It was as if he'd stuck a straight pin directly into Weems. The First Assistant Curator unpuffed rather quickly. "It's only my second day on the job, sir," he rushed to add, clearly wanting to distance himself from any wrongdoing on the museum's part. "Let me go get the Head Curator." And before Turnbull could say another word, he headed over to Father and Mother.
The inspector followed closely on his heels. As unobtrusively as possible, I trailed after them. When they reached my parents, Turnbull pulled a small notebook from his jacket pocket along with a little pencil stub. He thumbed through the notebook pages and scowled. "Just came from the British Museum. A Lord Snowthorpe gave me a list of the missing mummies. Seems they were out forty-seven of them."
"Showoffs," Father muttered.
Turnbull gave Father a steely look. "How many mummies do you normally display in your foyer?"
"None! The foyer's no place for a display."
"Then it looks to me like those are the missing ones. How d'you explain that, Mr. Throckmorton?"
And of course, Father couldn't. None of us could. However, if they would only give me a chance, I could prove that Father wasn't a thief. I opened my mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by a second commotion at the door. "I say, let me in, you nitwit!" Lord Chudleigh's impatient voice rang through the foyer. "I'm on the museum's board, for gad's sake!"
Properly quelled, the constable let him through.
"I've come to check on our mummies, Throckmorton! How did we fare—I say, what are all these doing here?" He peered more closely at the bandaged forms against the wall. "What's my mummy doing here?"
"That's what we're trying to find out, sir," Inspector Turnbull said reassuringly.
I studied Chudleigh briefly, trying to determine if his bluster and outrage were an act. If so, it was a very good one. He would bear watching.
Thinking this had gone on long enough, I stepped forward, drawing everyone's attention. "That's what I've been trying to tell you. Some of those are our mummies. We don't keep them in the foyer. If you search the museum, I imagine you'll find that all the ones from our exhibits have been moved down here with the others. Clearly, if Father was to steal mummies, he wouldn't steal his own! I think you'll find that someone was going to steal all of them and was just keeping them in one place till he got back with a lorry or something, and then he was going to haul them all off."
A hushed silence fell over the room as everyone turned to count the mummies. "She's right," Father said. (I do wish he wouldn't sound so surprised.) "There's the forty-seven from the British Museum, Lord Chudleigh's, and the eighteen others that have gone missing from private collections. That leaves thirteen more, exactly the number we had on display."
"Biggs!" Inspector Turnbull barked out.
"Yes sir?" The constable in charge hurried over.
"You said there was a night watchman. Fetch him."
"Of course, sir." The constable disappeared down the hallway while the rest of us waited in silence. Or tried to, anyway.
"Hsst!"
I whirled around, wondering what on earth could be making that sound.
"Hsst!" came again, only this time I detected it was coming from behind one of the marble pillars. Glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one was paying any attention to me, I sidled toward the column—cautiously, mind you, as I had no idea who (or what) was hissing at me.
As I drew closer, a hand snaked out and grabbed me. The grimy hand sported an even grimier fingerless glove, but I bit back my surprised scream as I recognized the blue eyes dancing above a dirty button nose.
Sticky Will.
CHAPTER SIX
That's the Way the Mummy Tumbles
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" I hissed back at him. Instead of answering, Sticky Will pulled me behind the pillar, out of view of the others.
With one last glance toward the foyer, he tugged his cap. "Ol' Wiggy sent me."
"You mean Lord Wigmere?"
"Aye. 'E wonts to talk to you." He grabbed my arm again and began pulling me down the south hallway.
"You don't have to drag me! I would like to see Wigmere as much as he'd like to see me, you know."
Will dropped my arm. "Right, then. This way. 'E's waiting just outside."
When we reached the east entrance, my heart jerked against my ribs. It was unlocked. Was this how the mummies had gotten in?
Will saw me eyeing the lock. "Couldn't come in the front, miss. Not with all them coppers in there," he added apologetically.
"You picked the lock?"
Will shuffled his feet and had the grace to blush a little. "Aye."
I leaned closer to him and lowered my voice. "Could you teach me how to do that?"
Will drew back in surprise. "Ye mean ye aren't mad at me?"
"Goodness, no! As you said, Wigmere and I must talk. And you were on official business." My head reeled with the potential forbidden knowledge I'd have access to if I could pick locks.
"Come on, miss. We shouldn't keep him waiting too long."
"Right. But you will teach me? About the locks, I mean?"
"Sure. Now come on."
The air was cold and brisk, and since it was still early yet, there was little traffic out on the street. A tall, rather greasy-looking man in a tattered undertaker's coat and battered top hat was buying a pie from a pie seller's cart. Farther down, an urchin loitered in a doorway. But other than that, no one was about, which was perfect.
The Brotherhood's carriage lurked on the far side of the street, it's hulking form a deep, shiny black unmarked by any crest or insignia. I glanced once more around me, then hurried across to the carriage. When we reached it, Will rapped smartly on the door, then opened it.
The head of the Brotherhood of the Chosen Keepers sat back against the cushion, his hands resting on his cane. The lines on his face seemed deeper this morning, and his eyes were serious. Here was someone who was very good at taking charge and knew just what to do about predicaments. "Good morning, sir."
"Good morning, Theodosia," he said, motioning me inside. As I clambered up into the carriage and settled onto the plush velvet seat, he said to Will, "Keep an eye out. If anyone from the museum or police shows up, give two quick raps, then a hard knock."
Wigmere turned his attention fully to me. "We received some news last night that I thought you ought to know. Plus, with this morning's unpleasantness all over the newspapers, it seemed a visit was in order."
"oh, thank you, sir! This morning has been a bit dicey. Do you know who piled all those mummies up in our foyer?"
"Well, no. Not exactly. But we do have confirmation that the Serpents of Chaos are back in London, just as we feared. In fact, I'd lay odds that someone from the Serpents of Chaos has had contact with Chudleigh and even planted the idea for a mummy unwrapping in his thick head—in order to ensure Tetley was discovered." He still looked disgusted at the spectacle we'd been forced to witness.
"You mean to let us know we haven't seen the last of them?"
Wigmere's solemn blue eyes met mine. "Yes. To let us know we may have won the first battle, but not the war. As a warning to show us what happens to those who displease them."
I gulped. The truth was, I displeased them very much. "I had so hoped that was the end of them." In fact, one of my favorite daydreams was imagining von Braggenschnott still stuck fast to the wall in Thutmose III's tomb, yelling for help for the past three months, even though I knew it wasn't very realistic.
"With Tetley's body showing up so publicly two nights ago, I can't help but feel the Serpents of Chaos must have something to do with this morning's mummy situation. It's too great a coincidence, although I can't quite figure out what their game is. Not yet."