Frank Thomas - Sherlock Holmes and the Sacred Sword

Having seated his visitors, Andrade leaned against the table and surveyed us with a half-smile.

"I came, Mr. Holmes, to Venice to insure privacy and must admit that I was a bit put out when Mr. Orloff appeared on the scene." He shot a quick look at our friend, who was in the process of lighting one of the thin Mexican cigars that he fancied.

"However, his credentials were so impressive that I could not refuse him an audience, and a good thing, too, since he has done me a great service." Andrade's eyes shifted to a pile of photographs on the table and then he moved to sink, somewhat slowly, into a large armchair. "Then he requested that I meet with you, Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson. Now, I would be a dullard indeed if I did not think that a visit from the world's foremost detective is connected with the Egyptian research I'm involved in."

"It is," replied Holmes. "My—our—investigations are not of an archaeological nature, but they do seem to point to Egypt, and you are the first new element in hieroglyphics since Champollion."

Andrade's full lips twisted in a slight grimace. "The Frenchman gets all the credit. Not that he doesn't deserve it, you know. Positive genius. Spoke Latin, Greek, and Hebrew by the age of eleven. Mastered Arabic, Syrian, Chaldean, and Coptic in two years. However, our own Thomas Young is rather overlooked. It was he who deduced that in hieroglyphics the royal names were inscribed in oval frames."

"Cartouches," said the sleuth.

The Egyptologist's eyes brightened and he regarded Holmes with even more respect.

"Exactly, sir. You have a familiarity with the subject. But I take us from the matter at hand. You want to know if I have been successful in decoding the secret writings."

"That's it," replied Holmes.

Andrade stirred uncomfortably in his chair. "Of course, you understand that our discussion is highly confidential. Later this year I will deliver an address to a group of skeptical and, in many cases, antagonistic colleagues. It will serve my purposes best if they are not aware of my full revelations. Then I intend to publish a paper that might have the same reception as Champollion's 'Letter to M. Dacier in regard to the alphabet of the phonetic hieroglyphics.'" His mouth pursed for a moment and then he gave vent to a sigh of resignation. "Well, not quite as earth-shaking, since Champollion was first. No matter, I can give you an answer for the first time."

As though the thought of his quest produced a sudden surge of energy, Andrade rose from his chair and crossed nervously to the table. Turning, he slid his posterior onto its surface. Had he crossed his legs beneath him, there would have been a resemblance to a seated Buddha. His arms behind him, he leaned back and there was a creak of protest from the oak, but the table was stoutly constructed. Andrade's eyes had an almost dreamy look as though he was reliving the work of years, which in fact he was.

"It was the temple of Abu Simbel that first aroused the curiosity of scholars, myself included. It lies a hundred miles south of Karnak and is the largest monolithic sculpture in the world. The temple is cut into a solid sandstone cliff, and its facade is covered with huge effigies of Rameses Second. Inside the temple, in the inner sanctuary, is another statue of Rameses Second, and underneath it a number of inscriptions that have defied translation. Thomas Young became intrigued with the idea of another form of hieroglyphics, and this theory, to which I subscribed, was buttressed by certain golden tablets that had shown up. They are very rare. Grave robbers must have melted them down in times gone by. Then, with the coming of our modern era, they realized that the genuine article was worth much more to a great museum or wealthy collector than the basic worth of the precious metal."

"Three of the tablets are in the possession of the Egyptian Museum, and I have seen copies of the inscriptions but never the tablets. In the beginning, all I had to work with were the inscriptions at Abu Simbel. I did decode the secret writing, developing certain ideas of Young, but that's another story. What I needed desperately was confirmation of my findings. Now it is common knowledge in the field that Giovanni Balzoni, the Italian archaeologist and adventurer, came upon two more golden tablets not long before his death early in the century. He got them out of Egypt, for things were very easygoing in those days, but they disappeared. Then they turned up fifty years later and were purchased by Mannheim, the great German collector. Since they were the only golden tablets outside of Egypt, Mannheim made quite a fuss about his acquisition, and they were stolen from him and have not reappeared to this day."

I could not contain myself any longer. "But what have these ancient tablets to do with your discovery?" I asked. Happily, Andrade seemed to welcome my question.

"Proof positive, Doctor Watson. I have translated the Rameses inscriptions along with all the copies of the known tablets that I could secure, but I needed more material to work on."

He waved a large hand in the direction of Wakefield Orloff. "It was here that this gentleman came to my aid."

Holmes was regarding the security agent with surprise.

"Don't tell me that in such a short time you located the Mannheim tablets?"

As Orloff laid aside his cigar, it was Andrade who fielded the conversational ball.

"Almost as good, Mr. Holmes. He secured photographs of them."

Andrade slid off the table and spread a pile of large photographs on its surface.

"Here, gentlemen, are pictures of the Mannheim tablets, which I have translated as conclusive proof that the riddle of the secret writings is no more."

We all clustered round the table. The pictures were of rows of inscriptions taken from various angles. To me they were but a series of carvings bearing no relation to a written language, but Holmes seemed intrigued and Andrade was positively bubbling with joy as he pointed to various lines of ancient text.

Holmes's eyes had gone to Wakefield Orloff. "Rather nice piece of work, this," he said, indicating the photographs. "How did you get them?"

There was a fleeting shadow of self-satisfaction on Orloff's impassive face.

"Memory helped. I recalled that Mannheim is a great believer in pictures, most often of himself, and in the newspapers whenever possible. He is no shrinking violet. His photographer, Werdelin of Berlin, was evidently influenced by his greatest patron because he is a collector as well. Of photographs. I had some dealings with the gentleman once and knew that invariably when on a big job he made copies of his work, which he carefully filed."

"So you went to Berlin and secured the copies in Werdelin's files," said Holmes.

"He owed me a favor," was the security agent's reply, accompanied by his quiet smile.

"In any case, with the pictures I saw the end of the road," continued Andrade. "I have been at work for thirty-six hours, gentlemen. My poor assistant gave up the ghost three hours ago and is in my room upstairs in an exhausted sleep. To be frank, I don't feel the slightest fatigue."

"The adrenalin of victory," I stated automatically.

Since the Egyptologist seemed intent in going over various inscriptions and had a courteous audience in Holmes and Orloff, I withdrew from the scene slightly. The ancient writings had little appeal to me, and I moved to the bow window that had captured my attention upon our arrival.

On the San Canciano canal there was an endless procession of boats and gondolas, and I noted skyrockets from the direction of Campo San Marco. There was a drumbeat of sound, almost like muted gunfire, which I identified as fireworks, concluding that it was but another festival night in the city noted for such celebrations. As my gaze swiveled towards the small tributary canal running at right angles to the San Canciano, I shook my head for a moment and blinked my eyes.