Chapter Twenty Nine.Discloses Shaw’s Secret.The Thing was ugly, hairy, and horrible—a huge dark brown tarantula, the size of a man’s palm, which, the instant it was discovered, turned and sped across the bedclothes and disappeared in the darkness.Cardew had jumped to his feet with a wild, startled ejaculation of horror, having switched on the light, but though we rapidly searched the room high and low, yet nowhere could we find the horrible arachnid. But the secret was out! The revolting hairy thing, which had on that night in Arnay-le-Duc appeared to me like a weird hand, was that huge venomous spider whose bite was as fatal as that of a cobra!Armed with sticks, Cardew and I groped into every hole and corner of that room, but it had vanished so suddenly that we could not decide in which direction it had gone.“Well!” gasped my friend, amazed. “By Gad! I never expected that!”“Neither did I,” was my breathless reply. “But the reason of poor Guy’s death is now vividly apparent. He was bitten by that arachnid, which Shaw, in all probability, purposely left in his young friend’s library, prior to returning home on that fatal night. I think I realise the truth!” I cried. “This particular species of lycosa tarantula is, I have read, found in the primeval forests of Peru, and will only attack human beings when they are motionless or asleep. Its bite is most deadly. It causes stupor, followed by coma or paralysis, and the victim rapidly dies. Yet if the mark of its bite be concealed and unsuspected, as it may easily be in the hair, then the symptoms are identical with those of inflammation of the brain—the disease which from poor Guy is supposed to have died!”“Then you suspect Shaw of having kept the horrible thing as a pet—eh!” he gasped, staring at me amazed.“Both as a pet and as an instrument of murder,” I replied. “The thing being nocturnal in its habits would, if introduced into a room, remain carefully hidden all day, and only attack the victim at night while he is sleeping. I had a narrow escape while motoring in France with Shaw,”—and then, in a few words, I described my own experience, and also Asta’s previous sight of what had appeared to both of us as a weird, uncanny hand.“Then this scoundrel Shaw evidently intended that you should die!” he exclaimed. “By Jove! old chap, you have had a narrow escape!”“Yes. He must have carried his dangerous pet in secret in a box, I suppose. And must have taken it away with him when he fled from Aix.”Then, suddenly recollecting that curious whistle of his, I realised how Shaw had used it in order to recall the great spider.“Put out the light, Cardew,” I said. “Have your torch ready. I have an idea.”“But—” he hesitated, in apprehension.“Have no fear. We want to see the hideous thing again—and to kill it,” I said.The next second the room was once more in darkness, and after a few moments I began to imitate softly that peculiar whistle that I had learnt from Shaw.Then we waited in breathless silence, not moving a muscle.Again and again I whistled, but we could hear no movement. The huge spider was, we felt assured, somewhere in the room, but where we could not discover.“Switch on the light,” I cried at last, and in a second the place became illuminated again, when, to our surprise, halfway down the pink-and-white cretonne curtains at the head of the bed the ugly arachnid, with its long claws, stood revealed and startled at the sudden turning on of the light.He had crept slowly down from the small canopy above the bed, seeking the place where I had lain.In an instant he turned to ascend the curtain again, but we were too quick for him, for with two or three sharp cuts with our sticks we brought him down, and he was quickly stretched dead upon the floor.I went forth boldly to search for Shaw, but could not find him. His room was in disorder, for he had apparently seized some things, packed hurriedly and left.The car we heard leaving the house while we were in Asta’s bedroom had evidently been his!He had escaped at the very moment when we had discovered the ingenious means by which he had committed his crimes.We called the three doctors and showed them the huge dead spider. Then, in a moment, all three agreed that Guy Nicholson had succumbed to its bite, and examination of poor unconscious Asta’s hair showed plainly where she, too, had been bitten just above the right ear. The trio of medical men stood utterly astounded. No time, however, was lost by Sir George in applying various antidotes and restoratives, and by dawn he came to me with the joyful news that she had taken a turn for the better.Our knowledge of the real cause of the ailment had only been gained in the very nick of time.Further examination of the walls of Asta’s room resulted in the amazing discovery that the door of a cupboard in the wall beside the fireplace was warped and when closed left a space of an inch open at the bottom. The cupboard was lined inside with wood panelling, and in one panel at the back a tiny trapdoor about four inches square had been cut, so that it could be removed from within the corresponding cupboard which was in Shaw’s room adjoining.Investigation showed that the cupboard in question was the one secured by those two patent locks, and on breaking it open we found that in it Shaw had kept the venomous spider, for both water and food were there, as well as a thick india-rubber glove which he no doubt used when he wished to handle his hideous pet, and a small wire cage in which it could be carried.In order to release it into Asta’s room he had only to move the small piece of cut panel in the back of its place of imprisonment, and, glad to escape, the thing would pass through, as no doubt it had done on the night when my well-beloved had been attacked.To recall it, Shaw had only to whistle. The spider knew the call.After the attack upon Asta the scoundrel had evidently lost the reptile in the confusion, and disliking the light it had found refuge on the small cretonne canopy fixed against the ceiling, over the head of the bed.Knowledge that its bite had not proved fatal, as in Nicholson’s case, and that Asta might recover and describe what she had seen, together with the fact that he had been unable to induce his pet to return to him, had terrified him, and he had escaped.Quickly I telephoned to the police in Northampton, and very soon two officers came out on bicycles, and to them we made a statement. Then, an hour later, a hue-and-cry was flashed across the wires for the assassin’s arrest.Slowly—very slowly—Asta recovered consciousness, but I was not allowed to see her, nor was she allowed, indeed, to speak.Yet the knowledge that my beloved would again be given back to life was, in itself, all-sufficient for me.I had at least solved two points in that amazing mystery of avarice and cunning. I had discovered the cruel ingenious manner in which Guy Nicholson had been killed because of the knowledge he had accidentally gained, and I had also established the fact that Shaw intended that poor Asta should succumb.But what was the motive of this double crime? That point was, in itself, the most puzzling point of all.
The Thing was ugly, hairy, and horrible—a huge dark brown tarantula, the size of a man’s palm, which, the instant it was discovered, turned and sped across the bedclothes and disappeared in the darkness.
Cardew had jumped to his feet with a wild, startled ejaculation of horror, having switched on the light, but though we rapidly searched the room high and low, yet nowhere could we find the horrible arachnid. But the secret was out! The revolting hairy thing, which had on that night in Arnay-le-Duc appeared to me like a weird hand, was that huge venomous spider whose bite was as fatal as that of a cobra!
Armed with sticks, Cardew and I groped into every hole and corner of that room, but it had vanished so suddenly that we could not decide in which direction it had gone.
“Well!” gasped my friend, amazed. “By Gad! I never expected that!”
“Neither did I,” was my breathless reply. “But the reason of poor Guy’s death is now vividly apparent. He was bitten by that arachnid, which Shaw, in all probability, purposely left in his young friend’s library, prior to returning home on that fatal night. I think I realise the truth!” I cried. “This particular species of lycosa tarantula is, I have read, found in the primeval forests of Peru, and will only attack human beings when they are motionless or asleep. Its bite is most deadly. It causes stupor, followed by coma or paralysis, and the victim rapidly dies. Yet if the mark of its bite be concealed and unsuspected, as it may easily be in the hair, then the symptoms are identical with those of inflammation of the brain—the disease which from poor Guy is supposed to have died!”
“Then you suspect Shaw of having kept the horrible thing as a pet—eh!” he gasped, staring at me amazed.
“Both as a pet and as an instrument of murder,” I replied. “The thing being nocturnal in its habits would, if introduced into a room, remain carefully hidden all day, and only attack the victim at night while he is sleeping. I had a narrow escape while motoring in France with Shaw,”—and then, in a few words, I described my own experience, and also Asta’s previous sight of what had appeared to both of us as a weird, uncanny hand.
“Then this scoundrel Shaw evidently intended that you should die!” he exclaimed. “By Jove! old chap, you have had a narrow escape!”
“Yes. He must have carried his dangerous pet in secret in a box, I suppose. And must have taken it away with him when he fled from Aix.”
Then, suddenly recollecting that curious whistle of his, I realised how Shaw had used it in order to recall the great spider.
“Put out the light, Cardew,” I said. “Have your torch ready. I have an idea.”
“But—” he hesitated, in apprehension.
“Have no fear. We want to see the hideous thing again—and to kill it,” I said.
The next second the room was once more in darkness, and after a few moments I began to imitate softly that peculiar whistle that I had learnt from Shaw.
Then we waited in breathless silence, not moving a muscle.
Again and again I whistled, but we could hear no movement. The huge spider was, we felt assured, somewhere in the room, but where we could not discover.
“Switch on the light,” I cried at last, and in a second the place became illuminated again, when, to our surprise, halfway down the pink-and-white cretonne curtains at the head of the bed the ugly arachnid, with its long claws, stood revealed and startled at the sudden turning on of the light.
He had crept slowly down from the small canopy above the bed, seeking the place where I had lain.
In an instant he turned to ascend the curtain again, but we were too quick for him, for with two or three sharp cuts with our sticks we brought him down, and he was quickly stretched dead upon the floor.
I went forth boldly to search for Shaw, but could not find him. His room was in disorder, for he had apparently seized some things, packed hurriedly and left.
The car we heard leaving the house while we were in Asta’s bedroom had evidently been his!
He had escaped at the very moment when we had discovered the ingenious means by which he had committed his crimes.
We called the three doctors and showed them the huge dead spider. Then, in a moment, all three agreed that Guy Nicholson had succumbed to its bite, and examination of poor unconscious Asta’s hair showed plainly where she, too, had been bitten just above the right ear. The trio of medical men stood utterly astounded. No time, however, was lost by Sir George in applying various antidotes and restoratives, and by dawn he came to me with the joyful news that she had taken a turn for the better.
Our knowledge of the real cause of the ailment had only been gained in the very nick of time.
Further examination of the walls of Asta’s room resulted in the amazing discovery that the door of a cupboard in the wall beside the fireplace was warped and when closed left a space of an inch open at the bottom. The cupboard was lined inside with wood panelling, and in one panel at the back a tiny trapdoor about four inches square had been cut, so that it could be removed from within the corresponding cupboard which was in Shaw’s room adjoining.
Investigation showed that the cupboard in question was the one secured by those two patent locks, and on breaking it open we found that in it Shaw had kept the venomous spider, for both water and food were there, as well as a thick india-rubber glove which he no doubt used when he wished to handle his hideous pet, and a small wire cage in which it could be carried.
In order to release it into Asta’s room he had only to move the small piece of cut panel in the back of its place of imprisonment, and, glad to escape, the thing would pass through, as no doubt it had done on the night when my well-beloved had been attacked.
To recall it, Shaw had only to whistle. The spider knew the call.
After the attack upon Asta the scoundrel had evidently lost the reptile in the confusion, and disliking the light it had found refuge on the small cretonne canopy fixed against the ceiling, over the head of the bed.
Knowledge that its bite had not proved fatal, as in Nicholson’s case, and that Asta might recover and describe what she had seen, together with the fact that he had been unable to induce his pet to return to him, had terrified him, and he had escaped.
Quickly I telephoned to the police in Northampton, and very soon two officers came out on bicycles, and to them we made a statement. Then, an hour later, a hue-and-cry was flashed across the wires for the assassin’s arrest.
Slowly—very slowly—Asta recovered consciousness, but I was not allowed to see her, nor was she allowed, indeed, to speak.
