Sherlock Holmes and the Mummy's Curse (26 page)

Holmes and Watson extracted their weapons and joined Lord Trenthume as he assisted in clearing the kitchens… after Watson had sent urgent messages to his staff to attend the hospital at once and prepare for multiple cobra victims, just in case.

Professor Whitesell, meanwhile, went off with Nichols-Woodall and Udail—all of them properly-armed as well—to inspect the rest of the encampment, then check out the dig pits. Whitesell left Phillips and Beaumont behind with revolvers and strict instructions to ensure that his and his daughter’s tents remained safe, with his daughter well-guarded inside, despite her protestations that she should be helping in the infirmary. Whitesell also left orders that, rather than resuming digging, the manual labourers should spend the morning cautiously checking the pits—and the crypt—for any more of the deadly reptiles; he did not desire any more snakebite victims than Watson and his staff had already treated.

By dint of sheer luck, none of the kitchen staff had been bitten in the discovery of the snakes’ incursion, and in relatively short order the men had either killed or driven off the reptiles. But it took a while for the understandably jumpy cooks to calm down sufficient to work; several cookpots, kettles, and frying pans were dropped on the ground, accompanied by short screams, if the least little unexpected thing happened.

“I think,” a morose Watson decided, watching, “that we will not be getting breakfast to-day.”

“I believe I agree with you,” Holmes said, amused. “We may be lucky to get luncheon, as well, but there should still be some cups and tea canisters on the sideboard in the ‘mess tent,’ as you call it. Perhaps even a few biscuits, though they are likely to be stale. And I can heat water over my Bunsen burner if I can lay hands on some alcohol to refill it. It will have to do, for now.”

* * *

Luncheon was a little addled, and the courses served were simpler than usual, but it was understandable in the circumstances, and no one complained. Professor Whitesell seemed excited, and the group found out why, just before the dessert course was served. He tapped his fork against his water goblet to get the attention of the others at the table; quite a lively little discussion about the cobra invasion had ensued, and it was necessary to interrupt it. The Professor stood, beaming.

“I have an announcement to make,” he said with a broad smile, blue eyes sparkling. “I know to-day is proving uncommonly hot for the time of year in despite of our little reptile friends, and we are all a bit irritable, especially after being forced to skip breakfast, but I believe this news will decidedly improve morale! It seems our most excellent geologist, Dr. Parker Nichols-Woodall, with the assistance of his colleagues and, I have it to understand, my daughter’s willingness to allow something of hers to be, ah, altered, well… Parker has managed to identify the stone inside the crypt!”

Applause went around the table, and Holmes and Nichols-Woodall studiously avoided meeting each other’s gazes. An excited Leighton locked eyes with Watson, and the others watched Whitesell in expectation.

“And?” the Earl of Trenthume demanded. “Don’t keep us in suspense, man! I’ve been racking my brains over this for days!”

“Stonehenge,” Whitesell said, succinct. “The slab of rock in our Egyptian ‘tomb’ is nothing less than one of the missing bluestones of Stonehenge!”

Gasps went around the table, and several averted gazes shot to the elder archaeologist in shock and surprise.

“Now Will,” Nichols-Woodall objected, “I never said it WAS one of the bluestones! I simply said it was a dolerite derived from the same source!”

“And where is that source, Parker?” a jovial Whitesell demanded to know, quite pleased with himself. “No one has ever found that source, so you cannot say it was NOT taken direct from Stonehenge! And there are certainly stones missing from that monument, as I myself ascertained!”

“Surely not,” Beaumont started to protest, just as the Earl of Trenthume jumped to his feet.

“THAT’S IT!” he shouted in jubilation, punching a fist into the air. “THAT is where I’ve seen that kind of stone before! At Stonehenge! My father used to take me there as a boy! I was fascinated by it… but I have not been there in years! No wonder I forgot!”

“And no wonder it was so hard to identify,” Phillips said. “Wrong bloody continent!”

“Precisely!” Whitesell crowed.

“But how on earth did it arrive HERE,
mon ami
?” Beaumont remonstrated. “Surely it cannot be one of the stones from the fabled Stonehenge, for the ancients could never have carried it so far!”

