Clara arranged for tea and sandwiches to be brought to Bella’s room after Bella said she was feeling peckish. It was a good sign she was recovering from her tummy troubles. So, as Bella nibbled on a cucumber sandwich – she’d wisely chosen to give the egg and cress a miss – she apprised Clara of her further investigation on the ship.
‘Remember I said before, miss, that both Rudy and Miss Philpott had been helpful? Well, Miss Philpott helped me discover who it was who came to your cabin. Or at least who might be a very likely suspect.’
Clara clapped her hands together. ‘I knew it! Dr Davies! I already had my suspicions about him, Bella. I wondered if his not coming down to breakfast the following morning was due to him being overtired from night-time wanderings or perhaps he was worried that I might have recognised him when he broke in. What did Miss Philpott say?’
Bella chuckled. ‘Hold your horses, Miss Vale. It wasn’t Davies. I thought it might have been, too, but after a week on the ship I discovered that he is a very heavy drinker and most mornings he sleeps in. And watching him get drunk every night I could see that he would not have the capacity to pick a lock in that condition. He didn’t stumble drunkenly into your cabin, miss, did he?’
Clara shook her head. ‘No, he didn’t. He – whoever it was – very carefully picked the lock. It’s a skill I’ve only recently acquired myself, and it requires careful attention.’ She sighed. ‘So not Davies, then. Come on, Bella, put me out of my misery. Who do you think it was?’
‘Well, assuming it was someone in that group – and it’s not absolutely certain that it is – that leaves four male suspects: Rudy Werner, Dr Stein, Professor Petit and Larry Winter.’
‘Larry?’ asked Clara, startled. ‘But didn’t we say it had to be someone who had been in Newcastle?’
‘We did,’ said Bella, ‘but why did we say that?’
‘Because we assumed that the person in Newcastle was looking for the jewels and couldn’t find them,’ Clara replied.
‘That’s right. Because they were in the safe at the office, not at your house, then I brought them down to London. So, then we thought that the same person might have discovered that and thought we had them with us on the ship. So they broke in. Second time lucky.’
‘But Larry wasn’t in Newcastle,’ said Clara.
‘As far as we know …’
Clara thought about this a moment then said, ‘You’re right – as far as we know. He could have lied to us.’
Bella finished munching on her sandwich, wiped away the crumbs and said: ‘But I don’t think it was him.’
Clara was immensely relieved to hear that. ‘Why not?’
‘Because of something else Miss Philpott told me,’ Bella replied. ‘But before I tell you about that we need to eliminate two others from this investigation.’
Clara chuckled. ‘You sound just like Monsieur Poirot!’
Bella laughed. ‘Aye, I do. I learned a lot reading that book. How to look at each suspect and to assume everyone is a suspect until there is proof that they’re not.’
Clara nodded her approval. ‘A wise approach. Something we both can learn from. So, tell me, which two can you eliminate and why?’
‘The two Germans,’ said Bella, and Clara noted an air of relief. ‘Rudy told me that Dr Stein struggles to sleep. He said that he has hot chocolate brought to his room every night and then has a sleeping draught. He does not wake. So that rules him out.’
Clara pursed her lips. ‘Yes, it does, but it doesn’t rule your Rudy out. Sorry, Bella, but if we are going to consider everyone a suspect, we need to consider him too.’
Bella batted her eyelids in mock offence. ‘My Rudy?’
‘Yes, your Rudy. How does he get off the hook?’
Bella grinned. ‘The same way your Larry does, miss. Because there is someone else who is a much more likely suspect. The last of the suspects.’
Clara had been mentally checking each suspect off the list as they discussed them so knew exactly who Bella meant. ‘Professor Petit.’
‘Exactly!’ said Bella. ‘I would have said something in French, like Monsieur Poirot, but I don’t speak a word of it!’
‘Exactement!’ chuckled Clara. ‘But why Petit?’
‘Two reasons,’ said Bella. She held up a finger. ‘The first is that he got really annoyed when you kept pushing his hands away when he was dancing with you that first night. And after you left early, I heard him muttering to Davies that you were an uppity little madam and someone should teach you a lesson.’
Clara was angered but not surprised. ‘What’s the second reason?’
‘Well,’ said Bella, reaching for another sandwich, ‘that’s where Miss Philpott has been helpful. The night after you left, she and I sat up and had a couple of drinks. She doesn’t handle it well and got a bit tearful. She told me that she carried a torch for Petit. That they once had a romance and she thought they might get married but that on one dig she found out that he had been romancing other women too. And not all of them were willing partners.’
Clara’s eyes opened wide. ‘You mean he forced himself on someone?’
