The Green Mummy

F >> Fergus Hume >> The Green Mummy

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

Mrs. Bolton leaped to her feet with an agility surprising in so
aged a woman. "Let me find the wound," she screamed, throwing
herself forward.

Hope caught her back and forced her towards the door. "No! The
body must not be disturbed until the police see it," he said
firmly.

"The police--ah, yes, the police," remarked Braddock quickly,
"we must send for the police to Pierside and tell them my mummy
has been stolen."

"That my boy has been murdered," screeched Widow Anne, waving her
skinny arms, and striving to break from Archie. "You wicked old
devil to kill my darling Sid. If he hadn't gone to them furren
parts he wouldn't be a corp now. But I'll have the lawr: you'll
be hanged, you--you--"

Braddock lost his patience under this torrent of unjust
accusations and rushed towards Mrs. Bolton, dragging Cockatoo by
the arm. In less time than it takes to tell, he had swept both
Archie and the widow out into the hall, where Lucy was trembling,
and Cockatoo, by his master's order, was locking the door.

"Not a thing shall be touched until the police come. Hope, you
are, a witness that I have not meddled with the dead: you were
present when I opened the packing case: you have seen that a
useless body has been substituted for a valuable mummy. And yet
this old witch dares--dares--" Braddock stamped and grew
incoherent from sheer rage.

Archie soothed him, leaving go of Widow Anne's arm to do so.
"Hush! hush!" said the young man quietly, "the poor woman does
not know what she is saying. I'll go for the police and--"

"No," interrupted the Professor sharply; "Cockatoo can go for the
inspector of Pierside. I shall call in the village constable.
Meanwhile you keep the key of the museum," he dropped it into
Hope's breast-pocket, "so that you and the police may be sure the
body has not been touched. Widow Anne, go home," he turned
angrily on the old creature, who was now trembling after her
burst of rage, "and don't dare to come here again until you ask
pardon for what you have said."

"I want to be near my poor boy's corp," wailed Widow Anne, "and
I'm very sorry, Perfesser. I didn't mean to--"

"But you have, you witch. Go away!" and he stamped.

But by this time Lucy had recovered her self-possession, which
had been sorely shaken by the sight of the dead. "Leave her to
me," she observed, taking Mrs. Bolton's arm, and leading her
towards the stairs. "I shall take her to my room and give her
some brandy. Father, you must make some allowance for her
natural grief, and--"

Braddock stamped again. "Take her away! take her away!" he
cried testily, "and keep her out of my sight. Is it not enough
to have lost an invaluable assistant, and a costly mummy of
infinite historical and archaeological value, without my being
accused of--of--oh!" The Professor choked with rage and shook
his hand in the air.

Seeing that he was unable to speak, Lucy seized the opportunity
of the lull in the storm, and hurried the old woman, sobbing and
moaning, up the stairs. By this time the shrieks of Mrs. Bolton,
and the wordy wrath of Braddock, had drawn the cook and her
husband, along with the housemaid, from the basement to the
ground floor. The sight of their surprised faces only added to
their master's anger, and he advanced furiously.

"Go downstairs again: go down, I tell you!"

"But if there's anything wrong, sir," ventured the gardener
timidly.

"Everything is wrong. My mummy has been lost: Mr. Bolton has
been murdered. The police are coming, and--and--" He choked
again.

But the servants waited to hear no more. The mere mention of the
words "murder" and "police" sent them, pale-faced and startled,
down to the basement, where they huddled like a flock of sheep.
Braddock looked around for Hope, but found that he had opened the
front door, and had vanished. But he was too distracted to think
why Archie had gone, and there was much to do in putting things
straight. Beckoning to Cockatoo, he stalked into a side room,
and scribbled a pencil note to the inspector of police at
Pierside, telling him of what had happened, and asking him to
come at once to the Pyramids with his underlings. This
communication he dispatched by Cockatoo, who flew to get his
bicycle. In a short time he was riding at top speed to Brefort,
which was on this side of the river; facing Pierside. There he
could ferry across to the town and deliver his terrible message.

Having done all that he could until the police came, Braddock
walked out of the front door and into the roadway to see if
Archie was in sight. He could not see the young man, but, as
luck would have it, and by one of those coincidences which are
much more common than is suspected, he saw the Gartley doctor
walking briskly past.

