Unknown (6 page)

"A friend at the
British Museum did not prove informative, ol' fellow, though when I
described the gold dagger something struck him. I was able to draw
for him that scroll-like design on its blade, and he identified it as
a cartouche."

As my eyebrows elevated,
Holmes continued. "A seal of a royal personage. Now, to Deets.
With your frugal sense, Watson, you might be happy to learn that
Clyde Deets of Surrey is solvent and runs a most respectable
business. Moved to that area around five years ago. Father was a
recluse and died shortly thereafter. But here's a puzzle: prior to
their arrival at Mayswood, nothing is known of Deets,
p
è
re
or
fils.
Complete dead end as regards family history and
origin. Rather singular, but then not all our clients date back to
the Norman Conquest."

"In other words—"
I began.

"In other words, I
discovered very little and got rather wet doing it. Your expertise
with the decanter is of medicinal assistance. Now tell me of
your day."

"My dead end is a
six-letter space in the word blocks," I said, reaching for the
paper. "State of unrest—reversed."

As Holmes's eyes
narrowed, I added: "Third letter might be 't'."

"Try 'citceh,'
which is 'hectic' reversed."

I reached for my pencil
with some excitement. "This might open up a number of things.
Associate in ten letters, third letter 'c' if 'citceh' is right."

"Surely easy for
you, Watson. 'Accomplice.'"

"It fits. Drainage
in five, second letter being 'i'."

"Ditch. Err—
Watson—"

I overrode him.
"Discordant in nine. Third letter 'c'."

"Cacophony. My dear
chap—"

"Uncanny in five.
Second letter 'e'."

"Eerie."

"Holmes, you've
done it. I believe I can—"

My voice dwindled away
as I found my friend regarding me with a strange look, akin to
wonderment.

"Watson, I've been
trying to mention that there is an amazing quality about you.
Intuitive, perhaps, or just the ability to say the right thing at the
right time. You are a treasure, indeed!"

Since his remark struck
me dumb, I could but regard him with a slack jaw. The wonderment
faded from his eyes to be replaced with that far-away look, a sure
sign that his massive intellect was working in high gear.

"'Hectic' was the
word, but the instruction 'reverse' suggested a key. Our
client's name is Deets. Not a common name but nothing unusual either.
Uninteresting might be the best description. But reverse it and you
have 'Steed,' which opens up fascinating possibilities."

Holmes was on his feet
making a beeline for the bookcase, from which he extracted the
'S' file. There was a tight smile on his face as he leafed through
pages. "Sansbey, the poisoner . . . interesting case, that. . .
. Slagar, the Serbian strangler. Never convicted. Sloppy police work
there. . . . Ah! Here we are! Maurice Steed-Spaulding, British Army,
Retired. I'll try to dredge through the chaff . . . graduated
Richmond—"

"Army, you say?"
I burst out with a sudden remembrance. "Captain Spaulding,
the African explorer!"

"Leading expert on
Egypt. Hmmmm. . . ."

"Oh, was he an
Egyptologist? Don't know why I associated the chap with Africa."

Holmes's face rose from
the file briefly. "My dear Watson, Egypt is in Africa."

"Oh. So it is."

Momentarily nonplussed,
I watched Holmes's eyes race through a page before turning to
another.

"Wasn't mixed up
with that Piazzi Smythe chap, was he? You recall the theory of the
Pyramid Inch and the Great Pyramid."

"Piazzi Smythe was
a pyramidologist, Watson, and the theory of the Pyramid Inch was
disproved. Steed-Spaulding was a student of cultures and of
religions, as well. Wrote two books on the latter.
The Coptics of
Egypt
and
Islam
Comes to Egypt.
Both considered
monumental, though the last one did receive adverse criticism. He
traced the rise of Mohammedanism in Egypt beginning with the Arab
invasion of 639 and laid emphasis on the tolerance of the
Islamics towards Jews and Christians as opposed to the attitude
of Christianity during that period."

His eyes rose from the
book, sparkling with interest "It's becoming crystal clear,
Watson. Spaulding took the first half of his hyphenated name,
reversed it, and used it on coming to Surrey."

"I say, Holmes, is
this not wild conjecture?"

"Conjecture, yes,
but not so wild. Spaulding was brought to my attention . . . let's
see, I have a note on that." He regarded the file again and then
snapped it shut. "It was June of '94. Sir Randolph Rapp
expressed some puzzlement regarding the gentleman, and I did a little
investigation for him. Spaulding's expedition to Abydos in Upper
Egypt and his first expedition into the Sudan were considered the
coups of his time. He was involved in a second trip to the Sudan that
he abandoned halfway, and he returned to England and took up the
raising of dogs in Stoke Newington. There was, in '90, an attempted
robbery of his estate. Matter was hushed up, but I'll wager that is
when our client's cigarette case saved his life. Following the
robbery, Spaulding sold out and dropped from sight. Five years back
that was, and you will note that the Deets's arrived in Surrey at
that time."

"It fits. I'll give
you that," I admitted. Another thought crossed my mind. "If
Rapp brought up the matter of the explorer and author in '94, that
must have been right after your visit to the Khalifa at Khartoum."

I had always been
tantalized by the real reason for Holmes's journey to Mecca and then
to the Sudan, but he brushed aside my bait quickly.

"Sir Randolph Rapp
was very interested in Captain Spaulding, as I am right now. It's the
matter of the Sacred Sword, you see."

I sighed. "Please,
Holmes, can we run that last bit over again."

