Vance lighted a Régie and sat down.
"Why, Hani, did you imagine you might be of service to us?"
"Like you, effendi," came the soft reply, "I expected that something distressing, and perhaps violent, would happen in this house to-night. And when I heard you enter and go to Doctor Bliss's room, it occurred to me that the looked-for event had come to pass. So I waited on the upper landing until you came out."
"Most considerate and thoughtful of you," Vance murmured, and took several puffs on his cigarette. After a moment he asked: "If Mr. Salveter had emerged from his room to-night after you had gone to bed, would you have known of the fact?"
The Egyptian hesitated, and his eyes contracted.
"I think I would. His room is directly opposite mine—"
"I'm familiar with the arrangement."
"It does not seem probable that Mr. Salveter could have unlocked his door and come out without my being cognizant of it."
"It's possible though, is it not?" Vance was insistent. "If you were asleep, and Mr. Salveter had good reason for not disturbing you, he might have emerged so cautiously that you would have slept on in complete ignorance of his act."
"It is barely possible," Hani admitted unwillingly. "But I am quite sure that he did not leave his room after retiring."
"Your wish, I fear, is father to your assurance," Vance sighed. "However, we sha'n't belabor the point."
Hani was watching Vance with lowering concern.
"Did Doctor Bliss suggest that Mr. Salveter left his room tonight?"
"Oh, to the contr'ry," Vance assured him. "The doctor said quite emphatically that any attempt to connect Mr. Salveter with the stealthy steps outside of his door at midnight would be a grave error."
"Doctor Bliss is wholly correct," the Egyptian declared.
"And yet, Hani, the doctor insisted that a would-be assassin was prowlin' about the house. Who else could it have been?"
"I cannot imagine." Hani appeared almost indifferent.
"You do not think that it could have been Mrs. Bliss?"
"Never!" The man's tone had become quickly animated. "Meryt-Amen would have had no reason to go into the hall. She has access to her husband's room through a communicating door—"
"So I observed a while ago,—she joined our pour-parler in the doctor's room. And I must say, Hani, that she was most anxious for us to find the person who had made the attempt on her husband's life."
"Anxious—and sad, effendi." A new note crept into Hani's voice. "She does not yet understand the things that have happened to-day. But when she does—"
"We won't speculate along those lines now," Vance cut in brusquely. He reached in his pocket and drew out the golden dagger. "Did you ever see that?" he asked, holding the weapon toward the Egyptian.
The man's eyes opened wide as he stared at the glittering, jewelled object. At first he appeared fascinated, but the next moment his face clouded, and the muscles of his jowls worked spasmodically. A smouldering anger had invaded him.
"Where did that Pharaonic dagger come from?" he asked, striving to control his emotion.
"It was brought from Egypt by Doctor Bliss," Vance told him.
Hani took the dagger and held it reverently under the table-lamp.
"It could only have come from the tomb of Ai. Here on the crystal knob is faintly engraved the king's cartouche. Behold: Kheper-kheperu-Rê Iry-Maët—"
"Yes, yes. The last Pharaoh of the Eighteenth Dynasty. The doctor found the dagger during his excavations in the Valley of the Tombs of the Kings." Vance was watching the other intently. "You are quite positive you have never seen it before?"
Hani drew himself up proudly.
"Had I seen it, I would have reported it to my Government. It would no longer be in the possession of an alien desecrator, but in the country where it belongs, cared for by loving hands at Cairo. . . . Doctor Bliss did well to keep it hidden."
There was a bitter hatred in his words, but suddenly his manner changed.
"May I be permitted to ask when you first saw this royal dagger?"
"A few minutes ago," Vance answered. "It was projectin' from the headboard of the doctor's bed—just behind the place where his head had lain a second earlier."
Hani's gaze travelled past Vance to some distant point, and his eyes became shrewdly thoughtful.
"Was there no sheath to this dagger?" he asked.
"Oh, yes." There was a flicker in the corners of Vance's eyes. "Gold and cloisonné—though I haven't seen it. The fact is, Hani, we're deuced interested in the sheath. It's disappeared—lying perdu somewhere hereabouts. We're going to make a bit of a search for it ere long."
