Chapter 12

It was late afternoon, and Clara and Daphne were having tea in Daphne’s borrowed office on the University College campus. Clara, having missed lunch, was famished, so she tucked into the toasted crumpets and strawberry jam with relish. It had been a long morning and afternoon interviewing museum staff about their knowledge of the Amentukah mummy and what, if anything, Dr James Farnsworth had said to them before heading up to Newcastle. As to the former, half a dozen staff members claimed to have seen the correct mummy in the correct sarcophagus leaving with Farnsworth on the morning of 7th February; as to the latter, the academic was described variously as being in ‘good spirit’, ‘looking forward to his trip’ or ‘in good fettle’. Clara would have liked to have spoken to the man’s housekeeper – he wasn’t married, apparently – but was not able to do so before the police arrived.

The police, in the form of the rotund and, by all accounts, notoriously grumpy Detective Chief Inspector Jasper Martin of Scotland Yard, arrived around noon. Dr Mortimer had worked with DCI Martin before, in a case involving the death mask of Queen Nefertiti and a series of murders. That notorious case, which Clara remembered reading about when she was an undergraduate at Oxford, had been solved by the indomitable lady detective, Poppy Denby. However, according to Dr Mortimer, DCI Martin was not fond of private detectives, particularly lady detectives, and Clara was advised to keep a low profile while the Detective Chief Inspector was around. Clara took the advice and just introduced herself as a family member of one of the Hancock Museum’s patrons, and that she’d accompanied Dr Coleman to London out of curiosity.

Martin’s eyes narrowed when Daphne told him the sarcophagus had been on loan as part of the Robert Wallace Collection exhibition, and Clara wondered if the DCI recognised the name as that of a private detective. If he did, he didn’t mention it. But Clara felt it best that she stayed out of his way. So she listened as Daphne told him what had happened when they opened the sarcophagus and found the wrong mummy inside, noting that the Egyptologist failed to mention the jewelled artefacts under the body. She also noted that Daphne omitted her involvement in the account of how they discovered that the mummy was fairly recently deceased, how they’d determined the age and gender of the victim, as well as the probable cause of death. But most importantly, how she failed to mention the crescent-shaped brooch which now lay on the occasional table in Daphne’s rooms as she and Clara ate their toasted crumpets.

‘I hope you understand, Clara, that I didn’t mention your help in the investigation in order to keep Martin’s attention away from you,’ said Daphne, as she finished her tea and lit a cigarette. Clara declined to have one.

‘Yes, I understand,’ said Clara, tucking her stocking feet under her on the overstuffed, threadbare sofa. ‘He doesn’t like private detectives, and so you didn’t want to antagonise him. But won’t that make him even more angry when he finds out who I really am? He’s no fool, I can tell that already. And it won’t be long until someone lets the cat out of the bag. I don’t think that young student will keep his mouth shut for long. And as for Jack Danskin …’

Daphne nodded and exhaled, the smoke settling around her. ‘Yes, that’s why I didn’t mention the brooch in front of Giles and the lad. I don’t know the youngster and I don’t know if he can be trusted. I can trust Giles, I know that; however, he would have been compelled to disclose anything we found in the autopsy. That’s why I asked him to leave before I showed you the brooch. I’ll talk to him privately later and explain everything. He’ll understand. DCI Martin, on the other hand, will not. You’re right to say he’ll be angry. And he’ll be even more angry when he finds out I didn’t hand over this key piece of evidence.’ She picked up the brooch and weighed it in the palm of her hand. ‘But I’ll deal with that when the time comes. The important thing is you need to get away before he finds out.’

Clara was startled. ‘Get away? Where on earth to?’

‘To Egypt, of course!’

Clara clattered her teacup onto the mismatched saucer. ‘I’m going where?’

Daphne laughed. ‘To Egypt! The Egyptian University in Cairo, to be precise.’

Clara put down her cup and saucer and leaned forward. ‘Tell me more.’

Daphne smiled. ‘I knew you’d be up for it. You see, I’ve seen this brooch before. In 1928, your uncle and I were in Cairo. He’d recently come back from a dig in Amarna, after his stint in Mesopotamia. He’d returned early because some chap there had malaria – or somesuch – and was very poorly and your uncle brought him back to Cairo for better medical attention. I was staying at Shepheard’s Hotel at the same time. I was en route to Saqqara, but I digress … Your uncle had received an invitation to a reception in the Department of Archaeology at the University and asked if I would accompany him. So I did. At the reception I was introduced to some young women who had recently been admitted to study there. They were the first women to do so. There were seventeen of them, in various faculties; three in the Department of Archaeology and Antiquities. And they all wore these little brooches. They had been given them to mark their entry to the university.’

She tossed the brooch in her hand. Clara reached over and took it from her.

‘How intriguing! So these brooches were only given to those seventeen female students? No one else?’

Daphne nodded. ‘That’s what I was told. So, considering our young victim, our Renpit, is the correct age and sex, and wore this brooch, I’m hazarding a guess that she might be one of those students.’

Clara held the brooch up to the late-afternoon sun coming through the small study window. ‘I think that’s a very good guess. But it is only a guess.’

