The Scroll of the Dead Read Online Free Page A

conductor might to increase the speed of the music, ‘let us hear about your case, Hardcastle.’
    ‘There’s been a break-in at the British Museum.’
    ‘Is that all?’ groaned Holmes, slumping back in the chair.
    ‘There’s more to it than that.’
    ‘There had better be. What was stolen: some medieval pottery, or some gewgaws belonging to Henry VIII, perhaps?’
    ‘I’ll come to that in a moment. It was a very professional job. A two man operation.’
    ‘How do you know?’
    The Inspector’s face lit up. ‘Because they were foolish enough to leave clues behind, Mr Holmes. We found two sets of muddy footprints near the scene of the crime and, before you ask, they could not have been anyone else’s because the floor is mopped clean after closing time.’
    Holmes held his hands up in mock surrender. ‘Two men it is then, Hardcastle.’
    ‘The crib-cracker and the expert, I should guess.’
    ‘Expert?’ I asked.
    ‘Yes, Doctor Watson. Whoever it was knew exactly what he wanted. He had the whole ruddy museum to go at and just the one thing was taken.’
    Holmes leaned forward a little, interested now. ‘What was that “one thing”?’
    ‘Some papyrus document – a scroll, I think.’
    ‘Ah, from the Egyptology room.’
    ‘That’s right. Full of those old mummies and dog-headed statues and the like.’
    ‘And,’ said Holmes ‘various gold trinkets and other very precious objets d’art which would have been far easier and more profitable to dispose of than a crumbling old document.’
    ‘Precisely Mr Holmes.’
    ‘Well, Watson, what does this suggest to you?’
    ‘A collector. The item to be added to his private collection, for his own personal viewing.’
    My friend beamed. ‘A very determined collector.’
    ‘More determined than you’d think,’ said Hardcastle. ‘Determined enough to kill for the booty.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘The night security guard.’
    ‘How?’
    ‘Shot in the head at point blank range.’
    ‘Really.’
    ‘With a Derringer pistol.’
    ‘How can you be so sure?’ I asked.
    In answer, Hardcastle fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a dark velvet bag fastened with a draw-string at the top. Opening the bag, he allowed the contents to slip onto the small table by Holmes. It was a small silver Derringer pistol which sparkled in the firelight. ‘The murderer dropped it while making his escape.’
    ‘Careless of him,’ said Holmes, taking a long-stemmed clay pipe from the rack on the mantelpiece. Slipping the stem through the trigger guard, he lifted up the pistol to examine it. An expensive weapon... chased silver... a recent purchase...’ He murmured these comments more to himself than to us.
    ‘I remembered about your own system for checking fingerprints, Mr Holmes,’ said Hardcastle eagerly. ‘That’s how you managed to lay a trap for Fu Wong, but I reckon you won’t find any on that gun.’
    ‘Of course not. This fellow would have worn gloves.’ He sniffed the weapon, which had a finely-tooled brown leather grip, and then examined the barrel. ‘Fired just the once. Not the kind of firearm usually associated with burglary and the class of crib-crackers we’ve encountered before, eh, Watson?’
    ‘It’s a ladies’ gun,’ I sniffed.
    ‘But it does a man’s job.’ Holmes took it over to the window and, retrieving his lens from the bureau, scrutinised the Derringer closely. At length he returned to his chair. Slipping the pistol into the velvet bag, he handed it back to the inspector.
    ‘Anything, Mr Holmes?’
    Holmes pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘Very little. The owner is a youngish man with blond hair, has expensive tastes, is somewhat extravagant in nature, is arrogant, and extremely confident. And he is probably mentally unstable.’
    The inspector’s eyes widened. ‘How on earth do you reach those conclusions?’
    ‘A fine blond hair caught in the trigger guard gives me the colouring and the age, and there is the faint aroma of