Hani nodded his head understandingly.
"And if you find it, are you sure you'll know more than you do now?"
"It may at least verify my suspicions."
"The sheath would be an easy object to hide securely," Hani reminded him.
"I really don't anticipate any difficulty in putting my hands on it." Vance rose and confronted the man. "Could you perhaps suggest where we might best start our search?"
"No, effendi," Hani returned, after a perceptible hesitation. "Not at this moment. I would need time to think about it."
"Very well. Suppose you go to your room and indulge in some lamaic concentration. You're anything but helpful."
Hani handed the dagger back, and turned toward the hall.
"And be so good," Vance requested, "as to knock on Mr. Salveter's door and tell him we would like to see him here at once."
Hani bowed, and disappeared.
"I don't like that bird," Heath grumbled, when the Egyptian was out of hearing. "He's too slippery. And he knows something he's not telling. I'd like to turn my boys loose on him with a piece of rubber hose—they'd make him come across. . . . I wouldn't be surprised, Mr. Vance, if he threw the dagger himself. Did you notice the way he held it, laying out flat in the palm of his hand with the point toward the fingers?—just like those knife-throwers in vaudeville."
"Oh, he might have been thinkin' caressingly of Doctor Bliss's trachea," Vance conceded. "However, the dagger episode doesn't worry me half as much as something that didn't happen to-night."
"Well, it looks to me like plenty happened," retorted Heath.
Markham regarded Vance inquisitively.
"What's in your mind?" he asked.
"The picture presented to us to-night, d' ye see, wasn't finished. I could still detect some of the underpainting. And there was no vernissage. The canvas needed another form—the generating line wasn't complete. . . ."
Just then we could hear footsteps on the stairs. Salveter, with a wrinkled Shantung dressing-gown wrapped about his pyjamas, blinked as he faced the lights in the drawing-room. He appeared only half awake, but when his pupils had become adjusted to the glare, he ran his eyes sharply over the four of us and then shot a glance at the bronze clock on the mantel.
"What now?" he asked. "What has happened?" He seemed both bewildered and anxious.
"Doctor Bliss phoned me that some one had tried to kill him," Vance explained. "So we hobbled over. . . . Know anything about it?"
"Good God, no!" Salveter sat down heavily in a chair by the door. "Some one tried to kill the doctor? When? . . . How?" He fumbled in his dressing-gown pockets, and Vance, reading his movements correctly, held out his cigarette-case. Salveter lighted a Régie nervously, and drew several deep inhalations on it.
"Shortly after midnight," Vance answered. "But the attempt failed dismally." He tossed the dagger in Salveter's lap. "Familiar with that knickknack?"
The other studied the weapon a few seconds without touching it. A growing astonishment crept into his expression, and he carefully picked up the dagger and inspected it.
"I never saw it in my life," he said in an awed tone. "It's a very valuable archaeological specimen—a rare museum piece. Where, in Heaven's name, did you unearth it? It certainly doesn't belong to the Bliss collection."
"Ah, but it does," V
ance assured him. "A private item, so to speak. Always kept secluded from pryin' vulgar eyes."
"I'm amazed. I'll bet the Egyptian Government doesn't know about it." Salveter looked up abruptly. "Has this dagger anything to do with the attempt on the doctor's life?"
"Everything apparently," Vance replied negligently. "We found it lodged in the headboard of the doctor's bed, evidently thrown with great force at the spot where his throat should have been."
Salveter contracted his brow and set his lips.
"See here, Mr. Vance," he declared at length; "we haven't any Malayan jugglers in this house. . . . Unless," he added, as a startled afterthought, "Hani knows the art. Those orientals are full of unexpected lore and practices."
"The performance to-night was not, according to all accounts, what one would unqualifiedly call artistic. It was, in fact, somewhat amateurish. I'm sure a Malay could have done much better with his kris. In the first place, the intruder's footsteps and the opening of the door were plainly heard by Doctor Bliss; and, in the second place, there was sufficient delay between the projection of the flash-light and the actual hurling of the dagger to give the doctor time to remove his head from the line of propulsion. . . ."
