A large wooden box on casters slowly rolled out, its dusty lid padlocked to the base. Roughly four feet long by three wide, it was at least a foot deep, and it looked formidably heavy.
The professor fumbled for a key ring which bore four keys only, and removed the padlock, opening the lid until it leaned back against the bed. Inside there was an expanse of green baize, and below that, when he removed it, row upon row of thin brown cardboard boxes, each bearing a neat white label with typewritten words identifying the contents. He looked them over, muttering that he hadn’t inspected them for months, and picked out one of them, very much not at random.
‘This,’ he said, opening the narrow brown box, ‘is a genuine commando knife, not a replica.’
The professor’s commando knife was kept safe in bubble packing but, unwrapped, looked identical to the one sent to me as a warning, except that this one did have its sheath.
‘I no longer,’ he said unnecessarily, ‘keep my knives on display. I packed them all away when my wife died, before I came here. She shared my interest, you see. She grew to be interested. I miss her.’
‘I’m sure you do.’
He closed the commando knife away and opened other treasures.
‘These two knives from Persia, they have a curved blade, and handles and sheaths of engraved silver with lapis lazuli inserts. These are from Japan… these from America, with carved bone handles in the shape of animal heads. All hand-made, of course. All magnificent specimens.’
All lethal, I thought.
‘This beautiful knife is Russian, nineteenth century,’ he said at one point. ‘Closed, like this, it resembles, as you see, a Fabergé egg, but in fact five separate blades open from it.’ He pulled out the blades until they resembled a rosette of sharp leaves spreading out from the base of the egg-shaped grip, itself enamelled in blue and banded in fine gold.
‘Er…’ I said, ‘your collection must be valuable. Why don’t you sell it?’
‘Young man, read the paper I gave you. It is illegal to sell these things. One may now only give them to museums, not even to other individuals, and then only to museums that don’t make a profit from exhibiting them.’
‘It’s amazing!’
‘It stops law-abiding people in their tracks, but criminals take no notice. The world is as mediaeval as ever. Didn’t you know?’
‘I suspected it.’
His laugh cackled. ‘Help me lift the top tray onto the bed. I’ll show you some curiosities.’
The top tray had a rope handle at each end. He grasped one end, I the other and, at his say-so, we lifted together. The tray was heavy. Not good, from my point of view.
‘What’s the matter?’ he demanded. ‘Did that hurt you?’
‘Just the Armadillo,’ I apologised.
‘Do you want to sit down?’
‘No, I want to see your knives.’
He knelt on the floor again and opened more boxes, removing the bubble wrapping and putting each trophy into my hand for me to ‘feel the balance’.
His ‘curiosities’ tended to be ever more fearsome. There were several knives along the lines of the American trench knife (the genuine thing, 1918) and a whole terrifying group of second cousins to the Armadillo, knives with whole-hand grips, semicircular blades and rows of spikes, all dedicated to tearing an opponent to shreds.
As I gave each piece back to him he re-wrapped it and restored it to its box, tidying methodically as he went along.
He showed me a large crucifix fashioned in dark red cloisonne, handsome on a gold chain for use as a chest ornament, but hiding a dagger in its heart. He showed me an ordinary looking belt that one could use to hold up one’s trousers: ordinary except that the buckle, which slid easily out into my hand, proved to be the handle of a sharp triangular blade that could be pushed home to kill.
Professor Derry delivered a grave warning. ‘Thomas…’ (we had progressed from ‘young man’) ‘Thomas, if a man – or woman – is truly obsessed with knives, you must expect that anything he or she carries on their person may be the sheath of a knife. One can get key rings, money clips, hair combs, all with hidden blades. Knives can be hidden even under the lapels of a coat, in special transparent sheaths designed to be stitched onto cloth. A dangerous fanatic will feed on this hidden power. Do you at all understand?’
‘I’m beginning to.’
He nodded several times and asked if I would be able to help