River and I go back to what had been Harry’s cabin. I’m thinking maybe I’ll search it again just for something to do, but I’m pretty darn sure I didn’t miss anything last time. Either Harry is clean – or he’s clever. I say as much, and River nods.
‘We’ve been concentrating on what he did,’ she says, as we sit side by side on the edge of a bunk. ‘We haven’t discussed why. Why go to all the bother of forging and substituting the letter?’
‘So he can sell it twice?’ I suggest.
‘What, so two millionaires can make two separate secret trips to Egypt? That doesn’t feel right. What’s been the consequence of having a fake letter?’
‘No one’s solved the cipher!’ You know what? I’d been thinking I was real dumb – it had been getting me down. Turns out it wasn’t my fault after all! Big relief.
‘Why would Harry have you sit around for weeks, staring at the thing, when he knew there was no chance of you solving it – and then suddenly come up with this idea of Cuttling flying you all over?’
The answer hits me like a fist. ‘He solved it. He got the real letter and he goddamned solved it! Then all he needed was the transport. We’re just … window dressing.’
She nods. ‘Disposable window dressing.’
‘So you think it was Harry who poisoned the coffee?’ I still don’t wanna believe it.
‘Possibly. But I don’t know why he’d want to tip his hand this early.’ She sighed. ‘We don’t have even the tiniest proof of any of this. We really need to find that letter. Think! Where could it be?’
River suddenly gasps out loud. ‘Edgar Allan Poe!’ she says.
‘You think the letter’s been buried alive?’ I say.
‘He didn’t just write about premature burials,’ she says. ‘He did detective stories too … ’
And I get it. ‘“The Purloined Letter”! The blackmailer hides a stolen letter in plain sight: reversed, readdressed and put in a letter rack!’
‘Of course! Why would anyone carry a stamped, addressed envelope in their pocket on a transatlantic trip? They could easily have popped it into a post box on the way.’
‘Well, he might’ve just forgotten about it,’ I say, trying to be fair. ‘Oh, who am I kidding. River?’
‘Yes?’ she says.
‘I need to know for sure, one way or another. We gotta get hold of that letter. Please.’
River nods, but looks serious. ‘Melody, if he realises we suspect him, we don’t know what he’ll do. I know you don’t want to think he’s behind the poisoned coffee, but we’ve got to be careful.’
‘The thing is, though, he could have killed me a dozen times in New York! Heck, he could’ve just left me behind! Why’s he suddenly turning to murder now?’
She shrugs. ‘Murder in New York would be investigated. You might know too much to be left behind. What if he plans that no one but himself will make it to Cleopatra’s tomb? We know he needed Cuttling’s money and contacts to set up the expedition, but if you heard that Cuttling and co. had mysteriously perished along the way, you’d have kicked up a fuss.’
I ain’t so sure I would – sometimes a fuss-free life is more important than justice – but I like that my sister puts me on some sort of righteous pedestal. ‘Let’s just find the letter, then we can start speculating. Trouble is, Harry’s things are in Cuttling’s cabin now,’ I say. ‘And Cuttling’s in there. We’ll have to wait.’
‘No. No waiting. We’ll just have to persuade someone else to let us in,’ she says. Oh, I know that look. That’s a look that says she wants to have some fun. ‘I wish I had my lipstick, that would save a lot of trouble,’ she adds.
I open my purse. ‘I can lend you one – “Sinful Scarlet” suit you?’
She takes it, but frowns. ‘I think it has to be my lipstick. It’s a special one.’
‘Special how?’
‘I’m … not … quite … sure.’ She looks confused for a moment, then regains her composure. She undoes a few buttons – one, two … oh, we’re going for the full three, are we? This must be serious – and takes a deep breath. ‘Come on, let’s get it over with.’
Rat-a-tat-tat. A low, subtle knock on Cuttling’s door.
For a moment, he doesn’t respond. Then a sleepy, rather hostile, ‘Whatdya want?’
‘It’s River Song, Mr Cuttling. I’m so sorry to trouble you, but I’m in desperate need of a man – a man’s help, that is.’ (As if she’s ever needed a man’s help in her life! As if she’s ever needed anyone’s help in her life!)
