‘They are stolen property,’ said Mr Cameron Bell.
‘I am well aware of that. So how much do you want?’
‘They are not for sale — they must be returned to their rightful owners.
‘You will have a long ride doing that, then.’ The cardinal attended to the minutiae of lighting up the hookah.
‘And why would I have a long ride?’ asked the detective, looking on with interest.
‘Well, that one is straightforward.’ The cardinal pointed towards the smallest of the three, a jewel-encrusted thing of gold with a tiny glass enclosure at the top. ‘That one has come from the British Museum.’
‘Indeed it has,’ the detective agreed. ‘I was engaged by that worthy institution to recover it. I have also, by chance, this morning solved the case of the missing Maori kiwi cloak, but that is another matter.’
‘Then let us not confuse each other with it here. The other two you have there are not from this planet — one is from Jupiter and the other from Venus. A collector’s dream to see the three together. You do not know the whereabouts of the fourth one, I suppose?’ The cardinal knelt down and lit up the hookah, sucked hard upon the mouth pipe then collapsed on the floor in a fit of coughing.
‘A fourth one, you say?’ said Cameron Bell, helping the cardinal onto his knees and patting away at his back. ‘I was not aware that there was a fourth one.
Cardinal Cox composed himself ‘Sit yourself down,’ said he.
Cameron Bell settled onto a nest of cushions, kilims and subcontinental quilts.
‘Tell me all about them, please,’ said he.
The large red man relit his hookah and took the tiniest of sucks. Breathing sweetly scented smoke, he told a curious tale.
‘In the days of way-back-when,’ said he, ‘before science had triumphed over alchemy, it was believed that everything was composed of four elements in differing proportions —earth, air, fire and water. One can now consult the periodic table to test the inaccuracy of this medieval supposition. However, although many elements are now known and scientifically understood, the original concept of the four elements is not without its power, for a magical power it is.’
Cameron Bell groaned. ‘Magic, you say?’ he said.
‘These are magical items,’ said the cardinal. ‘Or were, back in the days when folk believed in such nonsense. Each was said to contain the Anima Mundi — literally the World Soul — of its planet of origin, and each represents one of the four elements. Mars is fire. Venus is water. Jupiter is air.’
‘And Earth is earth?’ asked Cameron Bell. ‘So where is the fourth reliquary kept?’
The cardinal shrugged as he puffed. ‘Who can say? Perhaps it was broken up for the jewels that bestudded it — each of these is worth a fortune. And upon second thoughts I have no wish to purchase them. Venusians take most unkindly to their holy treasures being looted. You will do yourself a great deal of good when you return to them what is theirs.’
Cameron Bell took up the Martian reliquary and peered into the little glass enclosure atop it. Was that a flicker of flame he saw or just some trick of the light?’
‘And the Earth one contains only earth?’ he said.
‘It is believed to contain the very substance of God. Have you ever heard of the Nazca Plains?’
‘In South America? A high plateau carved with ancient patterns, if I recall correctly.’
‘There are other beliefs. Some hold that the Nazca Lines are the fingerprint of God, left behind when he fashioned this world.’
‘A fine tale,’ said Mr Bell, now wafting at the air about him in an attempt to avoid any passive hashish-imbibement. ‘So I suppose I must conclude that these items were stolen to order by some rich collector of outré paraphernalia.’
‘Or a Master of High Magick,’ said the cardinal. Mr Bell groaned once more. ‘And what would a High Master — or indeed a High Priestess — want with them?’
Cardinal Cox slapped his hands together. ‘They would certainly be a witch’s dream,’ said he. ‘If a High Priestess possessed all four, there is no telling what terrible witcheries she might perform. You return them to their rightful owners, old fellow-me-lad, and think no more about it.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Mr Bell. ‘I will do that.’
Cardinal Cox gave Cameron Bell the very queerest of looks. ‘Exactly from where did you acquire these?’ he asked.
‘From a witch,’ said Cameron Bell.
‘And she let you take them from her? That I find unlikely.’
‘She fled,’ said Mr Bell.
