* * *
Once at the top of the ramp leading to the entrance, he paused and opened his sketch-book, flipping several pages over and extracting his pencil from an inside pocket. Studying the sketch-book intently, he wandered absently down the ramp and into the antechamber.
A quick glance around ascertained that both it, and the inner chamber, were still empty, and he immediately made his way into the inner room. There, he resumed his position behind the slab, where he knelt, discarded his sketch-pad, and studied the side of the stone presenting to him. He ran his fingers consideringly over a slight knob along the base of the stone. He pulled out his handkerchief and spread it on the floor beneath the bulge. Then he hesitated, thinking.
Well, after all, Professor Whitesell did not forbid ME, he mulled. And someone has to do it, or it shall never be done.
Finally he withdrew the rock hammer from his trousers waist. Flipping it so that the pick’s point was down, he placed the point gingerly near the base of the stone protuberance. Then he averted his face, closed his eyes, raised the pick head, and brought the point down with appreciable force on the bulge of rock.
There was a sharp crack! and a slight crumbling sound. When Holmes looked back down, the lump of rock lay on the handkerchief, with a few chips and crumbles lying next it. A small rough area near the floor was the only thing that marred the polish of the slab.
He wiped off the rock dust from the tip of the pick and replaced it in its camouflaged position at his waist, partly underneath his waistcoat. Then he carefully folded up the handkerchief, stone chips and all, and put it in a pocket. Retrieving his sketch-book, he returned to the anteroom, recorded a few more hieroglyphs, then strolled out of the vault.
* * *
Moments later, he was back in Nichols-Woodall’s deserted tent, replacing the borrowed rock hammer precisely as he had found it, using a shirt-tail to wipe off any potentially incriminating fingerprints, before ducking out and heading back to the tent he shared with Watson.
That worthy was still at the hospital; there were almost always a few minor cuts, blisters, and the like to tend each day. So Holmes opened his trunk, dug down, and triggered the hidden compartment in its base, putting the sketch-pad and the kerchief containing the rock sample inside. He closed it again and locked it, then sat down to think.
* * *
“Holmes!” Watson exclaimed, as his friend entered the hospital tent. “Are you all right, old fellow? Have you been hurt?”
“No, no,” a serious Holmes said, raising a calming hand. “I am fine, my dear Watson. But I need… a favour.”
“Then name it.”
“I need to talk to Leigh,” Holmes declared. “In private.”
* * *
Behind the hospital tent, Holmes and Watson carried on an intense conversation.
“No, no, Watson, it isn’t what you think,” Holmes protested. “By all means, come along if you like. I’ve no objection. Leigh has… well, it could be the key to solving this mysterious dig find.”
“What? What do you mean, Holmes?”
“Are you and she at a place where the rest of your staff may run matters for five or ten minutes?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Then go fetch her, and bring her back to our tent. I shall be waiting.”
* * *
When Watson arrived with Leighton on his arm, Holmes was sitting at the table, his eye to his microscope, looking at something. A crumpled handkerchief lay beside his left hand. He turned to meet them.
“Forgive me, Leigh,” he murmured, rising and gesturing her to the other camp stool. “I know you are likely not comfortable with me as yet, but it cannot be helped. Do be seated, please.”
“What is happening, Sherry?” she asked, green eyes displaying her confusion and uneasiness. “John told me I might do something important for the expedition?”
“It is possible,” Holmes admitted, as Watson saw her seated on the stool, then perched himself nearby on the end of one of the cots. Holmes resumed his seat, but facing them. “Are you still wearing the necklace you made of the pebble from my shoe?”
“Yes, it is right here,” she said, fishing the chain from beneath her dress collar and pulling the small pebble from its hiding place in her bosom.
“May I have it?”
“What on earth for?” Leighton wondered, as Watson gently unfastened the clasp on the chain and removed it, placing it in the palm of her outstretched hand.
“Because it may be the confirmation I need to identify the stone slab,” Holmes answered, reaching for the pendant. Leighton laid it in his palm, but refused to let go of it.
“How will you do that?”
“Well, I will need to powder it and run some chemical analyses upon it.”
