‘My friend!’
He awoke from his thoughts as a fleshy hand touched his shoulder and then grabbed his to shake. ‘I was almost worried I would never get you to come to my wonderful city. It took the lure of a death mask to persuade you.’ Herziger clicked his tongue. ‘An insult to the baroque buildings, the many statues, parks and theatres. Our famous white horses, palaces and museums. Or the great Freud who practises here. Have you read his book on dreams? It is fascinating.’
‘I’ve heard of his ideas but I’ve never studied them in detail.’ Jasper frowned as he recalled his earlier inner debate about the role psychology could have in the solving of crimes. He had always felt that understanding the criminal mind was an important part of sleuthing. But whether something as elusive as dreams could contribute to that…
‘I’m delighted to have you here at last,’ Herziger enthused. ‘You must come with me to the museum at once. Do you need a porter for your luggage?’
Jasper shook his head. ‘I can carry this case myself.’ He cast a rueful look at his rather battered plain brown suitcase which seemed out of place among the luxury cases, some in white with golden accents, transported all around him.
Herziger ushered him along. ‘We’re preparing everything for the grand opening tomorrow. But you can be the first to see the mask in its place of honour. Ahead of everyone else. Even ambassadors and the press.’
Jasper studied him a moment. ‘Is there a special reason why you asked me to come? Perhaps… worries about security? Something as precious as this mask must be—’
‘It is too rare to tempt any thief.’ Herziger made a dismissive gesture. ‘It would be impossible to sell as anyone would know it to be the mask found by Sir Peter Treemore. No, I’m not worried about security.’
‘I wouldn’t be too certain that the mask’s reputation would prevent a sale. Exactly because it is so rare and special, collectors might want to possess it at all costs. They could hire someone to break into the museum and—’
Herziger grabbed his arm and squeezed. ‘Do not speak of break-ins. I’m not a superstitious man but I don’t like to think of the worst.’
‘The newspapers are writing about a rash of burglaries in Vienna. News reached me in Venice, so you must admit it isn’t a small matter.’
‘Ah, the Lynx.’ Herziger smiled as if indulging a child. ‘The police have thought up this elusive person to cover up their own incompetence.’ He stopped and continued in a rush, ‘Forgive me, I don’t say your police force in London is incompetent. But here… I have a friend whose house was broken into. He told me how the police handled it. Blind fools. No wonder they can’t solve the thefts. But I assure you that there’s an explanation for all of it. And it’s not some mystery man called Luchs.’
‘What do you think happens then?’ Jasper asked, intrigued.
‘I think that instead of trying to find fingerprints on windowsills and footsteps in flowerbeds they should look inside the house. At family members and staff.’
‘Are you saying that the police are under the impression that the thief came from the outside, but that he couldn’t have?’
‘I’m not saying he couldn’t have but… Take the example of my friend. I’m not mentioning any names because that would be painful. He has a son who still lives at home and spends a lot of money at the gambling tables. He might have taken his mother’s tiara to pay off his debts and pretended it was some burglar who climbed in from the outside. But I don’t think it likely in the city. In the countryside perhaps. But here? Would no one notice someone scaling the front of a house?’
‘It need not have happened across the front,’ Jasper protested, but Herziger waved it off.
‘We must not bother ourselves with the elusive Luchs. He is no threat to the mask. The mask is heavy, not something you slip into your pocket. But you will soon see that for yourself. Come along.’
They left the crowded station and stepped into a taxi to whisk them through Vienna’s busy inner city. Having just come from Venice where the canals offered a certain tranquillity, the bustle was intense. Carriages drawn by immaculate white horses carried tourists past the baroque facades of impressive buildings with towering pillars and decorated balconies. The sharp bells of trams rang out as they moved between stops where groups stood waiting to pour inside.