‘Fled leaving these?’ Cardinal Cox did shakings of the head. ‘Now that I find very hard to believe. Indeed, indeed.’
‘It is a mystery, to be sure,’ said Mr Bell. ‘I followed her into a house that had but a single entrance. I searched it high and low but she was not there.’
‘The house was utterly deserted?’
‘There was a child,’ said Mr Bell, ‘but she ran away. ‘A child and she ran away?’ And the cardinal laughed.
‘That was no child, you foolish man — that was your witch employing her evil craft.’
‘Oh, surely not,’ said Cameron Bell.
‘This child, did she inspire pity from you?’
Cameron Bell simply nodded.
‘Then she had you fooled. She tricked you for reasons of her own.
‘I have the reliquaries,’ said the detective, still fanning away with a will.
‘And that puzzles me. What of the witch’s familiar?’
‘Her what?’ asked Cameron Bell.
‘Her familiar — every witch has one to serve her and obey her evil commands, the spirit of a demon trapped inside an animal by the witch.’
‘An animal?’ asked Cameron Bell, a terrible coldness entering into his voice.
‘Certainly. A rat, a cat or some similar creature, normal without yet fearsome within. Beware the witch’s familiar, my old friend.’
‘A rat?’ murmured Cameron Bell. ‘A cat. Perhaps … a monkey?’
‘Certainly a monkey. Indeed, indeed, indeed.’
‘Oh my dear dead father, too,’ cried Mr Cameron Bell. ‘I have done a terrible thing. I must be going now. Farewell. Farewell.’
With fear upon his face, the great detective snatched up the reliquaries and made away from the smoke-shrouded room at the very greatest of speeds.
16
yon House slumbered in sunlight.
An uneasy slumber, this, however, for loud were the sounds of industry that issued from the rear of the ancient pile.
Mr Cameron Bell had engaged a hansom cab. Not the cab of the previous evening, which he had ‘borrowed’ from its gin-soaked driver and returned to its rank after dropping Darwin home. This was another cab with quite a different driver.
This driver, who smelled deliciously of bacon — having a wife who knew the value of a good breakfast — dropped Mr Bell off before the gates of Syon House, accepted his fare and went upon his way whistling that popular music hall tune ‘A Carrot Is as Close as a Rabbit Gets to a Diamond’.[11]
Mr Bell did peepings through the big front gates. Beyond the newly planted groves of banana trees, a landau stood before the main entrance to the great house. The landau of Miss Lavinia Dharkstorrm.
Mr Bell did scratchings of the chin. Perhaps he was not too late. Perhaps he could rescue Darwin from the evil witch and her sinister familiar. Catching them unawares would be the order of the day.
Mr Bell ambled away to find a side-alley where he might scale one of the high surrounding walls of Syon House unseen.
As he ambled he cursed unto himself ‘This is all my fault,’ he muttered. ‘My carelessness, my thoughtlessness, my overconfidence, all have brought me to this pretty pass and put the life of my innocent companion in dreadful danger.’ Mr Bell paused in his soliloquy whilst he ambled on. ‘All right,’ he continued, ‘not wholly innocent, I suppose. Our partnership has been fraught with certain difficulties in that I do all the work and he does all th
e loafing about. And complains every time I need him for some special undercover assignment. Is it really too much to expect a monkey to impersonate a monkey?’
Mr Bell stopped and considered the wall. Much too high, it was.
‘And how he has prospered,’ the detective continued as he moved onwards. ‘I do not possess a house as swank as this one, and I do all of the work.’
Mr Bell now stopped once more. ‘I have a good mind just to leave him to it,’ he said. ‘The more I think about it, the more I become convinced that it is not my fault at all. If I climb a wall at the risk of my health and then confront that dreadful harpy, I might well end up dead. Better the loss of a mere monkey, I am thinking. Better I return these reliquaries to their rightful owners—’ he shook the oversized reticule ‘—accept all the reward money and, if I deem it necessary, at some time in the future team up with another partner. A man this time, and not a monkey.’
Mr Bell now ceased his ambling perambulations. ‘My God!’ said he. ‘Did I really just say all that? Shame on me, for I am a terrible person. Of course I must rescue Darwin. Of course I must do what is right.’