Yet the knowledge that my beloved would again be given back to life was, in itself, all-sufficient for me.
I had at least solved two points in that amazing mystery of avarice and cunning. I had discovered the cruel ingenious manner in which Guy Nicholson had been killed because of the knowledge he had accidentally gained, and I had also established the fact that Shaw intended that poor Asta should succumb.
But what was the motive of this double crime? That point was, in itself, the most puzzling point of all.
Chapter Thirty.The Third of November.Through the whole of the following day I remained at the Hall, but as may be imagined the consternation was great when it became known to the servants, and through them to the countryside, that Mr Harvey Shaw, the eminently respectable county magistrate, was being searched for by the police.Curious how quickly popularity disappears at the first breath of scandal. The very persons who had been loudest in Shaw’s praises were now the first to hint at dark things and declare that they had all along suspected him of leading a double life.Sir George remained, but the two local practitioners went forth to do their daily rounds. Asta had greatly improved, and though ordered not to refer to the tragic events of the past few hours, I was allowed to see her for five minutes about seven o’clock.Wan and very pale, she was in a blue silk dressing-jacket, propped up with pillows. As I entered, she put out her small white hand and a single trembling word, my name, escaped her lips.I saw in the shaded light that her big eyes were filled with tears—tears of joy by which mine were also dimmed.“I’ve—I’ve had such a bad dream!” she managed to say. “But, oh! Mr Kemball, how glad I am that it is only a dream, and that the doctor says I am getting better.”“I hope, Miss Seymour, that you’ll be quite right and about again within a week,” exclaimed Sir George cheerily.And hearing those words she turned her wonderful eyes full on mine.What words of sympathy and congratulation I uttered I scarcely know. How can I remember! I only recollect that when the great specialist touched me upon the shoulder as sign to leave her bedside, I bent and kissed her soft white hand.All through the day and all that evening I remained eagerly expecting to hear news of Shaw’s arrest. Yet, knowing what a past-master he was in the art of evading the police, I despaired that he would ever be caught and brought up for punishment.As I sat smoking in his armchair in the big morning-room I reflected deeply, and saw with what marvellous cunning and forethought he had misled Nicholson, Asta, myself—and, indeed, everybody—into a belief that he was devoted to the girl whom, so many years ago, he had adopted and brought up as his own daughter.That decision to kill her lover and afterwards kill her was no sudden impulse, but the result of a carefully thought-out and ingenious plan. Whether the huge tarantula had been put into my room at that French inn with evil intent, or whether it had got loose, and had concealed itself there, I could not determine. Yet in the case of Guy and Asta there must, I decided, have been some very strong incentive—a motive which none had ever dreamed. As regards the incident at Scarborough, he must have placed the tarantula in Asta’s room in secret, and have succeeded in regaining possession of it. Indeed, inquiry I afterwards made showed that he had bribed one of the maid-servants while every one was absent to show him the house, his explanation being that he thought of purchasing it.Shaw was a master-criminal. Bold and defiant, yet he was at the same time ever ready with means for escape, in case he was cornered. His exploit in the hotel at Aix showed how cunning and clever he was in subterfuge. He preserved a cloak of the highest respectability, and had even succeeded in being placed on the roll of Justices of the Peace—he, the man who regarded murder as the practice of a science, had actually sentenced poachers, wife-beaters, tramps, and drunkards to terms of imprisonment?And yet so clever had he been that the Criminal Investigation Department had never recognised in the wealthy tenant of Lydford Hall the fugitive for whom they had so long been in search.A second night I remained there, so as to be near the woman I loved so fervently.Sir George gave me an assurance, as we sat together before we turned in for a few hours’ sleep, that his patient was progressing favourably, and that I might again see her the next day. Cardew also remained, and as we three sat smoking we discussed the strange affair, wondering what motive the man Shaw could possibly have in attempting so ingeniously and in such cold blood a second crime. But we could arrive at no definite conclusion. The whole affair was entirely shrouded in mystery.In the morning I was permitted to see Asta again. She seemed much better and spoke quite brightly.“Mr Kemball,” she said, after we had been chatting for some minutes, “I—I—I want to tell you something—something very important—when we are alone.”“No, not now. Miss Seymour,” interrupted Sir George, shaking his finger at his patient, and laughing. “Later on—a little later on. You must not excite yourself to-day.”And so, with a pretty pout, she was compelled to remain silent at the doctor’s orders.I suppose I must have been there a full quarter of an hour, though the time passed so rapidly that it only appeared like a few moments. Then I bade her be of good cheer and went forth again.She had made no mention of the man who was a fugitive.The only poignant remark she had made was a warning.“Be careful when you go into my bedroom. There is something in there,” she had said. But I had only laughed and promised her that I would not intrude.About eleven o’clock Redwood arrived, and as he met me in the hall he pushed a copy of that day’sTimesunder my nose, asking—“Seen this, Mr Kemball? It concerns you, I fancy. That’s the name you mentioned yesterday, isn’t it?”Eagerly I scanned the lines which he indicated. It was an advertisement, which read—“ReMelvill, Arnold.—Will the gentleman to whom Mr Melvill Arnold has entrusted a certain ancient object in bronze kindly deliver it according to promise, first communicating with Messrs Fryer and Davidson, solicitors, 196 London Wall, London, E.C.”I read it again and again.Then of a sudden I recollected that it was the third of November. On that day I had instructions to deliver the bronze cylinder to the first person who made application for it!The low, soft-spoken words of the dying man as he had handed me the heavy cylinder, bidding me keep it in safe custody, recurred to me as I stood there with the newspaper in my hand. So I resolved to go at once to London, and call upon the firm who had advertised.Soon after three o’clock, therefore, I ascended in the lift of a large block of offices in London Wall, and entered the swing doors of Messrs Fryer and Davidson.When asked by the clerk for my name, I gave a card, adding that I had called in response to the advertisement, and a few moments later found myself in a comfortable private room with a thin, clean-shaven, thin-faced, alert-looking man of middle age, who introduced himself as Mr Cyril Fryer, the head of the firm.After thanking me for my call he said—“Perhaps, Mr Kemball, I may tell you briefly what I know of our client Mr Melvill Arnold’s rather eccentric action. He lived mostly abroad in recent years for certain private reasons, and one day, early this year, we received from him a somewhat curious letter upon the notepaper of the Carlton Hotel, saying that he had returned to England unexpectedly, and that he had entrusted a certain bronze cylinder, containing something very important, to the care of a friend. That friend was, curiously enough, not named, but he instructed us to advertise to-day—the third of November. We made inquiry at the Carlton, but he was unknown there. To-day we have advertised, according to our client’s instructions, and you are here in response.”“There is considerable mystery surrounding this affair, Mr Fryer,” I exclaimed in reply.“I do not doubt it. Our client, whom I have known for a good many years, was a very reserved and mysterious man,” replied the solicitor, leaning back in his padded chair.“Well,” I said, “I met him on board ship between Naples and London,” and then in detail described his sudden illness, how he had induced me to accept the trust, and his death, a narrative to which Mr Fryer listened with greatest interest.“Then the letter must have been written on the afternoon of his arrival in London. He probably wrote it in the smoking-room of the Carlton. But why he should seek to mislead us, I cannot imagine,” exclaimed the solicitor.“I recollect,” I said. “I was with him in a taxi, when he stopped at the Carlton and went inside, asking me to wait. I did so, and he returned in about a quarter of an hour. In the meantime he must have written to you. He was very ill then, and that same evening he died.”“He did not mention us?”“He made no mention whatever of any friends, save one—a Mr Dawnay, to whom I afterwards delivered a note.”“Dawnay?” repeated Mr Fryer. “You mean Harvey Shaw?”“Exactly. So you know him, eh?”The solicitor nodded in the affirmative, the deep lines upon his thin face becoming more accentuated.I then told him of his client’s wilful destruction of a large quantity of English banknotes which he had compelled me to burn, whereat the man seated at his table laughed grimly, saying—“I do not think we need regret their destruction. They were better burnt.”“Why?”“Well—because they were not genuine ones.”“But surely—your client was not a forger!” I cried.“Certainly not. He was a great man. Cruelly misjudged by the public, he was compelled in recent years to hide his real identity beneath another name, and live in strictest retirement. His actions were put down as eccentricities, but he was a great thinker, a wonderful organiser, marvellously modern among modern men, a man whose financial schemes brought millions into the pockets of those associated with him, yet whose knowledge of ancient Egypt and dry-as-dust Egyptology was perhaps unique. But above all he was ever honest, upright and just.”“He was a complete enigma to me,” I declared. “As he was to most people. I who have been his legal adviser and friend through much adversity, alone understood him. I was not even aware of his death. If he took a liking to you I shall not be surprised to find that he has left you a substantial legacy.”“He gave me a present before he died,” I said, and told him of the banknotes I had found in the envelope, and also that I held the cylinder in the security of the Safe Deposit Company’s vaults in Chancery Lane.Finding the solicitor was perfectly frank and open with me, I related the curious and startling circumstances which had occurred within my knowledge since I had made the acquaintance of Mr Harvey Shaw. As I sat in the fading light of that November afternoon I narrated the facts in their proper sequence just as I have herein set them down in the foregoing pages of this personal history.The man before me sat with folded arms in almost complete silence, listening intently to every word. The twilight faded and darkness fell quickly, as it does in November in the City. He had given orders that we were not to be disturbed, and he sat silent, so transfixed by my strange story that he did not rise to switch on the light.I told him all, everything—until I described to him the discovery of that venomous tarantula in Asta’s bedroom. Then he suddenly struck his table with his fist, and sprang to his feet, crying—“Ah! I’ve been expecting to hear of this all along. The scoundrel meant to kill the poor girl! There were reasons—very strong reasons—for doing so.”“What were they?” I demanded quickly. “I have told you everything, Mr Fryer. Now, be quite frank with me, I beg you—and tell me the whole truth.”He was silent. I could hardly distinguish his thin, deeply lined face seated as he was in the shadows, his back to the window, so dark had it now become.Presently, he rose and turned on the light, saying as he did so—“Well, Mr Kemball, as you seem to have been so intimately associated with the closing scenes of poor Melvill Arnold’s career, I will explain the whole truth to you—even at the risk of a breach of professional confidence. My client is dead, but the dastardly attempt upon Miss Asta Seymour must be avenged—that man Harvey Shaw shall be brought to justice. Listen, and I will tell you a story stranger than most men have ever listened to—a romance of real life of which, however, every word is the truth.”“The cylinder!” I cried. “Are you aware of what is contained in it?”“I have not the slightest knowledge,” he declared. “That we will investigate together later—after you have heard the strange romance of the man whom you knew as Melvill Arnold.”
Through the whole of the following day I remained at the Hall, but as may be imagined the consternation was great when it became known to the servants, and through them to the countryside, that Mr Harvey Shaw, the eminently respectable county magistrate, was being searched for by the police.
Curious how quickly popularity disappears at the first breath of scandal. The very persons who had been loudest in Shaw’s praises were now the first to hint at dark things and declare that they had all along suspected him of leading a double life.
Sir George remained, but the two local practitioners went forth to do their daily rounds. Asta had greatly improved, and though ordered not to refer to the tragic events of the past few hours, I was allowed to see her for five minutes about seven o’clock.
Wan and very pale, she was in a blue silk dressing-jacket, propped up with pillows. As I entered, she put out her small white hand and a single trembling word, my name, escaped her lips.
