Tales of Terror and Mystery
beautiful girl. She was a blonde, tall and graceful, with a skin of
that delicate tint which the French call "mat," the colour of old
ivory, or of the lighter petals of the sulphur rose. I was shocked,
however, as she entered the room to see how much she had changed in the
last fortnight. Her young face was haggard and her bright eyes heavy
with trouble.
"Father has gone to Scotland," she said. "He seems to be tired, and
has had a good deal to worry him. He only left us yesterday."
"You look a little tired yourself, Miss Andreas," said my friend.
"I have been so anxious about father."
"Can you give me his Scotch address?"
"Yes, he is with his brother, the Rev. David Andreas, 1, Arran Villas,
Ardrossan."
Ward Mortimer made a note of the address, and we left without saying
anything as to the object of our visit. We found ourselves in Belmore
Street in the evening in exactly the same position in which we had been
in the morning. Our only clue was the Professor's letter, and my
friend had made up his mind to start for Ardrossan next day, and to get
to the bottom of the anonymous letter, when a new development came to
alter our plans.
Very early on the following morning I was aroused from my sleep by a
tap upon my bedroom door. It was a messenger with a note from Mortimer.
"Do come round," it said; "the matter is becoming more and more
extraordinary."
When I obeyed his summons I found him pacing excitedly up and down the
central room, while the old soldier who guarded the premises stood with
military stiffness in a corner.
"My dear Jackson," he cried, "I am so delighted that you have come, for
this is a most inexplicable business."
"What has happened, then?"
He waved his hand towards the case which contained the breastplate.
"Look at it," said he.
I did so, and could not restrain a cry of surprise. The setting of the
middle row of precious stones had been profaned in the same manner as
the upper ones. Of the twelve jewels eight had been now tampered with
in this singular fashion. The setting of the lower four was neat and
smooth. The others jagged and irregular.
"Have the stones been altered?" I asked.
"No, I am certain that these upper four are the same which the expert
pronounced to be genuine, for I observed yesterday that little
discoloration on the edge of the emerald. Since they have not
extracted the upper stones, there is no reason to think the lower have
been transposed. You say that you heard nothing, Simpson?"
"No, sir," the commissionaire answered. "But when I made my round
after daylight I had a special look at these stones, and I saw at once
that someone had been meddling with them. Then I called you, sir, and
told you. I was backwards and forwards all night, and I never saw a
soul or heard a sound."
"Come up and have some breakfast with me," said Mortimer, and he took
me into his own chambers.--"Now, what DO you think of this, Jackson?"
he asked.
"It is the most objectless, futile, idiotic business that ever I heard
of. It can only be the work of a monomaniac."
"Can you put forward any theory?"
A curious idea came into my head. "This object is a Jewish relic of
great antiquity and sanctity," said I. "How about the anti-Semitic
movement? Could one conceive that a fanatic of that way of thinking
might desecrate----"
"No, no, no!" cried Mortimer. "That will never do! Such a man might
push his lunacy to the length of destroying a Jewish relic, but why on
earth should he nibble round every stone so carefully that he can only
do four stones in a night? We must have a better solution than that,
and we must find it for ourselves, for I do not think that our
inspector is likely to help us. First of all, what do you think of
Simpson, the porter?"
"Have you any reason to suspect him?"
"Only that he is the one person on the premises."
"But why should he indulge in such wanton destruction? Nothing has
been taken away. He has no motive."
"Mania?"
"No, I will swear to his sanity."
"Have you any other theory?"
"Well, yourself, for example. You are not a somnambulist, by any
chance?"
"Nothing of the sort, I assure you."
"Then I give it up."
"But I don't--and I have a plan by which we will make it all clear."
"To visit Professor Andreas?"
"No, we shall find our solution nearer than Scotland. I will tell you
what we shall do. You know that skylight which overlooks the central
hall? We will leave the electric lights in the hall, and we will keep
watch in the lumber-room, you and I, and solve the mystery for
ourselves. If our mysterious visitor is doing four stones at a time,
he has four still to do, and there is every reason to think that he
will return tonight and complete the job."
"Excellent!" I cried.
"We will keep our own secret, and say nothing either to the police or
to Simpson. Will you join me?"
"With the utmost pleasure," said I; and so it was agreed.
It was ten o'clock that night when I returned to the Belmore Street
Museum. Mortimer was, as I could see, in a state of suppressed nervous
excitement, but it was still too early to begin our vigil, so we
remained for an hour or so in his chambers, discussing all the
possibilities of the singular business which we had met to solve. At
last the roaring stream of hansom cabs and the rush of hurrying feet
became lower and more intermittent as the pleasure-seekers passed on
their way to their stations or their homes. It was nearly twelve when
Mortimer led the way to the lumber-room which overlooked the central
hall of the museum.