I hang around near the door, listening to River turning it up real high – he’s her target and she’s pointing her torpedoes right at him, if you know what I mean. Not many minutes in and he’s agreeing to go back to our cabin – she’s manufactured some sorta archaeological crisis that she needs advice on, and the details are in there. He’s eating it up.
Soon as they’re out, I slip in and go straight to the wardrobes. The first one is locked, and I hope it’s Cuttling’s or I’ll have to waste time picking the lock (not just my sister who can do that). No way do I want to be caught by Harry, but more importantly River’s relying on me to interrupt her little heart to heart with the millionaire, soon as. Don’t mean she can’t handle herself, but we might want to keep him on the hook for later.
Lucky for me the second wardrobe opens easily, and I recognise the clothing as Harry’s. Don’t take me more than a second to find the envelope, but the hope I had that I could maybe see the map through the envelope is dashed. No, it’s gotta be opened. I’d have to do it quick as I can – if it is an innocent letter to his tailor, Harry probably won’t notice it’s missing; trouble is, if it’s a priceless map then I’m reckoning he’s gonna check in on it every now and then.
I don’t want to fold the envelope to fit it in my very small purse, so I tuck it into my stocking top and exit the cabin cautiously. Once in the corridor I throw off the cautious stance and mosey on down to the lounge, now restored to its former state and hosting Harry, Miss Jones and Phil. ‘Hey, Kid, I could use a hand,’ I call over to my assistant.
‘What’s up?’ asks Harry. ‘Anything I can do?’
I don’t think so, Mr Durkin. I do a vague wavy gesture that’s supposed to convey the lack of importance of my request. ‘Thanks, sweetie, but I’m good. I’m looking over some notes and I just cannot read Phil’s shorthand.’ I see Phil open his mouth to say he don’t know shorthand, but a sharp look stops him, and he just gets up and comes over to join me. ‘Ain’t gonna be long,’ I call to Harry and Miss Jones. ‘Why don’t you two have a game of Gin Rummy or something.’ I give them a breezy little wave. ‘Toodles!’
Phil follows me down the corridor.
‘We can’t go in my cabin because River’s there,’ I tell him. ‘You reckon yours’ll be free?’
He shakes his head. ‘Every time I have attempted to enter there has already been at least one occupant,’ he says. ‘While the retinue is not large, the servants appear to have many periods where they do not work. It is inefficient.’
Yeah, well we’ll just have to complain to the aviation authorities when we get home again. ‘Guess we’ll go in the old cabin,’ I say. ‘The corpse one.’ Phil nods. Ain’t nothing that fazes the Kid. ‘Right, this is what I need you to do,’ I tell him. ‘Go to the galley and get some hot water – and by hot, I mean it’s gotta be boiling. Maybe say I want to make a tisane like I’m Hercule Poirot or something. And find me a paperknife. Quick as you can, OK?’
He nods and hurries off. I let myself into the corpse cabin and whip out the envelope. Was the cipher letter inside? I wish I’d never seen the thing. I’d been happy with the stash of greenbacks Wallace had given me; why the heck did I let Harry drag me in for more? That sure hadn’t been my best move.
Maybe it hadn’t been his best move either. Remember what some poet said about a woman scorned?
Phil don’t take long, but I’m pacing the room by the time he gets back. He puts a jug of steaming water on th
e washstand, and I hold the envelope over it, hoping the steam won’t disperse before I’m done. Slowly, real, real slowly, the seal begins to weaken.
‘Did you get a paperknife?’ I ask the Kid. For answer he whips out a knife that, yeah, would definitely slit through paper, but would also slit through many other things, for example human flesh. ‘Couldn’t get anything any bigger?’ I comment, meaning it ironically, but he just shrugs and says it was lying around in the galley and would serve its purpose. Guess that’s fair enough. I wriggle the blade underneath the envelope flap and it glides along, smooth as butter.
The moment of reckoning. I ease out the envelope’s contents. I know from the look and feel of the paper even before I unfold it, but I unfold it anyway.
