Clara and Daphne were enjoying a welcome cup of tea and slices of buttered toast when the Egyptian curator from the Louvre, Monsieur Professor Jacques Petit, arrived. ‘Daphne!’ he cried, as he shrugged off his wet mackintosh and hung it up. ‘Your man just told me what happened last night! Mon Dieu!’
Clara and Daphne swapped a knowing glance. They both knew that Daphne’s man, the exhibition assistant, would not have told the monsieur professor exactly what happened. As had been agreed last night with Danskin and his men, the presence of the artefacts was to remain a secret – for now. Even with the visiting academics. Daphne had explained to Clara that while Petit and the other Egyptologists were colleagues and, to some extent, friends, they were still rivals.
‘Getting a permit to dig in Egypt these days is like finding hen’s teeth, and there’s a growing rivalry between the world’s leading museums and archaeological societies to make sure they get the nod. If it’s suspected the English have been smuggling out unauthorised artefacts – or if the artefacts themselves come from a rogue dig – that will be a mark against us in the application process. The other countries will be only too willing to point it out. So, for now, we will say that Pilkerton was found after hours in the museum, attempting to break into the existing cabinets. We will say he escaped without taking anything with him – although we don’t know that for sure. That way it is not a theft that needs to be reported. I will, however, have to mention the mummy as I think that my esteemed colleagues might have their suspicions about that. And if they didn’t last night, they certainly will in the light of day when they’ve had a chance to examine it properly. But we must not mention our suspicions about a recent death, Clara. And I will not let them forensically examine her. I will tell them that it looks like the British Museum just sent the wrong mummy up and that I will be returning with her and will collect Amentukah as had been arranged in the first place.’
‘Will they buy it?’ asked Clara.
‘I think so,’ said Daphne. ‘For them, the mummy is just window dressing. There’s nothing of new scientific or archaeological interest. They know that it was just here to attract the public to the exhibition. Their real interest is your uncle’s collection. The pottery, the stelae and papyri. That’s what they’ve come for. And I’ll let them loose on that. It should keep them busy. And hopefully you and I can deal with the rest of it while they’re looking elsewhere.’
‘I hope it works,’ said Clara.
‘So do I,’ said Daphne.
As Petit accepted a cup of tea and took a seat with the women, it seemed, for now, that he’d accepted the story he’d been given.
‘So do you think this Pilkerton is an imposter?’ he asked.
‘I think he might be, but I will make proper enquiries when I get to London on Monday,’ said Daphne.
‘Or perhaps just an improperly vetted new employee,’ offered Petit. ‘Mortimer’s department has never been that careful who they appoint. There have been some disasters in the past! Unqualified, unscientific, political appointments, or just an aristocrat’s son with his papa’s money to open doors for him.’
‘Not that the Louvre would ever be guilty of that,’ countered Daphne, with a sardonic raise of her brow.
‘Touché, Daphne, touché,’ replied Petit, then took another sip of tea. The Frenchman crossed his legs and continued. ‘But why was he sent up with the sarcophagus? As you said last night, Farnsworth would have been the obvious choice. And I was looking forward to comparing notes with him on some of Bob Wallace’s pieces.’
‘Perhaps they couldn’t spare him,’ said Daphne. ‘They do have that big exhibition coming up, so perhaps it was all hands on deck. And that’s how the mix-up with the mummies took place. It might simply have been a matter of the wrong paperwork.’
‘That is true. And not the first time they’ve mixed things up. But surely they would have told you Farnsworth wasn’t coming, even if they hadn’t realised they’d sent a different mummy from expected. Not to mention a different mummy in the wrong sarcophagus! Someone needs to sort things out in London. Frankly, Daphne, I would be embarrassed if I were them. I mean, at the Louvre …’
Daphne interrupted before the Frenchman could continue with his one-upmanship. ‘Yes, it does seem a little chaotic. They could at least have sent a telegram to tell us to expect someone other than Farnsworth.’
‘But you haven’t actually managed to speak to someone there yet, have you?’ asked Clara.
‘No, I haven’t.’
‘So, we don’t even know if they know that the wrong man came.’
Clara nodded. ‘We have to consider that a distinct possibility. I mean, no one last night appeared to know him. Surely, even if he wasn’t in a senior position at the British Museum, you would have at least heard his name. From what I’ve gathered by going through my uncle’s papers, Egyptology is quite a small fraternity. And none of you had even heard of him?’
