The dream detective
complained to Pharaoh that the “Book of the Lamps” was missing.’”
He closed the volume and placed it on a little table beside him.
“Isis,” he rumbled, looking across at his daughter, “does the mystery
become clear to you? Am I not an old fool? Mr. Searles, there is only
one other copy of this work”--he laid a long white hand upon the
book--“known to European collectors. Do I know where that copy is?
Yes? No? I think so!”
There was triumph in his hoarse voice. Personally I was quite unable
to see in what way the history of the “Book of the Lamps” bore upon
the case of the headless mummies; but Moris Klaw evidently considered
that it afforded a clue. He stood up.
“Isis,” he said, “bring me my catalogue of the mummies of the
Bubastite priests.”
That imperious beauty departed in meek obedience.
“Mr. Searles,” said Moris Klaw, “this will be for Inspector Grimsby
another triumph; but without these records of a poor old fool, who
shall say if the one that beheads mummies had ever been detected? I
neglected to secure the odic negative because I thought I had to deal
with a madman; but I was more stupid than an owl. This decapitating of
mummies is no madman’s work, but is done with a purpose, my
friend--with a wonderful purpose.”
IV
The Menzies Museum (scene of my first meeting with Moris Klaw) was not
yet opened to the public when Coram (the curator), Moris Klaw,
Grimsby, and I stood in the Egyptian Room before a case containing
mummies. The room adjoining--the Greek Room--had been the scene of the
dreadful tragedies which first had acquainted me with the wonderful
methods of the eccentric investigator.
“Whoever broke into Sotheby’s last night, Mr. Klaw,” said Grimsby,
“knew the ins and outs of the place; knew it backward. It’s my idea
that he was known to the people there. After having cut off the head
of the mummy he probably walked out openly. Then, again, it must have
been somebody who knew the habits of Mr. Pettigrew’s household that
got at _his_ mummy. Of course”--his eyes twinkled with a satisfaction
which he could not conceal--“I’m very sorry to hear that our man has
proved too clever for _you!_ Think of a burglar breaking into Mr.
Moris Klaw’s house!”
“Think of it, my friend,” rumbled the other; “if it makes you laugh go
on thinking of it, and you will grow fat!”
Grimsby openly winked at me. He was out of his depth himself, and was
not displeased to find the omniscient Moris Klaw apparently in a
similar position.
“I am not resentful,” continued Klaw, “and I will capture for you the
mummy man.”
“What?” cried Grimsby. “Are you on the track?”
“I will tell you something, my laughing friend. You will secretly
watch this Egyptian Room like the cat at the mouse-hole, and
presently--I expect it will be at night--he will come here, this
hunter of mummies!”
Grimsby stared incredulously.
“I don’t doubt your word, Mr. Klaw,” he said; “but I don’t see how you
can possibly know that. Why should he go for the mummies here rather
than for those in one of the other museums or in private collections?”
“Why do you order a bottle of Bass,” rasped Klaw, “in a saloon, rather
than a bottle of water or a bottle of vinegar? It is because what you
want is a bottle of Bass. Am I a damn fool? There are others. I am not
alone in my foolishness!”
The group broke up: Grimsby, very puzzled, going off to make
arrangements to have the Egyptian Room watched night and day, and
Coram, Klaw, and I walking along in the direction of the Greek Room.
“I have no occasion to remind you, Mr. Klaw,” said Coram, “that the
Menzies Museum is a hard nut for any burglar to crack. We have a night
watchman, you will remember, who hourly patrols every apartment. For
any one to break into the Egyptian Room, force one of the cases and
take out a mummy, would be a task extremely difficult to perform
undetected.”
“This mummy hunter,” replied Klaw, “can perform it with ease; but
because we shall all be waiting for him he cannot perform it
undetected.”
“I shouldn’t think there is much likelihood of any attempt during the
day?” I said.
“There is no likelihood,” agreed Klaw; “but I like to see that Grimsby
busy! The man with the knife to decapitate mummies will come to-night.
Without fear he will come, for how is he to know that an old fool from
Wapping anticipates his arrival?”
We quitted the Museum together. The affair brought back to my mind the
gruesome business of the Greek Room murders, and for the second time
in my life I made arrangements to watch in the Menzies Museum at
night.
On several occasions during the day I found myself thinking of this
most singular affair and wondering in what way the “Book of the
Lamps,” mentioned by Moris Klaw, could be associated with it. I was
quite unable to surmise, too, how Klaw had divined that the Menzies
Museum would become the scene of the next outrage.
We had arranged to dine with Coram in his apartments, which adjoined
the Museum buildings, and an oddly mixed party we were, comprising
Coram, his daughter, Moris Klaw, Isis Klaw, Grimsby, and myself.
A man had gone on duty in the Egyptian Room directly the doors were
closed to the public, and we had secretly arranged to watch the place
from nightfall onward. The construction of the room greatly
facilitated our plan; for there was a long glass skylight in the
centre of its roof, and by having the blinds drawn back we could look
down into the room from a landing window of a higher floor--a portion
of the curator’s house.
Dinner over, Isis Klaw departed.
“You will not remain, Isis,” said her father. “It is so unnecessary.
Good-night, my child!”
Accordingly, the deferential and very admiring Grimsby descended with
Coram to see Isis off in a taxi. I marvelled to think of her returning
to that tumble-down, water-logged ruin in Wapping.
