Augustus looked in the sarcophagus again. Attached to the lid was a small pressure device similar to the mines they had all used in the war. White smoke issued out of a small metal tube next to it. The flare must have been inside.
Claude Paget’s head sat in the center of the sarcophagus, wearing a look of surprise. Not much blood surrounded the severed neck. The murder had obviously taken place elsewhere and the head taken for some distance.
His vision wavered again as he remembered other severed heads. It wasn’t such a strange sight on the front, when shells ripped men apart. Heads took some time to bleed out. He supposed it was all those veins and capillaries of the brain slowly draining. Whoever had done this hadn’t wanted a mess on his hands and had waited for a time. That meant that the bastard knew that grisly little detail like he did. Also, that booby trap with the pressure plate and flare had been cleverly done. He’d had someone in his regiment who had been equally expert until a German trench mortar had blasted their foxhole and torn the poor man apart.
That explosion had torn Augustus apart too …
“Mr. Wall?”
Augustus shook his head. “Just, um, examining the evidence.” He forced himself to look at the head again and for the first time noticed a small slip of paper had been rolled up and inserted in the ear. The shock of the flare and the sight of poor Claude’s head had kept him from noticing it at first.
He reached for it.
“Good morning!” a cheery voice called behind them.
They whirled around to see Cordelia and Aunt Pearl standing at the doorway. Augustus almost jumped in the air with fright.
“One moment!” he called, “Just cleaning the place up. Haven’t really opened yet. My, what a state it’s in. No, don’t come in.”
Augustus and Moustafa heaved on the lid to move it shut.
“Is something the matter?” Cordelia asked, stepping into the showroom despite his injunction not to.
“The matter? What would be the matter?”
“It’s smoky in here,” Aunt Pearl said, waving her handkerchief.
Augustus’ mind raced. “Ah, yes! Bad habit. I really should give up. Moustafa is always telling me I smoke too much. Isn’t that right, Moustafa?”
“Terrible habit, sir,” Moustafa said, nodding.
“Why does it smell of explosive?” Cordelia asked, looking around curiously.
“Explosive? It doesn’t smell of explosive. Do you smell explosive, Moustafa?”
“No, sir.”
Cordelia cocked an eyebrow. “I worked for two years as a nurse in France. I know cordite when I smell it.”
“You do? Um, I mean, yes of course you do! Yes, cordite, works wonders on cleaning old stone. Burnishes it right up like new. Silly of me to forget. We were using cordite to clean the statues.”
“Yes,” Moustafa hastened to agree. “Cordite is most efficacious, but smelly. So terribly smelly.”
“Whatever are you two babbling about?” Aunt Pearl said. “Oh, this is nice!”
She was examining a set of alabaster canopic jars. The lids were of painted wood and carved to represent heads. Only one was human, the others being a baboon, a jackal, and a falcon.
“Those are canopic jars from the New Kingdom,” Augustus said, glad to change the topic. “The figures are of the four sons of Horus. They contained the mummy’s liver, stomach, lungs, and entrails.”
Aunt Pearl chuckled. “Well, I hope they’re empty now.”
She lifted the jackal head off one of the jars, screamed, and let the head fall to the floor with a crash.
“Is this your idea of a joke!” she demanded.
“What?” Augustus rushed over.
“There’s a real stomach in there!” Aunt Pearl looked ready to swoon. Augustus caught her just as she started to tip over.
“Moustafa, get a chair and the smelling salts!”
Cordelia hurried over to her aunt, waving her handkerchief in front of her face. Moustafa returned in a minute with a chair and they sat her down. As Augustus opened the bottle of smelling salts and put it under her nose, waking her up with a start, Cordelia stepped away.
“What’s all this about a real stomach?”
She peeked in the canopic jar, frowned, and turned to Augustus, hands on her hips.
“There really is a stomach in there, and a fresh one at that! Just what is going on here?”
Augustus peeked in the jar and saw she was correct.
“Um …”
It wasn’t the wittiest answer he had ever given to a tough question, but it was the best he could come up with under the circumstances.