"Hi!" shouted the Professor, who was purple in the face and
perspiring profusely. "Hi, there, Dr. Robinson! I want you.
Come! come! hurry, man, hurry!" he ended in a testy rage, and the
doctor, knowing Braddock's eccentricities, advanced with a smile.
He was a slim, dark, young medical practitioner with an amiable
countenance, which argued of no mighty intelligence.

"Well, Professor," he remarked quietly, "do you want me to attend
you for apoplexy? Take your time, my dear sir--take your time."
He patted the scientist on the shoulder to soothe his clamorous
rage. "You are already purple in the face. Don't let your blood
rush to your head."

"Robinson, you're a--a--a fool!" shouted Braddock, glaring at
the suave looks of the doctor. "I am in perfect health, damn
you, sir."

"Then Miss Kendal--?"

"She is quite well also. But Bolton--?"

"Oh!" Robinson looked interested. "Has he returned with your
mummy?"

"Mummy," bellowed Braddock, stamping like an insane Cupid--"the
mummy hasn't arrived."

"Really, Professor, you surprise me," said the doctor mildly.

"I'll surprise you more," growled Braddock, dragging Robinson
into the garden and up the steps.

"Gently! gently! my dear sir," said the doctor, who really began
to think that much learning had made the Professor mad. "Didn't
Bolton--?"

"Bolton is dead, you fool."

"Dead!" The doctor nearly tumbled backward down the steps.

"Murdered. At least I think he is murdered. At all events he
arrived here to-day in the packing case, which should have
contained my green mummy. Come in and examine the body at once.
No," Braddock pushed back the doctor just as fiercely as he had
dragged him forward, "wait until the constable comes. I want him
to see the body first, and to observe that nothing has been
touched. I have sent for the Pierside inspector to come. There
will be all sorts of trouble," cried Braddock despairingly, "and
my work--most important work--will be delayed, just because
this silly young ass Sidney Bolton chose to be murdered," and the
Professor stormed up and down the hall, shaking impotent arms in
the air.

"Good heavens!" stammered Robinson, who was young in years and
somewhat new to his profession, "you--you must be mistaken."

"Mistaken! mistaken!" shouted Braddock with another glare. "Come
and see that poor fellow's body then. He is dead, murdered."

"By whom?"

"Hang you, sir, how should I know?"

"In what way has he been murdered? Stabbed, shot, or--"

"I don't know--I don't know! Such a nuisance to lose a man like
Bolton--an invaluable assistant. What I shall do without him I
really don't know. And his mother has been here, making no end
of a fuss."

"Can you blame her?" said the doctor, recovering his breath.
"She is his mother, after all, and poor Bolton was her only son."

"I am not denying the relationship, confound you!" snapped the
Professor, ruffling his hair until it stood up like the crest of
a parrot. "But she needn't--ah!" He glanced through the open
door, and then rushed to the threshold. "Here is Hope and
Painter. Come in--come in. I have the doctor here. Hope, you
have the key. You observe, constable, that Mr. Hope has the key.
Open the door: open the door, and let us see the meaning of this
dreadful crime."

"Crime, sir?" queried the constable, who had heard all that was
known from Hope, but now wished to hear what Braddock had to say.

"Yes, crime: crime, you idiot! I have lost my mummy."

"But I thought, sir, that a murder--"

"Oh, of course--of course," gabbled the Professor, as if the
death was quite a minor consideration. "Bolton's dead--
murdered, I suppose, as he could scarcely have nailed himself
down in a packing case. But it's my precious mummy I am thinking
of, Painter. A mummy--if you know what a mummy is--that cost
me nine hundred pounds. Go in, man. Go in and don't stand there
gaping. Don't you see that Mr. Hope has opened the door. I have
sent Cockatoo to Pierside to notify the police. They will soon
be here. Meanwhile, doctor, you can examine the body, and
Painter here can give his opinion as to who stole my mummy."

"The assassin stole the mummy," said Archie, as the four men
entered the museum, "and substituted the body of the murdered
man."

"That is all A B C," snapped Braddock, issuing into the vast
room, "but we want to know the name of the assassin, if we are to
revenge Bolton and get back my mummy. Oh, what a loss!--what a
loss! I have lost nine hundred pounds, or say one thousand,
considering the cost of bringing Inca Caxas to England."