At this moment Hani appeared at the door holding a small object in his hand. Walking forward he laid it on the centre-table.
"Here, effendi," he said in a low voice, "is the sheath of the royal dagger. I found it lying against the baseboard of the second-story hall, near the head of the stairs."
Vance scarcely glanced at it.
"Thanks awfully," he drawled. "I rather thought you'd find it. But of course it wasn't in the hall."
"I assure you—"
"Oh, quite." Vance looked straight into Hani's eyes, and presently a faint, gentle smile crept into his gaze. "Isn't it true, Hani," he asked pointedly, "that you found the sheath exactly where you and I believed it to be hidden?"
The Egyptian did not answer at once. Presently he said:
"I have told my story, effendi. You may draw your own conclusion."
Vance appeared satisfied and waved his hand toward the door.
"And now, Hani, go to bed. We sha'n't need you any more to-night. Leiltak sa'îda."
"Leiltak sa'îda wemubâraka." The man bowed and departed.
Vance picked up the sheath and, taking the dagger from Salveter, fitted the blade into its holder, looking at the gold embossing critically.
"Aegean influence," he murmured. "Pretty, but too fussy. These ornate floral devices of the Eighteenth Dynasty bear the same relation to early Egyptian art that the Byzantine ginger-bread does to the simple Greek orders." He held the sheath closer to his monocle. "And, by the by, here's a decoration that may interest you, Mr. Salveter. The formal scrolls terminate in a jackal's head."
"Anûpu, eh? Hani's given name. That's curious." Salveter rose and looked at the design. "And another point might be considered, Mr. Vance," he went on, after a pause. "These lower-class Copts are, for all their superficial Christian veneer, highly superstitious. Their minds run along one traditional groove: they like to fit everything to a preconceived symbolism. There have been nine more or less coincidental deaths of late among those connected with the excavations in Egypt,[27] and the natives ridiculously imagine that the afrîts of their ancestors lay in ambush in the various tombs to mow down the western intruders, as a kind of punitive measure. They actually believe in such malefic forces. . . . And here is Hani, at bottom a superstitious Egyptian, who resents the work of Doctor Bliss:—is it not possible he might consider the death of the doctor by a dagger once worn by a Pharaoh as a sort of mystical retribution in line with all these other irrational ghost stories? And Hani might even regard the jackal's head on that sheath as a sign that he—named after the jackal-headed god, Anûbis—had been divinely appointed the agent in this act of vengeance."
"A charmin' theory," was Vance's somewhat uninterested comment. "But a bit too specious, I fear. I'm comin' to the opinion that Hani is not nearly so stupid and superstitious as he would have us think. He's a kind of modern Theogonius, who has found it the part of wisdom to simulate mental inferiority."[28]
Salveter slowly nodded agreement.
"I've felt that same quality in him at times. . . . But who else—?"
"Ah! Who else?" Vance sighed. "I say, Mr. Salveter; what time did you go to bed to-night?"
"At ten-thirty," the man returned aggressively. "And I didn't wake up until Hani called me just now."
"You retired, then, immediately after you had fetched the memorandum-book from the study for Doctor Bliss."
"Oh, he told you about that, did he? . . . Yes, I handed him the book and went on up to my room."
"The book, I understand, was in his desk."
"That's right—But why this cross-examination about a memorandum-book?"
"That dagger," Vance explained, "was also kept in one of the drawers of the doctor's desk."
Salveter leapt to his feet.
"I see!" His face was livid.
"Oh, but you don't," Vance mildly assured him. "And I'd appreciate it immensely if you'd try to be calm. Your vitality positively exhausts me.—Tell me, did you lock your bedroom door to-night?"
"I always lock it at night."
"And during the day?"
"I leave it open—to air the room."
"And you heard nothing to-night after retiring?"
"Nothing at all. I went to sleep quickly—the reaction, I suppose."
Vance rose.
"One other thing: where did the family have dinner to-night?"
"In the breakfast-room. It could hardly be called dinner, though. No one was hungry. It was more like a light supper. So we ate down-stairs. Less bother."