‘Miss Philpott said a servant girl claimed Petit had come into her room at night. That he’d picked the lock.’
Clara gasped. ‘Go on …’
Bella put down the sandwich and finished her tale. ‘Petit was confronted by the dig leader, but he denied it. Then the girl changed her tune and said it hadn’t happened like that. That she had been willing but was ashamed and made up the whole story. She was given the sack. But Miss Philpott told me she thought the girl had been paid off. And she was ashamed that she hadn’t done more to help her. She said she continued to work with Petit because he had always been the perfect gentleman with her, but she always made sure she was never alone with him. So, Miss Vale, that’s why I think it was Petit who came to your room.’
‘And that it had nothing to do with the jewels?’ asked Clara. ‘That it was just a coincidence that there were two break-ins?’
Bella nodded. ‘Aye, miss, I do.’
‘But …’ said Clara, trying to come to terms with what Bella had just told them. ‘If that’s the case, that Petit was the man who broke into my cabin, that means that someone else broke into the house in Newcastle. And that it could still very well be one of the archaeologists.’
‘Aye, miss,’ said Bella, glumly. ‘So that means we’re back to square one.’
Before Clara could respond, there was a knock at the door. She went to answer it. Rudy Werner stood there, hat in hand. He smiled when he saw Clara. ‘Miss Vale! How good to see you. I trust your flight here was an adventure?’
She smiled in return. ‘Not too much of an adventure, fortunately! Would you like to see Bella?’
‘If she is well enough …’
‘Oh I’m well enough!’ came the reply, with gusto.
Clara laughed. ‘Then I shall leave you two alone. Bella, I’ll pop around later and see what you want to do for dinner.’
‘Righto,’ said Bella as she rose from the bed and brushed the crumbs from her skirt. ‘I’ll see you later, Miss Vale. Come in, Mr Werner. Would you like a sandwich?’
Clara found out which room Jack Danskin was booked in and knocked on the door. Silence. She knocked again. There was an audible groan. She tried the door and it opened. The curtains were drawn and through the gloom Clara could just make out the bed.
‘Jack? Are you here? It’s Clara.’
Groan.
Clara moved towards it.
‘Are you all right, Jack? Do you need anything?’
Groan.
‘What’s that?’
‘The bucket. Watch out for the sick bucket.’
Clara stopped dead in her tracks and then retreated towards the window.
‘Let me open the curtains so I can see properly. Is that all right?’
‘Yes.’ The barest of whispers.
Clara pulled back the curtains and sunshine flooded in.
A louder groan.
‘Sorry, Jack.’ Clara turned to the bed and saw a hump under the bed sheets. Then she saw – and smelt – the bucket at the side of the bed. ‘Let me get rid of that for you.’
Clara held her breath, picked up the bucket, and carried it at arm’s length into the bathroom. During the war, when Clara was a teenager, girls of her class had been expected to work in convalescent homes and hospitals as auxiliary nurses. Clara was so appalled by the bodily excretions that by the end of the first week she insisted on being transferred to the pharmacy. Offering to clean up Jack’s vomit was above and beyond their usual level of interaction. Jack seemed to recognise that. So, when she returned, with the rinsed-out bucket, he had pulled himself up and propped himself against the pillows. He was as white as a sheet, while his usually immaculately groomed hair looked like something a rat would nest in.
‘Thanks, Clara,’ he whispered.
‘No problem,’ she said, not really meaning it. But she gave a wan smile anyway. ‘Do you need something to drink? Water?’
‘Yes, please.’
She poured him a glass from a jug on the bedside table. He took it from her with shaking hands. Clara was relieved she didn’t have to hold it.
‘Sit down,’ he said after a few sips. He nodded towards an armchair. Clara pulled it up to the bed.
‘Welcome to Egypt.’ She grinned.
Jack gave a weak laugh.
‘Bella told me you were poorly.’
‘How is she?’
‘A little wobbly, but nowhere near as bad as you. You look dreadful, Jack.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Has the hotel doctor been to see you?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘Just what the ship’s doctor said. I should be all right in a few days. Get some rest. Have plenty to drink. But not whiskey.’
Clara chuckled. ‘Have you got anything to take? Any medicine?’
Jack nodded to the side table.
Clara examined the collection of bottles: tincture of camphor, bismuth subsalicylate and opium.
‘Opium? Good grief, Jack, did the doctor actually prescribe this?’
‘No. But it was recommended to pack in the Cook’s Handbook. What’s wrong with it?’
Clara shook her head in disbelief. ‘In the most recent Cook’s Handbook?’
‘Yes. A little opium for stomach complaints is recommended.’
Clara took the bottle and set it out of reach of the patient. ‘They obviously haven’t read the latest research on opium addiction!’