Archie forebore to remind the Professor as to who had really lost
the money, as the scientist was not in a fit state to be talked
to reasonably, and seemed much more concerned because his
Peruvian relic of humanity had been lost than for the terrible
death of Sidney Bolton. But by this time Painter--a fair-haired
young constable of small intelligence--was examining the packing
case and surveying the dead. Dr. Robinson also looked with a
professional eye, and Braddock, wiping his purple face and
gasping with exhaustion, sat down on a stone sarcophagus.
Archie, folding his arms, leaned against the wall and waited
quietly to hear what the experts in crime and medicine would say.

The packing case was deep and wide and long, made of tough teak
and banded at intervals with iron bands. Within this was a case
of tin, which, when it held the mummy, had been soldered up;
impervious to air and water. But the unknown person who had
extracted the mummy, to replace it by a murdered man's body, had
cut open the tin casing with some sharp instrument. There was
straw round the tin casing and straw within, amongst which the
body of the unfortunate young man was placed. Rigor mortis had
set in, and the corpse, with straight legs and hands placed
stiffly by its side, lay against the back of the tin casing
surrounded more or less by the straw packing, or at least by so
much as the Professor had not torn away. The face looked dark,
and the eyes were wide open and staring. Robinson stepped
forward and ran his hand round the neck. Uttering an
ejaculation, he removed the woollen scarf which the dead man had
probably worn to keep himself from catching cold, and those who
looked on saw that a red-colored window cord was tightly bound
about the throat of the dead.

"The poor devil has been strangled," said the doctor quietly.
"See: the assassin has left the bow-string on, and had the
courage to place over it this scarf, which belonged to Bolton."

"How do you know that, sir?" asked Painter heavily.

"Because Widow Anne knitted that scarf for Bolton before he went
to Malta. He showed it to me, laughingly, remarking that his
mother evidently thought that he was going to Lapland."

"When did he show it to you, sir?"

"Before he went to Malta, of course," said Robinson in mild
surprise. "You don't suppose he showed it to me when he
returned. When did he return to England?" he asked the
Professor, with an afterthought.

"Yesterday afternoon, about four o'clock," replied Braddock.

"Then, from the condition of the body"--the doctor felt the dead
flesh--"he must have been murdered last night. H'm! With your
permission, Painter, I'll examine the corpse."

The constable shook his head. "Better wait, sir, until the
inspector comes," he said in his unintelligent way. "Poor Sid!
Why, I knew him. He was at school with me, and now he's dead.
Who killed him?"

None of his listeners could answer this question.

CHAPTER VI

THE INQUEST

Like a geographical Lord Byron, the isolated village of Gartley
awoke one morning to find itself famous. Previously unknown,
save to the inhabitants of Brefort, Jessum, and the surrounding
country, and to the soldiers stationed in the Fort, it became a
nine days' centre of interest. Inspector Date of Pierside
arrived with his constables to inquire into the reported crime,
and the local journalists, scenting sensation, came flying to
Gartley on bicycles and in traps. Next morning London was duly
advised that a valuable mummy was missing, and that the assistant
of Professor Braddock, who had been sent to fetch it from Malta,
was murdered by strangulation. In a couple of days the three
kingdoms were ringing with the news of the mystery.

And a mystery it proved, to be, for, in spite of Inspector Date's
efforts and the enterprise of Scotland Yard detectives summoned
by the Professor, no clue could be found to the identity of the
assassin. Briefly, the story told by the newspapers ran as
follows:

The tramp steamer Diver--Captain George Hervey in command--had
berthed alongside the Pierside jetty at four o'clock on a
Wednesday afternoon in mid-September, and some two hours later
Sidney Bolton removed the case, containing the green mummy,
ashore.

As it was impossible to carry the case to the Pyramids on that
night, Bolton had placed it in his bedroom at the Sailor's Rest,
a mean little public-house of no very savory reputation near the
water's edge. He was last seen alive by the landlord and the
barmaid, when, after a drink of harmless ginger-beer, he retired
to bed at eight, leaving instructions to the landlord--overheard
by the barmaid--that the case was to be sent on next day to
Professor Braddock of Gartley. Bolton hinted that he might leave
the hotel early and would probably precede the case to its
destination, so as to advise Professor Braddock--necessarily
anxious--of its safe arrival. Before retiring he paid his bill,
and deposited in the landlord's hand a small sum of money, so
that the case might be sent across stream to Brefort, thence to
be taken in a lorry to the Pyramids. There was no sign, said the
barmaid and the landlord, that Bolton contemplated suicide, or
that he feared sudden death. His whole demeanor was cheerful,
and he expressed himself exceedingly glad to be in England once
more.

