by Jim Eldridge
‘I don’t know,’ said Daniel.
She stared at him. ‘You’re surely not giving this nonsense credibility?’
‘“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,”’ quoted Daniel.
‘There is no need to quote Shakespeare at me,’ said Abigail. ‘Anything coming from a man who wrote about fairies does not convince me of the existence of the supernatural. And I am surprised that you, as a detective, would consider it.’
‘When I was working as a detective in London, we encountered many strange things that were not easily explained,’ said Daniel. ‘Especially amongst the immigrant communities: the Arabs and the Chinese, for example. Reports of strange apparitions, the dead coming back to life.’
‘The results of an excess of opium,’ said Abigail curtly.
‘Not everything can be so easily explained,’ insisted Daniel. ‘I have seen things that have made me doubt my senses. Or, certainly, doubt concrete reality. And I have never taken opium or hashish.’
‘Then I would suggest beer or strong drink were the root of it.’ Abigail sniffed. ‘Or possibly too much cheese. The mould in cheese is a fungus, and fungus can play tricks with the brain’s mental abilities.’
‘You sound very definite,’ observed Daniel.
‘I am very definite,’ said Abigail. ‘There is no basis in proper science for the supernatural.’
‘But Arthur Conan Doyle is a scientist, a doctor, and, from interviews with him I’ve read, he seems to believe in many aspects of the supernatural. He’s a member of the Society for Psychical Research and attends seances, that sort of thing. And this story of his …’
‘“Lot No. 249”,’ said Abigail.
‘He must have based it on something.’
‘He’s a writer with an overactive imagination,’ said Abigail.
‘One question,’ said Daniel. ‘Did the mummy of an Egyptian princess arrive from Egypt recently?’
‘Yes, but that means nothing. The mummy is said to be that of a princess, but the term “princess” could mean anything.’
‘And was that mummy accompanied by that of a bodyguard?’
‘The mummified body of a bodyguard, if she had one, would not have been identified as such. Only the elite were identified as individuals, not servants.’ She stood up. ‘Come with me to the Fitzwilliam and I’ll prove to you that this talk about a reanimated murderous mummy is nonsense.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The first room of the Egyptian collection seemed to have been further organised since the first time that Daniel had seen it; the artefacts had been separated and arranged in a kind of chronological order, from the identifying cards that had been placed with each item. The statuary had been erected so that dog-headed lions towered protectively over smaller objects: earthenware bowls and other items of pottery.
‘Where do they come from?’ asked Daniel.
‘Egypt,’ said Abigail.
‘I know that,’ said Daniel, annoyed. ‘I mean, how does the Fitzwilliam get hold of them? Are they donated by the archaeologists who’ve discovered them?’
She gave a rueful laugh.
‘If only that were possible,’ she said. ‘No, the unearthing of these artefacts costs money, as does transporting them to England. But the principal cost is in purchasing them from the site owners in Egypt. Different people own different sites. Money changes hands for the right to dig, with more money being paid if anything is found.’
‘It all sounds a bit dubious,’ commented Daniel.
‘I can assure you everything is done legally and above board,’ said Abigail. ‘Bills of sale, receipts, everything correct. Although things are complicated by the fact that the Egyptian government have authorised the French to be in charge of the Antiquities Service, which officially has responsibility for all antiquities found in Egypt.
‘The reality is that, until 1886, the individual items in the Egyptian collection at the Fitzwilliam, although impressive, were small in number. It was Sir Wallis Budge of the British Museum who felt the museum should have as large a collection of the culture of ancient Egypt as possible, and private funds were raised in order to achieve this objective. Have you heard of the Reverend Greville J. Chester?’
‘No,’ said Daniel. ‘Should I have?’
‘Possibly not, unless you are interested in Egyptology. In 1890 and 1891, it was the Reverend Chester who presented a number of important items to the museum, and by last year, with others being added, the Fitzwilliam’s Egyptian collection now totals some 600 items.’
‘Very impressive,’ said Daniel.