Pedestrians crossed whether it was safe to do so or not, and at times Jasper’s heart skipped a beat in fear for their safety when yet another woman, holding her hat with one hand, rushed across the street. She darted past a uniformed policeman – who paid her no heed at all – to reach the other side where shops with large windows displayed the latest fashion and ladies went in and out, their companions following with their arms full of boxes. Some of the names on the store fronts were German, others French, and the tall advertising columns carried a variety of placards announcing Russian variety artists, a singer called Isobel Maurin and the death-defying tricks of the Magnificent Müller. The latter poster showed a blond young man breaking free from chains while fire raged at his feet and knives dangled over his head.
‘I wonder how those illusionists do it,’ he remarked to Herziger. ‘I might go and see one of his shows.’
His host looked a bit startled. ‘A concert with the finest from Haydn or Mahler would be more appropriate.’
Red lay his head on Jasper’s knee, and he scratched the dog behind his ear. ‘Can I take him into the museum?’ he asked.
Herziger smiled. ‘You can leave him with the caretaker who has a small office in the central hall. We don’t want him to get excited and… uh… do anything.’
Jasper bit back a snide remark that his dog was well trained, and accepted the inevitable.
They stepped out of the taxi in a street shadowed by oak trees. The museum glittered with its all white facade in the bright sun. Where summer had still been stifling and oppressive in Venice, it was now losing its edge here and the cooler temperatures whispered that autumn was on its way. In three more weeks, the leaves would start to turn and sudden gusts of wind would pick them off the trees to scatter them across the museum’s steps.
Standing in front of them, Jasper raised a hand to shield his eyes as he looked up the impressive marble pillars flanking the entrance. Those pillars were ideal to scale, if you had such talents. He wondered briefly if the Lynx had stood here as well, surveying the very building inside which such an attractive prize was waiting for him. He didn’t share Herziger’s optimism that the burglar didn’t exist or that, if he did, he wouldn’t be interested in the mask because it would be unsellable. There were always people willing to pay a steep price to possess something unique, one of a kind.
They ascended the steps and entered through the double doors. The caretaker came over at once to greet them and Jasper entrusted Red to him. It seemed the man liked dogs as he patted Red and promised to give him some water. Relieved, Jasper focused his attention on his surroundings, leaning his head back to gaze up at the towering octagonal structure with mythological figures in golden framed panels, culminating in a cupola of faceted glass.
‘To your left we have the Egyptian collection,’ Herziger explained, gesturing towards an archway flanked by a statue of a pharaoh holding the symbols of office across his chest. ‘And to your right the Roman collection.’
The archway leading into this wing was guarded by the bust of an emperor on a pedestal, his heavy marble brow adorned by the victor’s laurel crown.
Jasper would have loved taking a closer look at the treasures on display there, but his host waved him along to the broad, carpeted stairs. ‘The temporary exhibitions are upstairs.’
The carpet drowned out their footfalls, and in the solemn silence they could clearly hear the shouting of orders from above.
The sound intensified as they entered a large room with more mythological figures along the walls. This time they weren’t stuccoed, but painted against a backdrop of vivid red flames leaping up against azure skies. A city on fire?
These were all battle scenes, Jasper realised, as he ran his eye past the whirl of swords and axes, and he observed quietly that the allegedly brutal Lykean kings would have approved of these surroundings for the display of their wealth.
Workmen in dust jackets were still moving items about and a scent of dust invaded Jasper’s nose. He sneezed.
Herziger pointed at a tall man with a full head of brown hair which was showing a little grey. ‘Sir Peter Treemore. The man who discovered the mask. I would like you to meet him but it looks as if he’s not in the best of moods.’
Indeed, Sir Peter’s face was as red as a tomato and he shouted, ‘No, no, no,’ as he closed in on two men pushing a container.
‘I thought the exhibition was the responsibility of the museum,’ Jasper said, ‘not of the archaeologist who made the discoveries.’
‘Ah.’ Herziger raised his eyes to the ceiling with mock emphasis. ‘Normally we take care of everything. We have the experience and know what we are doing. But Sir Peter wants to be involved in every little detail and he is hard to please. Our head of ancient civilisations told me the other day he would strangle Sir Peter if he decided to change anything again.’