I saw in the shaded light that her big eyes were filled with tears—tears of joy by which mine were also dimmed.
“I’ve—I’ve had such a bad dream!” she managed to say. “But, oh! Mr Kemball, how glad I am that it is only a dream, and that the doctor says I am getting better.”
“I hope, Miss Seymour, that you’ll be quite right and about again within a week,” exclaimed Sir George cheerily.
And hearing those words she turned her wonderful eyes full on mine.
What words of sympathy and congratulation I uttered I scarcely know. How can I remember! I only recollect that when the great specialist touched me upon the shoulder as sign to leave her bedside, I bent and kissed her soft white hand.
All through the day and all that evening I remained eagerly expecting to hear news of Shaw’s arrest. Yet, knowing what a past-master he was in the art of evading the police, I despaired that he would ever be caught and brought up for punishment.
As I sat smoking in his armchair in the big morning-room I reflected deeply, and saw with what marvellous cunning and forethought he had misled Nicholson, Asta, myself—and, indeed, everybody—into a belief that he was devoted to the girl whom, so many years ago, he had adopted and brought up as his own daughter.
That decision to kill her lover and afterwards kill her was no sudden impulse, but the result of a carefully thought-out and ingenious plan. Whether the huge tarantula had been put into my room at that French inn with evil intent, or whether it had got loose, and had concealed itself there, I could not determine. Yet in the case of Guy and Asta there must, I decided, have been some very strong incentive—a motive which none had ever dreamed. As regards the incident at Scarborough, he must have placed the tarantula in Asta’s room in secret, and have succeeded in regaining possession of it. Indeed, inquiry I afterwards made showed that he had bribed one of the maid-servants while every one was absent to show him the house, his explanation being that he thought of purchasing it.
Shaw was a master-criminal. Bold and defiant, yet he was at the same time ever ready with means for escape, in case he was cornered. His exploit in the hotel at Aix showed how cunning and clever he was in subterfuge. He preserved a cloak of the highest respectability, and had even succeeded in being placed on the roll of Justices of the Peace—he, the man who regarded murder as the practice of a science, had actually sentenced poachers, wife-beaters, tramps, and drunkards to terms of imprisonment?
And yet so clever had he been that the Criminal Investigation Department had never recognised in the wealthy tenant of Lydford Hall the fugitive for whom they had so long been in search.
A second night I remained there, so as to be near the woman I loved so fervently.
Sir George gave me an assurance, as we sat together before we turned in for a few hours’ sleep, that his patient was progressing favourably, and that I might again see her the next day. Cardew also remained, and as we three sat smoking we discussed the strange affair, wondering what motive the man Shaw could possibly have in attempting so ingeniously and in such cold blood a second crime. But we could arrive at no definite conclusion. The whole affair was entirely shrouded in mystery.
In the morning I was permitted to see Asta again. She seemed much better and spoke quite brightly.
“Mr Kemball,” she said, after we had been chatting for some minutes, “I—I—I want to tell you something—something very important—when we are alone.”
“No, not now. Miss Seymour,” interrupted Sir George, shaking his finger at his patient, and laughing. “Later on—a little later on. You must not excite yourself to-day.”
And so, with a pretty pout, she was compelled to remain silent at the doctor’s orders.
I suppose I must have been there a full quarter of an hour, though the time passed so rapidly that it only appeared like a few moments. Then I bade her be of good cheer and went forth again.
She had made no mention of the man who was a fugitive.
The only poignant remark she had made was a warning.
“Be careful when you go into my bedroom. There is something in there,” she had said. But I had only laughed and promised her that I would not intrude.
About eleven o’clock Redwood arrived, and as he met me in the hall he pushed a copy of that day’sTimesunder my nose, asking—
“Seen this, Mr Kemball? It concerns you, I fancy. That’s the name you mentioned yesterday, isn’t it?”
Eagerly I scanned the lines which he indicated. It was an advertisement, which read—
“ReMelvill, Arnold.—Will the gentleman to whom Mr Melvill Arnold has entrusted a certain ancient object in bronze kindly deliver it according to promise, first communicating with Messrs Fryer and Davidson, solicitors, 196 London Wall, London, E.C.”
“ReMelvill, Arnold.—Will the gentleman to whom Mr Melvill Arnold has entrusted a certain ancient object in bronze kindly deliver it according to promise, first communicating with Messrs Fryer and Davidson, solicitors, 196 London Wall, London, E.C.”
I read it again and again.
Then of a sudden I recollected that it was the third of November. On that day I had instructions to deliver the bronze cylinder to the first person who made application for it!
The low, soft-spoken words of the dying man as he had handed me the heavy cylinder, bidding me keep it in safe custody, recurred to me as I stood there with the newspaper in my hand. So I resolved to go at once to London, and call upon the firm who had advertised.
Soon after three o’clock, therefore, I ascended in the lift of a large block of offices in London Wall, and entered the swing doors of Messrs Fryer and Davidson.
When asked by the clerk for my name, I gave a card, adding that I had called in response to the advertisement, and a few moments later found myself in a comfortable private room with a thin, clean-shaven, thin-faced, alert-looking man of middle age, who introduced himself as Mr Cyril Fryer, the head of the firm.
After thanking me for my call he said—
“Perhaps, Mr Kemball, I may tell you briefly what I know of our client Mr Melvill Arnold’s rather eccentric action. He lived mostly abroad in recent years for certain private reasons, and one day, early this year, we received from him a somewhat curious letter upon the notepaper of the Carlton Hotel, saying that he had returned to England unexpectedly, and that he had entrusted a certain bronze cylinder, containing something very important, to the care of a friend. That friend was, curiously enough, not named, but he instructed us to advertise to-day—the third of November. We made inquiry at the Carlton, but he was unknown there. To-day we have advertised, according to our client’s instructions, and you are here in response.”
“There is considerable mystery surrounding this affair, Mr Fryer,” I exclaimed in reply.
“I do not doubt it. Our client, whom I have known for a good many years, was a very reserved and mysterious man,” replied the solicitor, leaning back in his padded chair.
“Well,” I said, “I met him on board ship between Naples and London,” and then in detail described his sudden illness, how he had induced me to accept the trust, and his death, a narrative to which Mr Fryer listened with greatest interest.
“Then the letter must have been written on the afternoon of his arrival in London. He probably wrote it in the smoking-room of the Carlton. But why he should seek to mislead us, I cannot imagine,” exclaimed the solicitor.
“I recollect,” I said. “I was with him in a taxi, when he stopped at the Carlton and went inside, asking me to wait. I did so, and he returned in about a quarter of an hour. In the meantime he must have written to you. He was very ill then, and that same evening he died.”
“He did not mention us?”
“He made no mention whatever of any friends, save one—a Mr Dawnay, to whom I afterwards delivered a note.”
“Dawnay?” repeated Mr Fryer. “You mean Harvey Shaw?”
“Exactly. So you know him, eh?”
The solicitor nodded in the affirmative, the deep lines upon his thin face becoming more accentuated.
I then told him of his client’s wilful destruction of a large quantity of English banknotes which he had compelled me to burn, whereat the man seated at his table laughed grimly, saying—
“I do not think we need regret their destruction. They were better burnt.”
“Why?”
“Well—because they were not genuine ones.”
“But surely—your client was not a forger!” I cried.
“Certainly not. He was a great man. Cruelly misjudged by the public, he was compelled in recent years to hide his real identity beneath another name, and live in strictest retirement. His actions were put down as eccentricities, but he was a great thinker, a wonderful organiser, marvellously modern among modern men, a man whose financial schemes brought millions into the pockets of those associated with him, yet whose knowledge of ancient Egypt and dry-as-dust Egyptology was perhaps unique. But above all he was ever honest, upright and just.”
“He was a complete enigma to me,” I declared. “As he was to most people. I who have been his legal adviser and friend through much adversity, alone understood him. I was not even aware of his death. If he took a liking to you I shall not be surprised to find that he has left you a substantial legacy.”
“He gave me a present before he died,” I said, and told him of the banknotes I had found in the envelope, and also that I held the cylinder in the security of the Safe Deposit Company’s vaults in Chancery Lane.
Finding the solicitor was perfectly frank and open with me, I related the curious and startling circumstances which had occurred within my knowledge since I had made the acquaintance of Mr Harvey Shaw. As I sat in the fading light of that November afternoon I narrated the facts in their proper sequence just as I have herein set them down in the foregoing pages of this personal history.
The man before me sat with folded arms in almost complete silence, listening intently to every word. The twilight faded and darkness fell quickly, as it does in November in the City. He had given orders that we were not to be disturbed, and he sat silent, so transfixed by my strange story that he did not rise to switch on the light.
I told him all, everything—until I described to him the discovery of that venomous tarantula in Asta’s bedroom. Then he suddenly struck his table with his fist, and sprang to his feet, crying—
“Ah! I’ve been expecting to hear of this all along. The scoundrel meant to kill the poor girl! There were reasons—very strong reasons—for doing so.”
“What were they?” I demanded quickly. “I have told you everything, Mr Fryer. Now, be quite frank with me, I beg you—and tell me the whole truth.”
He was silent. I could hardly distinguish his thin, deeply lined face seated as he was in the shadows, his back to the window, so dark had it now become.
Presently, he rose and turned on the light, saying as he did so—
“Well, Mr Kemball, as you seem to have been so intimately associated with the closing scenes of poor Melvill Arnold’s career, I will explain the whole truth to you—even at the risk of a breach of professional confidence. My client is dead, but the dastardly attempt upon Miss Asta Seymour must be avenged—that man Harvey Shaw shall be brought to justice. Listen, and I will tell you a story stranger than most men have ever listened to—a romance of real life of which, however, every word is the truth.”
“The cylinder!” I cried. “Are you aware of what is contained in it?”
“I have not the slightest knowledge,” he declared. “That we will investigate together later—after you have heard the strange romance of the man whom you knew as Melvill Arnold.”