Jack gave a woeful look. ‘I don’t care. As long as it works.’
‘These two will do just fine,’ she said pushing the camphor and bismuth towards him. ‘If you get any worse there are more potent treatments. But the doctor will prescribe it.’
‘Yes, nurse,’ he said with an attempt of a smile.
She let her frustration go and leaned towards him, pressing the back of her hand against his forehead. He felt clammy but not hot.
‘You don’t seem to have a temperature.’
‘No. I’m better than I was. Don’t write my obituary just yet.’
Clara chuckled. ‘I’m sure we’re far from that.’
He lay quietly for a moment as she wondered whether to stay or go. She didn’t play the role of nursemaid well. But she did care enough for him to want to make sure he was all right.
Eventually he said: ‘So you got the jump on me. Did you manage to return the jewels?’
She was immediately on edge. Typical Jack, always the investigator. She thought carefully for a moment and said: ‘I did. They’re now safe and sound in the Egyptian Museum where they belong.’
Jack nodded. ‘Were they stolen from there in the first place?’
‘I’m not entirely sure,’ she said evasively, ‘they are still determining that.’
‘I see. So they might not belong to the museum at all. They might have been from someone’s private collection and legally in England. Legally at the Hancock Museum.’
Clara’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is that what the Hancock board believes? Is that why they sent you here? Because they want to keep the jewels?’
‘I’m not entirely sure,’ he said, mimicking her.
‘Touché, Jack, touché.’
He smirked. ‘Seriously though, Clara, are you sure the jewels have been returned to the legitimate owner? Who exactly did you give them to?’
‘The legitimate owner is the country of Egypt. The museum is their cultural guardian. I don’t know how anyone – particularly a small, regional museum in the north of England – can dispute that. If they have evidence of alternative, legitimate ownership, they ought to present it.’
Jack shrugged. ‘How do you know I don’t have that evidence? That I don’t have it with me? But I was wondering who to present it to? Who was your contact at the museum, Clara?’
This is what Bella had suspected. This was Jack’s true motivation. So she chose her next words very carefully.
‘Someone with authority. I’m afraid,’ she said, with a smarmy smile, ‘my client has not given me authorisation to divulge his name.’
Jack wheezed out a sarcastic laugh. ‘Likely story.’
‘As is yours.’
‘Seriously though, Clara, are you sure the jewels are safe now? You still don’t know who smuggled them to England, do you?’
‘No, I don’t. But I’m getting closer to discovering that. I didn’t let my head start go to waste, Jack.’
Jack rolled his eyes. ‘This is what the board was worried about. The jewels being returned to the wrong people. Someone like Dr Abul Rahman, for instance.’
Clara inhaled sharply. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’
‘Rubbish!’
She folded her arms over her chest. ‘Oh stop it now. We’re just going around in circles. The jewels are at the museum. They are safe. That’s all you need to know.’
‘So you’ve seen them there?’
‘At the museum? Well, yes, of course.’ Clara’s eyes flicked away a moment before she steadied her gaze. She wondered if Jack had noticed. The thing was, she hadn’t seen them at the museum. Dr Rahman had shown her the existing Ahhotep collection. He’d said the returned jewels were in the laboratory and he couldn’t take her there for security reasons. It had seemed a plausible enough explanation at the time. And it still seemed plausible. However, Jack had sown a seed of doubt …
‘Well that’s good,’ said Jack. ‘I hope they stay there.’
He suddenly paled and groaned. ‘Pass the bucket please, Clara.’
When Clara finally extricated herself from Jack’s room, she knew she had to make a telephone call. She went down to reception and booked a trunk call to England. It was Sunday afternoon and Daphne was home.
‘Clara! Good heavens! Another telephone call? This must be costing a fortune!’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Clara, ‘I’ll be covering this myself. The museum won’t be billed. Besides, I’m not sure the museum will be prepared to pay any of my costs now.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Daphne. ‘I hired you on behalf of the museum. Of course they’ll pay.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ said Clara, and went on to tell Daphne about her meeting with Jack Danskin and what he’d told her about the board’s suspicions.
Daphne gasped. ‘This is outrageous! I knew they had issues with the way I’ve handled this, and I’m going to be talking to them about that this week, but I never for a moment thought they suspected there was anything underhanded in me returning the jewels to Egypt! How dare they! How very dare they!’
Clara tried her best to calm Daphne down and for a moment considered terminating the call and trying again later after the Egyptologist had worked through her rage.
‘Would you like me to call back later, Daphne?’
‘No, no, Clara. That’s all right. Let’s get the air clear now.’