She pulled the lids of the canopic jars one by one. “And a pair of lungs, and entrails, and a liver. A liver with cirrhosis at that. The man had obviously been a heavy drinker.”
“Too much red wine, I suspect,” Moustafa mumbled.
“Moustafa, go get another chair for the lady,” Augustus said. His assistant ran off, looking only too happy to leave the room.
“I’m not going to faint,” Cordelia said. “I’ve seen as much blood and gore as you have.”
Augustus gave a little bow. “Not to diminish your service to the empire in any way, madam, but I must beg to differ.”
Aunt Pearl bellowed from her seat. “Why do you have real human organs in your canopic jars?”
“Oh, um, that. Yes. Well, you see, it’s a …”
“A wealthy and eccentric collector,” Moustafa said, rushing back in with a second chair. “He wanted the canopic jars to be as realistic as possible but we didn’t have any with mummified remains inside, so we got an unclaimed body from the medical school.”
“Yes!” Augustus said. “Yes we did! You’re quite right, Moustafa. Terribly sorry to give you a fright.”
“That’s perverse,” Cordelia said with a frown.
“All in the name of science,” Augustus replied, hoping he had finally quelled her annoying interest in him.
“I need my morning constitutional,” Aunt Pearl groaned.
“I think we all do,” Augustus said. “Let’s move into the drawing room, shall we?”
The ladies agreed, and as Augustus ushered them out, he looked around the room uncertainly. Had the Apaches left any other little surprises?
He sat them down in the drawing room and went to the liquor cabinet.
“Will whiskey do? I’m afraid I don’t have any gin,” Augustus said.
“As long as it isn’t made by Presbyterians,” Aunt Pearl sniffed.
Augustus cocked his head and studied the bottle. “I don’t think it is.”
“One of our ancestors was killed by Convenanters at the Battle of Bothwell Bridge,” Cordelia explained.
“My great-great-great grandfather, Jack Russell. Saved the battle for the monarchy and Episcopalianism at the cost of his life,” Aunt Pearl said.
Augustus poured her a double, thought the better of it, and made it a triple.
“None for me, thank you,” Cordelia sniffed when he turned to her.
He poured himself one and raised his glass.
“To the great Jack Russell, terrier of the north.”
Aunt Pearl gave him a level stare. “Young man, I’ve heard that joke so many times I barely even notice it anymore. If I didn’t know better, I would think you were trying to alienate us.”
“I’ll have to try harder next time,” Augustus mumbled into his glass.
“I beg your pardon?” Cordelia asked.
“Nothing,” Augustus replied in an innocent voice. He turned to Moustafa for help, only to discover he had already beaten a hasty retreat. “So, um, how can I be of service you ladies?”
“The tour,” Aunt Pearl said. She looked much recovered now that her drink had disappeared as quickly as Moustafa.
“Tour?”
“You promised us a tour of Old Cairo,” Cordelia said. “Most kind of you. I’m anxious to see the native quarter, and my brother says you know it well.”
“I prefer it.”
Cordelia stood up and gave him a warm smile. “Shall we go?”
Augustus cast about for an excuse, but the mention of her brother the police commandant dampened his creativity.
“Well, I’d be happy to, it’s just that it’s so terribly hard to find a carriage in this neighborhood and—”
“My nephew already provided one,” Aunt Pearl said, lifting herself out of the chair with a noticeable wobble.
“I see.”
The two ladies walked out to the showroom. Augustus reluctantly followed.
They found Moustafa poking around all the artifacts.
“Find anything?” Augustus asked in Arabic.
“Nothing, boss.”
“The head has a note tucked in its ear. Examine it once I’ve left. Unfortunately, I’m forced to play tour guide to these two. I’ll shake them as quick as I can.”
“Really, Augustus!” Cordelia said, putting a hand on his arm. “Your servant speaks English. Don’t cut us out of the conversation. You’ll make me feel lonely.”
Augustus detached himself. “Just a few technical terms better expressed in his native tongue.”