Chapter Thirty One.The Truth Concerning Arnold.“The real name of your friend was—as you have guessed from the threatening letters addressed to him at Kingswear, in Devon—Arnold Edgecumbe,” the solicitor commenced, leaning his elbows upon his table and looking me straight in the face. “My firm acted for his father—a wealthy manufacturer in Bradford, who, upon his death, left his son an ample fortune. Twenty years ago he married an extremely pretty woman. It was purely a love-match, and one daughter was born. Six months after that event, however, poor little Mrs Edgecumbe died of phthisis, and her husband was inconsolable over his loss. He was devoted to his wife, and the blow proved a terrible one. Soon, in order to occupy his mind, he turned his attention to financial affairs in the City, and went into partnership with a man named Henry Harford.”“Harford!” I ejaculated. “Why, that was the man against whom he warned me! The words he wrote down are still in my possession.”“He had strong reasons for doing so,” went on the man sitting at his table. “The combination of the pair—both of whom were fearless and successful speculators—soon raised the firm to the position of one of the best-known financial houses in London. They dealt in millions, as others deal in thousands, and both men, in the course of a few years, amassed great fortunes. Suddenly, when just in the zenith of their prosperity, a great and terrible exposure was made. It was found that they had, by promoting certain bogus companies, which had been largely taken up, netted huge profits. The shareholders, numbering many thousands of widows, clergymen, retired officers, and such-like persons, who are ever ready to swallow the bait of a well-written prospectus, became furious, and the Public Prosecutor took up the matter actively. Though my client was, I assure you, utterly blameless in the matter, and afterwards paid back every penny he had received from the transaction, nevertheless such public outcry was made against him as a swindler, that, victim of circumstances, he was compelled to fly the country. Trusting implicitly to his partner, Harford—who, by a very shrewd move, cleared himself, although he was, no doubt, the actual culprit—he, on the night of his flight, placed his little daughter, to whom he was entirely devoted, in his care, urging him to adopt her, and not to allow her to know her real father’s name.”“What?” I cried, starting suddenly to my feet as the amazing truth flashed upon me for the first time. “Then Asta is Edgecumbe’s daughter, and Shaw’s real name is Harford!”“Exactly. With these facts in your mind you will be able to follow me more closely.”Again I sank back into my chair astounded.“Well,” he went on, “ingeniously as did Harford endeavour to cover his connection with the bogus promotions—of which the Britannia Banking Corporation, which you will remember, perhaps, was one—yet the Public Prosecutor, after the accounts and books had been examined, decided that he was also a culprit, and two months after his partner’s disappearance a warrant was also issued for his arrest. Harford, always wary, had, however, on the day previously, taken little Asta with him and left for Greece, with which country we have no treaty of extradition. Meanwhile, Edgecumbe had a younger sister who had married a man of bad character, an expert forger of banknotes, named Earnshaw, and who sometimes went in the name of King, and the pair had, to a great extent, assisted Harford in his fraudulent schemes entirely unknown to Edgecumbe. The woman and her husband were adventurers of the most ingenious class, and with Harford, reaped a golden harvest in the circulation on the Continent of the clever imitations of Bank of England notes. Edgecumbe was all unconscious of this, and, indeed, only became aware of the transactions by accident. It seems that on the night of his flight from England he went to the office after it had been locked up, in order to get some cash for his journey. There was only forty pounds in the safe, but on breaking open a drawer in his partner’s table he found a big roll of new notes. He took them, and left on the table a memorandum of what he had done. Ere he arrived at Dover, however, suspicion grew upon him that the notes were not genuine. So he kept them, and said nothing. It was his first suspicion that Harford was playing a double game. Through all the years that elapsed from that day till his death they remained in his possession as evidence against Earnshaw and his accomplice, but in order that after his death they should not be found in his possession, he apparently got you to destroy them.”“But this man Harford—or Shaw? Who was he?” I inquired eagerly.“Of that I know very little, except that, before meeting Edgecumbe, he had lived for many years in Ecuador and Peru, where he had been engaged in the adventurous pursuit of collecting orchids and natural history specimens. Probably while there, he knew of the giant venomous tarantula, and had trained one to answer to his call,” was Mr Fryer’s reply. “Apparently, from what you have told me concerning the threatening letter, Edgecumbe’s sister suspected him of betraying her to the police, and, after serving her sentence for swindling, she and her husband again became on friendly terms with Harford, who, in the name of Harvey Shaw, was then posing as a county magnate, deriving his income partly from the proceeds of his financial transactions, and partly from the passing at various banks on the Continent the bogus notes printed in secret in a room at Ridgehill Manor. It was for that reason the police of Europe have, for the last ten years, been in search of Harford—the English police because of the charges against him in the City, and the European police because he has defrauded hundreds ofbureaux-de-changeall over the Continent by exchanging thousands of his marvellous imitations of Bank of England notes for foreign notes or gold. Yet being a man of such colossal ideas, such a splendid linguist, and possessing such marvellous powers of invention and clever evasion, he acted so boldly and sustained his rôle of English gentleman so well, that he often passed beneath the very noses of those in active search of him.”“Then Edgecumbe was in entire ignorance of the true character of his late partner?” I exclaimed.“Absolutely—until too late. He only became convinced on the day of his death. He wished you to assist him, though he warned you against him. Apparently, by slow degrees, during his rare visits to England, he had become cognisant of Harford’s criminal instincts, and of the fact that he was in possession of that venomous pet which the man had once—I believe—boastingly described as his ‘Hand,’ yet Edgecumbe was diplomatic enough not to quarrel with him. Asta, ignorant of her parentage, looked upon Harford as her father and held him in highest esteem. For Edgecumbe to denounce him would be to disillusion the girl in whom all his hopes were centred, and who regarded him, not as a father, but as a very dear friend. On arrival in England he seems to have written immediately to her, urging her to meet him, unknown to Harford, yet, when she went to the hotel it was only to discover, that he was dead.”“But the terrible tarantula—the ‘Hand,’ as Harford termed it—surely Edgecumbe must have suspected something?” I said.“He probably was unaware that the thing was so deadly venomous, and he never dreamed to what use the scoundrel would put it,” said the solicitor. “The truth only dawned upon him when too late! Remember he placed the utmost confidence in you—and in you alone—a stranger.”“Yes. He gave me that bronze cylinder. I wonder what it can possibly contain?”“Let us take a taxi down to Chancery Lane,” Mr Fryer suggested. “Let us carry it up here, open it—and ascertain.”
“The real name of your friend was—as you have guessed from the threatening letters addressed to him at Kingswear, in Devon—Arnold Edgecumbe,” the solicitor commenced, leaning his elbows upon his table and looking me straight in the face. “My firm acted for his father—a wealthy manufacturer in Bradford, who, upon his death, left his son an ample fortune. Twenty years ago he married an extremely pretty woman. It was purely a love-match, and one daughter was born. Six months after that event, however, poor little Mrs Edgecumbe died of phthisis, and her husband was inconsolable over his loss. He was devoted to his wife, and the blow proved a terrible one. Soon, in order to occupy his mind, he turned his attention to financial affairs in the City, and went into partnership with a man named Henry Harford.”
“Harford!” I ejaculated. “Why, that was the man against whom he warned me! The words he wrote down are still in my possession.”
“He had strong reasons for doing so,” went on the man sitting at his table. “The combination of the pair—both of whom were fearless and successful speculators—soon raised the firm to the position of one of the best-known financial houses in London. They dealt in millions, as others deal in thousands, and both men, in the course of a few years, amassed great fortunes. Suddenly, when just in the zenith of their prosperity, a great and terrible exposure was made. It was found that they had, by promoting certain bogus companies, which had been largely taken up, netted huge profits. The shareholders, numbering many thousands of widows, clergymen, retired officers, and such-like persons, who are ever ready to swallow the bait of a well-written prospectus, became furious, and the Public Prosecutor took up the matter actively. Though my client was, I assure you, utterly blameless in the matter, and afterwards paid back every penny he had received from the transaction, nevertheless such public outcry was made against him as a swindler, that, victim of circumstances, he was compelled to fly the country. Trusting implicitly to his partner, Harford—who, by a very shrewd move, cleared himself, although he was, no doubt, the actual culprit—he, on the night of his flight, placed his little daughter, to whom he was entirely devoted, in his care, urging him to adopt her, and not to allow her to know her real father’s name.”
“What?” I cried, starting suddenly to my feet as the amazing truth flashed upon me for the first time. “Then Asta is Edgecumbe’s daughter, and Shaw’s real name is Harford!”
“Exactly. With these facts in your mind you will be able to follow me more closely.”
Again I sank back into my chair astounded.
“Well,” he went on, “ingeniously as did Harford endeavour to cover his connection with the bogus promotions—of which the Britannia Banking Corporation, which you will remember, perhaps, was one—yet the Public Prosecutor, after the accounts and books had been examined, decided that he was also a culprit, and two months after his partner’s disappearance a warrant was also issued for his arrest. Harford, always wary, had, however, on the day previously, taken little Asta with him and left for Greece, with which country we have no treaty of extradition. Meanwhile, Edgecumbe had a younger sister who had married a man of bad character, an expert forger of banknotes, named Earnshaw, and who sometimes went in the name of King, and the pair had, to a great extent, assisted Harford in his fraudulent schemes entirely unknown to Edgecumbe. The woman and her husband were adventurers of the most ingenious class, and with Harford, reaped a golden harvest in the circulation on the Continent of the clever imitations of Bank of England notes. Edgecumbe was all unconscious of this, and, indeed, only became aware of the transactions by accident. It seems that on the night of his flight from England he went to the office after it had been locked up, in order to get some cash for his journey. There was only forty pounds in the safe, but on breaking open a drawer in his partner’s table he found a big roll of new notes. He took them, and left on the table a memorandum of what he had done. Ere he arrived at Dover, however, suspicion grew upon him that the notes were not genuine. So he kept them, and said nothing. It was his first suspicion that Harford was playing a double game. Through all the years that elapsed from that day till his death they remained in his possession as evidence against Earnshaw and his accomplice, but in order that after his death they should not be found in his possession, he apparently got you to destroy them.”
“But this man Harford—or Shaw? Who was he?” I inquired eagerly.
“Of that I know very little, except that, before meeting Edgecumbe, he had lived for many years in Ecuador and Peru, where he had been engaged in the adventurous pursuit of collecting orchids and natural history specimens. Probably while there, he knew of the giant venomous tarantula, and had trained one to answer to his call,” was Mr Fryer’s reply. “Apparently, from what you have told me concerning the threatening letter, Edgecumbe’s sister suspected him of betraying her to the police, and, after serving her sentence for swindling, she and her husband again became on friendly terms with Harford, who, in the name of Harvey Shaw, was then posing as a county magnate, deriving his income partly from the proceeds of his financial transactions, and partly from the passing at various banks on the Continent the bogus notes printed in secret in a room at Ridgehill Manor. It was for that reason the police of Europe have, for the last ten years, been in search of Harford—the English police because of the charges against him in the City, and the European police because he has defrauded hundreds ofbureaux-de-changeall over the Continent by exchanging thousands of his marvellous imitations of Bank of England notes for foreign notes or gold. Yet being a man of such colossal ideas, such a splendid linguist, and possessing such marvellous powers of invention and clever evasion, he acted so boldly and sustained his rôle of English gentleman so well, that he often passed beneath the very noses of those in active search of him.”
“Then Edgecumbe was in entire ignorance of the true character of his late partner?” I exclaimed.
“Absolutely—until too late. He only became convinced on the day of his death. He wished you to assist him, though he warned you against him. Apparently, by slow degrees, during his rare visits to England, he had become cognisant of Harford’s criminal instincts, and of the fact that he was in possession of that venomous pet which the man had once—I believe—boastingly described as his ‘Hand,’ yet Edgecumbe was diplomatic enough not to quarrel with him. Asta, ignorant of her parentage, looked upon Harford as her father and held him in highest esteem. For Edgecumbe to denounce him would be to disillusion the girl in whom all his hopes were centred, and who regarded him, not as a father, but as a very dear friend. On arrival in England he seems to have written immediately to her, urging her to meet him, unknown to Harford, yet, when she went to the hotel it was only to discover, that he was dead.”
“But the terrible tarantula—the ‘Hand,’ as Harford termed it—surely Edgecumbe must have suspected something?” I said.
“He probably was unaware that the thing was so deadly venomous, and he never dreamed to what use the scoundrel would put it,” said the solicitor. “The truth only dawned upon him when too late! Remember he placed the utmost confidence in you—and in you alone—a stranger.”
“Yes. He gave me that bronze cylinder. I wonder what it can possibly contain?”
“Let us take a taxi down to Chancery Lane,” Mr Fryer suggested. “Let us carry it up here, open it—and ascertain.”
