The Jewel of Seven Stars by Bram Stoker (ebook and pdf reader .txt) 📖
- Author: Bram Stoker
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Brum. When we’re looking for stolen watches we often come across the
works, and it’s not possible to identify wheels and springs out of a
heap; but it’s not often that we come across cases that are wanted.
Now, in the present instance much will depend on whether the thief is a
good man-that’s what they call a man who knows his work. A first-class
crook will know whether a thing is of more value than merely the metal
in it; and in such case he would put it with someone who could place it
later on-in America or France, perhaps. By the way, do you think anyone
but yourself could identify your lamps?”
“No one but myself!”
“Are there others like them?”
“Not that I know of,” answered Mr. Corbeck; “though there may be others
that resemble them in many particulars.” The Detective paused before
asking again: “Would any other skilled person-at the British Museum, for
instance, or a dealer, or a collector like Mr. Trelawny, know the value-the artistic value-of the lamps?”
“Certainly! Anyone with a head on his houlders would see at a glance
that the things were valuable.”
The Detective’s face brightened. “Then there is a chance. If your door
was locked and the window shut, the goods were not stolen by the chance
of a chambermaid or a boots coming along. Whoever did the job went
after it special; and he ain’t going to part with his swag without his
price. This must be a case of notice to the pawnbrokers. There’s one
good thing about it, anyhow, that the hue and cry needn’t be given. We
needn’t tell Scotland Yard unless you like; we can work the thing
privately. If you wish to keep the thing dark, as you told me at the
first, that is our chance.” Mr. Corbeck, after a pause, said quietly:
“I suppose you couldn’t hazard a suggestion as to how the robbery was
effected?” The Policeman smiled the smile of knowledge and experience.
“In a very simple way, I have no doubt, sir. That is how all these
mysterious crimes turn out in the long-run. The criminal knows his work
and all the tricks of it; and he is always on the watch for chances.
Moreover, he knows by experience what these chances are likely to be,
and how they usually come. The other person is only careful; he doesn’t
know all the tricks and pits that may be made for him, and by some
little oversight or other he falls into the trap. When we know all
about this case, you will wonder that you did not see the method of it
all along!” This seemed to annoy Mr. Corbeck a little; there was
decided heat in his manner as he answered:
“Look here, my good friend, there is not anything simple about this
case-except that the things were taken. The window was closed; the
fireplace was bricked up. There is only one door to the room, and that
I locked and bolted. There is no transom; I have heard all about hotel
robberies through the transom. I never left my room in the night. I
looked at the things before going to bed; and I went to look at them
again when I woke up. If you can rig up any kind of simple robbery out
of these facts you are a clever man. That’s all I say; clever enough to
go right away and get my things back.” Miss Trelawny laid her hand upon
his arm in a soothing way, and said quietly:
“Do not distress yourself unnecessarily. I am sure they will turn up.”
Sergeant Daw turned to her so quickly that I could not help remembering
vividly his suspicions of her, already formed, as he said:
“May I ask, miss, on what you base that opinion?”
I dreaded to hear her answer, given to ears already awake to supicion;
but it came to me as a new pain or shock all the same:
“I cannot tell you how I know. But I am sure of it!” The Detective
looked at her for some seconds in silence, and then threw a quick glance
at me.
Presently he had a little more conversation with Mr. Corbeck as to his
own movements, the details of the hotel and the room, and the means of
identifying the goods. Then he went away to commence his inquiries, Mr.
Corbeck impressing on him the necessity for secrecy lest the thief
should get wind of his danger and destroy the lamps. Mr. Corbeck
promised, when going away to attend to various matters of his own
business, to return early in the evening, and to stay in the house.
All that day Miss Trelawny was in better spirits and looked in better
strength than she had yet been, despite the new shock and annoyance of
the theft which must ultimately bring so much disappointment to her
father.
We spent most of the day looking over the curio treasures of Mr.
Trelawny. From what I had heard from Mr. Corbeck I began to have some
idea of the vastness of his enterprise in the world of Egyptian
research; and with this light everything around me began to have a new
interest. As I went on, the interest grew; any lingering doubts which I
might have had changed to wonder and admiration. The house seemed to be
a veritable storehouse of marvels of antique art. In addition to the
curios, big and little, in Mr. Trelawny’s own room-from the great
sarcophagi down to the scarabs of all kinds in the cabinets-the great
hall, the staircase landings, the study, and even the boudoir were full
of antique pieces which would have made a collector’s mouth water.