"And what did the various members of the household do after dinner?"
"Hani went up-stairs at once, I believe. The doctor and Mrs. Bliss and I sat here in the drawing-room for an hour or so, when the doctor excused himself and went to his room. A little later Meryt-Amen went up-stairs, and I sat here until about half past ten trying to read."
"Thank you, Mr. Salveter. That will be all." Vance moved toward the hall. "Only, I wish you'd tell Mrs. Bliss and the doctor that we sha'n't disturb them any more to-night. We'll probably communicate with them to-morrow. . . . Let's go, Markham. There's really nothing more we can do here."
"I could do a whole lot more," Heath objected with surly antagonism. "But this case is being handled like a pink tea. Somebody in this house threw that dagger, and if I had my way I'd steam the truth out of him."
Markham endeavored diplomatically to soothe the Sergeant's ruffled feelings, but without any marked success.
We were now standing just inside the front door preparatory to departing, and Vance paused to light a cigarette. He was facing the great steel door leading into the museum, and I saw his frame suddenly go taut.
"Oh, just a moment, Mr. Salveter," he called; and the man, who was now nearly at the head of the first flight of stairs, turned and retraced his steps. "What are the lights doing on in the museum?"
I glanced toward the bottom of the steel door where Vance's gaze was resting, and for the first time saw a tiny illuminated line. Salveter, too, glanced at the floor, and frowned.
"I'm sure I don't know," he said in a puzzled voice. "The last person in the museum is supposed to turn off the switch. But no one to my knowledge has been in there to-night. . . . I'll see." He stepped toward the door, but Vance moved in front of him.
"Don't trouble yourself," he said peremptorily. "I'll attend to it. . . . Good-night."
Salveter took the dismissal uneasily but without another word he went upstairs.
When he had disappeared round the banisters on the second floor, Vance gently turned the knob, and pushed the museum door open. Below us, on the opposite side of the room, seated at the desk-table near the obelisk, and surrounded by filing-boxes, photographs, and cardboard folders, was Scarlett. His coat and waistcoat were hanging over the back of his chair; a gree
n celluloid shade covered his eyes; and a pen was in his hand, poised above a large note-book.
He looked up as the door opened.
"Oh, hallo!" he called cheerily. "Thought you were through with the Bliss ménage for to-day."
"It's to-morrow now," returned Vance, going down the stairs and crossing the museum.
"What!" Scarlett reached behind him and took out his watch. "Great Scott! So it is. Had no idea of the hour. Been working here since eight o'clock—"
"Amazin'." Vance glanced over a few of the upturned photographs. "Very interestin'. . . . Who let you in, by the by?"
"Brush, of course." Scarlett seemed rather astonished at the question. "Said the family were having dinner in the breakfast-room. I told him not to disturb 'em—that I had a bit of work to finish. . . ."
"He didn't mention your arrival to us." Vance was apparently engrossed in a photograph of four amuletic bracelets.
"But why should he, Vance?" Scarlett had risen and was getting into his coat. "It's a commonplace thing for me to come here and work in the evenings. I'm drifting in and out of the house constantly. When I work at night I always shut off the light on going and see that the front door is fastened. Nothing unusual about my coming here after dinner."
"That probably accounts for Brush's not telling us, don't y' know." Vance tossed the photographs back on the table. "But something out of the ordin'ry did happen here to-night." He laid the sheathed dagger before Scarlett. "What do you know about that bizarre parazonium?"
"Oh, much." The other grinned, and shot Vance an interrogatory look. "How did you happen on it? It's one of the doctor's dark secrets."
"Really?" Vance lifted his eyebrows in simulated surprise. "Then you're familiar with it?"
"Rather. I saw the old scalawag slip in into his khaki shirt when he found it. I kept mum—none of my business. Later, when we were here in New York, he told me he'd smuggled it out of Egypt, and confided to me that he was keeping it sequestered in his study. He was in constant fear that Hani would unearth it, and swore me to secrecy. I agreed. What's one dagger, more or less? The Cairo Museum has the cream of all the excavated items anyway."
"He kept it ensconced under some papers in one of his desk drawers."
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