Phantoms of the Pharaoh (A Lady Marmalade Mystery Book 4)

by Jason Blacker

  Fowler came over to Frances and handed her a teacup and saucer. The tea was orange and unadulterated. He asked if she needed cream or sugar, which she declined. Frances sipped on her tea and then put the cup and saucer on the dumb waiter behind her.

  "At first," she said, looking at them one at a time, "I couldn't quite fathom the motive. I had my suspicions early on that it must have had something to do with Ms. Beckles' jewelry and artifacts that most of us must have seen fall out of her bag when we were all getting ready to board the bus at the hotel. But it seemed odd to me that she would have been murdered over what at that time seemed more like a crime of opportunity."

  Fowler came back with a cup of tea for Florence. She thanked him and walked behind Frances to a side table where she added cream and sugar. She came back and stood to the left of Frances and sipped her tea, cradling the saucer in her left hand.

  "Things became more complicated when we arrived at the pyramids. I knew, from having helped Scotland Yard on previous occasions, that the jewelry and artifacts that fell out of Ms. Beckles' suitcase were in fact stolen property."

  Frances looked around. She knew that this was not news to most of the guests seated in front of her.

  "Stolen from where?" asked Mahulda, timidly.

  "From the Pyramid of Menkaure. Perry had discussed the theft of most of the artifacts that were buried in the secret burial chamber of King Menkaure. This occurred in the late eighteen hundreds. 1895 to be exact. But then most of you knew about that, didn't you, Dr. Durmott?"

  Frances looked at Nigel. He coughed and spluttered for a moment as she caught him off guard.

  "I beg your pardon," he said.

  "The time of charades and games is over," said Frances, quite sternly. "Three amongst us are dead already."

  "Well I... I didn't have anything to do with that," he said.

  "Yes, I know, but what you are all forgetting is that I have friends at Scotland Yard, and I have received word from them this morning."

  Frances took some time to carefully extract the telegrams from her handbag. She did it with measured pause for emphasis. She looked at them for some time, shuffling each one in turn. Then she held them up and waved them in front of the group.

  "On your registration form for this trip, Nigel, you failed to include your salutation as doctor. Instead you checked the mark for Mr. But you are, in fact, a doctor, are you not?"

  Nigel looked away.

  "Yes, well, I suppose I am."

  "And would you like to tell us what you're a doctor of?" asked Frances.

  Nigel looked back at his plate and then back at her, and held her gaze for a moment, not saying a word. Frances looked at her telegrams for a moment.

  "Doctor Nigel Durmott, born at Swansea. You are in fact a doctor of archaeology. You are the chief investigator of stolen artifacts at the British Museum. Am I correct, Nigel?"

  Frances looked at him and held his gaze for a long while.

  "Yes, I suppose I am."

  "And because of your lies, at least to some extent, two other guests are now dead."

  "I beg your pardon," he said. "I must strongly disagree with that. This was a very important and sensitive investigation. Those artifacts are extremely valuable and rare, and I need to get them back to the museum at once."

  "And yet you lied about your reasons for being here. That your marriage was in a shambles and that you were just exploring the pyramids of Menkaure on the off chance that you might find some stolen treasures. But you did in fact know that Abigail Beckles was planning on returning the stolen artifacts that she had in her possession to their original home."

  "Listen," said Nigel, getting visibly upset. "I didn't want anyone to get murdered over this. I had reached out to her in London and said she could return them to me and I'd make sure they were safely stored in the British Museum. I told her I wouldn't involve the police. But she didn't believe the British Museum had any right to them either. She told me she was going to return them to their rightful place. I knew that meant she was coming to Cairo. I made inquiries and followed her itinerary. Look, after she was murdered, I knew you'd be investigating, and I knew your reputation preceded you. All I thought was that I'd wait until you'd identified the murderer and then have a word about obtaining the stolen property. I am as shocked as you are that Albert and Lady Pompress were also murdered."

  Frances put her handbag down by her feet and turned around and took a sip of her tea with her free hand. She replaced the teacup and looked back at Nigel.

  "How did you come to know that Abigail Beckles owned the remaining stolen property?" she asked him.

  "Well, I didn't, at least not with any certainty. My man at Scotland Yard had informed me that Abigail's mother had told them that her deceased brother, Arthur Vipond, was one of the thieves who had stolen the property of King Menkaure. Scotland Yard had investigated, but of course there was no hard evidence, and Abigail's mother had died shortly after, so they couldn't press her for more information. I took a gamble as I felt that if Arthur no longer had any of the property he probably dispersed it to his surviving heirs, Albert and Abigail. Investigating them both, I felt that Abigail likely had some of this property left, as she didn't live as ostentatiously as her brother did. I reached out to her and she told me the British Museum wasn't the rightful owner. Instead of coming all the way to Egypt, I thought I'd try to set myself up as a buyer. I contacted Lottie Hutchings' groundskeeper and told him I was interested in purchasing the property no questions asked."

  "I'm not following," said Captain Wainscott, looking up from his half finished plate of food. "Who are all these people?"

  Frances looked at him, and smiled mildly.

  "Yes, I forget that there are indeed a couple of us who don't know who everyone is around here. I'll try and explain it briefly for you, Timothy. In 1895, two Englishmen named Arthur Vipond and Howard Trenglove, found the secret passageways that led from the queen's pyramid into the Pyramid of Menkaure where the valuables were stored under the king's burial chamber. They ransacked the place, pillaging it of millions of pounds worth of artifacts and valuables. They were never caught for their crime, though they were suspected."

  Frances looked around the room. Everyone was looking at her in between bites of food or sips of tea and coffee.

