After sending three telegrams to London – one to Dr Giles Mortimer’s home address, one to the British Museum and one to the university – Daphne accompanied Clara back to the offices of Vale Investigations. She held a briefcase close to her chest.
‘Thank you for agreeing to this, Clara. I think these will be safer here. If Pilkerton is still after the jewels he might come back to the museum. I don’t expect he’d get in – now that Mr Danskin has put on extra guards – but if he does, he won’t find these.’ Daphne opened the briefcase and took out a parcel wrapped in cloth. She unfurled it and laid the Egyptian necklace, diadem and bracelet on Clara’s desk. They were made of gold, turquoise and onyx and shared a similar design with a falcon as their centrepiece. They were clearly part of a set.
‘They really are quite beautiful,’ said Clara. ‘Do you know anything about them? Not these specifically – you said so last night – but these types of jewels. You said you’d seen similar ones in Egypt. Whom might they have belonged to?’
‘Well,’ said Daphne, fingering the jewels, ‘all Egyptians loved their jewellery! Even the poor people – men, women and children – would adorn themselves with necklaces, bracelets and anklets. But something of this quality would have been worn by a member of the nobility. Possibly even a pharaoh – male or female. The nobles were buried with their jewels as they were thought to ward off evil spirits. So this is likely to have come from an excavated tomb. I said I haven’t seen these before – and I haven’t – but they are very similar to ones I have seen from the tomb of Queen Ahhotep, who died around 1530 BC. Her tomb was discovered in Thebes by August Mariette in 1859. Before my time – I made my debut in Egypt in ’95 – but we had all heard about it. Some of the loot made its way to Paris, so Monsieur Petit ought not to be so self-righteous, but most of it was kept in Egypt. I have never seen anything quite like this at the Louvre, so my guess would be that if it does come from a museum, it will be Cairo. I know someone there whom I will confidentially contact to ask if there might have been a theft that they have not gone public about. It would be a scandal if it got out. Or perhaps this isn’t from a museum and is a new find. Or an old find that was never declared … there are so many possibilities. But for now, Clara, can we photograph them and keep them in your safe?’
‘Of course,’ said Clara. She took out her camera and attached a flashbulb. She grouped the three pieces together and took the shot. ‘I’ll develop these at home. I have a small developing studio there,’ she said. Then, with the smell of burning magnesium in the air, she opened a cloakroom cupboard. Inside was a safe, which she unlocked, and in which she placed the wrapped jewellery right at the back. While she was there she quietly took out her revolver – a .320 Webley Bulldog – and slipped it, with some bullets, into her jacket pocket. If Pilkerton attacked the guard last night, who knew how far he was prepared to go? And if the poor girl in the sarcophagus had been murdered … Well, best be safe, she thought. However, she did not want to worry Daphne, and did not reveal the weapon as she withdrew from the cupboard.
As she closed and locked the door, Bella entered the office, her round face flushed from the cold. ‘Miss Vale! Oh, and hello, Dr Coleman. We met last night. I’m Miss Cuddy.’
‘I remember very well,’ said Dr Coleman standing and shaking Bella’s hand. ‘You were dressed as Pharaoh’s daughter who rescued baby Moses!’
Bella laughed. ‘Aye, I had the basket but forgot the bairn at home!’
Daphne chuckled. ‘I believe Clara has told you all about the case?’
‘Oh, aye she has, and I’ve got something to report too. Let me just get out of me things first. And I’ll have a cuppa, if you ladies don’t mind. It’s perishing out there.’
Five minutes later, all three women had fresh cups of tea, and, after first hearing about the autopsy and being suitably shocked at the revelation that the death had been recent, Bella told them her news.
‘Well, I went to the station as you suggested, Miss Vale, and talked to the cab drivers. I described the fella to them – big bloke, boxer’s nose, Yorkshire accent – and his time of arrival at the station. They remembered him. Took him to the Grand, here on Percy Street. So I high-tailed it back up the hill and went into the Grand. I asked if a Dr Rupert Pilkerton was in residence – and they said no.’
