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The Return of the Yellow Beetle
by Mark Hodder (2006) Chapter Two The Mystery at Thistle Wood Manor The reception door slammed open and Sexton Blake strode in with his eyes blazing. He crossed to his office. “Paula, Marion, Miss Pringle, you have the rest of the week off. Miss Pringle, please take the cat with you and look after it for the weekend. Close the door behind you! Tinker, in here please!” he snapped. The three women looked at each other and, without a word, reached for their handbags and jackets. You didn’t question the chief when you heard that tone of voice. “Something’s wrong,” whispered Marion as they gathered around the exit. “Shall we come back at the normal time on Monday?” quavered Miss Pringle as she scooped up Millie, the office cat. Edward Carter emerged from the filing room. “Yes,” he said in a low voice. “Please do. Now off you go and enjoy the sun. And don’t worry, I’m sure everything’s fine.” Marion opened the door and she and Miss Pringle passed through. Paula hesitated. “Scat!” hissed Carter. She left and he closed the door, locked it, and pulled down the blind. He turned and walked over to Blake’s office. “Say, Chief,” he said as he entered and closed the door behind him. “I’m not really fired am I?” He sat in a chair facing the detective. Sexton Blake leaned forward and placed a small carved box in the middle of the desk between them. “Hello! What’s that?” queried his assistant. “Tinker, have you heard of Bernard Stone?” “Um. Nope, doesn’t ring a bell.” “He is the son of Albert Stone, the man who made millions importing spices from China. When Albert died, so did his business. Bernard has no interest in anything other than his hobby.” “Which is?” asked Carter, wondering where this was leading. “He has a mania for Oriental antiquities. After inheriting a fortune from his father, Bernard purchased Thistle Wood Manor on the North coast of Kent. He converted its east wing into a private museum for his collection. Now he spends his time travelling back and forth between England and the Far East, bringing home with him priceless artworks, rare antiques… and very sensitive information.” “Meaning?” “Meaning that he also works for Eustace Craille.” “Ah.” “’Ah’, indeed,” agreed Blake. “Our Mr Stone is a spy.” He paused then asked, “Tinker, what would you say is the quality above all other qualities that one must possess in order to work for Craille?” Carter placed his elbow on the desk, rested his chin on his hand, and eyed the little carved box. “Well,” he offered, “I guess absolute and unquestioning devotion to duty.” “Absolutely spot on. And that’s exactly why Eustace Craille has become increasingly concerned about Stone over the past few months. You see, Stone is more dedicated to his collecting than he is to his boss — and that makes him a security risk.” “So where does this box come into it? It is a box, isn’t it?” “I’m coming to that,” rapped Blake. “And yes, it is. Now, at Thistle Wood Manor Stone has a small household staff and an assistant — a sort of curator. This man’s name is Michael Wellington and, unknown to Stone, he is also one of Craille’s men.” “Planted to keep an eye on Bernard Stone in case he strays?” “Precisely. Three days ago, Wellington telephoned Craille and reported that Stone had gone missing. This is what he said happened: a small parcel arrived in the morning post. Wellington was present when Stone opened it. This box was inside. It’s a Chinese puzzle box, Tinker — very hard to open unless you know the technique. Stone did, and he opened it. He looked inside and, according to Wellington, he let out a cry, went pale as a ghost and staggered to a chair into which he collapsed. His assistant approached to see what was in the box but Stone virtually screamed at him to keep away. “Stone then asked Wellington to get him a drink. He did so. When the curator turned back to his employer he noticed that the box had been closed. “A little later, Stone left the house and went to the village post office… which is unusual in itself as he would normally ask a member of his staff — Mason; a sort of butlerish fellow — to run such an errand. Anyway, Wellington thought this would be a good time to study the box but couldn’t find it. It turns out that Stone was at that moment posting it to Craille with a note enclosed which simply read ‘Show this to Blake’. “For the rest of the day, Bernard Stone remained locked in his study, seeing no-one. “The next morning, a letter arrived, postmarked Dover and addressed to Wellington. It was from Stone. In it, he claimed to have quietly left the house late the preceding night to begin another of his trips to the Orient. He wrote that he would be gone some considerable time and that the decision had been quite spontaneous, which is why he hadn’t told Wellington about it previously. “The curator was immediately suspicious and, upon checking Stone’s rooms, he discovered that no luggage or clothes were missing. Furthermore, none of the house staff had heard their employer depart. “He telephoned Craille. The ports along the South coast of England and the North coast of France were checked. No sign or record of Stone was found. The man seems to have simply vanished off the face of the Earth.” “And the box?” asked Carter with an eager gleam in his eyes. Sexton Blake’s mouth tightened. Silently he reached forward and manipulated the sides of the cube until the line marking the lid appeared. Then he leaned back. “Place your finger in the centre of the lid,” he quietly instructed, “then press until you feel a springy resistance. Then release.” Edward Carter followed Blake’s instructions and the lid sprang open. He leaned forward to look inside. A cry burst from his lips and he sprang to his feet, sending his chair crashing backwards. “No!” he gasped. Blake picked up the box and turned it over. A small object, about an inch and a half in length, dropped onto his desk. It was a dead beetle, bright yellow in colour, with an extended horn or proboscis thrusting forward from its head. |