‘That sounds rather serious.’ Jasper studied the agitated movements of the archaeologist as he gestured around him and gave orders in a mixture of English and German. ‘So he speaks your language?’
‘He speaks a bit of German.’ Herziger’s sour expression betrayed he was not impressed. ‘He worked with a German for years. You may have read about him in the newspapers? Karl Müller.’
‘Oh, yes, I recall he actually uncovered the mask in the burial chamber. Is he here too?’ Jasper asked, more to be polite and keep the conversation going than because he really wanted to know.
‘He died.’
‘Sorry to hear that. An illness?’
‘No, an accident, on site.’
Jasper eyed Herziger. ‘You mean that Sir Peter’s partner died during the expedition?’
‘Partner, partner.’ Herziger pursed his lips as if he resented the choice of words and sought to correct it as fast as he could. ‘Müller was hired by Sir Peter. The real partner, I’d say, is Erneste Demain. Although Demain doesn’t know too much about archaeology and is really more of a financial backer of Sir Peter’s exploits.’
‘So one of Sir Peter’s workers, someone who meant so much for the expedition as he was the one who actually discovered the fabled mask, died in an accident?’ Jasper had an uneasy sensation, immediately scolding himself that his experience in Venice made all accidents look suspicious.
‘I assumed you knew. The newspapers have been writing about it in the most lurid fashion. Bad luck after a grave robbery, a case of an ancient curse, and more of that nonsense. But it was really just an accident. Unfortunate, but part of the risk you take working on burial chambers and such things.’
‘What exactly happened?’ Jasper wanted to know. He vaguely recalled having seen a newspaper heading about some ancient curse, but as a rational man he didn’t believe in supernatural causes of death and had ignored the article. Now, however, his interest was piqued.
‘He worked in a sort of cavern space. The walls collapsed and he was buried. They tried to get him out, but they weren’t fast enough.’
‘How gruesome.’ Jasper couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to die in such a way. Fighting for your life. ‘Must also have been traumatic for the other expedition members. To try and save a colleague and not being able to.’
‘Yes, we avoid saying anything about it. Even mentioning the name Müller.’
Too bad. Jasper would have liked to know much more about this. Especially as he had just faced the situation in Venice where it had turned out that a car accident killing a rich lady had been no accident at all, but cold-blooded murder.
However, he realised what politeness demanded of him here and nodded his assent. ‘I understand. We must not spoil the happy occasion.’
‘Ah.’ Herziger smiled broadly. ‘There we have Miss Treemore. Sir Peter’s daughter. You must meet her.’ He touched Jasper’s arm to usher him along. By the entrance a young woman had appeared in a yellow dress with a white cardigan on top. Her auburn hair was made up into a bun at the back of her head and she stood there with her hand pressed to her face as if she was uncertain about her next step. She looked very vulnerable and very young.
Herziger extended a hand to her. ‘Miss Treemore, how nice to see you. Allow me to introduce a close friend of mine. Inspector Jasper from Scotland Yard.’
Her expression changed from uncertainty to pure panic. Her eyes flashed left and right as if she wanted to run away. ‘Scotland Yard?’ she breathed in an anxious tone.
‘Mr Herziger misrepresents the facts,’ Jasper rushed to say. ‘I used to work for Scotland Yard. I’m retired now. I came here to attend the opening of your father’s exhibition. I can’t wait to see the famous golden mask.’
‘That ugly thing,’ she spat. She held her hands in front of her, clasped together as if grasping for support. ‘I can’t stand it. But he is so proud of it.’ She looked past them to where her father was still arguing with the workmen. Her eyes were wide and full of fear.
Jasper asked, ‘Are you worried about the curse that is allegedly attached to it?’
Beside him, Herziger stirred. Jasper knew he was breaking his promise not to mention anything that could spoil the happy mood of the festive occasion, but this girl didn’t look happy or festive at all. She was obviously very frightened.