Chapter Thirty Two.A Heart’s Secret.“Mr Edgecumbe was always of an antiquarian turn of mind, and when he left England he took up the study of Egyptology in order to occupy his time,” said the solicitor, as we sat in the taxi whirling along Newgate Street. “He spent many years in Egypt, and being, of course, in possession of ample funds, he was enabled to make very extensive explorations, for which he was granted special privileges by the Khedive. Many of his discoveries have enriched the British Museum, the Louvre, and other museums on the Continent, while, stored here in London—in a place of which I hold the key—is a magnificent and valuable collection of objects from the period of Shaaru, down to that of the first Amenhotep, all of which will pass into the possession of his daughter, Miss Asta. Even the collection in the British Museum cannot compare with them in value or interest. Every object in our late client’s collection is absolutely unique.”“As is the bronze cylinder,” I added.“Yes. I confess I have been filled with wonder as to what it can contain ever since the receipt of the letter asking us to advertise on the third of November for an unknown person—yourself, Mr Kemball. Whatever where the actions of the late Mr Edgecumbe, we must not lose sight of the main fact that the death of his wife, whom he adored, caused in him certain eccentricities. He was devoted to his little daughter Asta, and in order that she should never know that her father had been accused and compelled to fly from justice, he induced his partner to adopt her—only to discover afterwards that he was a criminal and unscrupulous, and was, moreover, in association with a man and woman who were, undoubtedly, criminals. Yet having taken the step he had done ten years before, he could not well draw back. I advised him, as soon as exposure came, to stay and face the music. But the death of his wife had utterly broken him, and his only reply was to say that he was tired of an active business life, and preferred obscurity and study abroad. Yes, Mr Kemball,” added the man at my side, “Arnold Edgecumbe was a decidedly remarkable man—a man of great talent and attainments, of wondrous perception, and honest as few men in this city of London are honest nowadays. He knew that Harford’s arrest would bring disgrace upon Asta, and for that reason urged you to become his friend. The situation was, indeed, unique.”On arrival at the Safe Deposit vaults we found, unfortunately, that they had been closed a quarter of an hour, therefore there was nothing to do but to wait till next morning.So, after some final words with Fryer, I left him, promising to return on the morrow, and then drove straight to St. Pancras, and went down to Lydford, arriving there soon after nine o’clock.Asta was, I found, so much better that she had been left in charge of a nurse whom Sir George had summoned from London that day. And at my urgent request she allowed me to see her patient alone.As I stood beside her bed, our hands clasped in meaning silence, I saw that she smiled gladly at my arrival.Then, presently, when she had motioned me to a chair and I had congratulated her upon her rapid progress towards recovery, I related in as quiet a voice as I could all that I had learned that day in London.“Mr Arnold was my father!” she cried, looking at me amazed and stupefied. “I never knew that—I—I can’t believe it—and yet how kind he has always been to me—what beautiful presents he used to buy for me when I was a child—and how tenderly he used to kiss me when we met. Ah yes!” she cried, “I ought to have known; I ought to have guessed. Poor dear father—and he died without betraying to me the secret of my birth.”“He was a lonely man, Asta,” I said in a low voice, calling her by her Christian name for the first time. “He loved your mother and revered her memory. And he kept from you the secret that he had been cruelly misjudged as a shark and a swindler. He entrusted you to the man I know as Shaw, believing him to be upright and a friend. But, alas! how greatly his confidence has been abused.”Her eyes were filled with tears.“You alone, Mr Kemball, have stood my friend,” she said scarcely above a whisper, as she turned her bright gaze upon me. “When I saw that terrible spider in my room I sent word to you, after chasing it out into the corridor. A vague suspicion that it had been placed there purposely crept over me. But Shaw must have allowed it to pass into my room again, after I had dropped off to sleep.”“I was your father’s friend,” I replied, “and I hope—”“Poor dear father! Why did he not tell me? He wrote to me to come to the hotel, urging me to say nothing to Mr Shaw. Perhaps he had something to tell me—ah! who knows?” she exclaimed reflectively. “But I arrived there, alas! too late—too late!”“He probably intended to reveal to you the truth,” I remarked, looking into her pale, wan countenance. “But had he done so perhaps—perhaps you and I would not have been such close friends as we are to-day.”“Perhaps not,” she sighed. “I remember how, when we motored to Aix, Shaw was very careful of a little box. Ah yes! I owe more to you than I can ever repay.”“No,” I said softly. “But—but let me make a confession to you, Asta,” and I took the tiny hand that lay outside the down-quilt. “When I first knew you I grew jealous of poor Guy for—ah, forgive me—because—because, Asta, I loved you!”Her pale face reddened, and her eyes were downcast. She tried to withdraw her hand from mine.“But I knew what a good honest fellow he was, and I determined to become his friend. Alas! his friendship for me, because he intended to consult me and tell me what he had discovered, cost him his life.”“Ah no!” she cried, “do not recall that. It is all too terrible—too terrible!”“I know what a blow it was for you,” I went on madly. “I suffered all your poignant grief because I loved you—”“No, no?”“Let me finish—let me tell you, Asta, now, once and for all, what I feel and what is in my heart. I knew that, with memories of poor Guy still upon you, that you could care nothing for me—perhaps barely like me. I know that at first you almost felt you hated me, yet I have kept my secret to myself, and I have loved you, Asta—loved you better than mere words of mine can tell.”And I bent and drew her gently to me.She made no response. Only she looked at me swiftly, and a long sigh escaped her lips.“In all my life I have never loved any woman but you—so long as I live I never shall,” I declared, in a fervent voice. “If you are not my wife, Asta, then no other woman will ever be. I could not speak before—I dared not. I could not think that you even liked me, and I should have to take time to teach you the sweet lesson I longed to teach you. But to-night, my beloved, I have thrown hesitation to the winds. Now that you are to live, I have told you—I ask you, my love, to be my wife!”“And I—I thought—”“Yes,” I said, tightening my hold upon her hand and placing my arm softly about her neck.“I—I never thought that you loved me,” she said suddenly. But the look in her splendid eyes, the tone of her voice, the rare sweet smile which parted her lips in sheer gladness, unconsciously shown at my confession, told me more than a whole volume of words could have told me.And slowly my lips met hers in a long kiss—a long, long kiss of ecstatic love—a kiss that changed my whole life from that moment.“I love you, dearest. I love you with all my soul,” I said, looking down at the pale, thin little face that rested upon my shoulder as she lay.“You love me?” Her words were scarcely a breath, but I heard them clearly enough in the silence of the room.“I love you,” I repeated, with fervour and simplicity. “I love you, Asta, as I have never loved, and as I shall never love again. But you—it is of you that I have had the doubt; it is your love that I have feared I might not yet have won. Have you nothing to say to me? You rest here in my arms. You have let me kiss your lips—”Through the room there sounded a half laugh, half sob that silenced me. Two soft arms wound themselves about my throat and lay softly there; two sweet tear-dimmed eyes looked straight into mine with something in their depths that held me silent for sheer joy; and two warm lips lifted to mine gave me back, shyly, one out of my many caresses.“Yes, Lionel, I do love you,” she said at last, so low that I had to bring my ear close to her lips to catch the words. “And—and if you really mean that you want me for your wife—”“Really mean it!” I echoed. “My dear love, cannot you understand that I live for you alone—only you—that for you to be my wife is the greatest, almost the only wish of my life?”“Then it shall be as you wish,” she said softly. What passionate words escaped me I do not remember. All I know is that our lips met again and again many, many times, and we sat in each other’s embraces childishly blissful in our new-born happiness.For a long time, indeed, no further word was spoken between us. Our minds were too full for mere uttered phrases.Thus we sat until recalled to a sudden consciousness of the situation by the nurse’s light tap upon the door.Then, before I left that room, and heedless of the presence of the nurse, I bent and kissed fondly upon the lips my wife who was to be.Ah! can I adequately describe my feelings that evening, my heart-bursting to tell to some intimate friend the secret of our love? No, I will leave you who have loved to imagine the boundless joy I felt at the knowledge that Asta loved me after all, and that we were betrothed.
“Mr Edgecumbe was always of an antiquarian turn of mind, and when he left England he took up the study of Egyptology in order to occupy his time,” said the solicitor, as we sat in the taxi whirling along Newgate Street. “He spent many years in Egypt, and being, of course, in possession of ample funds, he was enabled to make very extensive explorations, for which he was granted special privileges by the Khedive. Many of his discoveries have enriched the British Museum, the Louvre, and other museums on the Continent, while, stored here in London—in a place of which I hold the key—is a magnificent and valuable collection of objects from the period of Shaaru, down to that of the first Amenhotep, all of which will pass into the possession of his daughter, Miss Asta. Even the collection in the British Museum cannot compare with them in value or interest. Every object in our late client’s collection is absolutely unique.”
“As is the bronze cylinder,” I added.
“Yes. I confess I have been filled with wonder as to what it can contain ever since the receipt of the letter asking us to advertise on the third of November for an unknown person—yourself, Mr Kemball. Whatever where the actions of the late Mr Edgecumbe, we must not lose sight of the main fact that the death of his wife, whom he adored, caused in him certain eccentricities. He was devoted to his little daughter Asta, and in order that she should never know that her father had been accused and compelled to fly from justice, he induced his partner to adopt her—only to discover afterwards that he was a criminal and unscrupulous, and was, moreover, in association with a man and woman who were, undoubtedly, criminals. Yet having taken the step he had done ten years before, he could not well draw back. I advised him, as soon as exposure came, to stay and face the music. But the death of his wife had utterly broken him, and his only reply was to say that he was tired of an active business life, and preferred obscurity and study abroad. Yes, Mr Kemball,” added the man at my side, “Arnold Edgecumbe was a decidedly remarkable man—a man of great talent and attainments, of wondrous perception, and honest as few men in this city of London are honest nowadays. He knew that Harford’s arrest would bring disgrace upon Asta, and for that reason urged you to become his friend. The situation was, indeed, unique.”
On arrival at the Safe Deposit vaults we found, unfortunately, that they had been closed a quarter of an hour, therefore there was nothing to do but to wait till next morning.
So, after some final words with Fryer, I left him, promising to return on the morrow, and then drove straight to St. Pancras, and went down to Lydford, arriving there soon after nine o’clock.
Asta was, I found, so much better that she had been left in charge of a nurse whom Sir George had summoned from London that day. And at my urgent request she allowed me to see her patient alone.
As I stood beside her bed, our hands clasped in meaning silence, I saw that she smiled gladly at my arrival.
Then, presently, when she had motioned me to a chair and I had congratulated her upon her rapid progress towards recovery, I related in as quiet a voice as I could all that I had learned that day in London.
“Mr Arnold was my father!” she cried, looking at me amazed and stupefied. “I never knew that—I—I can’t believe it—and yet how kind he has always been to me—what beautiful presents he used to buy for me when I was a child—and how tenderly he used to kiss me when we met. Ah yes!” she cried, “I ought to have known; I ought to have guessed. Poor dear father—and he died without betraying to me the secret of my birth.”
“He was a lonely man, Asta,” I said in a low voice, calling her by her Christian name for the first time. “He loved your mother and revered her memory. And he kept from you the secret that he had been cruelly misjudged as a shark and a swindler. He entrusted you to the man I know as Shaw, believing him to be upright and a friend. But, alas! how greatly his confidence has been abused.”
Her eyes were filled with tears.
“You alone, Mr Kemball, have stood my friend,” she said scarcely above a whisper, as she turned her bright gaze upon me. “When I saw that terrible spider in my room I sent word to you, after chasing it out into the corridor. A vague suspicion that it had been placed there purposely crept over me. But Shaw must have allowed it to pass into my room again, after I had dropped off to sleep.”