“Speaking English tires me after a while, madam,” Moustafa said. “Languages are most difficult for me.”
Suddenly Augustus had an idea. “Oh, wait. You wanted to go to the old native quarter? They’ve been quite restive since the protests. It might not be safe.”
“My nephew provided us an off-duty policeman as a driver,” Aunt Pearl said, her words coming out somewhat slurred. “And he said the protestors have been quiet as church mice since they were taught their lesson.”
“Oh.”
Aunt Pearl turned to Moustafa. “I hope you aren’t caught up in all this independence nonsense.”
Moustafa gave her a broad grin and bowed. “Of course not, madam. The English are a blessing to this country.”
“Well, I’m glad to see some of the natives see sense,” she declared, heading out the front door.
“Kill me now,” Augustus told his assistant in Arabic. Cordelia had her hand on his arm again.
“Enjoy yourself, boss. You get to play the tourist while I chase a pack of bloodthirsty murderers.”
“As I said, kill me now.”
Cordelia nudged him. She was getting much too familiar. “English, Augustus. Speak English. My brother warned me you had gone native.”
“Did your brother warn you that I’m an ill-tempered recluse who regularly gets into gunfights with the lowest elements of society?”
Cordelia laughed. “Did my brother warn you that I’m unstoppable?”
Good Lord, what does it take to shake her? Dump the contents of those canopic jars on her head?
They went to the street, where a carriage was waiting, driven by a burly Egyptian with a pistol-shaped bulge in the pocket of his jellaba. Augustus shook his head in wonder. Sir Thomas obviously wanted to protect his relations, so why on Earth did he not let them fester in the hotel instead of foisting them on him? Was he really so desperate to solve the case by himself?
They got into the carriage, ignoring the stares of loungers in the café across the street. As the driver cracked the whip and the carriage pulled away, Faisal appeared out of nowhere.
“Wait!” he shouted, leaping onto the carriage.
“Thief!” Aunt Pearl cried, bringing her parasol down on the boy’s head.
“Ow!”
Augustus grabbed the parasol. “Stop, Aunt Pearl. This is a local lad. He’s harmless.”
“He’ll give us all the plague. Just look at him!”
The driver turned around. “I’ll get rid of him for you, sir.”
“No, wait.” Augustus turned to Faisal. “I don’t have time to watch street entertainers at the moment.”
“It’s not that,” Faisal said, rubbing his head. “I saw who broke into your house last night.”
“Really? Tell me everything you saw.”
Cordelia cut in. “What a pitiful looking beggar child. Is he asking for alms? Here.”
Cordelia gave him half a piastre. To Augustus’ surprise, instead of the usual gratitude, followed immediately by a plea for more money, Faisal shot her a look of open hostility.
“Behave,” Augustus warned. “Now tell me what’s going on, but get out of the carriage first, you’re making the ladies nervous. One of them has already fainted once this morning.”
Faisal hopped down.
“I saw all of them, and I know how they broke into your house.”
“Go on.”
“Are you going to lunch?”
“Not with you.”
“I need ten piastres.”
“Ten piastres! Not on your life.”
“I need it,” Faisal whined.
“Whatever for?”
Faisal gave Cordelia a hostile look and then looked at his feet.
“Nothing,” he mumbled.
“I’m busy, Faisal. I’ll give you two piastres and you’ll be happy with it.”
“I’m trying to help you!”
“By robbing me blind? Come now. You know you don’t need that much. Tell me what you know and I’ll give you two piastres, plus lunch some other day.”
“All right,” the boy moped. He then explained how he was lounging across the street that night, curious if anything more would happen to the house, when he saw a pair of Europeans and an Egyptian appear out of a darkened alley after Karim had passed by. They had obviously been waiting for him to pass, not wanting to be seen like the first time. The Egyptian had a pair of trained baboons that scaled the wall and must have gone through an open window. A short time later the baboons slid back the bolt to the door.
“Are you trying to tell me baboons broke into my house? Ridiculous!” Augustus scoffed.