“No! Sherry, no!” Leighton exclaimed, jerking it out of his grasp. “It’s… it means so much to me! You mustn’t destroy it!”
Holmes bit his lip, thinking quickly.
“At least let me look at it a moment, Leigh,” he said. “If it is big enough…”
She opened her palm and let him look at it. It was of irregular shape, slightly ovoid, and fully an inch or better across its long axis; nearly as much in the others. He studied it for several moments, poking it with a fingertip while Leighton and Watson looked on, then his grey eyes lit up.
“Ah!” he exclaimed. “Leigh, would you object if the pebble were only a bit smaller? If we were to, say, have a small piece cut from the back of the stone, it would lie flat about your neck, instead of tumbling about…”
“Oh,” Leighton said, suddenly understanding. “Well, that might work. But why do you need it?”
“Because I believe, if I compare it with…” Holmes turned and unfolded the handkerchief, “this sample I took this afternoon, it will help me to identify the type of stone inside the grotto.”
Leighton and Watson both gasped. “You didn’t!” Leighton exclaimed.
“Hush, Leigh,” Holmes murmured. “Keep your voice down, please. It had to be done, and I made sure to choose a very unobtrusive spot. There were quite a few chips and dings along the base of the slab anyway; I checked it all out very carefully before I took the sample, and made sure to obtain it from a small protrusion along the base of the stone. It is unlikely to be noticed, especially given time for the rough edge to age somewhat. But now we have a sample to test.”
“What shall we do?” Watson wondered.
“Watson, when we landed at the village just on the Nile, do you recall seeing the lapidarist along the quay, selling the jewellery he had made?”
“The one with all the scarab beetles of lapis lazuli, turquoise, and the like? I do. I thought he seemed rather skilled, actually.”
“Indeed. That was my impression as well. Can you arrange to run down to the village on some errand, first thing in the morning, perhaps?”
“I could,” Watson decided. “Aha. Let me guess. You want me to take Leigh’s necklace to him, have him cut off a piece from the back, smooth up the remainder so it will not cut her skin, then bring the pendant back to Leigh and the fragment to you.”
“Capital summation, my dear fellow. Can you do it, or do I need to devise some other means?”
“No, I think I can,” Watson decided. “Perhaps with a bit of help from Leigh.”
“How can I help, John?” Leighton wondered, puzzled.
“First, by compensating for me at the infirmary to-morrow morning, for it is doubtful I shall return before lunch,” Watson explained. “Secondly, help me think: is there anything, any supplies or the like, which we might need that could be found in the village?”
“Hm,” Leighton hummed, then fell silent, her blonde brows knitting as she considered his request. “Oh! Yes, there is, I think. You know we’ve had that rash of shoulder and wrist sprains…”
“Yes,” Watson recalled. “I strongly suspect that new batch of spades is to blame. You remember, Leigh, I mentioned it just the other day. Something about the way the handles
are set on, I think; it just isn’t right, and the repeated force of wielding it ends up injuring the digger, rather than the spade.”
“Well, you might go into the village to obtain some more cloth for slings,” Leighton suggested. “In truth, we are running low.”
“Really? Then by all means, yes, I shall,” Watson decided.
“But could not one of your staff fetch it just as well?” Holmes wondered, concerned. “It must at least appear to be a legitimate errand, else the Professor may wonder…”
“No, Holmes, I should desire to do it myself in any event,” Watson declared, “to ensure a strong, good quality linen is obtained, and it is legitimate. We must have enough slings to immobilise shoulders and wrists if need be.”
“And we ARE running out,” Leighton averred. “Why, we’ve had four or five such sprains in the last week. I was considering telling Da about your notion about the spades, like we talked about yesterday on our walk. Now, I think I shall. He needs to set aside those spades in favour of the older ones, even if the handles are weaker. They are better for the workers.”
“Very well, then, it will do,” Holmes decided. “Watson, do you have the lapidarist remove about a third of the stone, from the rear, and bring it all back to me. And,” he extracted his pocket-book from his trousers, “here is the money to pay for it, and here is additional money to purchase one of those dainty little lapis scarab necklaces for Leigh, as a ‘thank-you’ and repayment.”