At eleven on the ensuing morning, a persistent knocking and a
subsequent opening of the door of Bolton's bedroom proved that he
was not in the room, although the tumbled condition of the
bed-clothes proved that he had taken some rest. No one in the
hotel thought anything of Bolton's absence, since he had hinted
at an early departure, although the chamber-maid considered it
strange that no one had seen him leave the hotel. The landlord
obeyed Bolton's instructions and sent the case, in charge of a
trustworthy man, to Brefort across the river. There a lorry was
procured, and the case was taken to Gartley, where it arrived at
three in the afternoon. It was then that Professor Braddock,
in opening the case, discovered the body of his ill-fated
assistant, rigid in death, and with a red window cord tightly
bound round the throat of the corpse. At once, said the
newspapers, the Professor sent for the police, and later insisted
that the smartest Scotland Yard detectives should come down to
elucidate the mystery. At present both police and detectives
were engaged in searching for a needle in a haystack, and so far
had met with no success.

Such was the tale set forth in the local and London and
provincial journals. Widely as it was discussed, and many as
were the theories offered, no one could fathom the mystery. But
all agreed that the failure of the police to find a clue was
inexplicable. It was difficult enough to understand how the
assassin could have murdered Bolton and opened the packing case,
and removed the mummy to replace it by the body of his victim in
a house filled with at least half a dozen people; but it was yet
more difficult to guess how the criminal had escaped with so
noticeable an object as the mummy, bandaged with emerald-hued
woollen stuff woven from the hair of Peruvian llamas. If the
culprit was one who thieved and murdered for gain, he could
scarcely sell the mummy without being arrested, since all England
was ringing with the news of its disappearance; if a scientist,
impelled to robbery by an archaeological mania, he could not
possibly keep possession of the mummy without someone learning
that he possessed it. Meanwhile the thief and his plunder had
vanished as completely as if the earth had swallowed both. Great
was the wonder at the cleverness of the criminal, and many were
the solutions offered to account for the disappearance. One
enterprising weekly paper, improving on the Limerick craze,
offered a furnished house and three pounds a week for life to the
fortunate person who could solve the mystery. As yet no one
had won the prize, but it was early days yet, and at least five
thousand amateur detectives tried to work out the problem.

Naturally Hope was sorry for the untimely death of Bolton, whom
he had known as an amiable and clever young man. But he was also
annoyed that his loan of the money to Braddock should have been,
so to speak, nullified by the loss of the mummy. The Professor
was perfectly furious at his double loss of assistant and
embalmed corpse, and was only prevented from offering a reward
for the discovery of the thief and assassin by the painful fact
that he had no money. He hinted to Archie that a reward should
be offered, but that young man, backed by Lucy, declined to throw
away good money after bad. Braddock took this refusal so ill,
that Hope felt perfectly convinced he would try and wriggle out
of his promise to permit the marriage and persuade Lucy to engage
herself to Sir Frank Random, should the baronet be willing to
offer a reward. And Hope was also certain that Braddock, a
singularly obstinate man, would never rest until he once more had
the mummy in his possession. That the murderer of Sidney Bolton
should be hanged was quite a minor consideration with the
Professor.

Meanwhile Widow Anne had insisted on the dead body being taken to
her cottage, and Braddock, with the consent of Inspector Date,
willingly agreed, as he did not wish a newly dead corpse to
remain under his roof. Therefore, the remains of the unfortunate
young man were taken to his humble home, and here the body was
inspected by the jury when the inquest took place in the
coffee-room of the Warrior Inn, immediately opposite Mrs.
Bolton's abode. There was a large crowd round the inn, as people
had come from far and wide to hear the verdict of the jury, and
Gartley, for the first and only time in its existence, presented
the aspect of an August Bank Holiday.

The Coroner--an elderly doctor with a short temper; caused by
the unrealized ambition of a country practitioner--opened the
proceedings by a snappy speech, in which he set forth the details
of the crime in the same bold fashion in which they had been
published by the newspapers. A plan of the Sailor's Rest was
then placed before the jury, and the Coroner drew the attention
of the twelve good and lawful men to the fact that the bedroom
occupied by deceased was on the ground floor, with a window
looking out on to the river, merely a stone-throw away.

"So you will see, gentlemen," said the Coroner, "that the
difficulty of the assassin in leaving the hotel with his plunder
was not so great as has been imagined. He had merely to open the
window in the quiet hours of the night, when no one was about,
and pass the mummy through to his accomplice, who probably waited
without. It is also probable that a boat was waiting by the bank
of the river, and the mummy having been placed in this, the
assassin and his friend could row away into the unknown without
the slightest chance of discovery."