It’s the letter. The letter from George Badger Senior to his wife, carried all the way from Egypt to England alongside a certain famous ruby. There on one corner are flecks of blood – minute but unmistakable – from that poor kid George Junior. That ‘curse’ sure hit the Badger family hard – real spooky to think George Junior’s sister had gone over the side of a boat only a couple of days before he gave himself lead poisoning. Even more spooky to think that Peterson-Lee and Harry had been there at the time.
I can’t recall the hieroglyphs on the fake letter in exact detail, but I can tell they’re different on this one. For a moment I think about making a quick copy of the letter – my ego wants to prove I can figure out the cipher – but then I think of River stuck in a cabin with Cuttling and decide to have mercy. I better get this back in Harry’s pocket as soon as I can.
I put the letter back in the envelope and push down the flap, hoping it’s still tacky enough to hold. It isn’t. ‘I need something sticky!’ I say.
Phil produces a bag of toffees from his pocket. Considering the state of his teeth (you’d think he’d been chewing on rocks) sugar is something he should steer well clear of, and no way are they ideal for my purpose, but I guess it’s better than nothing. It should, at least, keep the envelope closed well enough so Harry don’t notice it’s been opened the first time he checks his pocket.
I’m concentrating on practical matters only, because I don’t want to think about how Harry has betrayed me, now it’s been confirmed for sure. It’s not a broken heart, nothing along those lines; yeah, so maybe my loins had angled themselves fairly strongly in his direction, but my head hadn’t followed. Well … not all the way. But you know how I was real cross with myself for not solving that code? That ain’t nothing to how furious I am with myself for being taken in by a smooth grifter. Call myself a detective? I couldn’t detect a chisel right under my nose.
I slip the envelope back in my stocking top, and peer into the corridor. To my horror, I see Harry heading my way. I duck back into the cabin and pass the envelope to Phil. ‘I’ll distract him. You take this back. Then you gotta rescue River – and me!’ I describe the jacket he needs to find, then Phil and I saunter into the corridor, all casual.
‘Where’re you off to, sweetheart?’ I ask Harry. Gotta make him think I’m still hot for him.
‘Just need something from my cabin, sugar,’ he says. I remind him that Cuttling had gone for a nap. ‘Hey, I won’t disturb the old goat,’ he says. ‘Quick in and out.’ He frowns, seeing where I’ve come from. ‘Why’d you go in there? They moved the corpse now?’
I shake my head, then lean in and whisper confidentially, ‘I got this feeling River’s busy in our cabin.’ Best not say with who, seeing as I’ve just talked about Cuttling being in his own digs.
He raises an eyebrow. ‘Hey, that don’t sound like a bad idea to me. You wanna get busy too, Malone?’
I know I mustn’t let him see Phil entering Cuttling’s cabin, so I’ve gotta go along with it. I put a hand on his arm. We lock eyes as I take hold of Harry’s jacket and pull him into the room. The grin’s creeping right up his face now, and I make sure to mirror it.
Making out with a murderer? I’ve done worse. And I’m still hoping he’s not the killer. Oh, he’s got something dodgy going on, no question. But he didn’t murder Wallace – I was one hundred per cent certain about that. So there was still a chance he didn’t poison the coffee.
‘I’ve been waiting for this,’ Harry says, kicking the door closed behind him.
‘Me too,’ I lie. I drape one arm over each of his shoulders, still keeping eye contact. His smile shows smug satisfaction, a man getting no more than his dues. He opens my top button. Then …
‘Miss Melody! Miss River!’
I turn away at Phil’s shout. Harry, annoyed, tries to pull me back, but I shake myself free and head back into the corridor. River emerges from our cabin, not a hair out of place, with a slightly dishevelled and clearly irritated Cuttling trailing behind. Mrs Peterson-Lee pops her blue-rinsed head out too.
‘What is it, Phil?’ I say, putting a bit of alarm into my voice.
‘There – there is a mongoose loose in the kitchen!’ Phil says.
Everyone stops and stares at him.
‘A … mongoose?’ says Peterson-Lee. ‘Isn’t that something Kipling made up?’
‘They’re very common in Egypt,’ River puts in. ‘They keep down the snakes, you know.’
‘But what is one doing on a plane?’
Phil sticks his chin up in the air, eyes flashing. ‘You are calling me a liar?’ he says to Peterson-Lee.
