darker, and I haven’t
explored this particular cave before. I’ve had a wall cave in on me a couple of
times, so you had best watch where you are walking. Let’s go deeper, shall we,
but do watch your step.”
Professor
Whitnell led the way, but Holmes, in his always deep rooted curiosity had
strayed away towards one wall, carefully glancing over the rock formations.
“Hello,” he finally
said, “what’s this in the crevice here? Looks like a mummified bird of some
kind.”
The Professor
raised the lantern higher to better observe Holmes’ discovery.
“It is,” said
the Professor in excitement, “A beautiful specimen!”
“Judging by its
markings, a black streak here, and bars of white in the tail, I’d say it was a
peregrine.”
“That’s exactly
what it is, Holmes, a falcon. Dating back a couple of hundred years, I should
say. And in a perfect state of preservation. This is a treasure.”
While Holmes and
Professor Whitnell were examining the bird, I had wandered further on to what
appeared to be a large pile of broken stone wedged against one wall.
“Seems to be
another cave over here,” I said, “I’ll try to remove some of this—”
Suddenly the
stone crumbled away, coming down full force to the floor of the cave.
“Good Lord, the
whole wall has collapsed!”
“Watson, you’re
not hurt, are you?”
“No, no, Holmes,
I’m all right.”
“Why, you’ve
unearthed another cave, Dr. Watson,” the Professor remarked, “Let’s go in. I
think we can just manage to crawl through.”
Holding his
lantern aloft, Whitnell crawled through the opening, followed by Holmes and
myself. Our clothes were now caked with limestone dust.
“Great Scott,” I
commented, “I don’t believe my eyes!”
“Magnificent!”
Holmes exclaimed, “Whitnell, this is a treasure, indeed. Look here. A perfectly
preserved body dressed in 18th century costume, powdered wig and all!”
“Yes, and there’s
no mistaking who it is. Look at that typical beak profile. It’s a Clavering! And
it isn’t hard to identify which one.”
“You mean the
one that Lady Clavering told us about this afternoon?” I asked.
“Exactly,” returned
the Professor, “without doubt, this is the body of Sir Nigel Clavering, who
disappeared in 1777! Let’s search his pockets, but be careful, as this material
is quite old and can tear and crumble most easily. We might find some
identification. Ah, here’s a snuff box of the period. And some coins.”
“Yes,” I said, “and
the inscription of George the Third is still visible on them. Hello, here’s his
diary. This is unbelievable. I say, what are you up to, Holmes?”
“I’m examining
the body, Watson. This man was murdered! Look at this wound just above the
heart, obviously inflicted with a sharp instrument, probably a dagger. This is
interesting! An entirely new experience for me. The opportunity of solving an
unsuspected murder committed well over a hundred years ago. Pass me that diary,
Watson old chap, and let’s see if the poor devil was aware of his fate.”
“Rather hard to
read,” I said, observing the diary with Holmes, “all the S’s look like F’s.”
“A peculiarity
of the 18th century writing, Watson.”
“ ‘They are
faying,’ ” I read aloud, “I suppose that means ‘saying’ . . . ‘They are faying
in the coffee houfef that my brother Harry haf been coveting my wife.’ ”
“This is
amazing, Holmes,” said the Professor in wonderment, “see how history repeats
itself. It’s an exact parallel of the situation existing today. Harry is
coveting his brother’s wife, Helena, and Sir George has not been seen for five
years!”
“What an
extraordinary coincidence.”
“If it were one,
Watson,” said Holmes. “As it is, it’s one of the most ingenious frauds I’ve
ever seen. The clothing appears authentic, so do the coins and the faded ink,
also the paper of the diary. And due to the peculiar mummification of the body,
it would
explored this particular cave before. I’ve had a wall cave in on me a couple of
times, so you had best watch where you are walking. Let’s go deeper, shall we,
but do watch your step.”
Professor
Whitnell led the way, but Holmes, in his always deep rooted curiosity had
strayed away towards one wall, carefully glancing over the rock formations.
“Hello,” he finally
said, “what’s this in the crevice here? Looks like a mummified bird of some
kind.”
The Professor
raised the lantern higher to better observe Holmes’ discovery.
“It is,” said
the Professor in excitement, “A beautiful specimen!”
“Judging by its
markings, a black streak here, and bars of white in the tail, I’d say it was a
peregrine.”
“That’s exactly
what it is, Holmes, a falcon. Dating back a couple of hundred years, I should
say. And in a perfect state of preservation. This is a treasure.”
While Holmes and
Professor Whitnell were examining the bird, I had wandered further on to what
appeared to be a large pile of broken stone wedged against one wall.
“Seems to be
another cave over here,” I said, “I’ll try to remove some of this—”
Suddenly the
stone crumbled away, coming down full force to the floor of the cave.
“Good Lord, the
whole wall has collapsed!”
“Watson, you’re
not hurt, are you?”
“No, no, Holmes,
I’m all right.”
“Why, you’ve
unearthed another cave, Dr. Watson,” the Professor remarked, “Let’s go in. I
think we can just manage to crawl through.”
Holding his
lantern aloft, Whitnell crawled through the opening, followed by Holmes and
myself. Our clothes were now caked with limestone dust.
“Great Scott,” I
commented, “I don’t believe my eyes!”
“Magnificent!”
Holmes exclaimed, “Whitnell, this is a treasure, indeed. Look here. A perfectly
preserved body dressed in 18th century costume, powdered wig and all!”
“Yes, and there’s
no mistaking who it is. Look at that typical beak profile. It’s a Clavering! And
it isn’t hard to identify which one.”
“You mean the
one that Lady Clavering told us about this afternoon?” I asked.
“Exactly,” returned
the Professor, “without doubt, this is the body of Sir Nigel Clavering, who
disappeared in 1777! Let’s search his pockets, but be careful, as this material
is quite old and can tear and crumble most easily. We might find some
identification. Ah, here’s a snuff box of the period. And some coins.”
“Yes,” I said, “and
the inscription of George the Third is still visible on them. Hello, here’s his
diary. This is unbelievable. I say, what are you up to, Holmes?”
“I’m examining
the body, Watson. This man was murdered! Look at this wound just above the
heart, obviously inflicted with a sharp instrument, probably a dagger. This is
interesting! An entirely new experience for me. The opportunity of solving an
unsuspected murder committed well over a hundred years ago. Pass me that diary,
Watson old chap, and let’s see if the poor devil was aware of his fate.”
“Rather hard to
read,” I said, observing the diary with Holmes, “all the S’s look like F’s.”
“A peculiarity
of the 18th century writing, Watson.”
“ ‘They are
faying,’ ” I read aloud, “I suppose that means ‘saying’ . . . ‘They are faying
in the coffee houfef that my brother Harry haf been coveting my wife.’ ”
“This is
amazing, Holmes,” said the Professor in wonderment, “see how history repeats
itself. It’s an exact parallel of the situation existing today. Harry is
coveting his brother’s wife, Helena, and Sir George has not been seen for five
years!”
“What an
extraordinary coincidence.”
“If it were one,
Watson,” said Holmes. “As it is, it’s one of the most ingenious frauds I’ve
ever seen. The clothing appears authentic, so do the coins and the faded ink,
also the paper of the diary. And due to the peculiar mummification of the body,
it would
Similar Books
