THE IRREGULAR CASEBOOK OF SHERLOCK HOLMES by Ron Weighell

entrance hall. These are places large enough for a man to hide in. Let us see for ourselves.’
    Holmes led the way to the great entrance hall, where he prowled around the temple façades and colossi, stopping eventually before a monumental sarcophagus of greenish stone. With the aid of his magnifying lens, he subjected the floor around the sarcophagus, its sides, and its top edge to minute examination. Then with a grunt of satisfaction he hopped lightly on to the top and disappeared from view.
    We peered over the edge, and found him lying full length, face down in the bottom, looking at a small object held between his fingers.
    ‘I would say this is the wrapping from some sweetmeat,’ he said. ‘Miss Edney, would you be so kind as to give us the benefit of your expertise?’
    He handed the piece of paper to the little girl. She examined it, held it to her nose, and delivered a solemn pronouncement.
    ‘Bitter lemon drops.’
    ‘Always consult an expert,’ said Sherlock Holmes. ‘You were about to say something, Dr Wallis?’
    Wallis looked somewhat crestfallen.
    ‘Meguid was very partial to bitter lemon drops.’
    ‘He ate them while he was waiting, and left the wrapper behind. This is where he lay.’
    ‘He took quite a risk,’ I remarked.
    ‘Unless he had good reason to suppose that no one would look inside. It would be a simple enough thing. Perhaps he left some innocent object inside the sarcophagus and waited to see if it was discovered. When it was not, he could be quite confident in his hiding place. Your night watchmen should be a little more thorough in future!’
    ‘I also found this. In this case I think you can identify it, Dr Wallis—it looks to me like green wax.’
    ‘Nile green,’ conceded Wallis sadly.
    ‘He must have passed the time cleaning out your seal in preparation. Stamping the case once he had completed the swap must have seemed the perfect crowning touch.’
    ‘Don’t you think it is strange, Dr Wallis,’ asked young Miss Edney, ‘that this sarcophagus was made for Nectanebo II? The Metterling Stelé was made in his reign.’
    ‘Surely just a coincidence, my dear,’ replied Wallis.
    ‘That remains to be seen,’ muttered Holmes.
    ‘I have seen quite enough,’ interjected Crossland, ‘to convince me that you are the man who can help us, Mr Holmes. Will you take the case?’
    ‘I will be delighted to, despite grave doubts as to the chances of success. The Stelé could be taken anywhere. To locate it, catch those responsible, and return the object within three weeks could be a tall order. I may well be setting myself the most difficult challenge of my career. However, that merely underlines the need to begin at once. I suppose it is too much to hope that you have a photographic image of this young man?’
    Wallis perked up at this. ‘I have indeed, Mr Holmes. Meguid has appeared in our Journal of Egyptian Studies . I can get a copy.’
    ‘His home will have to be searched too.’
    ‘We would be glad to be of any assistance, Mr Holmes,’ offered Miss Farrell.
    ‘That will be most helpful to us. Take the Journal to the Egyptian Embassy and learn what you can about Mr Meguid. With your permission, Mr Crossland, they might use your name? That is good. Watson, let us search this young man’s place of residence.’
    The address supplied was a lodging house in Newington Butts. Meguid’s room was sparse and serviceable, and showed signs that it had been vacated at short notice. On opening the wardrobe our noses were assailed by a strong, sweet odour.
    ‘This is incense, Watson, but not one that I recognise. Have you encountered it in your travels?’
    ‘No, Holmes, I cannot say I have.’
    ‘The paper lining of this shelf is impregnated with the smell. I will tear off a piece and see if anyone can identify it. That aside, we appear to have drawn a blank, Watson. A somewhat inauspicious start!’
    Back at the museum, we found Dr Wallis with the Misses Farrell and Edney, who