“I was your father’s friend,” I replied, “and I hope—”
“Poor dear father! Why did he not tell me? He wrote to me to come to the hotel, urging me to say nothing to Mr Shaw. Perhaps he had something to tell me—ah! who knows?” she exclaimed reflectively. “But I arrived there, alas! too late—too late!”
“He probably intended to reveal to you the truth,” I remarked, looking into her pale, wan countenance. “But had he done so perhaps—perhaps you and I would not have been such close friends as we are to-day.”
“Perhaps not,” she sighed. “I remember how, when we motored to Aix, Shaw was very careful of a little box. Ah yes! I owe more to you than I can ever repay.”
“No,” I said softly. “But—but let me make a confession to you, Asta,” and I took the tiny hand that lay outside the down-quilt. “When I first knew you I grew jealous of poor Guy for—ah, forgive me—because—because, Asta, I loved you!”
Her pale face reddened, and her eyes were downcast. She tried to withdraw her hand from mine.
“But I knew what a good honest fellow he was, and I determined to become his friend. Alas! his friendship for me, because he intended to consult me and tell me what he had discovered, cost him his life.”
“Ah no!” she cried, “do not recall that. It is all too terrible—too terrible!”
“I know what a blow it was for you,” I went on madly. “I suffered all your poignant grief because I loved you—”
“No, no?”
“Let me finish—let me tell you, Asta, now, once and for all, what I feel and what is in my heart. I knew that, with memories of poor Guy still upon you, that you could care nothing for me—perhaps barely like me. I know that at first you almost felt you hated me, yet I have kept my secret to myself, and I have loved you, Asta—loved you better than mere words of mine can tell.”
And I bent and drew her gently to me.
She made no response. Only she looked at me swiftly, and a long sigh escaped her lips.
“In all my life I have never loved any woman but you—so long as I live I never shall,” I declared, in a fervent voice. “If you are not my wife, Asta, then no other woman will ever be. I could not speak before—I dared not. I could not think that you even liked me, and I should have to take time to teach you the sweet lesson I longed to teach you. But to-night, my beloved, I have thrown hesitation to the winds. Now that you are to live, I have told you—I ask you, my love, to be my wife!”
“And I—I thought—”
“Yes,” I said, tightening my hold upon her hand and placing my arm softly about her neck.
“I—I never thought that you loved me,” she said suddenly. But the look in her splendid eyes, the tone of her voice, the rare sweet smile which parted her lips in sheer gladness, unconsciously shown at my confession, told me more than a whole volume of words could have told me.
And slowly my lips met hers in a long kiss—a long, long kiss of ecstatic love—a kiss that changed my whole life from that moment.
“I love you, dearest. I love you with all my soul,” I said, looking down at the pale, thin little face that rested upon my shoulder as she lay.
“You love me?” Her words were scarcely a breath, but I heard them clearly enough in the silence of the room.
“I love you,” I repeated, with fervour and simplicity. “I love you, Asta, as I have never loved, and as I shall never love again. But you—it is of you that I have had the doubt; it is your love that I have feared I might not yet have won. Have you nothing to say to me? You rest here in my arms. You have let me kiss your lips—”
Through the room there sounded a half laugh, half sob that silenced me. Two soft arms wound themselves about my throat and lay softly there; two sweet tear-dimmed eyes looked straight into mine with something in their depths that held me silent for sheer joy; and two warm lips lifted to mine gave me back, shyly, one out of my many caresses.
“Yes, Lionel, I do love you,” she said at last, so low that I had to bring my ear close to her lips to catch the words. “And—and if you really mean that you want me for your wife—”
“Really mean it!” I echoed. “My dear love, cannot you understand that I live for you alone—only you—that for you to be my wife is the greatest, almost the only wish of my life?”
“Then it shall be as you wish,” she said softly. What passionate words escaped me I do not remember. All I know is that our lips met again and again many, many times, and we sat in each other’s embraces childishly blissful in our new-born happiness.
For a long time, indeed, no further word was spoken between us. Our minds were too full for mere uttered phrases.
Thus we sat until recalled to a sudden consciousness of the situation by the nurse’s light tap upon the door.
Then, before I left that room, and heedless of the presence of the nurse, I bent and kissed fondly upon the lips my wife who was to be.
Ah! can I adequately describe my feelings that evening, my heart-bursting to tell to some intimate friend the secret of our love? No, I will leave you who have loved to imagine the boundless joy I felt at the knowledge that Asta loved me after all, and that we were betrothed.
Chapter Thirty Three.Plot and Counter-Plot.In London next day I met Mr Fryer by appointment at half-past eleven at the Holborn Restaurant, being near Chancery Lane, and together we went to the Safe Deposit Company’s vaults, where we obtained the ancient cylinder from the strong box in which I had placed it, and then entered a taxi and drove to the City.Across Holborn, in Red Lion Street, we found a locksmith, and took him with us to Fryer’s office in London Wall. He brought with him some tools, but when he seated himself and examined the mysterious cylinder he shook his head, remarking—“This’ll be a pretty tough job. It’s been very well welded together. I’ll have to file it off!”“Is it ancient welding?” I asked.“Oh no, sir. It’s a very ancient bit o’ bronze, but the top’s been off of late, and when, welded on it’s been painted over green to imitate the patina of the old bronze. Whoever did it was one of those fakers of antiques, I should say.”“Well,” said the solicitor, “make a start on it, and get it open.”The mechanic seated himself at the table and, taking up a long sharp file, began to cut into the hard metal, while we stood aside watching him intently.What could it be that was so securely concealed therein—the Thing that had been withheld even from Mr Fryer, the dead man’s confidant in everything?For a quarter of an hour the man worked hard, but made little or no impression upon the ancient metal. So the solicitor took me into an adjoining room, where after a brief chat he said—“Since our conversation last night I’ve been carefully weighing matters. The motive of the cruel and ingenious assassination of your friend Nicholson is perfectly plain. Harford knew that there was a will in existence, for now I recollect Mr Edgecumbe, after getting me to make it, told me that he had revealed its provisions to his friend. They are that his daughter should inherit the whole of his very substantial fortune, but in the event of her death while unmarried it was to go to Harford himself, in recognition of his friendship and of his kindness to Miss Asta. Now if Nicholson had married her, the money would have passed beyond his control. Therefore, aided, no doubt, by Earnshaw and his wife, they killed him by a method which fully bears out my estimate of the craft and cunning of my client’s late partner. Edgecumbe, not long before his death, had somehow become aware of the existence of the huge spider, kept as a pet, and having suspicions as to what use it might be put to, warned you of it with his last effort. Nicholson, against whom it is more than probable an unsuccessful attempt was made one night while sleeping at the Hall, also discovered Harford’s secret. He intended to reveal it to you, but was attacked, and succumbed before he could call upon you. Harford next feared lest you might propose marriage to his ward, hence the fact that he carried his pet to the Continent with him, and you saw the terrible ‘Hand’ and narrowly escaped its fatal grip on that night in the old French inn. Yes, Mr Kemball,” Fryer added, “depend upon it that Harford played his last card when he allowed the terrible spider to pass into Miss Asta’s bedroom. He intended that she should die, and that Arnold Edgecumbe’s fortune should be his—a plot which would, alas! have been successfully accomplished, had your suspicions not been providentially aroused.”A sudden call from the locksmith caused us to return hastily to Fryer’s room, and there we saw that the top of the ancient cylinder had been filed entirely off.“There’s something inside, sir,” said the man, addressing the solicitor. “Perhaps you’d like to take it out yourself.”And Mr Fryer drew forth a portion of an ancient leather thong, attached to which was a large old seal of clay with an ancient Egyptian cartouche impressed upon it.
In London next day I met Mr Fryer by appointment at half-past eleven at the Holborn Restaurant, being near Chancery Lane, and together we went to the Safe Deposit Company’s vaults, where we obtained the ancient cylinder from the strong box in which I had placed it, and then entered a taxi and drove to the City.
Across Holborn, in Red Lion Street, we found a locksmith, and took him with us to Fryer’s office in London Wall. He brought with him some tools, but when he seated himself and examined the mysterious cylinder he shook his head, remarking—“This’ll be a pretty tough job. It’s been very well welded together. I’ll have to file it off!”
“Is it ancient welding?” I asked.
“Oh no, sir. It’s a very ancient bit o’ bronze, but the top’s been off of late, and when, welded on it’s been painted over green to imitate the patina of the old bronze. Whoever did it was one of those fakers of antiques, I should say.”
“Well,” said the solicitor, “make a start on it, and get it open.”
The mechanic seated himself at the table and, taking up a long sharp file, began to cut into the hard metal, while we stood aside watching him intently.
What could it be that was so securely concealed therein—the Thing that had been withheld even from Mr Fryer, the dead man’s confidant in everything?
For a quarter of an hour the man worked hard, but made little or no impression upon the ancient metal. So the solicitor took me into an adjoining room, where after a brief chat he said—
“Since our conversation last night I’ve been carefully weighing matters. The motive of the cruel and ingenious assassination of your friend Nicholson is perfectly plain. Harford knew that there was a will in existence, for now I recollect Mr Edgecumbe, after getting me to make it, told me that he had revealed its provisions to his friend. They are that his daughter should inherit the whole of his very substantial fortune, but in the event of her death while unmarried it was to go to Harford himself, in recognition of his friendship and of his kindness to Miss Asta. Now if Nicholson had married her, the money would have passed beyond his control. Therefore, aided, no doubt, by Earnshaw and his wife, they killed him by a method which fully bears out my estimate of the craft and cunning of my client’s late partner. Edgecumbe, not long before his death, had somehow become aware of the existence of the huge spider, kept as a pet, and having suspicions as to what use it might be put to, warned you of it with his last effort. Nicholson, against whom it is more than probable an unsuccessful attempt was made one night while sleeping at the Hall, also discovered Harford’s secret. He intended to reveal it to you, but was attacked, and succumbed before he could call upon you. Harford next feared lest you might propose marriage to his ward, hence the fact that he carried his pet to the Continent with him, and you saw the terrible ‘Hand’ and narrowly escaped its fatal grip on that night in the old French inn. Yes, Mr Kemball,” Fryer added, “depend upon it that Harford played his last card when he allowed the terrible spider to pass into Miss Asta’s bedroom. He intended that she should die, and that Arnold Edgecumbe’s fortune should be his—a plot which would, alas! have been successfully accomplished, had your suspicions not been providentially aroused.”
A sudden call from the locksmith caused us to return hastily to Fryer’s room, and there we saw that the top of the ancient cylinder had been filed entirely off.
“There’s something inside, sir,” said the man, addressing the solicitor. “Perhaps you’d like to take it out yourself.”
And Mr Fryer drew forth a portion of an ancient leather thong, attached to which was a large old seal of clay with an ancient Egyptian cartouche impressed upon it.
