Wednesday 12th September 1928
Mena House Hotel
Giza, Egypt
Dear Charlie,
I am writing this to you in front of the most astonishing backdrop: the three pyramids of Giza. I have just come in from swimming in the outdoor pool and each time I surfaced to catch my breath I saw the pyramids. I think it must be one of the most wonderfully surreal experiences of my life. Now, I have of course seen the pyramids before, and been swimming, but never before have I done it together.
I have had the most wonderful few days. Next time I come, I do so hope to have you with me so you can share it all. But for now, I will share my words. As promised, that American pilot took me up in his aeroplane. He’s an interesting young man too. His name is Flight Lieutenant Larry Winter. Although a Yank, he joined the Royal Flying Corps in the Great War, before the Americans decided to help out. In fact, he has met my nephew Antony Vale, Clara’s brother, who was also in the RFC. Suffice to say they are chalk and cheese. You haven’t met Antony, but he’s a wastrel and a scoundrel. But I didn’t mention any of that to Larry.
We drove out to the aerodrome at Heliopolis and took off in his little plane. It was a DH 60 Moth, one of those new de Havilland biplanes. Larry said he wasn’t entirely happy with it and had his eye on buying a new one that was in development. Oh, to have that amount of money to spare! He’s the heir to an American business empire, apparently. Not sure in which field. Manufacturing or some such. His father was an immigrant from somewhere in Europe in the last century and made his fortune in the New World. Anyway, as always, I digress …
So up, up, up we went! And what an experience! Once I had got over the terror of being in a tin can with wings, and the extraordinary sensation of seeing how small the world looked below us, I began to relax and enjoy myself. As you know, I’m a keen photographer so was able to help Larry with that. He had a camera set up with a switch on a cable that he could press, so he was able to do it on his own, however, as he readily admitted, it was a shotgun approach and so he allowed me to take control of the camera myself. His current project is to create an aerial map of the excavation sites of Egypt and to see, if possible, if there are any telling outlines, only seen from the air, of sites we have not yet discovered. We flew over Giza, Saqqara and the area surrounding Memphis – I even caught a glimpse of the colossus of Rameses II! Incredible that I could see that from the air. It really does put a different perspective on things – literally, of course, but emotionally too.
Larry says he will be doing Luxor and the Valley of the Kings another day, and then beyond that. Unfortunately, I can’t accompany him. Unfortunately for him, I mean, but not you and I, Charlie. For I shall be home with you soon! And as enjoyable as my flight with Larry was, it cannot begin to compare with my flights of emotion with … well, I shan’t say, lest this letter be read. But you know exactly what I mean.
After my flight of fancy (such wit!) I packed my bags and decamped to Mena House. As I have already mentioned I have been swimming in the pool and relaxing as much as possible. But I have been out and about too. Like every good tourist, I have been on a camel ride around the pyramids. Oh, Charlie, they are such funny creatures! They are always accompanied by a handler, usually a Bedouin man wearing a long robe and a turban. Yes, just like in the pictures. But ‘handler’ I think is a misnomer. The camels tolerate their human keepers at best. They grunt, groan and complain at every little prod. They spit, too! Not to mention belching and other foul emissions. And God forbid you get in their way! I’ve heard stories of camel races here at Mena where one of the beasts has taken a chomp out of a rival jockey’s thigh! But the ones that meander around the pyramids are more laconic. And if you get on one, manage to endure the smell and the incessant flies, it is a charming experience. They sway from side to side, and it can be quite relaxing. They do leave one unpleasantly pungent, though, hence my swim in the pool.
It is almost time for dinner, so I need to dress. They’re dreadful snobs here at Mena, so it must be in full white tie and tails. However, before I primp myself like a peacock, I must just tell you about my trip to Saqqara. Now I shan’t bore you with descriptions of it all (although it is more interesting archaeologically than Giza, and far less traipsed upon by the tourists) but I want to mention that I bumped into the girl Maryam and her father. You know, the young lady whom I will be financing through her university degree? Well, as promised to Dr Rahman, I did not mention that I was the anonymous benefactor, but I did question her about her academic ambitions. She is a remarkable young woman. And as I think I mentioned before, reminds me of my dear Clara at a similar age.
She and her father had been taking a tour group around the Step Pyramid compound and I met up with them on their way home. Embarrassingly, it was under slightly awkward circumstances. I had a little stumble on some of the shale and went headfirst. I wasn’t hurt, but I did spill all the contents of my satchel. Mohammed and Maryam, after ensuring I was uninjured, very kindly helped me gather it all together. And then I walked with them a way. The tour guides and their families live in a village nearby. Some of them, like Mohammed, also work on digs. But with all of that work he still would struggle to send his daughter to university.
When I asked her how she had enjoyed the garden party she replied that she was so excited to be studying and that her father was very proud. I caught his eye, and he certainly did look proud. He didn’t mention anything about money. If he knew where it came from, he wasn’t saying. Maryam told me she is starting her first lectures next week. She wants, eventually, to work in the museum. Personally, I think she’ll go even further than that.