‘Oh,’ said Clara, ‘the cab driver sent you to the wrong place?’
Bella shook her head. ‘No, miss, it was the right place. I described Pilkerton to the receptionist and they said, “Oh! You mean Mr Farnsworth!”’
‘Farnsworth!’ exclaimed Daphne. ‘But that’s not James Farnsworth! I’ve known the man twenty years! He’s short and slight. Looks nothing like this … this … oh dear God, I think we have an imposter! And what’s happened to poor James?’
Clara gave Daphne a sympathetic pat on the shoulder then pursed her lips and turned her attention back to Bella. ‘Hmmm, so he actually checked in as James Farnsworth? I assume because the reservation was made under that name. Sorry to bother you again, Bella, but would you mind going back to the station to check if a James Farnsworth travelled here on the Scotsman yesterday? He would have had to have signed a release form to accept the sarcophagus out of freight. Or whether it was signed out by Dr Rupert Pilkerton.’
Bella gave an affected sigh, took a sip of tea and in a hoity toity voice said: ‘Already done, Miss Vale.’ Then she grinned. ‘That’s exactly what I thought – did he arrive as Pilkerton or Farnsworth? Are they one man or two? So back down the hill it was with me – I’ll have the calves of a cart horse at this rate – and I checked at the ticket office. James Farnsworth had indeed signed the receipt for the sarcophagus and supervised it being loaded on the lorry for the museum. But here’s the thing, I asked them to describe him. And he wasn’t short and slight. Far from it. Big fella, they said. Yorkshire accent. With a boxer’s nose? I asked. Aye, they said, like he’d done ten rounds with Roland Todd!’
‘The blighter!’ declared Daphne, still fuming.
Clara sat back and tapped her finger to her lips, mulling it all over. Eventually she said: ‘So this Pilkerton – if that’s his real name – came here on a ticket bought for or by James Farnsworth. And used a hotel reservation in Farnsworth’s name. But at the museum he knew he wouldn’t be able to pass for Farnsworth so came up with the story that he’d been sent in Farnsworth’s place. But there’s still a chance he was sent in Farnsworth’s place, and just used his reservations. We’ll have to wait for your contact at the British Museum to confirm that, Daphne.’
‘Oh, it’s so frustrating that this has all happened on a Saturday!’ said Daphne. ‘Hard to get hold of anyone.’
‘Perhaps that was the plan,’ said Clara. ‘Let’s face it, Pilkerton has not done very much to cover his tracks here. Perhaps he didn’t think it would matter. That he’d be in and out of the museum and off with whatever it is he’d come to get – and no one would realise it was him. So no one would be probing his story. I expect, if the guard hadn’t caught him, he might have arrived the next morning and pretended to have been just as shocked as everyone else when the robbery was discovered.’
And then she slapped her forehead. ‘Oh how silly of me! I forgot to ask. Bella, has Pilkerton/Farnsworth checked out of the hotel?’
Bella shook her head. ‘No. But he didn’t come back last night. He hadn’t arrived by the time I got there at around eight o’clock. I’ve asked them to give us a ring here, Miss Vale, if he does. Now, I hope you don’t mind, but I used my noggin’ and drawn on what you call our “discretionary budget”. I didn’t want them telling him we’re onto him. So I slicked the palms.’
Clara nodded her understanding. ‘That’s perfectly all right, Bella. Our “discretionary budget”,’ she told Daphne, ‘is what we use when we pay someone for information we couldn’t get otherwise. And also to assure their discretion. Hence the name has a double meaning.’
Daphne nodded, then said wryly, ‘I expect you’ll be putting it on the museum’s bill?’
‘I will,’ said Clara, ‘but don’t worry. As this is something involving my uncle’s collection, my charges will be very modest. Just expenses. I won’t be charging for my time.’
‘That is most kind of you,’ said Daphne. ‘The museum board will be relieved. So, what do we do now?’
Clara looked at her watch then at the telephone. ‘I’m afraid all we can do now is wait.’