Inspector Date--a tall, thin, upright man with an iron jaw and a
severe expression--drew the Coroner's attention to the fact that
there was no evidence to show that the assassin had an
accomplice.

"What you have stated, sir, may have occurred," rasped Date in a
military voice, "but we cannot prove the truth of your
assumption, since the evidence at our disposal is merely
circumstantial."

"I never suggested that it was anything else," snapped the
Coroner. "You waste time in traversing my statements. Say what
you have to say, Mr. Inspector, and produce your witnesses--if
you have any."

"There are no witnesses who can swear to the identity of the
murderer," said Inspector Date coldly, and determined not to be
ruffled by the apparent antagonism of the Coroner. "The criminal
has vanished, and no one can guess his name or occupation, or
even the reason which led him to slay the deceased."

Coroner: "The reason is plain. He wanted the mummy."

Inspector: "Why should he want the mummy?"

Coroner: "That is what we wish to find out."

Inspector: "Exactly, sir. We wish to learn the reason why the
murderer strangled the deceased."

Coroner: "We know that reason. What we wish to know is why the
murderer stole the mummy. And I would point out to you, Mr.
Inspector, that, as yet, we do not even know the sex of the
assassin. It might be a woman who murdered the deceased."

Professor Braddock, who was seated near the door of the
coffee-room, being even more irascible than usual, rose to
contradict.

"There isn't a scrap of evidence to show that the murderer was a
woman."

Coroner: "You are out of order, sir. And I would point out that,
as yet, Inspector Date has produced no witnesses."

Date glared. He and the Coroner were old enemies, and always
sparred when they met. It seemed likely, that the peppery little
Professor would join in the quarrel and that there would be a
duel of three; but Date, not wishing for an adverse report in the
newspapers as to his conduct of the case, contented himself with
the glare aforesaid, and, after a short speech, called Braddock.
The Professor, looking more like a cross cherub than ever, gave
his evidence tartly. It seemed ridiculous to his prejudiced mind
that all this fuss should be made over Bolton's body, when the
mummy; was still missing. However, as the discovery of the
criminal would assuredly lead to the regaining of that precious
Peruvian relic, he curbed his wrath and answered the Coroner's
questions in a fairly amiable fashion.

And, after all, Braddock had very little to tell. He had, so he
stated, seen an advertisement in a newspaper that a mummy,
swathed in green bandages, was to be sold in Malta; and had sent
his assistant to buy it and bring it home. This was done, and
what happened after the mummy left the tramp steamer was known to
everyone, through the medium of the press.

"With which," grumbled the Professor, "I do not agree."

"What do you mean by that?" asked the Coroner sharply.

"I mean, sir," snapped Braddock, equally sharply, "that the
publicity given by the newspapers to these details will probably
place the assassin on his guard."

"Why not on her guard?" persisted the Coroner wilfully.

"Rubbish! rubbish! rubbish! My mummy wasn't stolen by a woman.
What the devil would a woman want with my mummy?"

"Be more respectful, Professor."

"Then talk sense, doctor," and the two glared at one another.

After a moment or two the situation was adjusted in silence, and
the Coroner asked a few questions, pertinent to the matter in
hand.

"Had the deceased any enemies?"

"No, sir, he hadn't, not being famous enough, or rich enough, or
clever enough to excite the hatred of mankind. He was simply an
intelligent young man, who worked excellently when supervised by
me. His mother is a washerwoman in this village, and the lad
brought washing to my house. Noting that he was intelligent and
was anxious to rise above his station, I engaged him as my
assistant and trained him to do my work."

"Archaeological work?"

"Yes. I don't wash, whatever Bolton's mother may, do. Don't ask
silly questions."

"Be more respectful," said the Coroner again, and grew red.
"Have you any idea as to the name of anyone who desired to obtain
possession of this mummy?"

"I daresay dozens of scientists in my line of business would have
liked to get the corpse of Inca Caxas. Such as--" and he reeled
out a list of celebrated men.

"Nonsense," growled the Coroner. "Famous men like those you
mention would not murder even for the sake of obtaining this
mummy."

"I never said that they would," retorted Braddock, "but you
wanted to hear who would like to have the mummy; and I have told
you."

The Coroner waived the question.

"Was there any jewelry on the mummy likely to attract a thief?"
he asked.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20