Chapter Thirty Four.What the Cylinder Contained.Mr Fryer then took the cylinder in his hand, and with eager fingers first drew forth a piece of modern paper about six inches long, folded lengthways many times. When he opened it I saw that parts of it were brown as though scorched, while it bore at its base one of the long green stamps used in the Consular service, obliterated together with attesting signatures.At a glance he recognised its nature.“Why!” he exclaimed. “This is a fresh will signed a year ago before the British Consul-General at Naples! Ah!” he went on, reading it swiftly. “I see. His disillusion regarding Harford, whom he believed to be his friend, caused him to revoke his previous will, and by the terms of this he leaves his entire fortune, as well as what may accrue from the enclosed knowledge, unconditionally to his daughter Asta, but in the event of her death, it is to go to found a sanatorium for the treatment of destitute consumptive patients.”“Then he must certainly have had suspicions of Harford!”“Without a doubt. In order to warn Asta of the existence of that deadly spider, and probably to make other provisions for her, he came to England from Egypt, but unfortunately died on the day prior to her call at the hotel. When he wrote to me he, no doubt, felt a presage of imminent death, for he knew well that he suffered from heart-affection and might expire quite suddenly. He intended, by making this new will in secret and placing it in your hands, that should Asta expire mysteriously, the assassin would receive a shock at finding that the money did not revert to him after all. And see,” he said. “Read what is written here.”I peered over his shoulder and read the lines of small but clear handwriting at the foot of the document, evidently penned after it had been completed at the Consulate.“Memorandum made by me this Fourth day of February, 1909:—In case of the sudden or mysterious death of my dear daughter Asta before the opening of this cylinder, I desire that the circumstances of her death be fully investigated. The man Harford, alias Harvey Shaw, in whose charge I injudiciously placed my beloved daughter, keeps as pet a specimen of the lycosa tarantula of Ecuador, which is most venomous and dangerous, and will attack human beings when they are asleep. In Ecuador and Peru, on account of its size and formation, it is known as ‘The Death Hand.’ Inquiries I have made show that a bite causes inflammation of the brain, so that medical men in South America are very frequently deceived. I have suspicions that the man Harford intends to use his pet for purposes of secret assassination, and hereby place my strong convictions upon record for my above-named executor, Mr Cyril Fryer, to use at his own will and discretion. Signed by me, Arnold Edgecumbe.”“By Jove!” I said. “That’s a pretty plain allegation.”“Yes, and not far short of the truth,” replied my friend. “With these suspicions in his mind I wonder what could have been the nature of his letter to Harford which you delivered at Totnes Station?”“It was addressed in the name of Dawnay.”“One of the names he used—one of his actual Christian names. It is evident, however, that, in it, he gave Harford no cause to suspect that he was aware of the existence of the strange pet, otherwise he would not have made that too successful attempt upon Nicholson.”“Yes, but by its delivery he knew that its writer was dead,” I said. “Your client, perhaps, acted with some indiscretion in sending it. It at once placed Asta in peril.”“He had a motive, no doubt—but it imperilled Asta. Yet if he had not sent it you would never have met the young lady, or been instrumental in exposing the clever and ingenious plot from which she has so narrowly escaped with her life,” the solicitor remarked.The locksmith had been paid and retired. So we were again alone together.“The wording of this latest will is peculiar,” Mr Fryer went on. “It refers to ‘all that may accrue from the enclosed knowledge.’ What enclosed knowledge, I wonder?”And taking up the cylinder he again looked into it. “Why, there’s something else here?” he exclaimed, and inserting a long steel letter-opener he succeeded in drawing forth a small roll of ancient brown papyri which, very tender and crumbling, was covered by puzzling Egyptian hieroglyphics.“This, in all probability,” he exclaimed, “is what the cylinder originally contained when he discovered it in the tomb of the Great Merenptah. We must obtain a translation.”“Yes,” I cried eagerly. “Let us take it to the British Museum. Professor Stewart will be able to decipher it at once.”So, replacing the papyri in its bronze case, we took it with us in a taxi, and half an hour later sat in the room of the professor, the same eminent Egyptologist whom I had seen on my previous visit there.The great scholar put on his spectacles very leisurely, and with great care opened the crumbled relic out before him as he sat at this table and placed a sheet of glass over it.Then for a long time he pored closely over the queer, crude drawings. At last he broke the silence as he looked up at us through his round glasses, saying—“This, I may as well tell you, is one of the most remarkable and interesting records that have ever come out of Egypt, and, like the papyri which I deciphered for Mr Arnold, and which was found accompanying this cylinder, it is in the hieroglyphics in use during the period after Alexander the Great had delivered Egypt and it was ruled by Ptolemy and his descendants. Ptolemy the First, you will remember, perhaps, reigned from 323 to 285 B.C., and was succeeded by twelve other kings of his dynasty. The famous Cleopatra was daughter of Ptolemy the Eleventh, and in 43 B.C. became Queen of Egypt. Here we have before us, upon this piece of papyri, a most important record concerning that famous woman. This was written at Thebes by one Sanehat, or Sa-nehat, son of the sycamore, a general and a royal favourite in the year and month of Antony’s death. Listen, and I will decipher one or two extracts to show you its purport,” and carefully wiping his spectacles the celebrated Egyptologist readjusted them; and then, examining the half-faded lines of hieroglyphics, said—“The opening is a long one in which Sanehat, son of the sycamore—probably from his having been born or living at some place where there was a celebrated sacred sycamore—describes the love between Cleopatra and Antony, and the great treasures of the wonderful palace of the Ptolemies, which stood about in the centre of the shore of the eastern bay of Alexandria. He relates how Antony and Octavian fought desperately for the possession of the world at the Battle of Actium, and how, after that wonderful royal banquet which Athenaeus has already described to us in his writings, Antony sank deeper and deeper in the flood of his wild passion for Cleopatra. We have the Queen’s marvellous beauty, her fascinations—her limbs like gold and her hair like lapis lazuli, so precious in Egypt in those days—and her sins here described by the hand of one who was her most trusted general—and who, by the way, is mentioned in at least two other records of this period, one now preserved at St. Petersburg, and the other at Berlin, published in facsimile in theDenkmalerof Lepsius. It tells us of the gorgeous life led by this most brilliant Queen of Queens, of the wealth and favours she lavished upon Antony and his captains, and of how she built her tomb near the temple of Isis Lochais, at the eastern end of the harbour where Fort Silsileh stands to-day. All this is most intensely interesting, coming as it does from the hand of the Queen’s trusted favourite, but there is something more—something which certainly arouses our curiosity and which must be investigated. Listen, and I will read just the most important extracts.”Then again he paused for a few moments, and halfway down the crinkled papyri he read a disjointed decipher as follows:—“The Horus, life of births, lords of crowns, life of births, king of Upper and Lower Egypt, Kheper-ha-ra, son of the Sun, Amen-em-hat, ever rising into eternity. Order for those who read. Behold this order of the Queen is sent to thee to instruct thee of her will...“Cleopatra, whose ruling passion was to be a monarch of a greater Egypt and to enlarge the borders of the South, remained in the Palace of her fathers, but Antony was valiantly defending the fortress of Pelusium against Octavian. In dead of night I was called by the Lord Steward unto the pearl chamber of the Queen, and she, reclining upon her bed of pearl and gold with censers of sweet perfumes burning, commanded me to silence, and sent away her slaves. She had received Neb-ka-n-ra as messenger from Antony telling her of Octavian’s strength... She therefore commanded me with my captains User-ref and Hordedef to repair unto the treasury of the while house and take possession of the greatest of her jewels and place them in a place of safety, lest the accursed Octavian conquering, the Palace be attacked.“In obedience I called my two most trusted captains, and went in secret unto the white house, and opening it with the Queen’s own key, obtained therefrom much gold and precious stones... with the great jewels of Sotor of Euegates, and of Ruddidet... and the sacred sapphires of Amen-em-hat... and next night we concealed them. Five times did we journey, under cover of night, unto the treasury, and in baskets of green tamarisk took therefrom... strings of emeralds and of pearls and electrum and new malachite... the hundred rubies the size of pigeons’ eggs... the goblets of gold and stones and the great bowls of gold encrusted with jewels which were served at the banquet to Antony... Know ye that fifteen basketsful of precious stones of ka, statues of gold, breast ornaments of emeralds, beads of lapis lazuli, and pearls of great price did we take and conceal in the place where Octavian—whose name be accursed—should not know.“...And at dawn, when our work was completed, I went again unto the Queen and kneeling told her of the place where we had hidden them. And Ra had spread fear over the land; his terrors in every place, and the Queen was greatly pleased, and rewarded me with fifty talents. And she commanded me to write this record and to place it where it should remain through the ages, so that if death consumed her, the whereabouts of her treasure shall not be utterly lost unto the world.“Know, therefore, ye who dareth to open this tube of bronze which she gave unto me and to face the wrath of the Sun-God, and of Osiris the Eternal, that the pit where we have dug... and wherein we have concealed the great treasure and gold and lazuli and heart scarabs and khulal stones set in gold of our Queen Cleopatra the Magnificent, lieth three hundred cubits and seven towards the sunrise from the eastern angle of the Temple of Denderah, which our Queen hath founded and which beareth her image graven by Uba-aner upon its wall. With thy back unto the eye of her image pace three hundred cubits and seven, and the gold and jewels which our Queen secured for Antony... shall there be found hidden...“I, Sanehat, make this record lest the great treasure of Cleopatra be lost for all time. I write this so that he beloved of Ra, of Horus, and of Hathor, who readeth this my message, may seek and may find... for Antony fought well, and went from battle unto death by his own hand because he heard falsely that his Queen was already dead. Yea, in their splendour but one moon ago, they founded the synapothano menoi (the people who are about to die together), and so Antony took his life when he heard that his Queen was dead.“Two suns have not set since User-ref and Hordedef, my loyal and well-beloved captains, were put to death by the Queen’s orders, the month Paophi... the seventh day the god entered his horizon... so that they may not betray the hiding-place of her jewels, and I have fled here unto Thebes, for, alas! her hand is now uplifted against me for the same cause... and this written record will I place in the tomb of the Great Merenptah, that it shall remain there through generations in the keeping of Ra, till it be discovered by one of courage who cometh after me, and upon whom may the blessing of our great Osiris for ever rest. Excellently finished in peace. He who destroyeth this roll may Tahuti smite him.”“How curious!” I exclaimed, utterly astounded.“Does this Temple of Denderah still exist?”“Most certainly,” replied the professor. “I myself have seen the graven image of Cleopatra upon its wall, as well as that of her child Caesarion. As far as I can distinguish, this record, which has reposed in its cylinder for nearly two thousand years, is perfectly genuine, and as it is known that the marvellous Egyptian queen must have possessed untold treasures, this record of Sanehat should certainly be investigated. It was evidently written on the day of Cleopatra’s death, but before the news that the gorgeous queen had committed suicide rather than be carried captive to Rome had become known.”“But does this wonderful collection of gems still exist, do you anticipate?” inquired Fryer.“Well, after reading such an authentic document as this, I am certainly inclined to believe that it may very possibly be found. I recall that the vicinity of the temple is desert, and that the ground at the spot indicated certainly shows no signs of recent excavation.”“Then knowledge of this papyri must be kept a profound secret, and the Egyptian Government approached in confidence with a view to allowing exploration in the vicinity,” Fryer said, his business instinct at once asserting itself.“Most certainly,” replied the professor. “I am, of course, most intensely interested in this matter, and if I can be of any assistance I shall only be too happy. Personally, I believe that by this important papyri the great treasures which Cleopatra was known to possess, and of which history gives us no account after her death, may actually be recovered.”
Mr Fryer then took the cylinder in his hand, and with eager fingers first drew forth a piece of modern paper about six inches long, folded lengthways many times. When he opened it I saw that parts of it were brown as though scorched, while it bore at its base one of the long green stamps used in the Consular service, obliterated together with attesting signatures.