Miss Trelawny from the first came with me, and looked with growing
interest at everything. After having examined some cabinets of
exquisite amulets she said to me in quite a naive way:
“You will hardly believe that I have of late seldom even looked at any
of these things. It is only since Father has been ill that I seem to
have even any curiosity about them. But now, they grow and grow on me to
quite an absorbing degree. I wonder if it is that the collector’s blood
which I have in my veins is beginning to manifest itself. If so, the
strange thing is that I have not felt the call of it before. Of course
I know most of the big things, and have examined them more or less; but
really, in a sort of way I have always taken them for granted, as though
they had always been there. I have noticed the same thing now and again
with family pictures, and the way they are taken for granted by the
family. If you will let me examine them with you it will be
delightful!”
It was a joy to me to hear her talk in such a way; and her last
suggestion quite thrilled me. Together we went round the various rooms
and passages, examining and admiring the magnificent curios. There was
such a bewildering amount and variety of objects that we could only
glance at most of them; but as we went along we arranged that we should
take them seriatim, day by day, and examine them more closely. In the
hall was a sort of big frame of floriated steel work which Margaret said
her father used for lifting the heavy stone lids of the sarcophagi. It
was not heavy and could be moved about easily enough. By aid of this we
raised the covers in turn and looked at the endless series of
hieroglyphic pictures cut in most of them. In spite of her profession
of ignorance Margaret knew a good deal about them; her year of life with
her father had had unconsciously its daily and hourly lesson. She was a
remarkably clever and acute-minded girl, and with a prodigious memory;
so that her store of knowledge, gathered unthinkingly bit by bit, had
grown to proportions that many a scholar might have envied.
And yet it was all so naive and unconscious; so girlish and simple. She
was so fresh in her views and ideas, and had so little thought of self,
that in her companionship I forgot for the time all the troubles and
mysteries which enmeshed the house; and I felt like a boy again… .
The most interesting of the sarcophagi were undoubtedly the three in Mr.
Trelawny’s room. Of these, two were of dark stone, one of porphyry and
the other of a sort of ironstone. These were wrought with some
hieroglyphs. But the third was strikingly different. It was of some
yellow-brown substance of the dominating colour effect of Mexican onyx,
which it resembled in many ways, excepting that the natural pattern of
its convolutions was less marked. Here and there were patches almost
transparent-certainly translucent. The whole chest, cover and all, was
wrought with hundreds, perhaps thousands, of minute hieroglyphics,
seemingly in an endless series. Back, front, sides, edges, bottom, all
had their quota of the dainty pictures, the deep blue of their colouring
showing up fresh and sharply edge in the yellow stone. It was very
long, nearly nine feet; and perhaps a yard wide. The sides undulated,
so that there was no hard line. Even the corners took such excellent
curves that they pleased the eye. “Truly,” I said, “this must have been
made for a giant!”
“Or for a giantess!” said Margaret.
This sarcophagus stood near to one of the windows. It was in one
respect different from all the other sarcophagi in the place. All the
others in the house, of whatever material-granite, porphyry, ironstone,
basalt, slate, or wood-were quite simple in form within. Some of them
were plain of interior surface; others were engraved, in whole or part,
with hieroglyphics. But each and all of them had no protuberances or
uneven surface anywhere. They might have been used for baths; indeed,
they resembled in many ways Roman baths of stone or marble which I had
seen. Inside this, however, was a raised space, outlined like a human
figure. I asked Margaret if she could explain it in any way. For
answer she said:
“Father never wished to speak about this. It attracted my attention
from the first; but when I asked him about it he said: ‘I shall tell
you all about it some day, little girl-if I live! But not yet! The
story is not yet told, as I hope to tell it to you! Some day, perhaps
soon, I shall know all; and then we shall go over it together. And a
mighty interesting story you will find it-from first to last!’ Once
afterward I said, rather lightly I am afraid: ‘Is that story of the
sarcophagus told yet, Father?’ He shook his head, and looked at me
gravely as he said: ‘Not yet, little girl; but it will be-if I live-if
I live!’ His repeating that phrase about his living rather frightened
me; I never ventured to ask him again.”
Somehow this thrilled me. I could not exactly say how or why; but it
seemed like a gleam of light at last. There are, I think, moments when
the mind accepts something as true; though it can account for neither
the course of the thought, nor, if there be more than one thought, the
connection between them. Hitherto we had been in such outer darkness
regarding Mr. Trelawny, and the strange visitation which had fallen on
him, that anything which afforded a clue, even of the faintest and most
shadowy kind, had at the outset the enlightening satisfaction of a
certainty. Here were two lights of our puzzle. The first that Mr.
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