Who is Mr. E. Grant?

It was a particularly fine and sunny Thursday morning, not too early, when Bessie Coleridge was asked by Carrie Brown of Jules Pollack Fine Antiques to forward a note to Cannon, Doctorow and Lockwood, Arkham's premiere private investigators. Some claimed that they were Arkham's only private investigators, but that may not be entirely true. Bessie walked up the stairs to the office of the investigators and knocked on the door, just below the frosted glass pane that displayed the names of said investigators. She was greeted by a curt "come in" and the sight of three gentlemen enjoying a slow morning with coffee, cigarettes, and the Arkham Advertiser. The note was presented:

A case! Brad Doctorow didn't really seem too eager, but Carrie Brown was, after all, the prime buyer of Bessie Coleridge's acquisitions from all over the northeast. But what about the jewelry? It did seem to be not unlike the jewelry Bessie and her friends had found in the hold of that disturbing ship in Martin's Beach just a couple of weeks ago, the jewelry that was safely locked up in Bessie's Franz Jaeger safe?

To confuse matters further, one of the true characters of Arkham entered the office of the investigators: the legendary Madame Tekla, Arkham's favorite medium, and spiritist extraordinaire. "Fraud! Harold Biggs gave me a check that bounced!" Doctorow looked at the check. It was probably the worst forgery he'd ever seen, but Madame Tekla was upset and in distress, so Frank Cannon assured her that her 15 dollars would be reimbursed, one way or the other. Meanwhile, Bill "The Hook" Lookwood looked up from the morning edition of the Advertiser. "Hey, guys, did you see about the burglary at Miskatonic University?" Frank Cannon frowned. Anything going on at M.U. was destined to be weird or outright bizarre, despite Arkham being such a sleepy town.

Madame Tekla

But what about the jewelry? It was decided to move the jewelry to the much bigger and safer Franz Jaeger in the P.I. office, and then go and have a chat with Carrie Brown at J. Pollack Fine Antiques as well as the phone exchange to see if the call from E. Grant could be traced. It was odd, though, the usually fairly vain Bessie Coleridge had actually only tried on the alien jewelry once, since it simply didn't feel right, and even looking at the ornate carvings and figures on the bracelet and the diadem filled her with a sense of unease, perhaps a bit like standing at the edge of a cliff and not knowing how long you could keep balancing. She had also been unable to trace the origin of the odd characters that were found on the inside of the pieces, and the small characters were simply just a tad disturbing. Was it the angles? The postures? She wasn't certain, and as Bessie took out the jewelry from her safe. her four compatriots had to agree that there was something unwholesome about both the diadem and the bracelet. Cannon even sensed a faint pulsating light as the investigators locked the jewelry into the sturdy Franz Jaeger at the P.I. office. It was also decided that Bill Lockwood was to remain at the office while the fellow investigators visited J. Pollack Fine Antiques and the phone exchange. The conversation with Carrie Brown was most pleasant, but rather fruitless, although the "E. Grant" had promised the enormous sum of 50,000 dollars for the jewelry. This was followed by Doctorow's charm blitz against the phone exchange, and it turned out that "E. Grant" had telephoned from Boston. 

Meanwhile, Bill Lockwood had a visitor. An odd-looking woman with a raspy voice by the name of Hortensia Robinson, who claimed to be a jeweler, had some questions regarding jewelry theft. However, Bill Lockwood did not appreciate being disturbed, and his brusque manners convinced Mrs. Robinson to leave after just a few minutes.

Hortensia Robinson

It was by now clear that the odd jewelry was of great interest to any number of strange individuals, and it was time to pay a visit to the burglary site at Miskatonic University. But who was the man in the black stovepipe hat staking out the office, or had Lockwood just been mistaken? Anyway, Bessie hab been introduced to Professor Freeborn previously, and she was disappointed to hear from the young administrator's assistant that Professor Freeborn was on sick leave, while Professor MacNamara was abroad. However, Professor Harold C. De Winter, the chair of the Department of Anthropology was on his way down the stairs. The assistant warned Doctorow that he used to be a notorious crank, but that he was all sunshine and flowers nowadays, albeit with a stroke of eccentricity. Madame Tekla was unperturbed. She displayed all of her exotisms, and De Winter went straight to Sanskrit. The confused conversation ended up in De Winter's office, but not before Lockwood spotted the man with the black stovepipe hat and long black coat across the campus. It was eerie and unnerving, and Lockwood quietly mentioned the strange man to his fellow investigators.  

Professor Harold De Winter.

Professor De Winter's office had indeed been broken in to, but nothing had been stolen, and neither had the finds from the archaeological digs outside Martin's Beach more than a year ago. The investigators had brought along the jewelry, and De Winter was most curious. But before presenting the diadem and the bracelet, Bessie secured the window, while Lockwood glanced outside the massive office door. He was greeted by a thoroughly disturbing sight: the man with the stovepipe hat, standing at the front doors of the Department of Anthropology a mere 50 feet away, just down the massive staircase that dominated the lobby of the department. Lockwood closed the to De Winter's office with a bang and pulled out his .45 Browning. All of a sudden poor Professor De Winter found himself surrounded by guns in every direction, but De Winter retained his composure. He cleared off his desk, and Cannon pulled out the jewelry. De Winter seemed stunned, and with a shaking hand he asked Madame Tekla to pull out volume III of "South Pacific: A Travelogue" by Robert Loveman, printed around 1822. And there it was: a drawing that bore more than a little resemblance to the pieces lying on De Winter's desk. "Jewelry from Ponape or Conakry found by Captain Marsh. According to legend associated with lost Mu or Lemuria". It seemed as if the sun dimmed for a second or two. De Winter leaned forward, whispering that according to vague rumors, possession of the Polynesian jewelry led to insanity, death, or worse!