And with that said he found that he had come to a place where the wall had partially fallen.
‘All right, Darwin,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘Help is close at hand.’
With much scrambling, which precipitated no small degree of linen-suit besmerchment and an unfortunate seat-of-trouser tearing which brought a pleasant though unasked-for ventilation to Mr Bell’s meaty loins, the great detective cleared the wall and dropped down into the garden.
The sounds of industry were now very loud in the ears of Mr Bell. Ears which, had they been located upon the head of an ordinary man, would have had between them a hangover of epic proportion. But it did have to be said that Cameron Bell was no ordinary man.
He straightened. his apparel, dusted himself down as best as he could and mooched in the direction of the loud industrial clamour.
It was emanating from the all-but-completed Bananary.
Several sturdy artisans laboured upon this monstrosity. Cameron Bell had only been offered a brief glance at the plans. In real life and in the brightest of sunshine, it was far worse than he could ever have possibly imagined. It bulged in places where a glass-house should not and shunned all architectural conventions. Mr Bell, a man who harboured a strong appreciation for the classics in all their forms, in music, in art and in architecture, was rightly appalled.
The Bananary had him feeling faint.
‘Good morning to you, guv’nor,’ said a sturdy artisan as Mr Bell approached. ‘Coming on a treat, is she not?’
Mr Bell did shakings of the head. ‘It is not really to my personal taste,’ said he.
‘Everyone is entitled to their opinion,’ said the artisan, studying the very plan that Mr Bell had once briefly glanced over.
‘There is an old adage,’ said Cameron Bell, ‘that some things are better than other things and some people capable of making the distinction.’
‘Whatever you say,’ said the artisan, engrossing himself in the plan.
‘Have you seen your master this morning?’ asked Mr Cameron Bell.
‘Never seen him at all,’ said the artisan of sturdiness. ‘Never even met him, as it happens. Seen his monkey often enough, but never met the master.’
Mr Bell nodded thoughtfully. So even those who worked for Darwin did not know that he owned Syon House. A wise monkey indeed, thought Cameron Bell.
‘Where would the master and his monkey be found at this time of the day?’ he enquired.
‘In the drawing room beyond the kitchen. Some creepy woman came to visit. We were having our tea as working men rightfully should and she shooed us back to our labours.’
‘Through that door there?’ Mr Bell looked towards the indicated door.
The artisan nodded.
‘Thank you,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘One last question —when do you expect to have the Bananary finished?’
‘By lunchtime,’ said the artisan. ‘It took a bit longer than anticipated — things didn’t fit as they should have.’
Mr Bell reached towards the plan, tugged it from the artisan’s fingers and turned it around. ‘I will not mention it if you won’t,’ he said, ‘but you have built it upside down.’
The great kitchen was very much as Mr Bell remembered it. Perhaps just a little untidier than it had once been and somewhat overcrowded by potted banana trees.
I do wish he would vary his diet, thought Cameron Bell as he drew out his ray gun and set its charge to ‘maximum’. If I were never to see or hear about another banana, it would in no way lessen the quality of my life.
Mr Bell approached the door that led to the drawing room. He eased it open just a crack and peered into what lay beyond.
He viewed a room of couches and divans, of antique tables and tall jardinières. A Venusian carpet hugged a floor of polished oak and the walls were frescoed in the prettiest pastels. The curtains of this room were drawn, but modern electric torchères lit it with the brightness of the day.
Alone upon a couch sat Lavinia Dharkstorrm, reading a copy of The Times. She did not look up as Cameron Bell, with gun held high, came creeping into the room.
‘I trust you have brought my reliquaries,’ said the High Priestess. And then she neatly folded her newspaper and smiled up at Cameron Bell. ‘Oh, do put away that silly pistol,’ she said. ‘Have you no manners? Pointing that at a woman!’
‘Where is Darwin?’ asked Cameron Bell. ‘If you have harmed him, I will surely kill you.’
