Round the Fire Stories

“No, I am certain that these upper four are the same which the expertpronounced to be genuine, for I observed yesterday that littlediscoloration on the edge of the emerald. Since they have not extractedthe upper stones, there is no reason to think the lower have beentransposed. You say that you heard nothing, Simpson?”

“No, sir,” the commissionaire answered. “But when I made my round afterdaylight I had a special look at these stones, and I saw at once thatsome one had been meddling with them. Then I called you, sir, and toldyou. I was backwards and forwards all the night, and I never saw a soulor heard a sound.”

“Come up and have some breakfast with me,” said Mortimer, and he took meinto his own chambers.—“Now, what _do_ you think of this, Jackson?” heasked.

“It is the most objectless, futile, idiotic business that ever I heardof. It can only be the work of a monomaniac.”

“Can you put forward any theory?”

A curious idea came into my head. “This object is a Jewish relic ofgreat antiquity and sanctity,” said I. “How about the anti-Semiticmovement? Could one conceive that a fanatic of that way of thinkingmight desecrate——”

“No, no, no!” cried Mortimer. “That will never do! Such a man might pushhis lunacy to the length of destroying a Jewish relic, but why on earthshould he nibble round every stone so carefully that he can only do fourstones in a night? We must have a better solution than that, and we mustfind it for ourselves, for I do not think that our inspector is likelyto help us. First of all, what do you think of Simpson, the porter?”

“Have you any reason to suspect him?”

“Only that he is the one person on the premises.”

“But why should he indulge in such wanton destruction? Nothing has beentaken away. He has no motive.”

“Mania?”

“No, I will swear to his sanity.”

“Have you any other theory?”

“Well, yourself, for example. You are not a somnambulist, by anychance?”

“Nothing of the sort, I assure you.”

“Then I give it up.”

“But I don’t—and I have a plan by which we will make it all clear.”

“To visit Professor Andreas?”

“No, we shall find our solution nearer than Scotland, I will tell youwhat we shall do. You know that skylight which overlooks the centralhall? We will leave the electric lights in the hall, and we will keepwatch in the lumber-room, you and I, and solve the mystery forourselves. If our mysterious visitor is doing four stones at a time, hehas four still to do, and there is every reason to think that he willreturn to-night and complete the job.”

“Excellent!” I cried.

“We will keep our own secret, and say nothing either to the police or toSimpson. Will you join me?”

“With the utmost pleasure,” said I; and so it was agreed.

It was ten o’clock that night when I returned to the Belmore StreetMuseum. Mortimer was, as I could see, in a state of suppressed nervousexcitement, but it was still too early to begin our vigil, so weremained for an hour or so in his chambers, discussing all thepossibilities of the singular business which we had met to solve. Atlast the roaring stream of hansom cabs and the rush of hurrying feetbecame lower and more intermittent as the pleasure-seekers passed ontheir way to their stations or their homes. It was nearly twelve whenMortimer led the way to the lumber-room which overlooked the centralhall of the museum.

He had visited it during the day, and had spread some sacking so that wecould lie at our ease, and look straight down into the museum. Theskylight was of unfrosted glass, but was so covered with dust that itwould be impossible for any one looking up from below to detect that hewas overlooked. We cleared a small piece at each corner, which gave us acomplete view of the room beneath us. In the cold white light of theelectric lamps everything stood out hard and clear, and I could see thesmallest detail of the contents of the various cases.

Such a vigil is an excellent lesson, since one has no choice but to lookhard at those objects which we usually pass with such half-heartedinterest. Through my little peep-hole I employed the hours in studyingevery specimen, from the huge mummy-case which leaned against the wallto those very jewels which had brought us there, gleaming and sparklingin their glass case immediately beneath us. There was much preciousgold-work and many valuable stones scattered through the numerous cases,but those wonderful twelve which made up the urim and thummim glowed andburned with a radiance which far eclipsed the others. I studied in turnthe tomb-pictures of Sicara, the friezes from Karnak, the statues ofMemphis, and the inscriptions of Thebes, but my eyes would always comeback to that wonderful Jewish relic, and my mind to the singular mysterywhich surrounded it. I was lost in the thought of it when my companionsuddenly drew his breath sharply in, and seized my arm in a convulsivegrip. At the same instant I saw what it was which had excited him.

I have said that against the wall—on the right-hand side of the doorway(the right-hand side as we looked at it, but the left as oneentered)—there stood a large mummy-case. To our unutterable amazement itwas slowly opening. Gradually, gradually the lid was swinging back, andthe black slit which marked the opening was becoming wider and wider. Sogently and carefully was it done that the movement was almostimperceptible. Then, as we breathlessly watched it, a white thin handappeared at the opening, pushing back the painted lid, then anotherhand, and finally a face—a face which was familiar to us both, that ofProfessor Andreas. Stealthily he slunk out of the mummy-case, like a foxstealing from its burrow, his head turning incessantly to left and toright, stepping, then pausing, then stepping again, the very image ofcraft and of caution. Once some sound in the street struck himmotionless, and he stood listening, with his ear turned, ready to dartback to the shelter behind him. Then he crept onwards again upon tiptoe,very, very softly and slowly, until he had reached the case in thecentre of the room. There he took a bunch of keys from his pocket,unlocked the case, took out the Jewish breastplate, and, laying it uponthe glass in front of him, began to work upon it with some sort ofsmall, glistening tool. He was so directly underneath us that his benthead covered his work, but we could guess from the movement of his handthat he was engaged in finishing the strange disfigurement w

hich he hadbegun.

I could realize from the heavy breathing of my companion, and thetwitchings of the hand which still clutched my wrist, the furiousindignation which filled his heart as he saw this vandalism in thequarter of all others where he could least have expected it. He, thevery man who a fortnight before had reverently bent over this uniquerelic, and who had impressed its antiquity and its sanctity upon us, wasnow engaged in this outrageous profanation. It was impossible,unthinkable—and yet there, in the white glare of the electric lightbeneath us, was that dark figure with the bent, grey head, and thetwitching elbow. What inhuman hypocrisy, what hateful depth of maliceagainst his successor must underlie these sinister nocturnal labours. Itwas painful to think of and dreadful to watch. Even I, who had none ofthe acute feelings of a virtuoso, could not bear to look on and see thisdeliberate mutilation of so ancient a relic. It was a relief to me whenmy companion tugged at my sleeve as a signal that I was to follow him ashe softly crept out of the room. It was not until we were within his ownquarters that he opened his lips, and then I saw by his agitated facehow deep was his consternation.

“The abominable Goth!” he cried. “Could you have believed it?”

“It is amazing.”