‘Not the curse.’ Her eyes wandered the room as if she was looking for something. ‘But then again, perhaps. Is greed a curse? Can love become a curse?’ She looked Jasper straight in the eye and he was startled by the intensity in her blue eyes. ‘I’m sorry, I must leave.’ She turned around and walked away in a hurry towards a woman in a brown gown. Jasper hadn’t even noticed her until now. She took the girl’s arm and talked to her. Together they left.
‘That is Miss Phelps, Violet’s companion,’ Herziger explained. ‘She has been with her for all of her life. Poor girl grew up without a mother. You can always tell. She is very skittish. Easily unsettled. And afraid of her father, if you ask me. He’s a formidable man.’
Jasper wasn’t sure whether Miss Treemore was afraid of her father or afraid for him. Under the circumstances, that could make all the difference.
But he couldn’t ask her now and he doubted that the opening the next day would offer an opportunity for quiet conversation.
Her agonised question sang through his head. ‘Can love become a curse?’
Whose love?
And why?
Chapter Four
‘You have to help me, Iris.’
Iris Phelps turned with a jerk to the door of her bedroom. She hadn’t heard her charge come in. After their visit to the museum, Violet had mentioned a violent headache and had retreated to bed. She hadn’t even shown herself at dinner. Not that Sir Peter seemed to have noticed or cared. If the feelings of his daughter mattered at all to him, he wouldn’t behave in the way he did. Carrying on with that French singer…
‘What is it, Violet?’ she asked, walking over to study the girl’s pale face. ‘Do you want some soup? I can get it from the kitchen. You really should eat something.’
She reached out her hand to brush Violet’s cheek but the girl dodged her hand and whispered urgently,
‘I must speak to that man. Jasper. The former inspector.’
Iris hitched a brow. ‘What man is that?’
‘You saw him at the museum. Mr Herziger introduced him to me. He’s coming to the opening tomorrow. He must keep an eye on Papa.’
‘On your father? What on earth for?’ A vague worry wriggled in Iris’s chest. Did Violet have an idea of her father’s affair with the singer? Did she fear the repercussions if word got out? Like the wrath of Werner Herziger, who had given the hand of his only daughter Beate to Sir Peter to become his wife? If Violet thought that far, she had a lot more sens
e than her father did who ran after his silly infatuation as if he were still a student with nothing to lose.
‘I’m worried for him. I must speak with Jasper. Please go out with me now and help me find him.’
‘Find him? You do not know where he is staying?’
‘No, but I had the impression Mr Herziger invited him here. So he must have asked him to stay at his house. We can go there and pretend we’re visiting Beate. While you engage her in conversation, I will speak to Jasper in private. Please?’
‘We don’t know if Beate is even at home. She may have gone out to the opera or a soirée with friends.’
‘She’s at home. I called the house to ask and learned she’s there.’
Iris felt a wave of irritation inside. ‘If you’re clever enough to concoct the plan so far, why do you need me at all?’
‘It will be dark by the time I have to go home. You know I hate the dark. Please, Iris…’
Iris hesitated. She had been on her feet all day long and wanted to sit quietly and read a book she had meant to finish last week. But Violet’s nightmares had dragged her away from its pages time and time again. The girl didn’t seem able to have an hour of undisturbed sleep.
‘Please?’ Violet’s wide blue eyes peered at her.
Iris was torn. She shouldn’t indulge her charge’s fantasies of evil threatening her father, lest they got worse. On the other hand, it wasn’t wise to leave Violet to her own devices. She might go out and do something silly.
‘I’ll come with you but you must promise me you will not tell the inspector any nonsense. Your father is not in danger.’ Other than making a complete fool of himself by his passion for the French singer and creating a scandal that would break his engagement to the daughter of the very man who had offered his exhibition pride of place in his museum.
Men really were very stupid. They took risks for things that were not worth it.
She got up and went to her closet to fetch a light coat to wear. Violet would best be kept under close scrutiny to see what she was up to now. She’d make notes of it in her little book. Sir Peter would like to know when her weekly conversation with him came around.
An Exhibition of Murder Page 3