When we arrived at the village I was expecting them to invite me in for tea. However – and this is a little odd – Mohammed apologised that he could not host me as he had a client waiting for him – at his house – and he needed to head straight back out to work. Maryam looked embarrassed. And well she might. It would be considered quite disrespectful in their culture. She told her father she should walk me back. But Mohammed looked angry. I said not to worry, I could go back on my own. As I left, I heard him giving her a good telling off in Arabic. Poor girl.
And I thought that would be the end of it. However, the next day, I received a message from hotel reception. There was a small parcel for me. When I retrieved it, I opened it to find my excavation notebook and a note from Maryam. She said she had accidentally put the book in her pocket while trying to help me up after my fall. She then apologised again for not inviting me in for tea. Well, I was grateful. I hadn’t realised the book was lost! But that wasn’t the end of it. She said she hoped I didn’t mind, but she had read the notebook cover to cover the night before. And she had underlined the words ‘cover to cover’. She said there was something she would like to discuss with me, and hoped we could meet again. She said it was something she would prefer her father didn’t know about, but it would not be appropriate for us to meet alone. She said she would send word again when she could arrange a chaperone.
As of yet, she still hasn’t. And I am to leave tomorrow.
Well, my old sport, I hear the dinner gong. And I am not yet in my penguin suit. I shall post this off in the morning before I leave for the train station. It will be a race to see which of us gets to you first!
In anticipation,
Yours,
Bob
Clara folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. It was after sunset and there was a chill in the February air as she sat on her hotel balcony. She pulled her cardigan close around her shoulders and took a sip of hibiscus tea, then allowed the sadness she felt these days whenever she read Bob’s words to wash over her. Oh how she wished he were still alive!
After a few minutes of wandering the paths of grief she pulled herself back and considered the contents of the letter.
Whatever did Maryam want to see Bob about? she wondered. Clara was glad she had been to Saqqara earlier in the day so she could visualise the whole story as Bob told it. And she also had a clue as to who the ‘guest at the house’ might be. Without her excursion earlier in the day, she would have just brushed over that detail in the letter. She was all but convinced that it was Rupert Pilkerton, the man the family over the road knew as Yock. She flicked through the sheaf of letters and found the one where Bob had spoken about the last time he saw the man he knew as Reginald Yorke at Shepheard’s Hotel. It was dated 7th September. She scanned the letter until she came to the relevant paragraph about ‘the Scots chap’ leaving without paying his hotel bill. The previous letter was dated the fourth, so that meant Yorke the Scotsman (otherwise known as Pilkerton the Yorkshireman) did the runner on either the fifth or sixth. Bob’s last letter to Charlie, in which he mentioned the guest at Mohammed’s house, was 9th September. And the family had said he had stayed with the Hassans for three days and nights. So that fit.
She wondered where Mohammed and Yorke went each day. Mansoor and Sara had said ‘out into the desert’ but why there and for what purpose? She didn’t know enough about what was out there to make an educated guess, but she knew two people who did: Daphne and Abdul Rahman. And, now that she thought about it, Larry Winter might have an idea, too – at least from the air. Larry, she’d heard, was currently flying a couple of tourists to Jordan, but he’d said he would be back to meet the team from the Olympic who would arrive on Sunday. She could wait to speak to him then. And, of course, she would be seeing Dr Rahman tomorrow.
But who she really wished she could speak to was Daphne. And then she had an idea …
Ten minutes later she was in the side office at reception using their telephone and arranging for the operator to put through an international trunk call. It would cost a pretty penny but Clara was prepared to pay it.
‘Clara? Good heavens! What a lovely surprise! Can you hear me all right?’
‘As if you were in the next room, Daphne! It’s a good line.’
‘Marvellous! Is everything all right? Abdul sent a telegram to say he’d be calling on Saturday from the museum. I’m so glad you met him. Did you manage to give him the jewels?’
‘I did,’ said Clara and then went on to tell Daphne what he had said about them.
‘Good gracious! So they do belong to Queen Ahhotep!’
‘Yes, they do. But he’ll be able to tell you more about that tomorrow. There are a few other things I’d like to talk to you about first.’ Clara went on to tell Daphne that her suspicion was right, that the young victim was very likely one of the female students at the Egyptian University.
‘Her name was Maryam Hassan,’ said Clara. ‘And as it turns out, it was the girl my uncle was supporting financially.’
Daphne gasped. ‘Surely that’s not a coincidence!’
Clara nodded on her side of the line. ‘Yes, I agree. But I don’t yet know why. I still have a lot more investigating to do. Thank goodness I got here early.’
‘Indeed. How did you get there so soon? I thought the ship is only docking on Sunday.’
Clara quickly informed her how and why she abandoned ship in Madeira.
Daphne laughed. ‘Oh, I would have loved to have seen Jack Danskin’s face! You say that the board here sent him to follow you? Well, that will explain why they have summoned me for a meeting next week. There are strong hints I’ll be out of a job. They say they aren’t happy about how I have handled this whole affair.’