‘Brave talk indeed.’ Lavinia Dharkstorrm cocked her head upon one side. She was certainly a most attractive woman. And those mauve eyes were a most enchanting sight. ‘You allude of course to your pet monkey, who calls himself Humphrey Banana,’ said she. ‘Such a clever little thing he is. And so very talkative. He had much to say for himself when we pushed him into the suitcase.’
‘Release him immediately!’ the detective demanded. ‘I have never been forced to kill a woman but I will do it now with little force required.’
Miss Lavinia Dharkstorrm wagged a finger. ‘I could not return him to you at this moment even if I chose to.’ She pulled from her bodice a silver pocket watch. ‘Ah, the ten o’clock flight,’ she said. ‘What times we live in — such punctuality. Your pet is even now on his way to Mars.’
‘Then it is the end for you,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘Would you care for me to pause before your execution, that you might recommend yourself to your Maker and offer some apologies for the evil life you have led?’
‘No, no, no,’ said Lavinia Dharkstorrm. ‘That is not the way it will be. I am booked aboard tomorrow’s flight to Mars. If I do not arrive unscathed in the Martian terminal and in your company, a hideous fate awaits your little friend. A most prolonged period of torture during which pieces of his flesh will be removed and then posted to you. Eventually you should have enough to make yourself a nice pair of monkey-skin gloves.’
Mr Bell took two steps forwards. Never before had he known a time when he had wished so much to kill a human being.
‘You will now return the three reliquaries to me and upon Mars you will seek and find the fourth. When I have all four in my possession, you will have your monkey. What say you to this?’
‘I say, why?’ said Cameron Bell. ‘Why such a complicated rigmarole? Why did you not simply make good your escape last night in the company of the reliquaries? Why, if you have acquired three, can you not acquire the fourth? Why do you need to involve me in any of this?’
Miss Lavinia Dharkstorrm shook her beautiful head. ‘And you call yourself a detective,’ she said, smiling as she did so. ‘I let you have the reliquaries last night so that you would do what I am sure you have done — take them to some expert for authentication and to provide you with some knowledge as to what they actually are. As for the subterfuge, I had intended all along to capture your partner to encourage you to find the fourth reliquary. I had you pegged all along
, Mr Bell — that you substituted the real awards list at the British Showmen’s Fellowship dinner and dance, that you might enjoy the ensuing chaos, all smug and filled with self-satisfaction at your cleverness. Well, I displayed a little cleverness of my own. Mine, it would appear, is superior to yours.
And suddenly Miss Lavinia Dharkstorrm no longer sat before Mr Bell.
Instead there was a small and grubby girl, regarding him with large, reproachful eyes.
‘Vile creature!’ cried Cameron Bell. ‘But if you are so clever … Why have you need of me?’
Miss Dharkstorrm reappeared and smiled a bit more. ‘If I could have found the fourth reliquary myself, then so would I have done. But I have not been able to do so. The first three were relatively easy. I knew where they were —one in the British Museum, one upon Venus, one upon Jupiter. Stealing from the British Museum has never been particularly difficult — even chief inspectors of police get up to it. As for Jupiter, the Jovians, though affable, are a godless bunch, so I simply purchased theirs. Venus was more difficult. Theirs was kept in a temple, so I had a replacement crafted. They are still unaware of the exchange.’
‘And where is the one upon Mars?’ asked Cameron Bell. ‘Is that kept in some holy place or in some private collection?’
‘Ah, you are showing an interest. Good for you. The fourth reliquary containing the Anima Mundi of planet Earth has been stolen from its location on Mars.
‘Ha,’ said Cameron Bell, and he almost laughed. ‘By some rival coven, perchance?’
‘Who can say?’ Miss Dharkstorrm shrugged. ‘Which is why the owner seeks to employ a detective.’
‘And the rightful owner is who?’
‘Princess Pamela,’ said Miss Lavinia Dharkstorrm. ‘Queen Victoria’s sister.’
‘The Queen has no sister named Pamela,’ said Mr Bell.
‘Oh yes she certainly does, and a wanton creature she is. Her existence has always remained unknown to the public in general. She was long ago installed in a palace on Mars where it was hoped she would not get into mischief It is a very closely guarded secret.’
‘But why?’ asked Mr Bell.