“That isn’t necessary, Sherry,” Leighton said softly.
“Perhaps not, Leigh, but I am sorry to have to damage this one,” Holmes pointed out. “However, I have a strong suspicion that it is very important.”
“Consider it done, Holmes,” Watson said, taking several Egyptian pound notes from Holmes and tucking them into his pocket. “With perhaps a pretty bauble or two purchased with my own funds, to go along with it.” He gave Leighton a smile, and she returned it.
“Very good, then, my dear Watson, Leigh. Off to the infirmary with you!” Holmes said, rising.
He watched them leave, then moved to the door flap and watched until they entered the hospital tent across the way.
He turned and went back to the table. A few quick wrist flips wrapped the stone samples back up in his handkerchief. Then it, and his sketch-book, returned to their secretive hiding place in the bottom of his trunk.
* * *
Professor Whitesell was informed of the rash of shoulder and wrist sprains that very night over dinner, and of Watson’s suspicions as to their cause. Disturbed, the archaeologist promptly summoned Udail in the middle of the meal, to instruct him to reissue the old spades to the workers.
The next morning at the end of breakfast, Leighton sent Watson off to the village with a chaste little kiss to the cheek; behind them, Professor Whitesell beamed, Phillips glowered, Holmes raised an amused eyebrow, and Lord Trenthume looked on, bemused. Watson drove himself in the dog-cart, as the rash of injuries had left the dig a bit short-handed of workers. But this was as he and Holmes wanted it, for there would be no driver to see the business transacted.
Watson returned shortly before lunch; he went first to the infirmary to leave the bulk roll of unbleached linen for Wahbiyah and Alimah to cut and fold into ready slings, and to fetch Leighton. Then he brought her by the tent he shared with Holmes, where that worthy awaited.
Leighton glanced around, then went to the tent flap, pulled its tie and released it, letting it fall closed and wave gently in the breeze.
“Are you sure you want to risk being caught alone with two men in their tent?” Holmes murmured, raising an eyebrow.
“Da will know we were discussing something important,” she replied, confident. “He trusts both of you implicitly. He knows you would never harm me. Uncle Parker knows, too. And Dr. Beaumont seems to like you both.”
“Mr. Phillips is another matter,” Holmes muttered under his breath.
“What?”
“Nothing, Leigh. Watson, were you successful?”
“I was,” Watson said, opening his wallet. He fished out the chain of Leighton’s necklace, the newly-modified pendant dangling from the end. “Here you are, my dear Leigh. Does it suit?”
“Yes, that’s fine,” a pleased Leighton agreed. “Very nice, actually. It tended to bobble around a bit anyway. And if it helps Da and Sherry, all well and good. Put it on, would you, John?”
“Certainly, dear.” Watson moved behind her, unfastened the clasp, eased it over her head and refastened it. “There. And here,” he reached into his wallet again, “is the other part of the stone, Holmes. I had the lapidarist catch the stone dust, too, in case it should be of use to you in your chemical analysis.” He handed a thickly-folded paper to the sleuth as Leighton tucked the necklace into her collar.
“Capital, Watson, very well thought out. And the other acquisition?”
“The lapis scarab necklace is in here, too.” And Watson extracted another paper parcel, tied in red string. “And a bit more beside. Here, Leigh.” He handed the parcel to the girl, who promptly tugged at the bow in the string. Moments later the parcel was open in her hands, to disclose the scarab pendant Holmes had requested, along with a matching bracelet and earrings, all placed into delicate gold settings. She stifled a squeal of delight, for the workmanship was indeed masterful.
“Oh! It’s beautiful! Thank you both, so much! John, please help me put them on!”
A smiling Watson obliged, fastening the new, shorter pendant over the older; it displayed nicely over the collar of her blouse. She tucked the hooks of the earrings into her ears, and Watson helped her fasten the clasp of the bracelet around her wrist.
“I think Watson and I do rather well, outfitting you for jewellery, don’t you, Leigh?” Holmes said with a grin. “The lapis lazuli sets off your dress very nicely.”
