“With your permission, Mr. Biggs, I have just opened another two of those jars. Both are full of drugs and if the rest of
the pots contain similar amounts this will be the biggest haul Scotland Yard has ever made in the drug-field! I must congratulate you, Mr. Pons.”
My companion bowed ironically.
“But how on earth, Pons..?” I began.
“Let us sit down, Parker. We shall have to go back to the beginning for that. But I see the whisky-bottle and some glasses on the bureau yonder, Mr. Biggs. I take it you have no objection to our partaking?”
“Good heavens, Mr. Pons! With the greatest pleasure!”
“I take it you would positively prescribe it in Mr. Biggs’ case, Parker,” said Pons gravely. “I think we all need something a little stronger than coffee after this night’s work. If you would do the honours, my dear fellow.”
I busied myself with the glasses and we all seated ourselves round Biggs’ desk, leaving the little Curator slumped in an easy chair in front of it.
“You may remember, Parker,” said Solar Pons, when his pipe was drawing to his satisfaction, “that when Mr. Biggs first consulted me I was particularly interested in that portion of his story which related to the events which took place in the Valley of the Kings.”
I nodded.
“Some trouble with the porters on the site. Knowing the Middle East as I do, I paid it little attention.”
Solar Pons knotted his brows.
“That is where you disappoint the student of logical deduction if you will forgive me saying so. Trouble was the last thing I should have expected under the circumstances. The fellaheen of Egypt have a wretched existence and steady employment such as that afforded at the great archaeological sites of that country tend to keep them quite contented, though the pay be minuscule by European standards. I immediately seized upon the pottery breakages because, as Mr. Biggs pointed out, these labourers are normally specially selected for their carefulness. I had already heard the story once from Mr. Biggs and these facts, taken with the incident when a crate was found broken open, directed my mind toward a certain line of reasoning. I elicited, if you will recall, that the jars involved were all sealed.”
I looked at Pons in astonishment.
“So you already, at that early stage, suspected something in the jars might be at the back of this?”
My companion inclined his head, emitting a plume of blue smoke from his thin lips.
“I had tentatively formed that opinion. Your class of tomb-robber in Egypt is highly professional and is looking for valuable treasure which can be sold to the dealers of Cairo and Alexandria. He would not normally bother with common-place pots, sealed or unsealed. I formed the theory that there was something in the pots of potential value.”
The Curator had been listening to Pons in growing bewilderment and Jamison’s face betrayed no glimmer of enlightenment.
“But why would these people want to break open their own pots, Mr. Pons?” burst out the former.
My companion’s amusement showed in his face but he struggled to control it, tamping his pipe with thin, sensitive fingers.
“You misunderstand me, Mr. Biggs. I did not imply these people were breaking open the pots. I immediately came to the conclusion that the pots had been filled by one set of people and that another set had been breaking them open. When Mr. Biggs informed us that a murder had been committed on the site my theory was immeasurably strengthened.”
“There might be something in it, Mr. Pons,” said Jamison dubiously. “We had another telegram from the Cairo police authorities earlier this evening. I quite forgot about it in the excitement. It was to the effect that Inspector Achmed, who was to have accompanied Mr. Biggs to England was really Chief Inspector Achmed of the Cairo Narcotics Squad. A coded message is to follow.”
Solar Pons nodded his head in satisfaction.
“Thank you, Inspector. We will come back to that a little later. The murder told me two things. That whatever had been hidden in the pots was of great value and that the people breaking them only suspected but were not sure of the method used for carriage. The materials involved could have been stolen property; diamonds; jewellery; or drugs. I inclined to the latter commodity as the Middle East is one of the great clearing-grounds for the vile trade.”
“Quite right, Pons,” I said. “I was reading in The Lancet only last week..”
“No doubt, Parker,” said Pons sharply. “To return to the subject in hand, the death of the native from stab-wounds in turn meant one of two things. The party using the pots as a method of carrying the material had found a second group trying to intrude into their affairs and had killed the man as a warning to his confederates.”
“Or the first group had been discovered by the second group who struck first and killed the man guarding the material,” put in the Inspector heavily.
“Exactly,” said Pons crisply. “I am glad to see that your mind is so rapier-sharp this evening, Inspector. Those smoke-bombs have not fogged your intellect, at any rate.”
“Good of you to say so, Mr. Pons,” mumbled the Scotland Yard man, his expression betraying to me at any rate that he was not quite sure which way to take my companion’s words.
“I was at some pains to ascertain the weight of the sealed jars and, as we have seen here at the Museum, it was difficult to discover whether they were full or empty as the pottery was so thick and heavy. This, combined with them being securely sealed, made me believe that something was hidden in them and that another person or persons was trying to get at their contents.”
Pons turned to the Inspector.
“When Mr. Biggs told me of his native servant, who was accompanying him to England, it was obvious from the things he let drop, that the person was a high-ranking police officer, set to keep guard on the Cairo antiquities. We had two strands here, as it were. But unknown to me, something had thrown my reasoning out. The real Inspector had been murdered before ever he left Cairo and a fake officer using his identification had taken over. It is my belief that he was a member of the first party who had originally secreted the drugs in the pottery and he was there to guard the cargo which the Curator was inadvertently transporting to Europe for him. He was obviously a person of great intelligence and daring and his death must have been a blow to his employer’s plans.”
“Good heavens, Mr. Pons! And I travelled with that ruffian….”
The Curator, whose ejaculations had reached a highly pious pitch, turned pale and reached for his whisky-glass.
Pons smiled reassuringly.
“I do not think you were in any danger, Mr. Biggs. You were concerned about the Cairo treasures but he was guarding something infinitely more valuable from his point of view. As we know, an attempt was made to break open one of the crates on the voyage. This was the one containing the drugs and which had been deliberately splashed with red paint on the quay at Alexandria in order to mark it. It is equally possible that this could have been done by either group involved but it is immaterial now. Baron Kroll’s men would not have needed any special marking on the crate as their methods were infinitely more subtle….”
“Baron Kroll, Mr. Pons!”
Inspector Jamison’s jaw had dropped.
“You do not mean to say he is involved in this?”
“I do not know anyone else at large in Europe at this point in time who would have been bold enough or clever enough for a coup of this magnitude, Jamison. You may remember, Mr. Biggs, when I asked you which crate had been tampered with you said it was the one which looked as though it had been ‘daubed with blood’. That told me all I wished to know.”