The dream detective
“Very common,” explained Lesty; “merely nerves.”
“Yes, I know; but not what followed. The sensation became so
pronounced that I stood up. No one was in the room. I determined to
take a stroll, concluding that the fresh air would clear these uncanny
cobwebs out of my brain. Accordingly, I extinguished the lamp and went
out. I was just putting my cap on when something prompted me to return
and lock up the potsherd.”
He fixed his eyes upon us with an expression of doubt.
“There was someone, or something, in the room!”
“What do you mean?” asked Lesty, incredulously.
“I quite distinctly saw a hand and bare white arm pass away from the
table--and vanish! It was dark in the room, remember; but I could see
the arm well enough. I switched on the reading lamp. Not a thing was
to be seen. There was no one in the room and no one but myself in the
flat, for I searched it thoroughly!”
Some moments of silence followed this remarkable story, and I sat
watching Lesty, who, in turn, was regarding Halesowen with the stolid,
vacant stare which sometimes served to conceal the working of his keen
brain.
“Pity you didn’t let us know sooner,” he said, rising slowly to his
feet. “This is interesting.”
II
Halesowen’s nerves evidently had been shaken by the inexplicable
incident. As the three of us strode across the corner of the Common,
he informed us that the new tenant of the adjoining flat had moved in.
“I have been away all day,” he said; “but the stuff was bundled in
some time during the afternoon.”
We proceeded upstairs and into the cosy room which had been the scene
of the remarkable occurrence related. As it was growing dark,
Halesowen turned on the electric light, and, indicating a chair by the
writing table, explained that it was there he had been seated at the
time.
“Did you have the windows open?” asked Lesty.
“Yes,” was the reply. “I left the chairs and the awning out, too, as
it was a fine night; in fact, you can see that they still remain
practically as you left them.”
“When you returned, and saw, or thought you saw, the hand and arm--you
would have to pass around to this side of the table in order to reach
the lamp?”
“Yes.”
Apparently Lesty was about to make some observation, when an
interruption occurred in the form of a ringing on the door bell,
followed by a discreet fandango on the knocker.
“Who the deuce have we here!” muttered Halesowen. “I saw no one go in
below.”
As our host passed through the lighted room and into the hall, my
friend and I both leant forward in our chairs, the better to hear what
should pass; nor were we kept long in suspense, for, as we heard the
outer door opened, an odd, rumbling voice came, with a queer accent:
“Ah, my dear Mr. Halesowen, it is indeed an intrusion of me! But when
I find how we are neighbours I cannot resist to make the call and
renew a so pleasant acquaintance!”
“Doctor Zeda!” we heard Halesowen exclaim, with little cordiality.
“Ever your devoted servant!” replied the courteous foreigner.
I glanced at Lesty, and we rose together and stepped through the open
window in time to see a truly remarkable personage enter.
This was a large-framed man, with snow-white hair cut close to his
skull, French fashion. He had a high and very wrinkled brow and wore
gold-rimmed pince-nez. Jet-black and heavy eyebrows were his, and his
waxed moustache, his neat imperial, were likewise of the hue of coal.
His complexion was pallid; and in his well-cut frock coat, with a
loose black tie overhanging his vest, he made a striking picture,
standing bowing profoundly in the doorway.
Halesowen rapidly muttered the usual formalities; in fact, I remember
mentally contrasting our friend’s unceremonious manners with the
courtly deportment of Doctor Zeda.
The latter explained that he had taken the adjacent flat, only
learning, that evening, whom he had for a neighbour, and, despite the
lateness of the hour, he said, he could not resist the desire to see
Halesowen, of whose company in Egypt he retained such pleasant
memories. Allowing for his effusiveness, there was nothing one could
take exception to in his behaviour, and I rather wondered at the
brusque responses of our usually polite host.
When, after a brief chat, the foreign gentleman rose to take his
leave, he extended an invitation to all of us to lunch with him on the
following day. “My place is in somewhat disorder,” he said, smiling,
“but you are Bohemian, like myself, and will not care!”
Though I half expected that Halesowen would decline, he did not do so;
I, therefore, also accepted, as did Lesty. Whereupon, Zeda departed.
Halesowen, returning to the chair which he had vacated to usher out
his visitor, lighted a cigarette, regarded it for a moment,
meditatively, and then frankly expressed his doubts.
“He’s been watching me!” he said; “and when he saw the next flat
vacant he jumped at the chance.”
“My dear chap,” I retorted, “he must be very keen on securing your
potsherd if he is prepared to take and furnish a flat next door to you
simply with a view to keeping an eye on it!”
“You have no idea how anxious he is,” he assured me. “If you had seen
his face, in Cairo, when I flatly declined to sell, you would be
better able to understand.”
“Why not sell, then?”
“I’m dashed if I do!” said Halesowen, stubbornly.
On the following day we lunched with Doctor Zeda and were surprised at
the orderly state of his establishment. Everything, from floor to
ceiling, was in its proper place.
“It hasn’t taken you long to get things straight,” commented Lesty.
“Ah, no,” replied the other. “These big firms, they do it all in a day
if you insist--and I insist, see?”
