Solar Pons looked across at me.
“Simple indeed, Parker,” he observed. “I believe you had reached this part of the narrative when the doctor came in, Mr. Biggs. From your manner and attitude you hinted at something more serious at the museum?”
The Curator nodded grimly.
“Stark, staring horror and madness, Mr. Pons!”
-3-
I stared at him for a moment without saying anything. “Those are strong words, Mr. Biggs,” I ventured. The little man shook his head.
“Nevertheless, I am not exaggerating, gentlemen, as you will find if you have the patience to hear my story out.”
“You spoke of your servant earlier,” interrupted Pons, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on our visitor’s face. He flushed and again shifted in his chair.
“So I did, Mr. Pons. This business has troubled me so much that I hardly know what I am doing. I referred to him as a servant but he is really a middle-class Arab who was assigned to me by Nazreel Pasha to act as secretary and factotum. He spoke excellent English and I found him invaluable. Achmed — I never could pronounce his full name — was a gigantic character, over six feet tall, and as my travels in Egypt took me into some strange places I was more than glad of his companionship at times.”
Mr. Biggs paused and took out a handkerchief, which he used to mop his brow.
“I was rather surprised when Nazreel Pasha suggested that he should accompany me to England, but I appreciated that his strength and upright character would be most useful to me.”
“And also act as a safeguard for the valuables under your care,” said Pons crisply, blowing out a plume of blue smoke.
Biggs looked at him owlishly.
“There is that, Mr. Pons. Perhaps that explains one strange incident on the voyage. When I entered his cabin one afternoon without knocking I caught him cleaning a revolver which he swiftly covered with a newspaper. It was an extraordinary and quite worrying incident.”
Solar Pons chuckled, his eyes displaying little flecks of amusement as he regarded Biggs.
“Tut, Mr. Biggs, there is no mystery. Achmed was obviously a high-ranking Cairo police officer set to guard the treasures the Egyptian government had entrusted to your care. There is nothing strange about it.”
The little man’s eyes opened wide.
“Why, do you really think so, Mr. Pons! I never thought of that!”
“You are extraordinarily naïve, Mr. Biggs, if you do not mind me saying so,” said my companion briskly. “It is as plain as a pikestaff. One can hardly blame the Egyptian Antiquities Service for calling on their country’s police authorities in the matter.”
Mr. Biggs flushed and stared helplessly at Pons.
“I am afraid I am very much out of my depth here,” he said earnestly. “After all, my world is an academic one and I am unused to violence and intrigue.”
“Quite so,” said Pons imperturbably. “Do go on.”
“Leaving that aside, Mr. Pons, I have been back for two weeks now and ever since my arrival in London I have felt myself to be caught in the middle of a sinister plot. I am at my wit’s end.”
“I must have data if I am to assist you. Please proceed to the next incident after your arrival.”
“It was not long in coming, Mr. Pons. Naturally, the transportation and unpacking of the material I had brought with me from the Valley of the Kings and from the Cairo Museum occupied much of the first week. The treasures on loan from Cairo were naturally deposited in the strong-room in the Museum and I now understand, from what you say, just why Achmed took such an interest in the precautions we had been taking.
“There were the usual interviews with the press; a formal meeting with the Board of the Museum; and discussions with my staff on exactly what space in the galleries was to be devoted to the Exhibition. It was about a week ago that the first incident occurred. I was in my office on the first floor engaged in cataloguing and checking entries against the list I had brought back.”
“Alone?”
“Alone, Mr. Pons. Apart from the night-staff, of course, who were on their rounds.”
Solar Pons tugged thoughtfully at the lobe of his right ear. “How many have you, Mr. Biggs?”
“We have three night guards, normally, Mr. Pons, one for each of the major floors of the Museum and they make their rounds four times nightly. But we have recently taken on extra staff in view of the major Exhibition we were planning.”
“I see. And then?”
“I had had the contents of some of the crates brought into my office, Mr. Pons, and was going through the material, making meticulous entries. It was about eleven o’clock at night when I became aware of a faint scratching noise. There are racks of scholarly works in one corner of my office, Mr. Pons. I have so many reference volumes that I have two free-standing bookcases set at an angle to my desk. With the bookcase set against the far wall they form two aisles. I had the green-shaded desk-lamp on and the rest of the room was in shadow.”
Mr. Biggs paused almost as though the recollection were too much for him.
“Mr. Pons, I looked up as the scratching noise sounded and, through a gap in the books I saw the wrinkled face of a 2,000-year-old mummy looking at me!”
My first inclination was to smile at the little man’s fantastic assertion but one glance at his terrified face showed me that he was in deadly earnest. Pons sat holding his pipe by its bowl, his sharp, sympathetic eyes never leaving our visitor’s face.
“That is quite impossible, Mr. Biggs,” he said coolly. “Though I can imagine the shock such a sight gave you.”
Biggs shook his head stubbornly.
“You do not understand, Mr. Pons. I was not dreaming. The thing existed. Its face was covered with rotting bandages and only the eyes were visible, burning through the wrappings. As I watched it moved and as I sat there paralysed, my heart thumping as though it would burst, the thing disappeared into the shadow with lightning rapidity. I am not afraid to confess that when I found my wits I shouted loudly and rang my bell. I need not bore you with the search the night-guards made, the comings-and-goings. In short, though a thorough examination of the premises was made the apparition had completely disappeared.”
Solar Pons frowned.
“It would not be too difficult to disappear in such a vast place as the Egyptian Museum, Mr. Biggs. I am tolerably familiar with its features and some of those galleries, with their massive statuary and mummy-cases would provide many concealed hiding places.”
Biggs nodded gloomily.
“just so, Mr. Pons. I am inviting ridicule, I know, but we also examined the mummy cases in some detail. Their fastenings were undisturbed and we have, in any event, some of them secure within glass cases. But when I returned to my office I had another shock. Though all had been intact when I left I found that the artefacts had been disturbed and some of the stoppers removed from several jars.”
Solar Pons sat upright in his chair. He brought the palms of his hands together with a small cracking sound in the silence.
“Admirable, Mr. Biggs! Just as I should have imagined. Your problem has captured my imagination and though I have a good idea what lies behind it, it is not without features of interest.”
Mr. Biggs’ mouth opened wide in amazement.
“This is all beyond me, Mr. Pons, though I am glad you can read something into it. To put things shortly, this apparition has appeared on three occasions since, always at night, until the watchmen are almost afraid to go on duty. On each occasion, once the initial shock had worn off, they chased it but were never able to sight it again after the initial glimpse.”
“I see. And where was your Egyptian detective all this time?”