‘All right,’ said Clara, relieved. ‘Now, I need to play devil’s advocate for a bit. To try to figure out why the board and Jack think the way they do. So please don’t be offended by my questions.’
There was a moment of silence then: ‘All right. Ask away.’
‘Thank you. Let’s start with Dr Rahman. Why do you think he’s trustworthy?’
‘Abdul? Well, I’ve known him for years! Decades actually. We met when we were both students at University College London. We have been on dozens of digs together. I visit him every time I’m in Cairo. He is a highly respected academic and archaeologist. He would not have been given the post of Dean of Archaeology at the Egyptian University, or director of collections at the Egyptian Museum, if he wasn’t held in the highest regard by his peers. He is respected by Egyptians and Europeans alike. I have absolutely no reason to believe he’s not trustworthy. We’ve been friends forever!’
Clara took this all in. It was an impressive résumé. But it didn’t mean he was innocent. She had to choose her next words carefully. ‘All right. But might it be possible that your friendship has clouded your judgement? That he may be up to something that you’re not aware of?’
‘Nonsense!’ Daphne exploded. ‘What on earth gave you such ideas, Clara?’
Clara calmed herself a moment before replying. ‘Remember, I’m playing devil’s advocate here, Daphne, so please don’t get upset.’
Clara could hear the tension – and anger – in Daphne’s voice as she replied. ‘I don’t like games, Clara.’
‘Neither do I!’ she snapped in return. ‘But let’s be grown up about this. If I am to solve this case and find out who murdered that poor young girl, I need to get to the truth. And don’t forget there is still a murderer at large who might kill again. So please, Daphne, can you lay your hurt feelings aside for a moment? For Maryam’s sake.’
There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line. Eventually Daphne sighed. ‘Of course, Clara. I apologise. Let’s continue.’
‘Thank you. Now, I personally have no reason to suspect Dr Rahman of anything. But I do wonder why the board might think there is something underhanded going on. Could you hazard a guess as to why?’
‘I really don’t know, Clara. It might simply be spillover from my conflict with them. As far as I know no one on the Hancock board has ever had any personal dealings with Abdul. I did invite him to attend the opening of your uncle’s collection – and he declined. Perhaps the board took offence at that. They are quite parochial, you know. They might have taken it as a snub. But beyond that, I can’t think what the problem might be. Perhaps you could ask Abdul when you next see him.’
‘I will. But he’s currently out in the desert. I’m not sure when he’ll be back. He was quite vague about that. I also need to see the jewels in the Egyptian Museum. The ones we returned. Jack Danskin asked me if I’d seen them there. I said I had, but I actually hadn’t. Dr Rahman said they were in the laboratory undergoing tests. If I can definitively say the jewels are indeed in the custody of the museum then the board’s – and Jack’s – suspicions will be groundless. Do you have any other contact here? Other than Abdul?’
‘Hmmm,’ said Daphne. ‘No one who I could call upon for a favour, no. Perhaps you could ask Petit, Davies or Stein. I assume they’re now at Shepheard’s?’
‘They are. And now that you mention them, do you think any of them might have tried to steal the jewels from my house in Newcastle?’
There was a sharp intake of breath from Daphne. ‘Why would you ask that? Is there a reason to suspect them? If you recall, I did not let any of them know that there were jewels in the sarcophagus. That was the whole point of sending you to Egypt. So they would be returned before anyone else found out. Of course, now that Jack Danskin’s spilled the beans …’
‘Yes,’ agreed Clara, ‘that was the rationale. And I certainly didn’t tell any of them about the jewels. But what if one – or more – of them knew that the jewels were there before the sarcophagus was opened? We have never got to the bottom of why they were in there in the first place. Why was Pilkerton – or Yorke as we now know him – trying to retrieve them? Was he going to give them to someone? Someone who was in Newcastle? That seems the only plausible explanation I can think of … for now. So I’m working on the assumption that there might have been a conspiracy between him and one of the archaeologists. If one of them were to be involved, who do you think it might be? Who might be involved in the black market?’
Daphne let out a long sigh. ‘You’re asking me which of my associates might be involved in artefact smuggling? Clara, they represent three of the world’s most highly prestigious museums.’
‘And none of those museums have ever been involved in artefact smuggling?’
Daphne gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Oh, they all have, in the past. But things have really tightened up. I’d be very surprised if any of them were involved now.’
‘One minute left,’ said the operator.
‘We’d better be quick then,’ said Clara. ‘We now know it’s likely Farnsworth was involved. So, we need to consider others might be too.’
Daphne sighed. ‘It’s certainly possible. Let me give it some thought.’
‘Thank you, Daphne. Call me if you think of anything.’
‘I will. Good—’
The line went dead.