What I give now are the salient points of his narrative, shorn of his habitual verbosity.
“Among the artefacts I brought back with me were a number of treasures on loan from the Cairo Museum, which were to form the basis of a display we are mounting here in London in the late summer. These were literally priceless and irreplaceable and have been the cause of great distress to me personally.”
“Oh, yes, I have read something about the exhibition in the national press,” I interjected.
Mr. Biggs nodded.
“We did not, of course, announce the value of the Cairo exhibits because of the danger of theft, but these things are difficult to keep quiet. This material, together with certain gifts from the Egyptian Antiquities Service, which I will enumerate later, took space in some half-dozen large wooden crates that were shipped aboard steamer with me for the homeward voyage. We had some trouble with the labourers and porters at the site on the Upper Nile.”
Pons took his pipe-stem out of his mouth.
“What sort of trouble?”
The curator shrugged his shoulders.
“The usual things, Mr. Pons. About what they should be paid for their work and so forth. And then when the breakages began…”
“Breakages?”
Solar Pons’ eyes were sharp and alert now.
“Some of the pottery was found to be broken when we got it off the site. These fellows, supervised by their own foremen, carry them out in baskets from the excavations. Normally they are careful enough, but we never found the miscreants. That was their form of blackmail to make us accede to their requests.”
“And did you?” I put in.
“It is a time-honoured method,” said Biggs apologetically. “The items broken were only small pots, of no real value, but they are important inasmuch as they give us a clear idea of the minutiae of everyday life in Ancient Egypt. The museum experts repaired them and the extra baksheesh was paid.”
Pons blew a smoke-ring up toward the ceiling.
“I see. You implied there were other troubles.”
Biggs nodded.
“There were attempts at theft. We found one of the loaded crates partly forced open. After that we put a guard upon them.”
“And what significance did you place upon that, Mr. Biggs?”
“The obvious one, Mr. Pons. Some of the things in my care are extremely valuable and there is a class of professional tomb-robbers in Egypt who would do anything to get their hands on such items. They would find a ready market in the form of unscrupulous dealers and collectors.”
“But nothing, so far as you know, was stolen?”
Biggs shook his head.
“No, Mr. Pons. Just a few unimportant pots broken and these were repaired and restored before my visit ended.”
“So you brought them back with you?”
“Indeed, Mr. Pons.”
Solar Pons’ eyes narrowed to slits as he peered through his pipe-smoke.
“Were the jars sealed or open?”
Irritation was showing plainly on our visitor’s features now.
“Is it of importance, Mr. Pons?”
“I like to obtain all the facts, Mr. Biggs.”
The curator shifted in his chair awkwardly.
“I am sorry, Mr. Pons. I did not take particular notice but so far as I remember, they were sealed with stoppers. The jars were big, heavy things made of baked clay and labelled, in hieroglyphs of course, for their various purposes. They had originally contained oil and wine and so forth, though the contents had evaporated centuries ago.”
“I see.”
Biggs nodded.
“I would have got away from the site earlier but for that unfortunate death.”
Pons looked at him quickly and the room suddenly seemed to have grown very still.
“Death?”
“Well, then, murder, Mr. Pons, if you wish to be technical. Egypt is a very violent country, as you know. One of the porters was found stabbed. Some quarrel about baksheesh I suppose. The police were called but the culprit was never found.”
“This puts a different complexion on the matter, Mr. Biggs,” said Pons slowly. “You were wise to come to me.”
“I do not understand, Mr. Pons.”
“No matter, Mr. Biggs. Your narrative interests me intensely. Pray continue.”
Mr. Biggs knotted his brow as though the effort to recollect his thoughts were a great trial to him.
“I travelled home on a passenger liner, of course, and I had much to occupy me, going through documents, preparing learned papers and so forth. We sailed from Alexandria and about three days out the purser came to see me to report that an attempt had been made to open the crates in the hold. A routine inspection was being made and one of the ship’s crew saw someone making off in the shadow.”
Solar Pons tented his thin fingers before him.
“He did not see who it was?”
Biggs shook his head.
`Though the holds are lighted by electricity, of course, they are dim, shadowy places and the seaman was unable to catch the culprit. When he found wood splinters on the deck and saw that the crates had been tampered with, he reported to his superior officer.”
“You went to the hold, of course?”
“Naturally, Mr. Pons. I hurried there with the purser immediately and found the ship’s security officer already on the spot. Together we made a careful examination. A jemmy, evidently taken from a rack of tools used in the hold, was lying on the deck where it had been dropped. One of the wooden bars holding the top of the crate had been removed and a start made on the second but the miscreant had not succeeded in his objective.”
Solar Pons stared at our visitor.
“And what might that objective have been, Mr. Biggs?” “Why, theft, of course, Mr. Pons.”
My companion nodded.
“Can you remember which one of the crates was involved?” “I do not understand the question, Mr. Pons?”
Solar Pons smiled faintly.
“Come, Mr. Biggs. It is not so very difficult. I asked which of the crates. Was it one containing valuable objects for your exhibition; one containing pottery or what?”
“Ah, Mr. Pons, I see.”
Biggs wrinkled up his brow. He suddenly looked worried and anxious and full of stress again. All the while he was narrating his adventures in Egypt and was sure of Pons’ full attention something of his cares appeared to fall away, but as soon as his concentration relaxed anxiety fell upon him like a cloak.
“That was the curious part, Mr. Pons. The crate containing extremely valuable artefacts, jewellery and ornaments for the exhibition at my museum was intact. The crate the thief attempted to break open merely contained fragments, pots and common clay containers. Extremely interesting to the archaeologist of course, but of no great value in comparison with the rest.”
“Excellent!”
Solar Pons rubbed his thin fingers together and leaned forward in his chair, his excitement showing on his lean, feral features.
“Now, Mr. Biggs, I am sure you have something else to tell me regarding that particular crate?”
Our visitor’s astonishment mirrored my own.
“Well, yes, I have, as a matter of fact, Mr. Pons, though how you could have guessed…”
Solar Pons shook his head as he tamped fresh tobacco into the bowl of his pipe.
“It was no guess, Mr. Biggs. But do go on.”
“It was nothing in itself, Mr. Pons, but it gave me a shock. I went round the other side of the crate to examine it and at first I thought there had been an accident. The side of the box was all smeared and dabbed as though with blood. Then one of the seamen said there had been an accident while the crates were being loaded on the quay at Alexandria. An Arab workman had upset a pot of red lead over the side of the crate. It was as simple as that.”