Things were about to get even more complicated. The office of Cannon, Doctorow, and Lockwood had been broken into during the afternoon, and Lockwood's whisky bottle was smashed to pieces! The case was now personal! Even the sizeable Franz Jaeger safe had been broken into, but nothing was missing.

The investigators were troubled by strange dreams about watery depths and oceans that night, and it seemed as if Lockwood had walked out in his pajamas into the cold winter air. There were wet footprints leading up to Lockwood's bed, and young Joe Scacci, the bakery boy had seen Lockwood together with a man wearing a stovepipe hat. What was going on? What had happened to Bill Lockwood? "Well, he sure smells like Mr. Lockwood..." Madame Tekla's words were not reassuring.

Arkham in the winter.

Around the university.

Miskatonic University.

 

 

Cut to the Chase

Donnerstag, Dezember 2, 1926. Hans-Erich and Joachim, two small-time crooks, are sitting at their usual table at the Café Friedrich, a dingy bar not too far from the Nollendorfplatz. The foggy street outside is almost empty, and the bar is only filled to perhaps a third of capacity, with patrons eyeing each other over beers and wine glasses. The bar is ridiculously smoky, and even the sickly yellowish walls seem to be pumping tar into the fetid atmosphere.

"Did I tell you that I ran into Hubert Bosch this Monday?" Joachim lit a cigarette while looking up at Hans-Erich.

"The police investigator? That little round man?"

"Precisely. He was asking around about these cases of grave robbery that some people have been talking about. You know, where there are some whispers that somebody's awfully interested in the... naughty bits of recently dead women of fertile age."

"That's interesting. Does Bosch think he can solve the case, or does he have any other stake in the grave robberies?" Joachim finished his beer, pointed at the glass and nodded towards the waiter for another round.

"I dunno. He may actually have been gathering information for someone else, and he was possibly seen with some Englishmen or Americans after work. It's unclear. But I can tell you what seems to have happened on Tuesday evening. You may have heard the general mayhem that seems to have started just by the Invalidenfriedhof?"

"Yes, what was that all about? Had this something to do with Rudy's gang?" Hans-Erich leaned forward over the rickety table.

"Precisely! It seems as if Rudy and some of his goons were hired to take care of some of the recent 'vagrants' that ended up in the Invalidenfriedhof. The goons, not including that bastard Rudy himself, were apparently hired by a guy named Erich, with a last name starting with a 'K'. Kowalski? Anyway, they were ambushed by God knows who. There were fights and gun shots in the dark, and it all ended up with a spectacular car chase, with Rudy's goons in a truck, throwing corpses at some unknown pursuers that were firing guns at the truck. They almost crashed into a movie theater, wrecked several storefronts, and woke up half of Mitte as they drove south, bypassing the Tiergarten to the west, and then roughly towards the area of Nollendorfplatz. It all may have ended with a crash, since at least a car was found ablaze later on that night."

"What a story! No word from the Berlin police yet, I assume?" Joachim nodded as he took a large gulp from his beer.

"Nope. Well, besides the usual 'investigation pending'. I just wonder if this somehow is connected to Bosch's inquiries?"

"Cheers to that!"

"Cheers."

Hubert Bosch

Previously, on a drab Monday, Berlin, November 29, 1926, inside Mackie MacNamara's temporary office at the Neues Museum.

Mackie looked at Moira and Frau Claire Bonhofer, the housekeeper, or rather manager, of the Alexander Scharff estate which was now the property of Franz Alter. Claire's - Frau Bonhofer's - practical garments for running the mansion had been swapped for a fairly strict and conservative dress, which matched her rather high boots and the severe bun at the back of her head. 

"Moira, this Werner Haupt is a looker, but is he just a schmoozer, a lush, or the real deal? Also, what's his real interest in Egyptology? He claimed to be rekindling is old academic passion for Ancient Egypt, but now he's with Dr. Magnus Hirschfelt. Is that so, Moira?"

"Yes, he is one of the 'Advanced Students' at the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft. I am not really sure about what he studies, though. I have to admit that he is nice to look at, and apparently quite charming at that.."

"His English was really good, with just a hint of a German accent, enough to make his expressions interesting and a tad exotic. Did you notice the quality of his suiit? No Lumpenproletariat here!"

"I have also been told that he's quite active in Berlin student fraternity life, which is suppsedly rather above and beyond a nice evening dinner. He's often surrounded by a posse of younger researchers and students." 

Frau Bonhofer just muttered something under her breath. The sound of horses neighing could be heard from the street.

"Well, I have top admit that this was a nice visit, and his academic merits are impeccable. Should I just keep him at arm's length?"

"Always a good option until you change your mind, dear."

Frau Bonhofer simply frowned.

Werner Haupt.

Dr. Magnus Hirschfeldt

Early in the morning of Freitag, December 3, 1926, comfortably seated in the living room of Franz Alter's mansion in Grünewald after a gruelling night.
"I'm telling you! It was Rosa Klebb and Janis Sarts! I saw them!" Mackie managed to spill out some of the contents of her brandy snifter, Frau Bonhofer frowned.  

"Are you really sure about that?" Franz Alter stretched his unnaturally long and skinny arms wearily out over the coffe table, almost reaching a startled Jules Pollack who was busy mixing cocktails.

"There were at least some similarities" Howard Lake just wanted to cut the conversation short and retire. He was looking forward to an oral exam in German next morning.

"But you told me these guys perished in the jungles of Central America during the MacNamara Expedition?" Felix Jeremiah had seen many strange things together with his compatriots, but some of their tales were still just outlandish.

"My expedition was a great success!" Mackie raised her voice. "The Miskatonic faculty are fools!"

Felix rolled his eyes. "Oh boy, here we go again".