Read Online The Adventure of the Pharaoh's Curse (The Assassination of Sherlock Holmes Book 1) by Craig Janacek - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Craig Janacek
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impressive loincloth and headdress, and she wails and screams so loudly that the noise carries down the tunnels to the adjoining stations.” He turned to me. “What do you make of that, Watson?”
Having studied my friend’s methods over the span of so many years, I was sufficiently conversant so as to attempt to replicate them. I considered how this information would have furthered Holmes’s deductions. “Perhaps the cries are not from a ghost, but rather made by some natural process?” I ventured.
Holmes wore an amused smile at this brilliant deduction of mine. “Capital, Watson! You are scintillating this morning. And you haven’t even had your coffee yet, I see. That is exactly the first solution which occurred to me. A sudden change in air pressure could create such an effect. I then turned my attention back to this gallery. Was the connection between the mummies herein and the Underground station purely a coincidence? I took another stroll around this room and noted an anomaly. If you will follow me, gentlemen?”
Holmes led us out from under the pyramid and along the eastern wall, which was lined by a series of upright, lidded stone sarcophagi, each intricately carved with hieroglyphics. “We have here a fine set of mummy cases, most of which are remarkably intact despite their great age and the vast distance that they travelled to their new home. But this one is different, wouldn’t you say?” He stopped in front of one such funeral receptacle, its weathered brown granite marred by the presence of several steel rods, rivets and claps. “This one has been modified, enhanced by this clever set of levers which allow the lid to be easily opened. Is this your handiwork, Mr. Brundage?”
The man shrugged modestly. “Yes, well, before we built the pyramid, we needed something to amuse our patrons. They enjoy seeing the lid slowly raised, imagining the emergence of the horrid form within…”
“Indeed,” said Holmes drily. “But I see that you use it no longer? This side is clasped by a firm lock.”
Brundage hesitated for a moment. “That is correct, Mr. Holmes. Despite the best efforts of the modern engineers who made the levers, the lid was never intended by its ancient makers to be opened once it was closed. Small cracks eventually began to appear in the marble, so we desisted. I put that lock on there to deter errant school boys from trying to open it when no one was looking.”
“And the key?”
“I don’t carry it with me. It must be around here somewhere. Likely in the desk drawer in my office.”
“No matter, for I do not require it. Like someone before me, it will be a simple matter to crack. Do you see the scratches, Lestrade?” he said, angling out the lock for inspection.
“Yes, I do,” replied Lestrade. “But I still cannot follow you, Mr. Holmes. Do you suspect that the thief is stashing their loot inside?”
“The thief is certainly utilizing it for something, Lestrade,” Holmes replied, as he took a set of picks from his pocket. “Look down, gentlemen. Do you see that fine layer of marble dust that has been so kindly left by the Museum’s infrequent cleaners? This morning I found a few similar grains upstairs near the case of the Chessmen.”
“But there is dust everywhere, Mr. Holmes!” protested Lestrade. “How could you have known to look for some speaks that are different?”
“I knew because I was expecting to find it.” Holmes stopped and turned to look at us, the opened lock now held freely in his hand. Done with it, he held it out for me to take. In spite of his aptitude for concealing his sentiments, I could easily see that Holmes was in a state of suppressed exhilaration, while I was giddy with that half-sporting, half-intellectual gratification which I unfailingly experienced when I accompanied Holmes during one of his successful investigations. “We know that none of guards could be responsible,” he continued. “The precautions that prevent them
Having studied my friend’s methods over the span of so many years, I was sufficiently conversant so as to attempt to replicate them. I considered how this information would have furthered Holmes’s deductions. “Perhaps the cries are not from a ghost, but rather made by some natural process?” I ventured.
Holmes wore an amused smile at this brilliant deduction of mine. “Capital, Watson! You are scintillating this morning. And you haven’t even had your coffee yet, I see. That is exactly the first solution which occurred to me. A sudden change in air pressure could create such an effect. I then turned my attention back to this gallery. Was the connection between the mummies herein and the Underground station purely a coincidence? I took another stroll around this room and noted an anomaly. If you will follow me, gentlemen?”
Holmes led us out from under the pyramid and along the eastern wall, which was lined by a series of upright, lidded stone sarcophagi, each intricately carved with hieroglyphics. “We have here a fine set of mummy cases, most of which are remarkably intact despite their great age and the vast distance that they travelled to their new home. But this one is different, wouldn’t you say?” He stopped in front of one such funeral receptacle, its weathered brown granite marred by the presence of several steel rods, rivets and claps. “This one has been modified, enhanced by this clever set of levers which allow the lid to be easily opened. Is this your handiwork, Mr. Brundage?”
The man shrugged modestly. “Yes, well, before we built the pyramid, we needed something to amuse our patrons. They enjoy seeing the lid slowly raised, imagining the emergence of the horrid form within…”
“Indeed,” said Holmes drily. “But I see that you use it no longer? This side is clasped by a firm lock.”
Brundage hesitated for a moment. “That is correct, Mr. Holmes. Despite the best efforts of the modern engineers who made the levers, the lid was never intended by its ancient makers to be opened once it was closed. Small cracks eventually began to appear in the marble, so we desisted. I put that lock on there to deter errant school boys from trying to open it when no one was looking.”
“And the key?”
“I don’t carry it with me. It must be around here somewhere. Likely in the desk drawer in my office.”
“No matter, for I do not require it. Like someone before me, it will be a simple matter to crack. Do you see the scratches, Lestrade?” he said, angling out the lock for inspection.
“Yes, I do,” replied Lestrade. “But I still cannot follow you, Mr. Holmes. Do you suspect that the thief is stashing their loot inside?”
“The thief is certainly utilizing it for something, Lestrade,” Holmes replied, as he took a set of picks from his pocket. “Look down, gentlemen. Do you see that fine layer of marble dust that has been so kindly left by the Museum’s infrequent cleaners? This morning I found a few similar grains upstairs near the case of the Chessmen.”
“But there is dust everywhere, Mr. Holmes!” protested Lestrade. “How could you have known to look for some speaks that are different?”
“I knew because I was expecting to find it.” Holmes stopped and turned to look at us, the opened lock now held freely in his hand. Done with it, he held it out for me to take. In spite of his aptitude for concealing his sentiments, I could easily see that Holmes was in a state of suppressed exhilaration, while I was giddy with that half-sporting, half-intellectual gratification which I unfailingly experienced when I accompanied Holmes during one of his successful investigations. “We know that none of guards could be responsible,” he continued. “The precautions that prevent them
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