‘With more items coming all the time, which is why curating the collection is so time-consuming. Recently there has been a surge of such artefacts arriving as the result of new digs. Edward Hardwicke, in particular, has been responsible for a great many of the recent imports.’
‘Another name unfamiliar to me,’ commented Daniel.
‘One of the new generations of archaeologists,’ said Abigail. ‘And a scholar, as well as a digger. In fact, the last consignment that arrived was from him. And, coincidentally, it was that consignment that included the mummy of an Egyptian princess.’
‘Interesting,’ mused Daniel. ‘How many people were aware that this recent consignment included a mummified princess?’
‘Well, me, of course. But no one else that I can think of.’
‘Except this Edward Hardwicke, obviously.’
‘Mr Hardwicke is still away. He sent the artefacts on ahead, with a note explaining that he would be taking a different route back to England.’ Then a thought struck her, because she exclaimed, ‘The carters!’
‘The people who delivered the artefacts?’
‘Yes. I think the delivery note listed details of some of the more precious artefacts.’
‘Do you have a copy of that delivery note?’
Daniel followed her to her office, where she rummaged through a pile of papers, and produced a crumpled sheet of paper.
‘Yes!’ she cried triumphantly. ‘There!’ And she handed it to Daniel.
Daniel looked down the list, which mostly consisted of Roman numerals against items to identify them, such as ‘mummy from Khufu – XXII’, but some had more details against them: ‘scarab beetle’, ‘head of Ra’. Halfway down the list was ‘mummy of Princess Ka’.
‘So the cartage company would have known about this.’
‘Yes, but I cannot see them being the source of the story. The carters are quite rough and ready men. To be honest, I’m not sure if they can actually read.’
‘But the people in the office can.’
She looked doubtful. ‘It all seems a bit far-fetched.’
‘More far-fetched than the story of a murderous reanimated mummy?’ He made a note of the name and address of the cartage company, Peebles and Co., then followed Abigail out of her office and into the second display room.
Here the mummified bodies had been put on display, most of them inside glass cases, although there were two still unprotected.
Abigail went to one of the unprotected mummies.
‘This is the mummy said to be that of Princess Ka.’ She took hold of the end of a piece of bandage from the packing around the foot of the mummy and gently unfurled a short length, which she held out to Daniel. ‘Take this in both hands and pull at it.’
‘You’ve already illustrated your point with the inspector, earlier,’ said Daniel.
‘And now I’m doing it again, with you, so there can be no mistake.’
Daniel tugged at the bandage, and – as before with Drabble – the bandage separated, fraying easily. Abigail took the frayed end of bandage and very gently tucked it into a fold.
‘The cloth is far too fragile to have been used to strangle the nightwatchman.’
‘At least we can make a good guess as to why the bandage from the mummy was left around his neck, to lend credence to the story that the murder was done by this supposed bodyguard
of hers,’ said Daniel.
‘So you believe me that this was no supernatural event, a reanimated mummy?’ said Abigail challengingly.
‘I always like to keep an open mind,’ replied Daniel. ‘But, in this case, the fragility of the bandage makes your point.’ A thought struck him, because he asked, ‘Where is the mummy of this supposed bodyguard?’
‘I’ve already said, the mummified bodies of servants were not identified as individuals,’ said Abigail.
‘How many of these unidentified mummies were with her in her tomb?’ asked Daniel.
‘According to the list that was brought with them, four,’ said Abigail. ‘I’ve kept them in a storage room for the moment until I’ve examined them properly.’
‘May I see them?’
‘You mean you’re still not convinced, Mr Wilson?’ said Abigail archly.
‘Please, humour me,’ said Daniel.
She led Daniel into another, smaller, room. There were wooden crates with the lids off, filled with small objects, and laid on the floor against one wall were three mummified bodies.
‘I only see three,’ said Daniel.
‘One’s been moved,’ said Abigail.
‘Or it’s walked,’ said Daniel.