‘Oh, Daphne! I’m so sorry. Should I write to them? I am now one of their major donors. I might have some influence.’
Daphne sighed. ‘You might. But let’s see what they say at the meeting first.’ Then more cheerily, she added, ‘Come now, tell me what else has been going on.’
Clara gave Daphne a quick precis of her time on the ship, the break-in to her cabin, Bella’s search for Pilkerton on board and then her discovery that Pilkerton broke into the Hassan’s house earlier in the week – and is known in Egypt as Reginald Yorke. ‘So I’m thinking he could not have been on the ship at all. In fact, it seems likely he got here before I did!’
‘He must have got the train,’ said Daphne. ‘If you recall, I couldn’t get you booked on – it was full – but he might have got himself a ticket. If he’d left on Tuesday, the day you and I were X-raying the mummy at the British Museum, or even the day before, he could have got across to Calais then to Cairo via Istanbul. He could have made it in a week.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Clara. ‘No one actually saw him after that Friday night at the museum. He could have left any time after that and been way ahead of us. Oh, but hang on, that does not account for the break-in at my house on Monday night …’
‘That’s right,’ said Daphne. ‘We assumed it was Pilkerton, didn’t we? But even if it was him, he could still have got the train down on Tuesday and over to Calais and got to Cairo by the following Tuesday, which was when the family saw him at the Hassans’ house. Is that correct?’
‘It is,’ said Clara, ‘so it’s totally possible. However, that muddies the water a bit as to who it was who broke into my cabin. If I hadn’t had my revolver with me, who knows what might have happened!’
‘Quite,’ said Daphne, her voice fraught with worry. ‘I shudder at the thought, Clara. But if it wasn’t Pilkerton – aka Yorke – who was it?’
Clara pondered this for a moment and said: ‘There are a few potential suspects on the ship. There is also the question as to what he was looking for. I’m assuming it was the jewels. And that’s what the intruder was looking for at my house too. But might it have been something else? I don’t think Yorke would have been looking for jewels at the Hassans’ house, would he? If he knew they were in England.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Daphne, ‘it’s all a bit of a muddle.’
‘It is,’ agreed Clara, ‘but I think I’m making some progress.’ She looked at her watch and decided there wasn’t time to discuss Bob’s letters and the unusual behaviour of Mohammed Hassan. She would save that for her meeting with Dr Rahman tomorrow.
‘We don’t have much time left, Daphne. So can you tell me what’s been happening your end? Have Scotland Yard made any progress with the investigation?’
Daphne huffed. ‘Not as much as we’d like. They have taken the mummy – or should I say, Maryam’s body – to the police mortuary as a victim in a potential murder case. Giles Mortimer was furious and tried to stop them, but they went ahead and did it anyway. But they still haven’t found Farnsworth or Amentukah. However, they have found some evidence that Farnsworth was involved in thefts from the British Museum. They forced entry to his flat in London and found a stash of artefacts. They suspect he’s been pilfering for years and selling them on the black antiquities market. The police are following up on that angle and have brought in some shady dealers for questioning. I’m not sure how far they’ve got with that. Giles has been brought in as a consultant but he’s been sworn to secrecy and can’t tell me anything. I’m utterly shocked about Farnsworth, Clara. I have known him for over two decades. Just goes to show, you never can fully know someone, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, it does. I’m sorry for your disappointment, Daphne. But tell me, did they find anything linking him to the Ahhotep jewels?’
‘Not as far as I’m aware. But they do now know there were jewels in the sarcophagus. Jack Danskin told the Hancock Museum board. That Inspector Martin of Scotland Yard hauled me over the coals for that. He even threatened to arrest me!’
‘Good grief! How did you get out of that?’
‘I had to give a full statement under oath. So I’m afraid I had to tell them all I knew and that you have taken the jewels to Egypt. They’re sending someone to Cairo, Clara. And they’re going to be in touch with the Cairo police. I held out as long as I could, to give you a head start, but they know everything now. I’m sorry.’
Clara felt her stomach clench, but she attempted to play it lightly. ‘Not to worry, Daphne, the police would have to be brought into it sometime anyway. When did you make this statement?’
‘Yesterday morning. Then I got the train back home. So that still gives you about a week’s grace, Clara. They won’t get anyone from Scotland Yard over there until at least next Friday.’
‘True,’ said Clara. ‘But the Egyptian police are already here.’
‘Yes,’ said Daphne, ‘so I would expect a visit from them in the next few days. They’ll have sent a telegram at least.’
‘One more minute,’ the operator interrupted.
Clara wondered for a moment how much the woman had heard. She should have thought of that before being so forthright in her conversation. Walls have ears, her uncle had said. Well, it was too late now.
‘Goodbye, Daphne,’ said Clara. ‘Good luck for when Dr Rahman rings you. And I’ll send word if I learn anything more. I’ll do as much as I can before the police take over the case and shut me down.’
‘Goodbye, Clara. And good luck to you too. And please, do stay safe.’
And then the line went dead.