"I am sorry this matter got to the press, gentlemen. I can only urge absolute discretion."
"Naturally," said Solar Pons, somewhat curtly. "How did this business become public?"
The curator exchanged a glance with Heathfield.
"I thought you knew, Mr. Pons. This impudent rascal sent a copy of his letter to all the leading London journals. My telephone has never stopped ringing until this morning. There are still a number of journalists and photographers in the building."
Solar Pons pursed his lips. He glanced across at the Scotland Yard man who sat morosely furrowing his brow.
"That is your department, Superintendent. We cannot have any more out-of-the-way publicity until we have brought this business to a successful conclusion."
"That will be difficult, Mr. Pons," said Colonel Loder. "What if this man writes to them again?"
"That we cannot prevent, of course," said Solar Pons. "But my main efforts and those of Superintendent Heathfield, I am sure, will be directed toward the prevention of this planned crime and the apprehension of the criminal."
"Certainly, certainly," said Loder in a placatory voice and held up his hand as if he would prevent the superintendent from speaking.
"Naturally, I will do whatever I can to assist and my staff will back you to the limit. In addition all of you will have written carte blanche to go anywhere you wish on the museum premises and within the grounds and will be free to come and go at any hour of the day and night. I have the necessary authority in front of me."
He nodded toward a small sheaf of typewritten documents with pieces of white pasteboard attached, which stood in the middle of his desk. Solar Pons had a faint smile on his lips.
"You were certain I would accept the Superintendent's invitation, then, Colonel?"
The curator inclined his head.
"Naturally, Mr. Pons. And now, if you will follow me, my assistant is waiting to show you the main galleries and, more specifically, that containing the Baku idols."
Outside the curator's office a tall, spare man with" a black moustache, dressed in a neat gray uniform with a peaked cap, was waiting for us. He saluted Colonel Loder and smiled at Heathfield as though he were an old friend.
"This is Cornish, my assistant. Mr. Solar Pons and Dr. Lyndon Parker, who have come to give us their valuable assistance."
The hand was at the peaked cap again.
"Delighted, gentlemen. Would you prefer to lead or shall I, sir?"
This last sentence was addressed to Loder, who smiled affably and said, "No, lead on, by all means."
The tall attendant glided on down the corridor and led us through a series of huge galleries, lit indirectly from above, in which objets d'art, in all colors of the rainbow, glinted beneath the shelter of the large plate-glass cases in which they were set. Persian rugs adorned the walls and the clear light shone on the pellucid glaze of Ming, Tang and other dynasties represented in the priceless vases and ceramics so casually set about as though the supply were inexhaustible. In another gallery Benin bronzes vied with the sea-green shimmer of jade while squat and ugly idols frowned down from every niche and corner.
The museum rooms were packed with visitors of many countries and I looked at Pons worriedly. He had a somber expression on his face and it was obvious his thoughts were moving on my own lines. The great difficulty of guarding and protecting such treasures when the man who threatened them might even now be standing in front of them in the guise of that benevolent curate, the tall, bearded Indian gentleman, or the broad-chested, ascetic-looking man in the Harris tweed jacket.
Loder pursed up his lips as though he had been party to my train of thought and shrugged expressively.
"You see what we are up against, Mr. Pons?"
"Indeed. We must just make sure our own strategy is sharper and better thought-out than that of our enemy."
Pons said nothing more until we came to the gallery we sought, a chamber smaller and more intimate than that of the others; lit by skylights and with delicate pastel colored walls. There were Assyrian friezes round the walls, a few rugs and some curiously striped shields but we had no eyes for them this afternoon. Cornish ignored the other glass cases in the room and led us to one which was set on a small dais in a corner.
Before he could open his mouth, however, Pons had his magnifying glass out; the room was empty of casual visitors for the moment, as a large party had just passed on, and there was only our small group clustered around the case. Pons paced restlessly across the dais, went round the walls, looked sharply up at the skylight and presently snapped his- glass shut and returned it to its little leather pouch.
He went over the case, running his sensitive fingers across a partly concealed gray wire which led down the mahogany fitting and disappeared through a tiny hole drilled in the floor. "Ahai"
He gave a sharp exclamation and we crowded round. Pons indicated where the wire had been expertly cut, just at the point where it entered the dais.
"The burglar alarm, is it not? I fancy it is useless for the moment."
"Good heavens, Mr. Pons!”
Colonel Loder and Cornish exchanged glances of dismay and Superintendent Heathfield bit his lip. Solar Pons stepped back, his eyes dancing over the misshapen gold idols that were set on small pedestals within the glass case.
"Do not distress yourselves, gentlemen. I expected no less. We are dealing with a high-class professional."
He glanced at Heathfield.
"You have noted the significance of this, Superintendent, of course?"
I saw the surprise and confusion in the Scotland Yard man's eyes.
"I am afraid you have taken me off guard, Mr. Pons."
"Just think about it," said Solar Pons enigmatically.
"We must get this seen to at once," said Cornish, a worried expression on his face.
"By all means," said Solar Pons languidly. "But it will do little good, I am afraid."
"Little good, Mr. Pons?"
Colonel Loder's features bore a mixed expression of bafflement and chagrin and I had to turn away briefly on pretext of examining the Baku idols which were, to tell the truth, rather ugly and worthless-looking objects. It was odd to realize that they were worth as much as 50,000 pounds, but then that applied to so many objects in the museum.
I raised my head as the tapping of a stick sounded along the gallery. A blind man, elegantly dressed, with a well trimmed beard was tapping his way along toward us. We waited until he had moved away. He went across to one of the large stone idols set into a niche and moved one delicate hand across its features, almost caressingly.
"Professor Sanders," whispered Colonel Loder softly to Pons.
"The man who carried out those brilliant Mesopotamian excavations?"
Loder nodded.
"The last thing of significance he achieved before his tragic accident. Now the poor fellow has to content himself with writing books for he can no longer carry out excavations in the field."
"Tragic indeed," said Pons sympathetically as the blind man moved confidently to the room entrance and then the tapping of his stick died out along the corridor.
We were moving out of the gallery now, back the way we had come.
"You said it was little good now, Mr. Pons? You were referring to the burglar alarm?"
"I am sorry, Colonel Loder. It was not my intention to cause alarm and despondency. I was merely thinking aloud. By all means have that case reconnected to the alarm system. It was just that I did not think the danger was coming from that quarter."