“What about this annexe, Mr. Biggs?”
“It is secure enough, Mr. Pons. It has only the one entrance and one has to go through my office itself to get to it. There is a steel door to the annexe and I am the only one with the keys, for it is a special lock.”
“That is a rather curious circumstance, Mr. Biggs.”
“Well, you see, Mr. Pons, the annexe used to be the main strong-room of the Museum, in the old days before the war and since then the Museum has been altered and extended. It proved inconvenient so the then authorities built a new strong room on the ground floor and the Curator’s present office was built on the first floor with the result that the original strong room was within the Curator’s personal quarters. It has its advantages because treasures currently being examined and catalogued by the Curator and his staff, can be kept within the office until they take their place in the main collections.”
Pons blew out a plume of blue smoke.
“I see. You have told us an extraordinary story, Mr. Biggs. We have no time to lose. You are returning to the Museum now?” Biggs nodded, rising to his feet.
“I am meeting Inspector Jamison there at half-past eight.” Solar Pons rose and shook hands with our guest.
“You have no objection to Dr. Parker joining me?”
“Delighted, Mr. Pons.”
“Very well then. You may expect us at the Museum within the hour. In the meantime I bid you good evening.”
When I returned to our sitting-room after showing our visitor downstairs, Pons was sitting with his brilliant eyes fixed on the dancing flames of the fire.
“You have your revolver handy, Parker?”
“You think we may need it, Pons?” I returned, somewhat startled.
“It is as well to be prepared. A gentleman who can lift and throw such a vase as Biggs has described, may not be amenable to anything but bullets if we are put to it.”
“Very well, Pons. I will get it.”
I procured the weapon from the leather case in my bedroom and re-joined him with my outdoor things. Pons already had his overcoat on but still lingered, blowing slow smoke-rings up toward the ceiling.
“What do you make of this business, Parker? Pray give me your observations.”
“It is obviously tied up with the Treasure from the Valley of the Kings, Pons. It seems to me that the thieves are preparing a false trail, as it were; creating these incidents to mask their preparations for striking at the strong-room.”
Solar Pons regarded me sombrely.
“It may be so, Parker, it may be so,” he said slowly.
“And the death of the Egyptian detective?”
“It could have been an accident,” I said cautiously. “Or perhaps he found out too much and they did away with him.” Pons’ eyes were very bright and hard.
“Who are ‘they’, Parker?”
“Well, that is for you to find out, Pons,” I said somewhat irritably. “After all, that is why you have been consulted.”
“And why would they wish to kill the Curator in order to strike at the strong-room, Parker?”
“As part of the diversion?” I hazarded.
Solar Pons slowly shook his head.
“Hardly, Parker. It is fatal to postulate from false hypotheses. But we shall know more once we are upon the ground. We have just time to apprise Mrs. Johnson of our absence and walk to the corner where I believe we can find an omnibus to deposit us almost at the Museum door.”
In the event it was a little under the hour stipulated before we alighted in the Bloomsbury area and walked across a small square to the imposing Doric portico of the Egyptian Museum. There were lights in the windows of the vast structure and though a uniformed attendant was on duty in a small wooden cubicle at the great iron entrance gate, he rapidly passed us through on Pons’ introducing himself. The Museum was closed, of course, at this time of the evening, but there nevertheless seemed to be a good deal of activity going on as we mounted the steps.
Two uniformed constables were in the vestibule but they evidently had their orders and they waved us through as though they knew us. A tall, distinguished-looking man with a black beard flecked with grey was waiting inside the glass doors of the main entrance and he hurried forward with outstretched hand.
“Mr. Pons? And Dr. Lyndon Parker! Delighted to see you both! I am Castleton, the Assistant Curator.”
Dr. Cedric Castleton was a distinguished Egyptologist who had written some fascinating accounts of his explorations in the more popular newspapers and I looked at him with some interest as we shook hands.
“A frightful business, gentlemen,” he said briskly, as he ushered us through into the vast and cavernous concourse where the massive balustraded staircase marched upward into the gloom.
“Indeed,” said Solar Pons drily. “Were you here when the vase fell near Mr. Biggs?”
Castleton shook his head, looking at my companion shrewdly.
“I was in the building, yes. But I was in my office going over some reports. The Museum was unusually quiet this afternoon and I understand there were not many members of the public present when the thing happened.”
“What is your opinion of the matter, Dr. Castleton?”
The Assistant Curator shook his head.
“I haven’t one, Mr. Pons. The whole business seems inexplicable to me. That story of the mummy face, for example. If Mr. Biggs had not seen it himself I would say that the night-guards had been drinking.”
He glanced over his shoulder into the dusky depths of the Museum where overhead lamps shimmered on great carved statutes and brightly painted sandalwood chests in glass cases.
“If my whole scientific training wasn’t against it, I would have said there was something supernatural about it.”
Pons stared at him with twinkling eyes.
“And yet we both know it is not supernatural, do we not, Dr. Castleton?”
The Assistant Curator smiled faintly and then our attention was caught by the sound of hurrying feet from above.
“Ah, there is Mr. Biggs,” said Pons casually. “And if I am not mistaken our old acquaintance Inspector Jamison is just behind him.”
He drew closer to Castleton.
“Tell me,” he said in a low voice. “Where is your office, Dr. Castleton?”
“On the second floor, Mr. Pons. Just two doors down from Mr. Biggs.”
“Thank you. If I need to call on your services I shall know where to find you.”
He moved forward to the bottom of the staircase and we stood there in silence for a moment, waiting for the small group of men who came hastening down toward us.
-5-
Biggs led, an expression of relief on his face.
“Thank goodness you have come, Mr. Pons!”
Solar Pons chuckled drily.
“That is hardly flattering to our friend the Inspector here! How do you do, Jamison?”
“Very well, thank you, Mr. Pons,” said Jamison sourly, giving my companion a stiff inclination of the head. His face was red as though with exertion and his whole form bristled like a terrier. I concealed my secret amusement and turned my attention to the third man who towered over both the Curator and the Scotland Yard man. Biggs intercepted my glance.
“Allow me to present Professor Adrian Smithers, Keeper of our Papyrus Department. Mr. Solar Pons and Dr. Lyndon Parker.”
Professor Smithers, who was gaunt almost to emaciation and wore a frayed goatee beard which was slightly stained with nicotine, shambled forward and shook hands gingerly with us both. His hand was cold and damp to the touch and I surreptitiously wiped my fingers on my handkerchief after he had relinquished his grasp and turned to Pons.
“Despite my grandiose title, my function is somewhat more humble here than might be thought,” he told Pons in a high, reedy voice.