She shot him a sharp, cold glance.
‘That was a joke,’ he said.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, and left the room, returning a moment later looking puzzled. ‘The attendant says no one’s moved the other mummy.’
‘Then, obviously, whoever killed Ransome also removed one of the mummies to add credence to the story about a murderous mummy being on the loose.’
‘That seems very risky.’ Abigail frowned. ‘Someone may well have seen the mummy being removed from the museum.’
‘It might be a case of knocking on doors to ask if anyone saw anything suspicious, and at what time,’ said Daniel.
‘Surely that’s a job for the police,’ said Abigail.
‘It is,’ agreed Daniel. ‘Would you like to make that suggestion to Inspector Drabble, or shall I?’
When Abigail hesitated, he smiled and said, ‘Allow me. But first, I suggest we go in search of the person who wrote the newspaper article.’
‘Why?’ demanded Abigail. ‘The man is an obvious fantasist.’
‘Because he mentions an eminent Egyptologist “who has spoken exclusively to this newspaper”. Which suggests to me that this mysterious Egyptologist may have had a reason in planting this story in the newspaper.’
‘To divert attention away from the real motive for the murder!’ exclaimed Abigail, with sudden realisation.
‘Exactly,’ said Daniel. ‘Do you know where the offices of the Gazette are?’
‘I do,’ she said.
‘And the name of the writer of this report?’
Abigail took the rolled-up newspaper from her pocket and read the byline aloud. ‘“By our special correspondent, Hector Blades.”’
‘Excellent. Then let us go and find Mr Blades and see what he can tell us.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The man on duty at the outer office of the Gazette shook his head at their request.
‘Sorry, Hector Blades doesn’t come into the office on Saturdays.’
‘He doesn’t work on Saturdays?’ asked Abigail. ‘I find that odd for a journalist.’
‘Well, he does, but on Saturdays he’s the racing correspondent. With a big meeting at Newmarket, that’s where he’ll be today.’
‘Will he be in tomorrow?’ asked Daniel.
The man shook his head. ‘Never on a Sunday. If he’s had a big win, he’ll be nursing a hangover. If he’s had a bad day, he’ll still be nursing a hangover. He’ll be back in on Monday.’
‘Could you let us have his address?’
The man shook his head again. ‘Sorry, not allowed. See, I’m only really here to pick up letters and things for the paper, which I pass on.’
‘Most unsatisfactory.’ Abigail scowled as they left the offices.
‘It will keep till Monday,’ said Daniel. ‘Until then, we have other courses of enquiry: my reporting the missing mummy to Inspector Drabble, and tomorrow I shall talk to Mr Elder again.’
Now is the right time, decided Abigail. I shall suggest I show him more of Cambridge, as he first asked. Purely as working acquaintances, of course, but it would be interesting to find out more about him.
‘Actually, Mr Wilson,’ she said.
‘Yes?’
‘I was wondering—’
‘Miss Fenton! Mr Wilson!’
They turned and saw Sir William Mackenzie hurrying towards them. In his hand they saw that he was brandishing a copy of the Gazette.
‘I’m glad to have spotted you both! Have you seen this?’
Abigail nodded. ‘We have, Sir William.’
‘It’s outrageous, and it will do the reputation of the Fitzwilliam no good at all! I’ve come here to see the person who wrote it and demand a retraction at the very least.’
‘I’m afraid the person responsible is not here today, Sir William,’ said Daniel. ‘We’ve just been advised of that, and our request for Mr Blades’ home address has been met with a refusal.’
‘Yes, I can understand that,’ said Sir William. He sighed. ‘Very well, I shall write a letter to the editor expressing my disquiet. In the meantime, it is fortunate that we have met. This would be a good time to receive an update from you, Mr Wilson, on your enquiries.’
‘Of course, Sir William,’ said Daniel. ‘I was intending to report to you on Monday morning.’
‘I’m afraid I have a meeting of the board on Monday morning, where they will be expecting some answers,’ said Sir William. ‘Are you free now?’
