The Green Mummy
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.
“How the devil should I know?” fumed the Professor. “I never unpacked
the mummy; I never even saw it. Any jewelry buried with Inca Caxas would
be bound up in the bandages. So far as I know those bandages were never
unwound.”
“You can throw no light on the subject?”
“No, I can't. Bolton went to get the mummy and brought it home. I
understood that he would personally bring his precious charge to my
house; but he didn't. Why, I don't know.”
When the Professor stepped down, still fuming at what he considered
were the unnecessary questions of the Coroner, the young doctor who had
examined the corpse was called. Robinson deposed that deceased had been
strangled by means of a red window cord, and that, from the condition of
the body, he would judge death had taken place some twelve hours more
or less before the opening of the packing case by Braddock. That was at
three o'clock on Thursday afternoon, so in witness's opinion the crime
was committed between two and three on the previous morning.
“But I can't be absolutely certain as to the precise hour,” added
witness; “at any rate poor Bolton was strangled after midnight and
before three o'clock.”
“That is a wide margin,” grumbled the Coroner, jealous of his
brother-practitioner. “Were there any, other wounds on the body?”
“No. You can see for yourself, if you have inspected the corpse.”
The Coroner, thus reproved, glared, and Widow Anne appeared after
Robinson retired. She stated, with many sobs, that her son had no
enemies and was a good, kind young man. She also related her dream,
but this was flouted by the Coroner, who did not believe in the occult.
However, the narration of her premonition was listened to with deep
interest by those in the court. Widow Anne concluded her evidence by
asking how she was to live now that her boy Sid was dead. The Coroner
professed himself unable to answer this question, and dismissed her.
Samuel Quass, the landlord of the Sailor's Rest, was next called. He
proved to be a big, burly, red-haired, red-whiskered man, who looked
like a sailor. And indeed a few questions elicited the information that
he was a retired sea-captain. He gave his evidence gruffly but honestly,
and although he kept so shady a public-house, seemed straightforward
enough. He told much the same tale as had appeared in the newspapers.
In the hotel on that night there was only himself, his wife and two
children, and the staff of servants. Bolton retired to bed saying that
he might start early for Gartley, and paid one pound to get the case
taken across to river and placed on a lorry. As Bolton had vanished next
morning, Quass obeyed instructions, with the result which everyone knew.
He also stated that he did not know the case contained a mummy.
“What did you think it contained?” asked the Coroner quickly.
“Clothes and curios from foreign parts,” said the witness coolly.
“Did Mr. Bolton tell you so?”
“He told me nothing about the case,” growled the witness, “but he
chatted a lot about Malta, which I know well, having put into that port
frequent when a sailor.”
“Did he hint at any rows taking place at Malta?”
“No, he didn't.”
“Did he say that he had enemies?”
“No, he didn't.”
“Did he strike you as a man who was in fear of death?”
“No, he didn't,” said the witness for the third time. “He seemed happy
enough. I never thought for one moment that he was dead until I heard
how his body had been found in the packing case.”
The Coroner asked all manner of questions, and so did Inspector Date;
but all attempts to incriminate Quass were vain. He was bluff and
straightforward, and told--so far as could be judged--everything he
knew. There was nothing for it but to dismiss him, and Eliza Flight was
called as the last witness.
She also proved to be the most important, as she knew several things
which she had not told to her master, or to the reporters, or even to
the police. On being asked why she had kept silence, she said that her
desire was to obtain any reward that might be offered; but as she had
heard that there would be no reward, she was willing to tell what she
knew. It was an important piece of evidence.
The girl stated that Bolton had retired to bed at eight on the ground
floor, and the bedroom had a window--as marked in the plan--which looked
on to the river a stone-throw distant. At nine or a trifle later witness
went out to have a few words with her lover. In the darkness she saw
that the window was open and that Bolton was talking to an old woman
muffled in a shawl. She could not see the woman's face, nor judge of her
stature, as she was stooping down to listen to Bolton. Witness did
not take much notice, as she was in a hurry to see her lover. When she
returned past the window at ten o'clock it was closed and the light was
extinguished, so she thought that Mr. Bolton was asleep.
“But, to tell the truth,” said Eliza Flight, “I never thought anything
of the matter at all. It was only after the murder that I saw how
important it was I should remember everything.”
“And you have?”