By this time the Americans, Dr Jonathan Davies and his assistant Miss Jennifer Philpott, had joined them in Dr Coleman’s small office.
‘That’s right, Miss Vale, not one of us knew him,’ said Davies, shrugging out of his coat. ‘And now we hear he’s tried to steal something from the Hancock! Did he get anything, Daphne?’
‘We don’t think so,’ said Daphne without a note of evasion.
She was a good actress, thought Clara. However, something didn’t add up and it had been niggling at the edge of her consciousness. Clara understood that they didn’t want word of the smuggled artefacts to get out, but Bob’s collection had not been smuggled. He had documentation and permits for all of it. She had found it all at home and donated it to the museum, where it would be carefully checked and tallied to ensure all was above board. Had Pilkerton wanted to find something in Bob’s collection?
It was also bothering her that Pilkerton (whether or not he was an imposter) had travelled up to Newcastle – seemingly knowing there were jewels in the sarcophagus – but had not taken them when on the train. But why not? If that had been his goal, to steal the jewels, why hadn’t he done it earlier? Why did he need to come all the way to Newcastle and to wait for everyone to go home after the exhibition to steal what he could have taken any time before they arrived at the museum. Perhaps, thought Clara, Daphne’s story of him trying to steal something from the existing collection might not have been so far-fetched after all. Perhaps he needed to get into the museum, because what he wanted had been here all along …
‘Monsieur Petit,’ she offered.
‘Yes, mademoiselle?’
‘You said that my uncle’s collection was of archaeological significance?’
‘It is indeed,’ replied the Frenchman. ‘Which is why I and my American colleagues here – and the gentlemen from Germany – have come all this way. It’s not something the general public would get excited about, but we, of the academy, place value elsewhere.’
Clara nodded. ‘Yes, that’s what Dr Coleman told me too. So, would any of the items in the collection have monetary value? Not to the general public, but to other Egyptologists?’
Petit and the Americans looked at each other and nodded. ‘Yes,’ said Dr Davies, ‘I think you could say that. It wouldn’t make it onto the front page of the New York Times, ma’am, but it sure would make a stir in our dusty old circles.’
‘Are you suggesting this Pilkerton was trying to steal something from your uncle’s collection, Miss Vale?’ asked Miss Philpott.
‘It’s just a theory. There’s been quite a hullaballoo here since the break-in last night. And,’ she gave a knowing look to Daphne, ‘it seems that nothing has been taken, but we don’t know for sure. Would you educated gentlemen and lady be willing to go through the collection and check it against the inventory to see if anything is missing? Or perhaps, if there might be something of particular value that Pilkerton didn’t manage to find, but might have been searching for? In other words, what, in your informed opinion, might a rogue Egyptologist – or someone representing one – want to steal?’
The scholars looked at one another and nodded. ‘I think that’s a very wise approach, Miss Vale,’ said Petit. ‘It looks like you have inherited your uncle’s sleuthing abilities.’
‘What’s this about sleuthing abilities?’ asked Herr Dr Heinrich Stein as he entered the office, followed by his assistant Herr Werner. ‘We’ll tell you on the way to the gallery,’ said Davies, slapping the German on the back. ‘Miss Vale needs our expert help!’
As the party of Egyptologists headed off on their investigations Daphne spoke quietly at Clara’s shoulder. ‘A stroke of genius, Clara, an excellent distraction! That will keep them off the scent of the real theft and give us time to do some investigations of our own.’
Clara turned to the museum curator. ‘A distraction, yes, and it will keep them busy. But I’m not sure the jewelled artefacts were the real focus of Pilkerton’s efforts after all. Perhaps it is they that are the distraction here?’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Daphne, adjusting her spectacles.
Clara tapped her finger to her lips. ‘It’s just a hunch, but I wonder if Pilkerton actually was after something in my uncle’s collection. Instead of – or in addition to – the jewels. Let’s see what the scholars come up with.’
Daphne nodded. ‘Yes, let’s see. There really seem to be mysteries upon mysteries here. The jewelled artefacts, something possibly in your uncle’s collection and, of course, let’s not forget our poor mummy. Who is she? When did she die? How did she die? Why did someone mummify her? And why was she in that sarcophagus?’
Clara nodded thoughtfully. ‘And just as important, who put her there?’
‘Indeed,’ said Daphne. And then she looked at her watch. ‘It’s nine o’clock, Clara. Time to send that telegram to London.’