~ Book Blitz ~
The Cleopatra Caper
by
John Amos
About the Book:
“I want to present Cleopatra to the world,” Lady Stanhope sighed and reached for her purse. “Find me Cleopatra and I will pay for all this.”
Two very young and inexperienced detectives, Flinders Petrie and Thomas Pettigrew, were unexpectedly presented with the case of a lifetime. Flinders and Pettigrew, recent graduates of Oxford and rivals of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, suddenly find themselves confronted with the task of finding Cleopatra's tomb. The tomb's location, as they quickly discovered, was protected by the adherents of an ancient cult.
Their quest leads them to Cairo and Alexandria. They meet a mysterious woman, who is possibly the descendant of Cleopatra. Their story weaves between the 'City of the Dead' in Cairo and the 'Mound of Shards' in Alexandria. They soon discover that becoming a detective is more difficult than they imagined as students.
1
The swirling grey fog was not ominous. But
it was a nuisance. Flinders Petrie energetically wiped the window glass to get
a better look. He was annoyed. He could not clearly see the shadowy figures on
the street below. He put down the penny dreadful that he had been reading to
use both hands: Its title read The Riddle ofthe Sphinx and it had a lurid red
and green cover. Penny Dreadfuls were Flinders' passion. He read them day and
night, and imagined the world through their lenses. This particular dreadful was
a story about an ancient Egyptian pharaoh whose reincarnations descended
through the centuries. "Interesting, but fanciful." Usually, Flinders
would have thrilled to such a tale, but not this morning.
"Damn this London fog. I cannot see anything."
Then he saw a cab pull over to the curb across the street; its top glistened in
the wet. The sky was growing brighter but the cab's lamps still glowed; their
lights slanted yellow tunnels through the whirls. Two men were getting in.
Flinders put the book down and scrubbed the window; its glass was cold and damp
to his fingers. He peered earnestly between the drawn curtains a moment and
then turned away to address his roommate and business partner Thomas Pettigrew.
"There they go again. Just look at
them."
"There go who?" Pettigrew looked up from his
newspaper. "What do you want? I was reading about the war in the Sudan.
It's spreading. Whole villages are being massacred. Christians in the south are
fleeing to Ethiopia. An expeditionary force has been destroyed. Cairo itself
may be put on a war footing. Now who is it that you think you see?"
"Holmes and Watson. Who do you think? They are getting
into a hansom cab."
Flinders left the window and waived the book, "I
cannot for the life of me think why anyone would hire them." His paisley
and brocade smoking jacket fluttered as he bounced across the sitting room.
Flinders Petrie was a self-satisfied young man who had just discovered that
dreams of greatness require both time and hard work. He and Thomas Pettigrew
were partners in a newly fonned detective agency: PETRIE and PETTIGREW.
The partners were an unlikely pair.
Flinders was the nephew and namesake of Sir Flinders Petrie
the famous archaeologist. Flinders mother was Irish, and Flinders junior spoke
with a slight brogue that titillated the ladies. Thomas was the son of Thomas
Pettigrew the prominent anatomist and founder of several Medical colleges and
the purveyor of mummy 'unwrappings'. Consequently, Thomas senior was known as
'mummy Pettigrew', a nickname that embarrassed his son. Thomas junior spoke
with a flat London accent: the ladies did not appreciate it.
"Look at them," Flinders returned to the window
and watched the tall, slightly stooped figure of Sherlock Holmes and his
companion Dr John Watson in the street below, "why does Holmes wear that
silly hat?"
"It's called a 'deer stalker' and he wears it for
effect: He is going bald, you know," Pettigrew folded his paper. He
straightened his grey dressing own with its wide indigo lapels: its sleeves
were rolled up to his elbows, and its sides were stained. "They are both
getting older."
"There are no deer in London," Flinders turned
and snorted, "What is he supposed to be stalking?"
"Criminals, of course; that is the
idea."
Petrie was not helpful. He carefully rolled up the
newspaper. "It is brilliant advertising." He continued,
"Remember all that nonsense about 'the game's afoot'? Holmes barrowed that
from Henry V, but it goes perfectly with the funny hat."
"But just look at that Watson; he is so fat he can
barely walk," Flinders returned to the window stared at the pair below.
"Well, I would not say he was that fat, just a little
overweight; portly, you might say," Pettigrew put the newspaper on a small
table. "He is still quite mobile, you know."
"Look," Flinders tapped his fingers on the window
sill, "these two bumblers get all the good cases, and we are
starving." Clearly frustrated, Finders asked, "Should I advertise
more? I have already put big ads in the Pall Mall Gazette; what more can I
do?"
"It is not about advertising. It is about
connections," Pettigrew responded, "Holmes has the connections and we
do not." He continued, "Think of it: Holmes has a writer who
glorifies everything he does: The Hound ofthe Baskervilles is about a nasty
dog; a dog mind you; the Silver Blaze is about a stolen horse; a horse for
God's sake. Holmes takes these
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