‘No, no!’ says River, putting on a real good act of concern. ‘A mongoose! We’d better go and investigate at once, Melody!’
Harry snorts and has another go at pulling me back into the cabin, but I pretend not to notice and tug my arm out of his grasp. River and I follow Phil down into the crew area while the others look after us with a ‘like, what?’ expression on their faces. The minute we’re out of sight, I burst out laughing.
‘A mongoose, Phil? A mongoose? Really?’
His eyes start flashing again. ‘A mongoose can become most violent if cornered. One would be extremely disruptive on board this ship.’
Well, that was true enough. And Phil had done what I’d told him to all right – even if it was one of the dumbest distractions I’d ever heard of.
River ain’t surprised at all that I found the real letter in Harry’s pocket. But it don’t make our course of action any clearer. Phil’s in favour of a pre-emptive strike – killing the lot of them just in case. I’m thinking that’s maybe a bit extreme, but can’t deny I’m worried about what might be in store for us. I still can’t get my head around Harry. Killer or not? I’m not gonna be happy until I know for sure. That’s the other problem with Phil’s plan – not only would we end up on Death Row, it’d leave a heck of a lot of questions unanswered.
We decide to keep playing it cool. We’re due to land in the early hours – if we can keep safe till then, the sensible course of action is to give Harry the slip, then maybe persuade the captain of this ship to take us straight back home. Trouble is, that’s leaving other folk in danger. But there ain’t no way to warn them without tipping our hand.
‘We’ll just have to solve the mystery before we land,’ says my sister. Gee, why didn’t I think of that?
Because we’re gonna be landing soon, they’re laying on an early supper, and we’re still jawing when the dinner gong goes ‘dong’ again. Phil goes off to do his own thing, while River and I head back to the lounge-cum-dining room.
Thank the good lord above, this will be our last meal together on the airship.
Mrs Peterson-Lee looks up as River and I sit down. ‘Did you catch it?’ she asks.
I’m wondering if she’s talking about some sort of disease, but River gets there first. ‘Oh, the mongoose? Yes, that’s all dealt with. Don’t worry.’
‘How did you catch it?’ the woman asks. ‘Was it difficult?’
Geez, leave it already, lady.
River and I exchange glances. ‘Er … yeah,’ I say, buying time. ‘It wasn’t too hard. Um … River here got a box and … ’ Help me out here, sister!
River br
ings up her hand from under the table. Looks like she’s drawn two eyes on the back of it with the lipstick I’d given her, and she starts weaving it about, her fingers pointed like she’s playing with a sock puppet that ain’t wearing a sock no more. ‘Well, as soon as it saw what it thought was a snake it came running. I lured it into the box and shut the lid. Problem solved!’
‘But what was a mongoose doing on a flying boat?’ demands Cuttling. ‘I paid a lot of good money chartering this flight, and no one said anything to me about livestock on board.’
I’m cursing Phil – not the full-scale Eye of Horus curse, just a little one. But River rises to the occasion again. ‘Well, it turns out that mongooses aren’t allowed in America,’ she says. She tells me later this is actually true, don’t ask me how she knows about it. ‘The captain was repatriating it. But it got out of the luggage bay somehow. Never mind, it’s all right now. Bread roll, anyone?’
Gotta say, she’s pretty quick, my sister. Maybe she should think about writing fiction.
Finally satisfied, everyone begins to eat.
‘Don’t reckon Lindbergh had Grenadin de veau on the Spirit of St Louis!’ says Cuttling as the entrée is presented, because if you’re a millionaire you can make the same funnies over and over again and people are still gonna laugh.
‘Oh, Mr Cuttling, you’re so droll!’ says Mrs Peterson-Lee, and he preens himself like a parrot.
I politely agree with Cuttling that as transport goes, this is pretty damn luxurious.
‘Although it’s more like a ship than an aeroplane,’ says Mrs Peterson-Lee. ‘I suppose that’s why they call it a flying boat.’
Well, yeah, that and the whole thing about it landing on water, of course.
‘It’s a darn sight nicer than the Caesarion,’ Harry says. ‘Well, third class, anyways.’
Cuttling frowns. ‘The Caesarion? Wasn’t that the ship you crossed on?’ he says to Miss Jones.
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