“There are no dolerites on the Salisbury Plain either,” Whitesell pointed out. “So they had to be carried from elsewhere to begin with. If they can carry it a few hundred miles—for surely it would have had to be carried from a mountain region—then why not a few thousand? What difference can it make?”

“But Will, I already told you, I never said it was an actual piece out of Stonehenge,” Nichols-Woodall dissented. “And nor can you say that. We have no proof, just the knowledge that it is likely a dolerite or diabase from the same geological dike that produced those particular
menhirs
.
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I don’t believe for one second it actually CAME from Stonehenge.”

“It is as likely to have done, as to have come from this semi-mythical source of yours,” Whitesell shot back. “And you know as well as I do that there are gaps in the ring of bluestones, places where the stones are missing.”

“And the last I heard you mention it,” Nichols-Woodall riposted, “you were of the highly logical opinion that they had been broken up to use in local constructions.”

“That was before you identified this one, Parker.”

“Da, Uncle Parker,” Leighton spoke up, “how do you know it is the very same? Maybe it just looks very much like, but this one is from somewhere in Egypt.”

Nichols-Woodall avoided glancing at Holmes, replying, “The colour, the distribution of crystals, the crystal sizes, Leigh. All are telling, to the trained eye. But of course,” he hesitated just slightly, “we would need to perform chemical analyses upon this stone, and then again upon the ones at Stonehenge, to prove that they were… or were not… the same.”

“But wouldn’t it be possible to get a similar looking stone, crystals and all, if the formation processes were the same?” Phillips wondered. “I truly paid attention while we hiked about, Dr. Nichols-Woodall. It was fascinating. But if you had a similar melt, that cooled over a similar time, under similar conditions, wouldn’t it produce a look-alike stone?”

“That is precisely my point, young man,” the geologist confirmed. “Now, if your professor there would let me take some samples from the lower edge of the slab, where its own weight has caused spalling anyway, then we might get a bit farther along in this little mystery.”

“It is indeed the mystery,” Beaumont agreed. “Would not you say, Monsieur Holmes?”

“I would, indeed,” a subdued Holmes replied.

* * *

“Now we are going to start looking for any sort of connexions to Celtic Britain amongst the relics,” Whitesell declared as he, his student, and his colleagues left the dinner tent for the dig field. Holmes threw a concerned glance at Watson, as the physician, with Leighton on his arm, headed for the infirmary—surgery hours had been expanded in light of the cobra incursion.

But offhand, nothing that had already come out of the dig, nor anything that was found that day, seemed to have anything to do with matters of the British Isles, Celtic or otherwise.

* * *

A hungry, hot and tired Beaumont, who had been at the bottom of a pit all afternoon in an unsuccessful attempt to extract another amphora intact—it broke apart even as he was trying to strap it into the sling of the block and tackle crane—had left the dig field after collecting the various pieces and seeing them back to the artefact tent for reconstruction. Frustrated and irritable afterward, he had retired to his own tent, where he apparently cleaned up a bit and changed into fresh clothing before dinner, then arrived at the dinner tent early. There he tided himself over until dinner was served with some biscuits and tepid beverage left from tea, earlier in the afternoon. So he was seated at table already, having convinced Abraam to go ahead and pour the wine, by the time the others arrived. He even appeared to be on his second glass of the alcoholic libation.

That night at dinner, the mood was quiet and thoughtful, if somewhat listless; the unusually sultry weather which had moved in that morning with the snakes had sapped the strength of all. Little was said, for a wonder, even between Beaumont and Nichols-Woodall, and Phillips did not bother to attempt afflicting Watson with his glares, but merely stared at his food. Everyone was simply hot, out of sorts, weary, and above all, puzzled over the remarkable, enigmatic find in the vault in the mountainside.

“It is likely the earthquake,” Nichols-Woodall remarked, offhand. “Some researchers are theorising that such seismic activity is connected to hot weather. It may even be triggered by it. We may have another, and larger, quake coming.”

“I should be interested in seeing the coupling mechanism,” Holmes noted. “I have heard of the hypothesis, but I have never seen the logic in it.”

“It is an ancient notion, dating back to the Greeks around the time of Aristotle, at the least.”

“That does not necessarily imply causality, in either direction,” Holmes replied. “No more than the presence of a tidal whirl off the coast of Sicily in the Straits of Messina proves the existence of the sea monster Charybdis—or any monster, sea or otherwise, for that matter.”

