bed. I waited until he rang for the chicken, then my day was over. I would collect the remains of the little meal the next morning.

  “The night was fine so I took a walk. There is a pub called the “Grand Vizier” that caters to my countrymen, on the far side of Hyde Park. I went there and played dominos until nearly one o’clock. Then I walked back and went to bed. I didn’t hear or see anything until early this morning, when I went to call the Master to breakfast and found the carpet awry and my Master missing.”

  “How did you get back into the house after your walk?” asked Holmes.

  “I have a key to the back door.” The Egyptian pulled a brass key out of his pocket and laid it on the table. Holmes picked it up and turned it over. He laid it back on the table.

  Lestrade asked for some names of the men in the pub to verify Baj Jhar’s story, then dismissed him to wait in the kitchen again with a policeman nearby. He called for the secretary, Sevilen Ottersby.

  Ottersby was dressed in his Turkish clothing, a loose white shirt and pants with an embroidered vest, a wide sash wrapped around his waist and sturdy Turkish slippers. A red fez was on his head and his sharp eyes, large nose and ferocious black moustache gave him a wild appearance. But his manner, while guarded in the presence of so many police officials, was civilized and co-operative. He took the chair Lestrade pointed to and nodded to Holmes and me. Lestrade rattled his papers again.

  “Now, Mr. Ottersby, tell us about yourself and what you know about Mr. Twain and his death.”

  “I am the son of an English father and a Turkish mother. My father made sure I got an excellent education in England. I began working for Mr. Twain Todd as his secretary twelve years ago in Ankara where I was visiting my mother. He began collecting Egyptian artefacts a year or so later, after settling in Cairo. I was in charge of packing up the items, paying the workmen or the sellers, and shipping the crates to a warehouse in London. I also kept the records of what was bought, sold or traded. The collection was a mutating thing over time, constantly changing as to inventory and worth as the market changed.

  “A few months ago Mr. Twain announced that we were going back to England. He planned to display his collection and become a mover and shaker in the Egyptology community. He wanted fame and prestige after all the time and money he spent gathering the collection together.”

  “What was Mr. Twain like to work for?”

  “I found him to be a selfish man. His collection and his own comfort were his chief interests. He paid no attention to Baj Jhar and me as individuals. Our working hours were long and irregular, sometimes stretching from eight in the morning until after midnight for weeks. Meanwhile he spent his time in various waterholes and resorts, consorting with dubious women and drinking. He refused to accept delay or the possibility of not getting the Egyptian items he wanted. He was stingy and had little regard for others. He paid Baj Jhar a pittance and I had to argue and threaten to quit several times in order to get paid a decent wage. He was excitable and stubborn and suspicious of everyone.”

  “Why did you stay with him if he was such a terrible boss?”

  “Mr. Todd had managed to gather together the most extensive and interesting collection of Old and New Kingdom artefacts outside of the British Museum. The work was exciting. I am half-Turkish and the searching, the haggling; the drama of getting a rare item when it was sought by another determined collector was intoxicating. It became like meat and drink to me.”

  “You must have been disappointed when Mr. Todd wanted to return to London.”

  “I had not gone unnoticed by other collectors in Egypt. I had several job offers before we left on the steamship Grahame. I planned on setting up the display, then quitting Mr. Todd’s employ and returning to Cairo to a better boss and a better wage to begin the excitement all over again.”

  “Tell us about the trip to England,” said Lestrade.

  “Mr. Todd spent the voyage home studying tablets that made up a ceremonial necklace he had bought in Alexandria just before we left. Each day he became more agitated and fearful. He told me the inscriptions cast a curse on whoever possessed them, a spell of death. I dismissed such foolishness, but a few strange things did happen during the voyage home. He slipped and almost fell down a steep gangway. A heavy weight was dropped from an upper deck and nearly hit him. On shore in Lisbon he was attacked and robbed of his wallet. He developed a case of food poisoning just before we landed in England. By the time the Grahame docked in Southampton he was a nervous wreck and determined to divest himself of everything he had spent his life collecting. He believed it was the only way he could save his life.

  “He hated to do it, though. His visit to your rooms was his last-ditch effort to postpone the need for a sale. When you refused to protect him, he arranged to sell everything to Major Stoat. Several men had expressed interest, but Major Stoat offered the most money and a promise to remove the artefacts to America at once. Mr. Todd wanted the collection as far away from himself as soon as possible.”

  “What happened yesterday?”

  “After the meeting broke up, Mr. Todd sent me out to make arrangements for a trip to South Africa. He told me that since the collection has been sold, he had no reason to stay in England. He wanted a total change of scene. He said he had heard of business opportunities in Johannesburg regarding tribal art. I went to th
ree steamship companies inquiring about travel times and hotel connections. I can give you the names of the companies.”