He had visited it during the day, and had spread some sacking so that
we could lie at our ease, and look straight down into the museum. The
skylight was of unfrosted glass, but was so covered with dust that it
would be impossible for anyone looking up from below to detect that he
was overlooked. We cleared a small piece at each corner, which gave us
a complete view of the room beneath us. In the cold white light of the
electric lamps everything stood out hard and clear, and I could see the
smallest detail of the contents of the various cases.
Such a vigil is an excellent lesson, since one has no choice but to
look hard at those objects which we usually pass with such half-hearted
interest. Through my little peep hole I employed the hours in studying
every specimen, from the huge mummy-case which leaned against the wall
to those very jewels which had brought us there, gleaming and sparkling
in their glass case immediately beneath us. There was much precious
gold-work and many valuable stones scattered through the numerous
cases, but those wonderful twelve which made up the urim and thummim
glowed and burned with a radiance which far eclipsed the others. I
studied in turn the tomb-pictures of Sicara, the friezes from Karnak,
the statues of Memphis, and the inscriptions of Thebes, but my eyes
would always come back to that wonderful Jewish relic, and my mind to
the singular mystery which surrounded it. I was lost in the thought of
it when my companion suddenly drew his breath sharply in, and seized my
arm in a convulsive grip. At the same instant I saw what it was which
had excited him.
I have said that against the wall--on the right-hand side of the
doorway (the right-hand side as we looked at it, but the left as one
entered)--there stood a large mummy-case. To our unutterable amazement
it was slowly opening. Gradually, gradually the lid was swinging back,
and the black slit which marked the opening was becoming wider and
wider. So gently and carefully was it done that the movement was
almost imperceptible. Then, as we breathlessly watched it, a white
thin hand appeared at the opening, pushing back the painted lid, then
another hand, and finally a face--a face which was familiar to us both,
that of Professor Andreas. Stealthily he slunk out of the mummy-case,
like a fox stealing from its burrow, his head turning incessantly to
left and to right, stepping, then pausing, then stepping again, the
very image of craft and of caution. Once some sound in the street
struck him motionless, and he stood listening, with his ear turned,
ready to dart back to the shelter behind him. Then he crept onwards
again upon tiptoe, very, very softly and slowly, until he had reached
the case in the centre of the room. There he took a bunch of keys from
his pocket, unlocked the case, took out the Jewish breastplate, and,
laying it upon the glass in front of him, began to work upon it with
some sort of small, glistening tool. He was so directly underneath us
that his bent head covered his work, but we could guess from the
movement of his hand that he was engaged in finishing the strange
disfigurement which he had begun.
I could realize from the heavy breathing of my companion, and the
twitchings of the hand which still clutched my wrist, the furious
indignation which filled his heart as he saw this vandalism in the
quarter of all others where he could least have expected it. He, the
very man who a fortnight before had reverently bent over this unique
relic, and who had impressed its antiquity and its sanctity upon us,
was now engaged in this outrageous profanation. It was impossible,
unthinkable--and yet there, in the white glare of the electric light
beneath us, was that dark figure with the bent grey head, and the
twitching elbow. What inhuman hypocrisy, what hateful depth of malice
against his successor must underlie these sinister nocturnal labours.
It was painful to think of and dreadful to watch. Even I, who had none
of the acute feelings of a virtuoso, could not bear to look on and see
this deliberate mutilation of so ancient a relic. It was a relief to
me when my companion tugged at my sleeve as a signal that I was to
follow him as he softly crept out of the room. It was not until we
were within his own quarters that he opened his lips, and then I saw by
his agitated face how deep was his consternation.
"The abominable Goth!" he cried. "Could you have believed it?"
"It is amazing."
"He is a villain or a lunatic--one or the other. We shall very soon
see which. Come with me, Jackson, and we shall get to the bottom of
this black business."
A door opened out of the passage which was the private entrance from
his rooms into the museum. This he opened softly with his key, having
first kicked off his shoes, an example which I followed. We crept
together through room after room, until the large hall lay before us,
with that dark figure still stooping and working at the central case.
With an advance as cautious as his own we closed in upon him, but
softly as we went we could not take him entirely unawares. We were
still a dozen yards from him when he looked round with a start, and
uttering a husky cry of terror, ran frantically down the museum.
"Simpson! Simpson!" roared Mortimer, and far away down the vista of
electric lighted doors we saw the stiff figure of the old soldier
suddenly appear. Professor Andreas saw him also, and stopped running,
with a gesture of despair. At the same instant we each laid a hand
upon his shoulder.
"Yes, yes, gentlemen," he panted, "I will come with you. To your room,
Mr. Ward Mortimer, if you please! I feel that I owe you an
explanation."
My companion's indignation was so great that I could see that he dared
not trust himself to reply. We walked on each side of the old
Professor, the astonished commissionaire bringing up the rear. When we
reached the violated case, Mortimer stopped and examined the
breastplate. Already one of the stones of the lower row had had its
setting turned back in the same manner as the others. My friend held
it up and glanced furiously at his prisoner.
"How could you!" he cried. "How could you!"