I thoroughly enjoyed my visit, for he proved an excellent host, and I
think even Lesty grew less suspicious of him. During the weeks that
followed, the doctor came several times to our rooms, and we
frequently met at Halesowen’s. The latter, who boldly had submitted
photographs and drawings of the sherd to the British Museum,
experienced no repetition of the mysterious phenomenon already
described. Then, about seven o’clock one morning, when the mists hung
low over the Common in promise of a hot day, a boy came for Lesty and
myself with news of a fresh development. He was a lad who did odd jobs
for Halesowen, and he brought word of an attempted burglary, together
with a request that we should go over without delay.
Our curiosity keenly aroused, we were soon with our friend, and found
him seated in the familiar room, before a large cabinet, with double
glass doors, which, as was clearly evident, had been hastily
ransacked. Other cases in which he kept various curios were also
opened, and the place was in general disorder.
“What’s gone?” asked Lesty, quickly.
“Nothing!” was the answer. “The potsherd is in the safe, and the safe
is in my bedroom--or perhaps something might have gone!”
“You lock it up at night, then? I thought you kept it in the cabinet.”
“Only during the day. It goes in the safe, with one or two other
trifles, at night; but _everybody_ doesn’t know that!”
We looked at one another, silently; but the name that was on all our
lips remained unspoken--for we were startled by a loud knocking and
ringing at the door. Carter opening it, into the room ran Doctor Zeda!
“Oh, my dear friends!” he cried, in his hoarse, rumbling voice, “there
has been to my flat a midnight robber! He has turned completely
upside-down all my collections!”
Lesty coughed loudly; but, as I turned my head to look at him, his
face was quite expressionless. Halesowen seemed stricken dumb by
surprise; whilst, for my own part, as I watched the foreigner staring
about the disordered room, and noted the growing look of bewilderment
creeping over his pallid countenance, I was compelled to admit to
myself that here was either a consummate actor or a man of whom we
hastily had formed a most unwarrantable opinion.
“But, my friend--my good Halesowen,” he exclaimed, with widely opened
eyes and extended palms, “what is it that I see? You are as disordered
as myself!”
Halesowen nodded. “The burglar gave me a call, too!” he said, grimly.
“My dear sir!” gasped Zeda, seizing the speaker’s arm, “tell me
quickly--you have lost nothing?”
Halesowen glanced at him rather hard. “No,” he answered.
“Ah! what a relief! I feared,” rumbled the doctor. “But perhaps you
wonder for what it is they came?”
“I can guess!”
“You need no longer to guess; I will tell you. It is for your fragment
of the sacred vase, and to me they come for mine!”
We were even more astonished by this assertion than we had been by the
doctor’s first. “_Your_ fragment!” said Halesowen, slowly, with his
eyes fixed on Zeda; “to what fragment do you refer?”
“To that which, together with your potsherd, makes up the complete
vase! But you doubt?” he suggested, shrugging his shoulders. “Wait but
a moment and I will prove!”
He moved from the room; his gait had a mincing awkwardness, quite
indescribable; and we heard his retreating, heavy footsteps as he
passed downstairs. Then we stood and gaped at one another. “His
confounded ingenuity,” rapped Halesowen, “has completely tied my
hands.”
Being interrupted, at this moment, by the re-entrance of the gentleman
in question, further discussion of the subject was precluded. Zeda
carried a small iron box which he placed carefully upon the table and
unlocked. A second box of polished ebony was revealed within, and
this, being unlocked in turn, was proved to contain, reposing in a
nest of blue velvet, a fragment of antique pottery. Taking the
fragment in his hand, the doctor begged that the potsherd be produced.
Halesowen, after a momentary hesitation, retired from the room, to
return almost immediately with the broken vase in its wooden frame.
Doctor Zeda, placing the portion which he held in his hand against
that in the frame, but not so closely as to bring the parts in
contact, turned to us with a triumphant smile. “They correspond,
gentlemen, to a smallest fraction!” he declared; which, indeed, was
perfectly true.
“And now,” continued Zeda, evidently gratified by the surprise which
we could not conceal, “I will relate to you a story. I do not ask that
you shall credit it; I only say that I have given up my life to such
studies, and that I am willing, as matters have so arrived, that you
shall join me to prove false or true what I think of the potsherd of
Anubis.”
“Good!” said Lesty, and settled himself to listen, an example that was
followed by Halesowen and myself. Zeda paused for a moment, evidently
to collect his ideas, a pause upon which my stolid friend placed a
dubious interpretation, for he cleared his throat, significantly.
III
“The date is no matter,” said Doctor Zeda, “but there was at Gîzeh,
to the north of the Sphinx, a temple dedicated to Isis, but wherein
the worship was different. We only know of this shrine by the
monuments, but they prove it to have been--eh, Mr. Halesowen?”
Halesowen nodded.
“Here, then, the gods of the dead were adored--but the worship of
Anubis took precedence, and was conducted at a shrine apart. Here,
locked within three-and-thirty doors, having each its separate janitor
who held the key, reposed a sacred symbol--a symbol, my friends, upon
which was based the occult knowledge of the initiated; a symbol more
precious than the lives of a hundred-hundred warriors--for so it is
written!”
“I have never met with the inscription!” said Halesowen, drily.
Doctor Zeda smiled.
“You never are likely to meet it!” he responded. “Your Belzoni and
Lepsius, your Birch, Renouf, Brugsch and Petrie, is a mere unseeing
vandal, blinded to the great truth--to the ultimate secret that Egypt
holds for him who has eyes to see and a brain to realize!”