At a glance he recognised its nature.
“Why!” he exclaimed. “This is a fresh will signed a year ago before the British Consul-General at Naples! Ah!” he went on, reading it swiftly. “I see. His disillusion regarding Harford, whom he believed to be his friend, caused him to revoke his previous will, and by the terms of this he leaves his entire fortune, as well as what may accrue from the enclosed knowledge, unconditionally to his daughter Asta, but in the event of her death, it is to go to found a sanatorium for the treatment of destitute consumptive patients.”
“Then he must certainly have had suspicions of Harford!”
“Without a doubt. In order to warn Asta of the existence of that deadly spider, and probably to make other provisions for her, he came to England from Egypt, but unfortunately died on the day prior to her call at the hotel. When he wrote to me he, no doubt, felt a presage of imminent death, for he knew well that he suffered from heart-affection and might expire quite suddenly. He intended, by making this new will in secret and placing it in your hands, that should Asta expire mysteriously, the assassin would receive a shock at finding that the money did not revert to him after all. And see,” he said. “Read what is written here.”
I peered over his shoulder and read the lines of small but clear handwriting at the foot of the document, evidently penned after it had been completed at the Consulate.
“Memorandum made by me this Fourth day of February, 1909:—In case of the sudden or mysterious death of my dear daughter Asta before the opening of this cylinder, I desire that the circumstances of her death be fully investigated. The man Harford, alias Harvey Shaw, in whose charge I injudiciously placed my beloved daughter, keeps as pet a specimen of the lycosa tarantula of Ecuador, which is most venomous and dangerous, and will attack human beings when they are asleep. In Ecuador and Peru, on account of its size and formation, it is known as ‘The Death Hand.’ Inquiries I have made show that a bite causes inflammation of the brain, so that medical men in South America are very frequently deceived. I have suspicions that the man Harford intends to use his pet for purposes of secret assassination, and hereby place my strong convictions upon record for my above-named executor, Mr Cyril Fryer, to use at his own will and discretion. Signed by me, Arnold Edgecumbe.”
“By Jove!” I said. “That’s a pretty plain allegation.”
“Yes, and not far short of the truth,” replied my friend. “With these suspicions in his mind I wonder what could have been the nature of his letter to Harford which you delivered at Totnes Station?”
“It was addressed in the name of Dawnay.”
“One of the names he used—one of his actual Christian names. It is evident, however, that, in it, he gave Harford no cause to suspect that he was aware of the existence of the strange pet, otherwise he would not have made that too successful attempt upon Nicholson.”
“Yes, but by its delivery he knew that its writer was dead,” I said. “Your client, perhaps, acted with some indiscretion in sending it. It at once placed Asta in peril.”
“He had a motive, no doubt—but it imperilled Asta. Yet if he had not sent it you would never have met the young lady, or been instrumental in exposing the clever and ingenious plot from which she has so narrowly escaped with her life,” the solicitor remarked.
The locksmith had been paid and retired. So we were again alone together.
“The wording of this latest will is peculiar,” Mr Fryer went on. “It refers to ‘all that may accrue from the enclosed knowledge.’ What enclosed knowledge, I wonder?”
And taking up the cylinder he again looked into it. “Why, there’s something else here?” he exclaimed, and inserting a long steel letter-opener he succeeded in drawing forth a small roll of ancient brown papyri which, very tender and crumbling, was covered by puzzling Egyptian hieroglyphics.
“This, in all probability,” he exclaimed, “is what the cylinder originally contained when he discovered it in the tomb of the Great Merenptah. We must obtain a translation.”
“Yes,” I cried eagerly. “Let us take it to the British Museum. Professor Stewart will be able to decipher it at once.”
So, replacing the papyri in its bronze case, we took it with us in a taxi, and half an hour later sat in the room of the professor, the same eminent Egyptologist whom I had seen on my previous visit there.
The great scholar put on his spectacles very leisurely, and with great care opened the crumbled relic out before him as he sat at this table and placed a sheet of glass over it.
Then for a long time he pored closely over the queer, crude drawings. At last he broke the silence as he looked up at us through his round glasses, saying—
“This, I may as well tell you, is one of the most remarkable and interesting records that have ever come out of Egypt, and, like the papyri which I deciphered for Mr Arnold, and which was found accompanying this cylinder, it is in the hieroglyphics in use during the period after Alexander the Great had delivered Egypt and it was ruled by Ptolemy and his descendants. Ptolemy the First, you will remember, perhaps, reigned from 323 to 285 B.C., and was succeeded by twelve other kings of his dynasty. The famous Cleopatra was daughter of Ptolemy the Eleventh, and in 43 B.C. became Queen of Egypt. Here we have before us, upon this piece of papyri, a most important record concerning that famous woman. This was written at Thebes by one Sanehat, or Sa-nehat, son of the sycamore, a general and a royal favourite in the year and month of Antony’s death. Listen, and I will decipher one or two extracts to show you its purport,” and carefully wiping his spectacles the celebrated Egyptologist readjusted them; and then, examining the half-faded lines of hieroglyphics, said—
“The opening is a long one in which Sanehat, son of the sycamore—probably from his having been born or living at some place where there was a celebrated sacred sycamore—describes the love between Cleopatra and Antony, and the great treasures of the wonderful palace of the Ptolemies, which stood about in the centre of the shore of the eastern bay of Alexandria. He relates how Antony and Octavian fought desperately for the possession of the world at the Battle of Actium, and how, after that wonderful royal banquet which Athenaeus has already described to us in his writings, Antony sank deeper and deeper in the flood of his wild passion for Cleopatra. We have the Queen’s marvellous beauty, her fascinations—her limbs like gold and her hair like lapis lazuli, so precious in Egypt in those days—and her sins here described by the hand of one who was her most trusted general—and who, by the way, is mentioned in at least two other records of this period, one now preserved at St. Petersburg, and the other at Berlin, published in facsimile in theDenkmalerof Lepsius. It tells us of the gorgeous life led by this most brilliant Queen of Queens, of the wealth and favours she lavished upon Antony and his captains, and of how she built her tomb near the temple of Isis Lochais, at the eastern end of the harbour where Fort Silsileh stands to-day. All this is most intensely interesting, coming as it does from the hand of the Queen’s trusted favourite, but there is something more—something which certainly arouses our curiosity and which must be investigated. Listen, and I will read just the most important extracts.”
Then again he paused for a few moments, and halfway down the crinkled papyri he read a disjointed decipher as follows:—
“The Horus, life of births, lords of crowns, life of births, king of Upper and Lower Egypt, Kheper-ha-ra, son of the Sun, Amen-em-hat, ever rising into eternity. Order for those who read. Behold this order of the Queen is sent to thee to instruct thee of her will...
“Cleopatra, whose ruling passion was to be a monarch of a greater Egypt and to enlarge the borders of the South, remained in the Palace of her fathers, but Antony was valiantly defending the fortress of Pelusium against Octavian. In dead of night I was called by the Lord Steward unto the pearl chamber of the Queen, and she, reclining upon her bed of pearl and gold with censers of sweet perfumes burning, commanded me to silence, and sent away her slaves. She had received Neb-ka-n-ra as messenger from Antony telling her of Octavian’s strength... She therefore commanded me with my captains User-ref and Hordedef to repair unto the treasury of the while house and take possession of the greatest of her jewels and place them in a place of safety, lest the accursed Octavian conquering, the Palace be attacked.
“In obedience I called my two most trusted captains, and went in secret unto the white house, and opening it with the Queen’s own key, obtained therefrom much gold and precious stones... with the great jewels of Sotor of Euegates, and of Ruddidet... and the sacred sapphires of Amen-em-hat... and next night we concealed them. Five times did we journey, under cover of night, unto the treasury, and in baskets of green tamarisk took therefrom... strings of emeralds and of pearls and electrum and new malachite... the hundred rubies the size of pigeons’ eggs... the goblets of gold and stones and the great bowls of gold encrusted with jewels which were served at the banquet to Antony... Know ye that fifteen basketsful of precious stones of ka, statues of gold, breast ornaments of emeralds, beads of lapis lazuli, and pearls of great price did we take and conceal in the place where Octavian—whose name be accursed—should not know.
“...And at dawn, when our work was completed, I went again unto the Queen and kneeling told her of the place where we had hidden them. And Ra had spread fear over the land; his terrors in every place, and the Queen was greatly pleased, and rewarded me with fifty talents. And she commanded me to write this record and to place it where it should remain through the ages, so that if death consumed her, the whereabouts of her treasure shall not be utterly lost unto the world.
“Know, therefore, ye who dareth to open this tube of bronze which she gave unto me and to face the wrath of the Sun-God, and of Osiris the Eternal, that the pit where we have dug... and wherein we have concealed the great treasure and gold and lazuli and heart scarabs and khulal stones set in gold of our Queen Cleopatra the Magnificent, lieth three hundred cubits and seven towards the sunrise from the eastern angle of the Temple of Denderah, which our Queen hath founded and which beareth her image graven by Uba-aner upon its wall. With thy back unto the eye of her image pace three hundred cubits and seven, and the gold and jewels which our Queen secured for Antony... shall there be found hidden...
“I, Sanehat, make this record lest the great treasure of Cleopatra be lost for all time. I write this so that he beloved of Ra, of Horus, and of Hathor, who readeth this my message, may seek and may find... for Antony fought well, and went from battle unto death by his own hand because he heard falsely that his Queen was already dead. Yea, in their splendour but one moon ago, they founded the synapothano menoi (the people who are about to die together), and so Antony took his life when he heard that his Queen was dead.
“Two suns have not set since User-ref and Hordedef, my loyal and well-beloved captains, were put to death by the Queen’s orders, the month Paophi... the seventh day the god entered his horizon... so that they may not betray the hiding-place of her jewels, and I have fled here unto Thebes, for, alas! her hand is now uplifted against me for the same cause... and this written record will I place in the tomb of the Great Merenptah, that it shall remain there through generations in the keeping of Ra, till it be discovered by one of courage who cometh after me, and upon whom may the blessing of our great Osiris for ever rest. Excellently finished in peace. He who destroyeth this roll may Tahuti smite him.”
“How curious!” I exclaimed, utterly astounded.
“Does this Temple of Denderah still exist?”
“Most certainly,” replied the professor. “I myself have seen the graven image of Cleopatra upon its wall, as well as that of her child Caesarion. As far as I can distinguish, this record, which has reposed in its cylinder for nearly two thousand years, is perfectly genuine, and as it is known that the marvellous Egyptian queen must have possessed untold treasures, this record of Sanehat should certainly be investigated. It was evidently written on the day of Cleopatra’s death, but before the news that the gorgeous queen had committed suicide rather than be carried captive to Rome had become known.”
“But does this wonderful collection of gems still exist, do you anticipate?” inquired Fryer.
“Well, after reading such an authentic document as this, I am certainly inclined to believe that it may very possibly be found. I recall that the vicinity of the temple is desert, and that the ground at the spot indicated certainly shows no signs of recent excavation.”
“Then knowledge of this papyri must be kept a profound secret, and the Egyptian Government approached in confidence with a view to allowing exploration in the vicinity,” Fryer said, his business instinct at once asserting itself.
“Most certainly,” replied the professor. “I am, of course, most intensely interested in this matter, and if I can be of any assistance I shall only be too happy. Personally, I believe that by this important papyri the great treasures which Cleopatra was known to possess, and of which history gives us no account after her death, may actually be recovered.”