“Now, Mr. Grimsby,” said Moris Klaw, when we four investigators had
gathered together again, “you will hide in the case with the mummies!”
“But I may find myself helpless! How do we know that any particular
case is going to be opened? Besides, I don’t know what to expect!”
“Blessed is he that expecteth little, my friend. It is quite possible
that no attempt will be made to-night. In that event you will have to
be locked in again to-morrow night!”
Grimsby accordingly set out. He held a key to the curator’s private
door, which opened upon the Greek Room, and also the key of a wall
case. Moris Klaw had especially warned him against making the
slightest noise. In fact, he had us all agog with curiosity and
expectation. As he and Coram and I, having opened, very carefully, the
landing window, looked down through the skylight into the Egyptian
Room, Grimsby appeared beneath us. He was carrying an electric pocket
torch.
Opening the wall case nearest to the lower end of the room, he glanced
up rapidly, then stepped within, reclosing the glass door. As Klaw had
pointed out earlier in the evening, an ideal hiding place existed
between the side of the last sarcophagus and the angle of the wall.
“I hope he has refastened the catch,” said our eccentric companion;
“but not with noisiness.”
“Why do you fear his making a noise?” asked Coram, curiously.
“Outside, upon the landing,” replied Moris Klaw, “is a tall piece of a
bas-relief; it leans back against the wall. You know it?”
“Certainly.”
“To-night, you did not look behind it, in the triangular space so
formed.”
“There’s no occasion. A man could not get in there.”
“He could not, you say? No? That exploits to me, Mr. Coram, that you
have no eye for capacity! But if you are wrong, what then?”
“Any one hiding there would have to remain in hiding until the
morning. He could not gain access to any of the rooms; all are locked,
and he could not go downstairs, because of the night attendant in the
hallway.”
“No? Yes? You are two times wrong! First--someone is concealed there!”
“Mr. Klaw!” began Coram, excitedly.
“_Ssh!_” Moris Klaw raised his hand. “No excitement. It is noisy and a
tax upon the nerves. Second--you are wrong, because presently that
hidden one will come into the Egyptian Room!”
“How? How in Heaven’s name is he going to _get_ in?”
“We shall see.”
Utterly mystified, Coram and I stared at Moris Klaw, for we stood one
on either side of him; but he merely wagged his finger enjoining us to
silence, and silent perforce we became.
The view was a cramped one, and standing there looking out at the
clear summer night, I for one grew very weary of the business. But I
was sustained by the anticipation that the mystery of the headless
mummies was about to come to a climax. I felt very sorry for poor
Grimsby, cramped in the corner of the Egyptian Room, for I knew him to
be even more hopelessly in the dark respecting the purpose of these
manœuvres than I was myself. In vain I racked my brain in quest of
the link which united the ancient “Book of the Lamps” with the
singular case which had brought us there that night.
Coram began to fidget, and I knew intuitively that he was about to
speak.
“_Ssh!_” whispered Moris Klaw.
A beam of light shone out beneath us, across the Egyptian Room!
I concluded that something had attracted the attention of Grimsby. I
leaned forward in tense expectancy, and Coram was keenly excited.
The beam of light moved; it shone upon the door of the very case in
the corner of which Grimsby was hiding, but upon the nearer end, fully
upon the face of a mummy.
A small figure was dimly discernible, now, the figure of the man who
carried the light. Cautiously he crossed the room. Evidently he held
the key of the wall case, for in an instant he had swung the door back
and was hauling the mummy on to the floor.
Then out upon the midnight visitor leapt Grimsby. The light was
extinguished--and Moris Klaw, drawing back from the window, seized
Coram by the arm, crying, “The key of the door! The key of the door!”
We were down and into the Egyptian Room in less than half a minute.
Coram switched on all the lights; and there with his back to the open
door of the wall case, handcuffed and wild-eyed, was--Mr. Mark
Pettigrew!
Coram’s face was a study--for the famous archæologist whom we now saw
manacled before us was a trustee of the Menzies Museum!
“Mr. Pettigrew!” he said, hoarsely. “Mr. Pettigrew! there must be some
mistake----”
“There is no mistake, my good sir,” rumbled Moris Klaw. “Look, he has
with him a sharp knife to cut off the head of the priest!”
It was true. An open knife lay upon the floor beside the fallen mummy!
Grimsby was breathing very heavily and looking in rather a startled
way at his captive, who seemed unable to realize what had happened.
Coram cleared his throat nervously. It was one of the strangest scenes
in which I had ever participated.
“Mr. Pettigrew,” he began, “it is incomprehensible to me----”
“I will make you to comprehend,” interrupted Moris Klaw. “You ask”--he
raised a long finger--“why should Mr. Pettigrew cut off the head of
his own mummy? I answer for the same reason that he cut off the head
of the one at Sotheby’s. You ask why did he cut off the head of the
one at Sotheby’s? I answer for the same reason that he cut off the
head of the one at my house, and for the same reason that he came to
cut off the head of this one! What is he looking for? He is looking
for the ‘Book of the Lamps’!” He paused, gazing around upon us.
Probably, excepting the prisoner, I alone amongst his listeners
understood what he meant.
“I have related to Mr. Searles,” he continued, “some of the history of
that book. It contained the ritual of the ancient Egyptian ceremonial
magic. It was priceless; it gave its possessors a power above the
power of kings! And when the line of Pankhaur became extinct it