Read Online The Adventure of the Pharaoh's Curse (The Assassination of Sherlock Holmes Book 1) by Craig Janacek - Free Book Online
Authors: Craig Janacek
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possibility of a supernatural explanation, which is the default of a weak intellect and an overactive imagination. Furthermore, while at least one key to this case exists in the possession of Mr. Brundage, we know that it is not a human hand that is turning the statue. You see, Lestrade, both Dr. Watson and I were able to confirm the testimony of Mr. Bedford, the protesting night-guard. The statue does indeed move on its own. Therefore, having eliminated the impossible, whatever explanation remained must be the truth. The statue is being turned by external forces of an entirely natural kind.”
“But the statue is in a glass case!” cried Mr. Brundage, perhaps upset at Holmes’ characterization of the limits of his intelligence. “What sort of forces could penetrate that?”
“The kind that only a set of hyper-acute senses might be able to detect,” said Holmes smiling. “Vibrations.”
The Director snorted with derision. “You are mad, Mr. Holmes. If this statue moved because of nearby vibrations, it would happen during the day, when the throngs of people are passing through this gallery, not in the dead of night.”
“I did not say that the vibrations were nearby. In fact, during the day the closer vibrations of the public’s footfalls serve as a sort of interference wave, and prevent the status from turning. It is their very absence after hours that allows the distant vibrations to produce the nocturnal movements. I have examined the statue myself and….”
“That’s impossible,” interjected Brundage. “Only I have the key.”
Holmes shook his head. “It is a rather simple lock, Mr. Brundage. It took me but a few seconds to open it. As I was saying, I examined the statue this morning and found that it has a convex base. There is a subtle lump at the bottom which makes it more susceptible to vibrations than the others in the gallery whose bases are perfectly flat. The differential friction of the serpentine stone of the statue and the glass shelf upon which it sits creates the movements which some have attributed to the presence of a ghostly life-force.”
“But where are the vibrations coming from, Holmes?” I asked.
“I told you last night, Watson, that the answer hails from another place and time. The other ‘place’ was strictly literal, while another ‘time’ was perhaps metaphorical. For the vibrations are caused by rumblings of trains passing through the modern tube station beneath our feet.”
“You must be joking, Mr. Holmes,” scoffed the Director.
“I never jest, Sir Williams. As Mr. Bedford clearly described, the statue does not continuously rotate. I timed the intervals between the movements and compared them to the timing of the trains entering and exiting the station. They match perfectly.”
“That is a fine piece of deduction, Mr. Holmes,” said Lestrade anxiously. “But I don’t see how that tells us who is robbing the Museum and killed Patterson?”
“I was getting to that, Lestrade,” said Holmes, piqued by the interruption. “While I was visiting the British Museum Station, I had a pleasant conversation with the Station Master. Mr. Jack Bullinger was a wealth of information about the goings-on of his small domain. Did you know that the station is reputed to the haunted by the ghost of a daughter of an Egyptian Pharaoh?”
Lestrade stared at Holmes as if he required a trip to Bedlam. “But Mr. Holmes, you’ve always said that you don’t believe in the Pharaoh’s curse?” said he, weakly.
As if he hadn’t heard Lestrade, Holmes continued. “According to Mr. Bullinger, the ghost first appeared when her mummy was accidentally destroyed during an unwrapping process by the Museum’s Egyptologists.”
Brundage grunted and shrugged his shoulders. “It happens sometimes. The wrappings on a mummy can be quite pasted together. There are always more where those came from.”
“Yes, well, late on certain nights, the Princess’s ghost appears, dressed in an
“But the statue is in a glass case!” cried Mr. Brundage, perhaps upset at Holmes’ characterization of the limits of his intelligence. “What sort of forces could penetrate that?”
“The kind that only a set of hyper-acute senses might be able to detect,” said Holmes smiling. “Vibrations.”
The Director snorted with derision. “You are mad, Mr. Holmes. If this statue moved because of nearby vibrations, it would happen during the day, when the throngs of people are passing through this gallery, not in the dead of night.”
“I did not say that the vibrations were nearby. In fact, during the day the closer vibrations of the public’s footfalls serve as a sort of interference wave, and prevent the status from turning. It is their very absence after hours that allows the distant vibrations to produce the nocturnal movements. I have examined the statue myself and….”
“That’s impossible,” interjected Brundage. “Only I have the key.”
Holmes shook his head. “It is a rather simple lock, Mr. Brundage. It took me but a few seconds to open it. As I was saying, I examined the statue this morning and found that it has a convex base. There is a subtle lump at the bottom which makes it more susceptible to vibrations than the others in the gallery whose bases are perfectly flat. The differential friction of the serpentine stone of the statue and the glass shelf upon which it sits creates the movements which some have attributed to the presence of a ghostly life-force.”
“But where are the vibrations coming from, Holmes?” I asked.
“I told you last night, Watson, that the answer hails from another place and time. The other ‘place’ was strictly literal, while another ‘time’ was perhaps metaphorical. For the vibrations are caused by rumblings of trains passing through the modern tube station beneath our feet.”
“You must be joking, Mr. Holmes,” scoffed the Director.
“I never jest, Sir Williams. As Mr. Bedford clearly described, the statue does not continuously rotate. I timed the intervals between the movements and compared them to the timing of the trains entering and exiting the station. They match perfectly.”
“That is a fine piece of deduction, Mr. Holmes,” said Lestrade anxiously. “But I don’t see how that tells us who is robbing the Museum and killed Patterson?”
“I was getting to that, Lestrade,” said Holmes, piqued by the interruption. “While I was visiting the British Museum Station, I had a pleasant conversation with the Station Master. Mr. Jack Bullinger was a wealth of information about the goings-on of his small domain. Did you know that the station is reputed to the haunted by the ghost of a daughter of an Egyptian Pharaoh?”
Lestrade stared at Holmes as if he required a trip to Bedlam. “But Mr. Holmes, you’ve always said that you don’t believe in the Pharaoh’s curse?” said he, weakly.
As if he hadn’t heard Lestrade, Holmes continued. “According to Mr. Bullinger, the ghost first appeared when her mummy was accidentally destroyed during an unwrapping process by the Museum’s Egyptologists.”
Brundage grunted and shrugged his shoulders. “It happens sometimes. The wrappings on a mummy can be quite pasted together. There are always more where those came from.”
“Yes, well, late on certain nights, the Princess’s ghost appears, dressed in an
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