  “How long did that take?”

  “It took all afternoon. I got back just before dinner.”

  “Did you buy the tickets?”

  “No. Mr. Todd wanted to compare the different companies’ information before he chose which one to use.”

  “What did you do after dinner?”

  “Mr. Todd and I sat in his make-shift office and went over the pamphlets I had brought back. I also had notes on prices, ports of call, and hotel availabilities. He planned to take his time travelling and wanted to stay at several cities on his way south. As I said, he liked his comfort.”

  “When did your meeting break up?”

  “When Baj Jhar brought in the chicken. I excused myself and went up to my room. I heard the back door close a few minutes later when Baj Jhar left. I came downstairs and went out the back door myself. I saw Baj Jhar turn the corner at the end of the mews. I walked down to the same corner and turned into the park. I walked around for over three hours and then came back. I went up to my room and stayed there until Baj Jhar called me in the morning.”

  “Can you produce any witnesses? Did you stop at any public house or anywhere else where people might remember seeing you?”

  The secretary paused. His sharp black eyes darted at each of us and he spoke slowly. “Well, no, sir. That is, I saw lots of people in Hyde Park. It was a fine night, you remember. I remember a man who ran toward the Serpentine right past me. There were several couples. One lady wearing a bright red hat was with another man in evening dress. One of those people must have seen me.”

  Sherlock Holmes had some questions.

  “Did you speak to anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Were you dressed then as you are now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see Mr. Todd when you returned?”

  “No. As I said, I went right up to my room.”

  “Was the back door locked when you returned?”

  “Yes. I had locked it behind me. I have my own key.” Sevilen Ottersby placed another brass key on the table next to Baj Jhar’s. Holmes compared the two keys. They were identical.

  A sergeant opened the door and announced the arrival of Mr. Rafferty and Professor Molesley. Lestrade sent Sevilen Ottersby off with the officer and had Mr. Rafferty come in.

  The author and Egyptology Society president walked into the room and began to speak indignantly at Sherlock Holmes.

  “This is a terrible, terrible thing, Mr. Holmes. First the stress of Todd denying me access to his collection, then the shock of his announcement that he sold it and it’s going away to America and now this! I had nothing to do with Mr. Todd’s death, sir. I swear it!”

  Lestrade rattled his papers again to gain Mr. Rafferty’s attention. “I am Inspector Lestrade from Scotland Yard, Mr. Rafferty. Are you settled enough to answer my questions?”

  Rafferty shuddered and made a visible effort to collect his composure. “I’m ready, Inspector. It was just those newsmen outside and some of the questions they yelled at me as I entered the house… They seemed to think I was a suspect.”

  “What did you do after the meeting with Mr. Twain Todd yesterday afternoon?”

  “Professor Moseley and I left together after Ottersby showed us all out. I dropped him at his place near Westminster University and proceeded to my office at the Society. I sank into a funk there and only realized how late it was when I heard the charwomen working in a nearby office. I left and got some supper at a nearby public house. The food revived my spirits and I began to think about Mr. Todd and his collection. I decided to go back to Alexandria Square and try once more to persuade Mr. Todd to allow me to examine the little tomb artefact I was interested in.

  “Do you know what time it was when you got back to Mr. Todd’s house?”

  “It was just nine thirty. I rang and Mr. Todd answered the door. He let me into the hall. I put forth my case. He chuckled and smiled and, to my surprise, agreed to let me see the model ship. He took me down the hall to the collection room, unlocked the door, and handed me the dhow from an opened crate near the door.

  “I didn’t know what had changed Mr. Todd’s mind, but I didn’t waste my chance to check out the dhow. I drew a sketch, made some measurements and wrote down everything I could notice about the little ship. See, here is my notebook.” Rafferty pulled a little book from his pocket and handed it to the Inspector.

  Lestrade flipped through the marked pages and handed it to Holmes.

  “Yes, these notes are very complete,” remarked Sherlock Holmes. “How long were you at Mr. Todd’s?”

  “It must have been over an hour. When I was through examining the model, Mr. Todd let me out the front door. He was alive and well when I walked down the front steps. I was elated at my good luck and walked home, not minding the late hour.”

  “Did anyone see you return?” Lestrade asked.

  “No. The house was silent. The servants had all gone to bed.”

  Mr. Rafferty was sent off with yet another policeman and Professor Moseley came in.

  He was clearly upset and his eyes darted between Lestrade and Holmes as he took his seat before the Inspector. Before anyone could say a word he burst into speech.