My friend smiled,
replaced the "S" file in the bookshelf, and took his pipe
from the mantel. "In the folklore of Arabia, it is said
that the sword of the prophet Mohammed still exists, secreted away in
some subterranean crypt in an unknown oasis. The unsheathing of the
Sacred Sword is to signal the rising of the followers of the
Crescent, who are then to drive the infidels into the sea."

"A holy war,"
I exclaimed, "in keeping with what Mycroft fears. But what
has the late Captain Spaulding to do with that?"

"You know that
Rapp, in his line of work, picks up a lot of rumors and is a great
believer that myths and folktales have a basis in fact. Somehow he
caught wind of the whisper that an Arabian chieftain feared that
the Sacred Sword would be used as a device to lead his people to
annihilation, a bloodbath. He supposedly gave the sword to
Captain Spaulding, considered a true friend of the Islamics,
despite the fact that he was Christian. Spaulding was to remove
the weapon to England until such time as it could be returned without
being an instrument to incite and inflame."

I was shaking my head
and should have known better.

"That sounds a bit
far-fetched, Holmes."

"A moment. The
attempted robbery at the Spauldings' dwelling in Stoke Newington may
have been an attempt to secure the sword entrusted to the Captain.
Whatever, it got their wind up and they changed their residence
posthaste and their name as well."

Holmes puffed on his
pipe furiously for a moment.

"We can dissect the
matter piecemeal, ol' chap, but we're rather flogging a dead horse.
The recent intruder at the Spauldings' home in Surrey was not a thief
to my mind at all. To use the language of the ha'penny dreadfuls, he
was 'casing the joint.'"

"Attempting to find
out where the sword was hidden," I said suddenly.

"Now you're on the
track." Holmes's voice held a tone of approval. "Consider
Deets's, nee Spaulding's, reaction. He knew what the intruder was
doing there. Though nothing was taken, he still enlisted our aid
in hopes of finding out how to forestall a future attempt. He might
well have called in the police, but I think the prospect of Scotland
Yard on the scene rattled him. Suppose they located the hiding place
of the sword?"

I was being drawn to
Holmes's idea in spite of myself and tried to use the logic that he
had made famous.

"All right, let us
say that your brother's fear of an uprising is well-founded. We
have proof, by virtue of the dead Cruthers, that a tomb could well
play a part. The dagger he brought is tangible—I can see it,
and his dying words certainly tie in Chu San Fu to the matter."

"Who else has the
resources and the overbearing ego to involve himself in such a wild
scheme?"

"But where does
that leave this Sacred Sword idea?"

"We have been
introduced to two situations, but do not place them in opposition to
each other, ol' boy. They both face towards the Mid East,
specifically Egypt. Let us consider them with an intellectual
togetherness."

"You feel the Sword
is part of Chu's plot?"

Holmes was knocking out
his pipe on the stones of the fireplace.

"The wily old dog
is a bit of a showman, you know. With the Sacred Sword, he might well
set himself up as a latter-day prophet, a leader of Islamics
throughout the world."

"But Holmes, it is
just an inanimate object."

"What makes sense
or follows the laws of logic is not always important, Watson. It is
what people believe. I can see the idea of a horde of nomadic
horsemen surging forth from the desert and elsewhere finds no fertile
soil in your mind. But they came before, you know. Not just under the
Mahdi. At one time they flooded into France."

"The Battle of
Tours?"

"More recently, the
history of Europe for a half century was dictated by the alarming
thought that the Grand Army of the Republic might rise again. The
shadow of 'Le Petit Corporal' had our statesmen quivering even after
Waterloo and his subsequent death on St. Helena. Presumably we live
in an age of enlightenment, but should you turn up with a sword named
'Excalibur' and prove that it was the weapon of the great Arthur of
legend, I imagine you could stir up quite an uprising. Certainly
among the superstitious and clannish Cornish and others as well."

The thought of my waving
a great two-handed blade and leading a horde to conquest and pillage
had to introduce the dwarf of derision to my manner with the midget
of mischievous merriment trodding on his heels. The latter increased
in stature as the chuckle on my lips grew into a chortle and then
blossomed to a full guffaw. It was so ridiculous, but then the truth
of Holmes's words regarding the Corsican shouldered my laughter
aside. As my face sobered and grim lines appeared, Holmes surveyed me
with his wise eyes.

"Now I believe I
shall ring for Mrs. Hudson and request two dinners. Tomorrow may be
an important day in our lives."

I could but agree. Men
can be stirred to the marrow when deep-seated loyalties or
hostilities are aroused. Holmes had once discoursed at length on the
matter of racial memory. I had not followed him at the time, but it
was making more sense now.

It was during our
evening repast that the first messages arrived. Holmes quite rightly
assumed that they were in response to his cables of the night before
and relegated them to the desk until we had enjoyed an after-dinner
cigar together.

Then, with a sigh, he
seated himself to go over the communications. The acquiring of
information through the knowledge or efforts of others was onerous to
Holmes. In the early days it was standard procedure for us to be on
the scene of the crime in jig time and make our own conclusions.
Or rather, have Holmes make his. But now the scope of the sleuth's
activities had widened and it would have been impractical indeed not
to take advantage of the far-flung web of contacts and sources that
he had taken such pains to weave.

I was in the dark as to
what progress, if any, was being made. Possibly the messages were
confirmations of a time and meeting place with some associate, or
perhaps an answer to a direct question posed by Holmes to a
highly qualified source. I was mentally framing a query that might
prompt a revealing remark from him when there was a gentle tap on the
door.