“Oh yes! Thank you, Sherry!” Leighton lunged forward and gave him an impulsive hug before turning and doing the same to Watson. A slightly diffident Holmes chuckled.
“I suppose this means you are over your discomfort, then?”
Leighton suddenly blushed, tucking her head shyly. “Yes, I… I suppose it does. I am sorry about… all of that.”
“Let it go, Leigh,” Holmes said gently. “I am pleased to see you and Watson happy together; we can all get along just fine, so.” He ran a light fingertip over the scarab hanging from her throat. “And should anyone ask, this is… an apology, to which Watson decided to add, by way of…” he broke off, and glanced at Watson, “appreciation for your infirmary work?”
“Which is all entirely true,” Watson declared staunchly, then added with a hint of mischief, “if not entirely inclusive,” and Leighton laughed softly.
Just then, the luncheon gong rang.
“Ah. Do the two of you go on to luncheon,” Holmes said, “and I will put this away, out of sight, and join you shortly.”
“Very good, Holmes,” Watson said, offering Leighton his arm. “Leigh, shall we go?”
“We shall,” Leighton said with a smile.
* * *
After lunch, most of the scientific team returned to the field. As afternoon surgery hours had not yet begun, Watson took Leighton for a walk, making sure he had his revolver, fully loaded, in his pocket, in the event of cobra encounters.
Holmes murmured something about translation duties as he left the luncheon table, and betook himself back to the tent. There, he fastened the tent flap securely from the inside, and extracted the rock samples and the little note-pad from the compartment beneath the false bottom of his trunk.
“First, the control sample,” he murmured to himself, unwrapping the paper parcel to expose the fragment of Leighton’s pendant, as well as a small brown paper packet of rock dust where the lapidarist had cut the pebble. This latter he laid aside for the moment; he picked up the fragment and examined it under his jeweller’s loupe, then scratched it across the same unglazed ceramic tile he had used on the stone slab in the interior vault. He had carefull
y preserved the streak the slab had left, and now chose to parallel it with the tiny pebble piece. He raised an eyebrow, then brought the loupe to bear upon both marks. He nodded, and scribbled into the pad.
He pulled out his jack-knife, opening the blade, and stared at it in thought. It took half the evening to re-sharpen this and buff out the scratch, he remembered. I do not want to repeat that process, merely for a test; I have more important things to be done.
A sudden thought occurred to him, and he dug around in the wooden box containing all of his scientific equipment that either did not fit on the small camp table, or was small enough to be easily lost. He extracted a largish stainless steel spoon that he had sometimes been wont to use for measuring powdered chemicals; it had gotten bent in his travels, and would have to be replaced in any event. It was, he knew, also somewhat harder than the blade of his jack-knife, which had been intended to be kept sharp on a whetstone.
Catching up the fragment from Leigh’s pendant, he scraped the cut edge across the outer bowl of the spoon; it left a significant laceration on the steel surface. Then he flipped open his handkerchief, exposing the sample from the slab. Taking it, he repeated the process, leaving a very similar, and quite as deep, blemish on the spoon as he had with the other stone. He sat it back down on the kerchief and considered the scratches for a bit, even examining them under his jeweller’s loupe, before recording his observations.
The bit from Leighton’s stone next went under his microscope, and again he jotted into the pad as he studied it. He removed it, setting it back on the unfolded paper, and picked up the chip from the interred block. This went under the microscope in its turn; he recorded his observations, then nudged the stone to one side of the instrument’s field of view, placing the pebble shard hard against it, and bent back to the eyepiece.
“Amazing,” he murmured. “It may just be… I had thought it a long shot, but…”
He set aside the large pieces, and turned back to the paper packet Watson had brought, opening the small pouch of rock dust that had come with it. This he emptied with due deliberation onto a clean sheet of paper torn from the note-book. Taking a small steel spatula from the rack containing his chemical equipment, he meticulously separated the pile of powder into several smaller piles, each of which he weighed on the minuscule balance scale he had packed with his equipment. Then he used the spatula to carefully spoon each pile into a separate test tube.