‘Of course. Let us go to the Fitzwilliam now and I’ll give you my verbal report.’
‘And at the same time, Miss Fenton, perhaps you could accompany us and update me on how the cataloguing is going. It’s very important for the museum that we have a proper display in the Egyptian Room as soon as possible, especially in view of the recent dreadful events. It’s vital that we revert to a position of normality, and the board will be looking for answers to that position as well.’
‘Absolutely, Sir William,’ said Abigail.
Sir William elected to receive Daniel’s verbal report in the Egyptian Room. As concisely as he could, Daniel summarised what they’d discovered so far, which he had to admit wasn’t a lot. ‘We have established one of the mummies seems to be missing,’ he ended.
Sir William looked confused. ‘You mean someone’s taken it?’ he asked. ‘Why?’
Daniel shrugged. ‘I’m afraid that’s yet another mystery.’
Sir William looked at Abigail and asked, ‘Are you sure it hasn’t just been mislaid?’
‘Absolutely not,’ replied Abigail firmly.
‘What on earth would anyone want with an Egyptian mummy?’ asked Sir William, still bewildered by this turn of events.
‘Hopefully we’ll find that out when we get to the truth of what happened with the deaths,’ said Daniel. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better go and see Inspector Drabble.’
‘Of course.’ Sir William nodded. ‘So, Miss Fenton, shall we look at the cataloguing?’ And he walked off to begin examining the latest deliveries of artefacts.
‘Just before we met Sir William, you were about to say something,’ said Daniel quietly to Abigail.
‘Was I?’ She smiled. ‘I can’t remember, so it can’t have been that important.’ She gestured towards where Sir William was waiting impatiently at the other end of the room. ‘I’d better go. Do let me know how you get on with Inspector Drabble.’
‘I will,’ Daniel assured her.
Inspector Drabble’s expression when Daniel told him about the missing mummy was as bewildered as Sir William’s had been.
‘A missing mummy?’
‘It appears so,’ said Daniel.
‘Why?’ asked Drabble. ‘Who’d want to take it?’
‘I have no idea,’ sa
id Daniel. ‘I just thought I’d bring it to your attention.’
Drabble looked thoughtful. ‘You think that someone was stealing the mummy when Ransome interrupted him, and that’s why Ransome was killed?’
‘No,’ said Daniel. ‘I spoke to Dr Keen earlier, and he told me about the traces of chloroform found in Ransome’s nose and mouth. That suggests that the murder was premeditated.’
‘You spoke to Dr Keen without my permission!’ snapped Drabble, outraged.
‘I didn’t see him to ask about the murder of the nightwatchman, but another matter, concerning the first body,’ said Daniel. ‘It just so happens that the issue of the second death came up in our conversation.’
‘I bet it did!’ hissed Drabble. ‘Look, Wilson, this is my case—’
‘I am aware of that, which is why I came to you with this information about the missing mummy.’
Drabble subsided, almost mollified, but not quite.
‘So you’re suggesting that the murderer killed the nightwatchman, and then stole the mummy.’
‘That would seem to be the logical sequence.’ Daniel nodded. ‘Although that’s just my opinion. I could be wrong.’
‘Yes, you could be,’ grunted Drabble. He fell silent, then added grudgingly, ‘Although the business of the chloroform would back that up.’ He looked inquisitively at Daniel. ‘But why steal the mummy? And why just the one? If it’s about the money he could get for them, why not take others?’
‘I don’t know,’ admitted Daniel.
Drabble took up a copy of the Cambridge Gazette that had been lying under some other papers on his desk, and showed the front page to Daniel. ‘Did you see this?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Daniel.
‘What do you make of it?’
‘According to Miss Fenton, it’s a rehash of a story by Arthur Conan Doyle about a murderous mummy that’s been reanimated by someone with a grudge against certain people.’
‘A story?’ repeated Drabble.
Daniel nodded. ‘Apparently it appeared in an American magazine called Harper’s.’