Daphne shrugged. ‘Of course. You’d need to follow it up. But there is another reason I’d like you to go to Cairo. And that’s to deliver the artefacts we found in the sarcophagus to the Department of Archaeology at the Egyptian University, and hopefully find out where they came from and how they are connected to the death of that poor girl.’

Clara pursed her lips. ‘Hmmm,’ she said, weighing the brooch in her hand. ‘But isn’t that something DCI Martin and Scotland Yard could do? They will have links to the police in Cairo.’

Daphne gave a wry twist of her mouth. ‘They could, and they no doubt will, but they will also confiscate the artefacts as part of their investigation. And who knows how long it will be until they release them. And if they do, it will be to the British Museum. The Egyptians will not be happy. I already told you that relations with the government Department of Antiquities in Cairo are already very tense. If more priceless Egyptian artefacts end up in the British Museum instead of the Egyptian Museum, it will make it very difficult to convince them to grant digging concessions to us in future. So, I think these should be returned, before they get confiscated.’

Clara nodded her understanding. ‘I assume you’ll be coming with me?’

Daphne let out a long sigh. ‘I’d love to, Clara, but my lumbago really is causing me problems – and I don’t want to slow you down. Besides, I think it will be better if I stay here to keep DCI Martin off your trail or at least to give you a head start. And I will give you the name of someone who will help you in Cairo. Who can show you around. However, I don’t think you should travel alone. It would be best for you to have a companion. Someone you can trust. And I think we both know just the person.’

‘Bella? Is that you? It’s Miss Vale. How did the trip to York go?’

‘Eeee, Miss Vale, I was just about to ring you.’

‘Glad I caught you then. I’m not at my parents’ house, I’m with Dr Coleman. So, tell me about York.’

Clara could hear Bella settling down in the office and imagined her leaning back in her chair. ‘Well, I got down there as quick as I could this morning. No bother getting a ticket. After we spoke yesterday I went to the newspaper office and asked to see the photographs of the reception at the Hancock. And bold as brass, there was the Pilkerton fella, standing with a glass of champagne, talking to a couple of those foreign scholars. The Frenchman and one of the Germans, I think. I got meself a print and took it with me this morning.’

‘Good work!’ said Clara. ‘I assume you showed it around?’

‘Aye, I did. And you were right, miss, he did get on the train in York. And he did have a large crate with him. I managed to get a look at the freight register and it was down as ‘medical equipment’. Here’s the thing though, miss, it wasn’t under Pilkerton’s name.’

‘Oh? Who was it? Farnsworth?’

‘No, miss. It said George Herbert.’

‘George Herbert? Are you sure?’ Clara was startled.

‘Aye, miss, that’s what it said. But the bloke in the freight office identified Pilkerton as him – the man in the photograph. Have you heard the name before, miss? You sound surprised.’

Clara nodded and gestured for Daphne to listen in to the conversation. ‘I certainly have,’ she said. ‘If my memory serves me, and I’m sure Dr Coleman will tell me if I’m incorrect, but George Herbert is the proper name of Lord Carnarvon, the man who financed the excavation of the tomb of Tutankhamun. Is that correct, Dr Coleman?’

Daphne nodded. ‘It certainly is.’

‘So the man who put the crate on the train and came to the Hancock with the mummy is Lord Carnarvon?’ asked Bella, astounded.

Clara laughed. ‘No, no. That’s impossible. Lord Carnarvon died some years ago.’

‘Ninety twenty-three,’ interjected Daphne. ‘Blood poisoning after a mosquito bite. Gave rise to the myth of the curse of the pharaoh’s tomb.’

Clara relayed this information to Bella who gasped in excitement at the mention of a curse.

‘So,’ continued Clara, ‘we can assume that Pilkerton, or whatever his real name is, was using an alias. It’s a bit ham-handed, but he probably thought it was funny – the connection with Egyptian mummies and all. However, when he signed the crate off the train in Newcastle, it was as Farnsworth. And as we know, it was not the crate he got on with at York. So the York crate must have stayed on – all the way to Edinburgh – and Farnsworth probably did too. I’m still wondering if Farnsworth and Pilkerton were in cahoots.’

Daphne looked aggrieved – she’d already defended Farnsworth’s honour once. But Clara could not yet discount the possibility that the Egyptologist had been in on it all along. Clara gave her an apologetic shrug. She’d talk to her about it later. She turned her attention back to the telephone.

‘Do you want me to go to Edinburgh, miss?’ asked Bella, in a voice suggesting she’d book her ticket immediately.

‘Ordinarily, I would, Bella. However, I have something else for you to do – and somewhere else for you to go.’

‘Where’s that, miss?’

‘Well, Bella,’ said Clara, smiling at Daphne, ‘how would you feel about going to Egypt with me?’

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line, and then: ‘Egypt? You’re pulling me leg, miss, surely.’

‘I’m not, Bella, I swear. I need to go to Egypt. Dr Coleman has asked me to go. And I’d like you to come with me. Will you?’

Bella’s answer came in one long, loud, excited shriek. Followed by: ‘Eeee, miss, me mam’ll never believe it!’