This triggered a sporadic discussion for a few moments, but not even that could raise the energies of the diners sufficient to maintain a conversation.

As the meal progressed, Professor Whitesell’s mood, so ebullient at luncheon, seemed to deteriorate. Several times he passed his hand over his eyes, finally rubbing his forehead with his fingers.

“Is something wrong, Da?” Leighton wondered solicitously.

“Oh, no, my dear, I’m fine,” the archaeologist blustered. “It was an unusually hot day to-day, and I probably just got a bit overheated. I was quite excited, you know.”

“Perhaps you should go lie down, Professor,” Watson suggested. “I can come by later with something, if you need it.”

“That may be wise,” Whitesell agreed. “I have a bit of dyspepsia in any event. I think I shall pass on dessert. Watson, young man, see my daughter back to her tent after, would you?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Whitesell rose and left the table, but Holmes noticed he appeared a bit unsteady.

* * *

Moments later, a very pale Beaumont rose from the table also.

“
Pardonnez-moi
,”
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he murmured. “I am also unwell. I fear I may have overdone in the heat to-day.”

“It WAS damnably hot—oh, forgive me, Leighton,” Nichols-Woodall apologised. “It was very hot to-day, earthquake or no. Perhaps you should lie down too, Thomas?”

“I should, perhaps,” Beaumont agreed. “I contracted malaria some years ago, and when I over-exert, it sometimes recurs upon me. It rendered me comatose initially, so I am told, and prolonged unconsciousness sometimes occurs with the relapses. I should not like that to happen in this desert region. Dr. Watson, perhaps you might be so kind as to come by my tent, when you have finished with the good Professor?”

“I will, Dr. Beaumont, and I’ll get the quinine from the infirmary, just in case,” Watson promised.

Beaumont left the dinner table as well.

* * *

Having seen to both Whitesell and Beaumont, prescribing plenty of water for both and a dose of quinine for the latter, Watson returned to the tent he shared with Holmes. Over their tobacco pipes, Holmes and Watson chatted softly about the matter, late into the night.

“So you have already done all of the necessary chemical analyses that the geologist mentioned?”

“I have, Watson. And though I understand Nichols-Woodall’s reluctance to make such a bold statement, I must admit that the evidence indeed points to Professor Whitesell’s assertion—that this is really a piece of Stonehenge, or a slab of rock taken from the exact same quarry, contiguous with the henge’s stones—as true. The elemental percentages I was able to determine, both from the fragment of Leigh’s necklace, and from the sample I took of the slab, are identical to well within the error bars of the measurements.”

“But how?”

“That would seem to be the new mystery.”

Just then a frantic Leighton Whitesell burst into their tent.

“Oh! John! Sherry! Come quick! I can’t find Da!”

“What?” Both men jumped to their feet. Holmes extracted his pocket-watch. “It is a quarter-past ten,” he noted. “Why cannot you find him, Leigh? Is he no longer in his tent?”

“No,” she said, verging on tears. “He isn’t there, and I can’t find him. He was ill earlier… I heard him, ah, purging his stomach, oh, perhaps an hour after John left him… so I went in to see about him. He was not at all well—very pale, and his eyes so big—and I put him to bed and gave him some of the medicine you left for him, John. And then I went back to my own tent and lay down for a few minutes, for it WAS very hot in the surgery to-day, as you know, John, and I just felt drained. Anyway, I must have dozed off, and when I woke, I went to see about Da. His chair was upended, the blankets from the cot dragged into the floor. The table with his books and such was overturned, and the books scattered all across the floor, too! I can’t think how I slept through it; it must have made a dreadful din! But Da was gone! Sherry, you’re a detective! Oh, please, help me find him!”

Holmes grabbed for the lantern, and both men rushed out of the tent, following Leighton back to her father’s tent.

* * *

There, Holmes veritably turned into the bloodhound that Watson sometimes facetiously accused him of being. Keeping Watson and Leighton well away from the entrance, he looked over the interior of Professor Whitesell’s tent with a practised eye, then stepped to the door and scanned the sandy soil just outside.

“Ah,” he said, bending over. “Here we are. I recognise the imprint of his hob-nailed boots quite readily over your daintier feet, Leigh. Mm…”