Sir Edmund Blackwood's residence in Eaton Square was an imposing Georgian townhouse that spoke of both old money and refined taste. Mrs. Ashford received me in the entrance hall, where she had assembled the household staff as I had requested.
I questioned each servant carefully. The butler, Graves, was a former military man with a rigid bearing and precise manner of speech. The housekeeper, Mrs. Daventry, was severe but clearly competent. Two housemaids, a cook, and a young footman completed the roster—all had been in Sir Edmund's employ for at least five years.
None reported anything unusual on the night of the death. All had retired by ten o'clock. Graves had delivered Sir Edmund's nightly brandy at half-past nine and had seen nothing amiss. By eight the following morning, the master was dead.
"When you brought the brandy, Mr. Graves, did you pour it yourself?" I asked.
"No, sir. Sir Edmund always preferred to pour his own measure. I brought the decanter and glass on a tray, as was my custom."
"And where is this decanter kept?"
"In the dining room sideboard, sir. It's refilled each morning from the cellar stores."
"I see. And in the weeks before his death, did Sir Edmund have any unusual visitors?"
"Not to my knowledge, sir, though Sir Edmund did occasionally receive callers late in the evening. He would admit them himself through the servants' entrance."
Mrs. Ashford interjected: "I saw one such visitor about six weeks ago. A foreign-looking gentleman with a dark beard. He had his left hand wrapped in bandages, and there was an odd smell about him—like bitter almonds or apricots, perhaps."
I made a mental note of this detail. "And Sir Edmund's reaction to this visit?"
"He was most upset that I had observed the man at all. He hurried him out and refused to discuss it."
After dismissing the servants, Mrs. Ashford led me to the study. It was a handsome room lined with bookshelves, dominated by a substantial mahogany desk positioned before a window overlooking a small garden. A gas fireplace was set into the left wall.
I began my examination systematically. The window catches were all secure—no sign of forced entry. The door lock showed no evidence of tampering. The key had indeed been on the inside when the door was opened.
On the desk, I found a blotter with various ink stains and a few scattered papers. I examined these closely, holding them up to the light. Most were routine correspondence, but one fragment caught my attention—a torn corner of what appeared to be a telegram, bearing only the words "…know where you are. The guard…"
"Mrs. Ashford, do you know if your brother received a telegram the day before his death?"
"He did. He was most agitated by it, but he destroyed it. I searched for it after his death but found nothing."
"This fragment may be from it." I pocketed the scrap carefully.
I moved to examine the carpet before the fireplace, dropping to my knees with a magnifying lens. The fibers showed normal wear, but near the desk leg, I discovered a small discoloration—barely visible, with a faint chemical odor.
"Mrs. Ashford, do you have a knife and a small envelope?"
She produced these items, and I carefully scraped a few fibers from the stained area into the envelope, sealing it carefully.
"There's another room through that door," Mrs. Ashford said, indicating a second exit from the study. "Edmund's collection of antiquities. He kept it locked at all times—the key was found in his waistcoat pocket after his death."
The collection room proved to be windowless, lit by gas lamps, and filled with glass-fronted cabinets containing an impressive array of ancient Egyptian artifacts—pottery, jewelry, carved figurines, fragments of papyrus covered in hieroglyphics.
I examined each cabinet carefully. Most appeared undisturbed, but one in the corner showed fresh scratches around the lock mechanism.
"This case has been forced open," I announced. "Recently, within the past few weeks. Can you tell if anything is missing?"
"Edmund kept a detailed inventory ledger. Let me fetch it."
When she returned with the leather-bound volume, I studied the entries carefully. Two items immediately caught my attention:
*Fragment of papyrus, Middle Kingdom, acquired Cairo, May 1895, price £500*
*Canopic jar, inscribed, Eighteenth Dynasty, acquired Cairo, May 1895, price £750*
"These items are not in the collection," I observed. "Do you know what became of them?"
"I had no idea they were missing. Edmund never mentioned selling anything."
I closed the ledger thoughtfully. "Mrs. Ashford, I believe your brother either sold these items after acquiring them, or they were stolen. Either possibility suggests they were of special significance—perhaps connected to this 'crimson cipher.'"
"What should we do?"
"I must consult an expert in Egyptian antiquities. And I need to trace these missing items. Do you know the name of any dealers your brother worked with?"
"He mentioned someone named Crowe—I believe his shop is in the Limehouse district."
"Excellent. I shall pay Mr. Crowe a visit. In the meantime, keep this house secure and speak to no one about our investigation."