“It is possible, sir,” the driver said. “We have had cases like this in the past. Baboons are clever animals. They can be trained to snatch jewelry off women and money right out of your hands. They could probably be trained to enter a house and unbolt a door.”
“See? Even the policeman agrees with me.”
The driver frowned. “How did you know I was a policeman?”
“You wear boots instead of sandals and you have a pistol in your pocket. Plus you’re driving the police commandant’s sister.”
Augustus laughed. “You’re quite the little detective!”
“Which is why I deserve ten piastres.”
“Two and lunch. Consider it beginner’s pay. You’re not a full detective yet. Can you describe these men?”
Faisal gave a general description that matched the one Karim had provided after the first break-in. He also mentioned they carried a sack, not that Augustus needed to ask what was in it.
“Anything stolen, sir?” the driver asked.
“No, they’re just left a warning note,” Augustus replied. He’d tell them about the body once he’d solved the case.
“What did it say?” the driver and Faisal asked at the same time. They glanced at one another.
“They told me not to pursue the case, but I wasn’t going to anyway. I’m leaving it up to the authorities.”
The driver nodded. Faisal got a sly look on his face, and winked at Augustus, who smiled back at him.
“Thank you for your help,” Augustus said, “Go tell all this to Moustafa.”
“He’ll beat me!”
“Just tell him I sent you. And don’t be a pest. Tell him what you know and get lost.”
Faisal stared at the carriage. “Where are you going?”
“For a tour around the city.”
His eyes narrowed. “With them?”
“No, with the Ottoman Sultan.”
Faisal’s jaw dropped. “He’s in Cairo?”
“No he’s not. Good-bye, Faisal.” Augustus threw him some coins. “Driver, carry on.”
“I wish more of the natives learned English so we could be part of the conversation,” Aunt Pearl declared. “All this Arabic is liable to give me a headache.�
��
Nothing another constitutional wouldn’t fix, I’ll wager, Augustus thought. Out loud he said, “Never fear, it’s all English from here on in, Aunt Pearl. Later we’ll stop for tea at the Windsor.”
Aunt Pearl nodded, but her frown remained. “Who was that beastly little monster you were jabbering with, and why did you give him money when Cordelia already wasted some of her own?”
“A local beggar boy. He’s a good source of information on, um, local events. Plus a show of generosity helps smooth over affairs with the natives.”
Cordelia’s face lit up. “Oh, you’ve taken that poor child under your wing. How splendid! Aunt Pearl, isn’t that splendid?”
Aunt Pearl clucked. “Charity of that sort is best done through institutions. The child is liable to pick your pocket or give you fleas. Did you see how he glared at you, Cordelia, when you gave him a coin? Such ingratitude!”
“He’s just naturally skittish,” Cordelia objected. “Think what a hard life he must have on the streets.”
“Faisal can take care of himself,” Augustus said.
“Oh, is that his name? So nice of you to take care of him,” Cordelia said.
“I am not taking care of him.”
To change the subject, Augustus instructed the driver to head for the mosque of Ibn Tulun.
“Quite an interesting mosque,” he told the ladies. “Completed in 884 and modeled after the mosque in Samarra, where Ibn Tulun studied. Its minaret has the stairs on the outside. Don’t worry, there’s a railing, but I don’t suggest a climb if you have vertigo.”
“There’s so much to see here I’ve felt dizzy ever since I arrived,” Cordelia said.
Augustus bit his tongue.
They passed down a narrow lane crowded with people, the way made narrower by stalls selling mounds of colorful fruit and spices. The smells tickled their nostrils. A few passersby gave them dark looks. This was the native quarter and foreigners were a rare and not particularly welcome sight, especially after the independence demonstrations had been crushed a few months before.
Augustus fiddled with his cane, ready to defend himself and the ladies if anything untoward should happen. He also had a small automatic in his pocket. Damn Sir Thomas for making him play tour guide at such a time! Was he really so desperate to keep him off the case?
The Case of the Shifting Sarcophagus Page 11