  “I know I should have reported what happened but the shock was so great! I’ve been waiting for the police to show up ever since. It’s almost a relief to finally be brought here.”

  Inspector Lestrade dropped his sheaf of papers. He sat up as if he had been galvanized. Professor Moseley drooped and looked about the room with a guilty air.

  The Scotland Yard man threw Holmes a triumphant glance and stared sternly at the trembling man before him.

  “You may be certain that we know everything, Professor. You would be well advised to make a clean breast of things and tell us all about it now.”

  “After the cab dropped me near my rooms at the University, I began to walk, turning the events of the meeting over and over again in my mind. I was truly surprised to find that I had wandered back to Mr. Todd’s house after spending hours trudging through the streets. I knocked on the front door and rang the bell. No one answered. There was a single light on in one of the downstairs rooms, but the windows were too high for me to see in.

  “I finally found one window I could reach. I was desperate to speak to Mr. Todd. I forced the sash open and climbed inside. I shouted, but heard nothing but silence. I clicked on the electric lights.

  “Imagine my delight to find the Egyptian collection set out before me! I began to dig into a few crates that had been already opened, looking for the alabaster dagger I was interested in. I never found it, but I did open one of the mummy cases. I found…I found…”

  He collapsed, burying his face in his trembling hands.

  “You found Mr. Twain Todd’s body,” said Sherlock Holmes.

  The professor nodded mutely. Inspector Lestrade smiled victoriously and motioned to a constable. “Place this man under arrest for the murder or Mr. Twain Todd.” Professor Moseley looked up, his eyes wide and his hands fluttering.

  “No! No! You can’t! I didn’t! Please…!”

  The accused man was hustled out of the room. The Scotland Yard man smiled at Holmes.

  “Well, Mr. Holmes, that seems to clear up everything. I do like a murder where the guilty man confesses early.”

  “Professor Molesley didn’t confess to anything, Lestrade, except a little breaking and entering. You’re making a bad mistake, Inspector.”

  ““Nonsense! He admitted to being a desperate man. He broke into the house, searched this collection he’s so interested in and when he was interrupted by Mr. Todd, killed him and stuffed him into the mummy case. This is as neat a case as I have ever wor
ked.”

  “It won’t wash, Lestrade. Moseley isn’t the murderer. If you will bring back all the suspects I will give you the guilty man and the proof to convict him.”

  Lestrade lost a little of his victorious air. He knew Sherlock Holmes well enough after all their years together not to question such a firm and declarative statement. Perhaps memories of all the times Holmes had pulled Lestrade’s chestnuts out of the fire and given him the credit for cases Holmes had solved passed thru his mind. After a moment he turned to another constable and quietly ordered the four men brought back. In a few minutes Baj Jhar, Sevilen Ottersby, Mr. Rafferty and Professor Moseley were seated before Lestrade’s desk.

  “Precede, Mr. Holmes.” It was a mark of the Scotland Yard man’s belief in the integrity and skills of Mr. Sherlock Holmes that he allowed control of the interrogation to past to my friend on Holmes’ word alone.

  “Mr. Ottersby, you said that you spent the time after you left this house last night walking in Hyde Park. Do you still say that?”

  “I do.”

  “Even if your statement means that you become the prime suspect in Mr. Todd’s murder? Even if that fact means that every aspect of your employment with him will be scrutinized, including your handling of his finances?”

  I would think it was impossible, but Ottersby’s swarthy face faded several shades paler. Sherlock Holmes suddenly produced the two blackened book spines he had found in Todd’s fireplace and slapped them down on the desk. Ottersby’s eyes locked on them as Holmes continued.

  “I have already remarked that I have spent the past few days investigating Mr. Twain Todd’s background. The reports I received also included notes on you and the servant Baj Jhar. You didn’t spend your free time strolling in Hyde Park, Mr. Ottersby. You have systematically been embezzling funds from your employer for years, beginning back in Egypt. Kickbacks, overpayments, side deals have fattened your wallet at the expense of Mr. Todd. You spent these funds on wine, women and song. These burnt artefacts are all that remains of the second set of books you kept to record your crooked dealings. The construction and materials clearly indicate that they were originally the spines of a day-book and a business journal. They match another day-book and business journal that remains on Todd’s desk. Baj Jhar has formed the habit of visiting that pub every night since the three of you moved into this house. He spends a set amount of money each visit, consistent with his salary. You, Mr. Ottersby, on the other hand, spend your free time and more money than you earn being entertained at a certain address not a quarter of a mile from the Houses of Parliament. A rather famous, or shall I say notorious, woman was your hostess last night and one of her employees, a woman, was your companion for the evening.