  "Howard Trenglove died in 1907. At that time he had no family other than two sisters, Edna the older sister, and Hortence the younger sister. He wasn't particularly close to either of them, but before they could obtain his unsold share of the spoils, Arthur Vipond swooped in and snatched it out from under them. In 1930, Arthur Vipond died, but before he did he left what was remaining of the Menkaure treasures to his niece and nephew, Abigail and Albert. Albert, at his own admission, was a bit of a spendthrift and managed to sell what was given to him and used up all the money. That left only Abigail with any remaining artifacts of the theft, which she wished to return to Cairo and the pyramid from whence they came."

  Captain Wainscott frowned, his fork hovering with a piece of sausage like a bomber over the battlefield ruins of his eggs.

  "So you're saying she was killed for those artifacts?" he asked.

  "That's exactly what I'm saying."

  Captain Wainscott shook his head sadly and put the sausage into his mouth where he chewed it thoughtfully. Frances turned to Nigel.

  "So you were pretending to be the buyer that Albert spoke of?"

  "I suppose I was. Then Pascal, the groundskeeper told me that Albert couldn't fulfill our agreement, and that his sister was taking the stolen property back here to Cairo."

  "And did you tell anyone else this?" asked Frances.

  Nigel shook his head.

  "I told Pascal not to tell anyone else about it either. He said he wouldn't."

  "He lied to you," said Frances.

  Maurice looked at Frances steadily, as did Samuel and everyone else.

  "What do you mean?" asked Nigel.

  "Did you ever get Pascal's surname?" asked Fr
ances.

  "No, I didn't."

  "And here is where we start to get closer to the truth," said Frances. "I had wondered about why all the lies, Nigel. Now I know why. It would have been much better if you had confessed to me instead. But one can't cry over spilled milk."

  Frances turned back to her tea and took a long sip. She looked back at the group gathered in front of her. Almost everyone had finished eating by now, and they were carefully nursing their drinks.

  "Everything started falling into place yesterday, especially after we spoke with Albert. He was most forthcoming, helped obviously, by his grief at the loss of his sister."

  "So who did it?" asked Simon, looking at Frances and then around at the others.

  "We're coming to that. But it is true, that a few of you were caught like flies in a spider's web of deceit and lies. You amongst them, Simon," said Frances. "You see, it all came down to the stolen property of the Pyramid of Menkaure. Other than for Simon, Captain Timothy Wainscott, Mahulda and Lady Abigail Pompress, everyone amongst you is involved."

  Frances looked around at the group of them. There was nervous clearing of the throat and shuffling in position.

  "Poppycock," said Maurice, looking at Frances with his arms crossed over his chest. Frances smiled at him.

  "Poppycock indeed, Mr. Gabberdeen," she said. "The only thing about all of this that is poppycock is your feigned ignorance."

  Frances looked at her telegrams again.

  "Mr. Maurice Gabberdeen, born in Bristol in 1902. It seems you like to spend a lot of time in America."

  "That's none of your business," he said.

  "Yes, it seems here, that for the past seventeen years you've been making more than one trip to America each year. Specifically it appears that you travel to New York. Why is that?"

  Frances looked at him, and held his gaze.

  "I like the Big Apple," he said, "not that it's any of your concern or related to this case."

  "You also have a brother who lives in London, isn't that so?"

  "What of it?"

  "It's his name that intrigues me, Mr. Gabberdeen. Would you care to tell us his name?"

  Frances looked at him, and Maurice held her gaze without saying anything.

  "Very well, I shall out you myself," said Frances, watching him swallow hard. "Your brother's name is Pascal, and Mr. Pascal Gabberdeen has been employed as Lottie Hutchings' groundskeeper for some time."

  He remained silent and kept his gaze on Lady Marmalade as everyone turned and looked at him.

  "Our Maurice has also been visiting New York all these years, as his lover is there. Isn't that right?"

  Frances looked at him and again he said nothing.

  "Now listen here," said Samuel in his American accent, "this is none of your concern, and I've heard quite enough."

  Samuel stood up from his chair as if to give emphasis to his statement. Fowler stepped forward and spoke to him sternly, his smile was no longer present.

  "Mr. Newton, you'll sit down, if you don't mind."

  After a bit of posturing, Samuel sat back down. Frances nodded.

  "Yes, Mr. Newton, I'm quite sure you've had enough. You and Maurice have been lovers for years, haven't you?"

  "Listen!" said Samuel, getting quite hot under the collar. "You can't just go rummaging through other people's intimate lives if you know what's good for you."

  "I'm afraid I must, Mr. Newton, especially when said people have been lying to me related to a murder investigation."

  "That's because you aren't the bloody police."

  "So they did it, did they?" asked Timothy. "He has the medicine to have poisoned the poor gal."

  Frances shook her head.

  "Outrageous lies!" said Maurice, "we had nothing to do with the murder. With any of them."

  "Perhaps you'd care to explain then," said Frances. "Why the lies? I knew you were lying when you told me you had gone to see the Tomb of Hemon and you agreed that the reliefs showed him emaciated. Hemon was not emaciated, Samuel, in fact, he's fat."

  Maurice and Samuel looked at each other for a moment.

  "The Cairo police will be here any moment, gentlemen, and I can assure you that a Cairo jail is the last place either of you would want to find yourselves."

  "Very well," said Samuel, looking over at Maurice who nodded at him, "Maurice and I have known each other for many years. Our relationship however, is none of your business."

  "But you helped Maurice's brother become the groundskeeper at your cousin's estate, didn't you?"

  Samuel nodded.

  "I'm confused. Who is Samuel's cousin?" asked Timothy.

  Frances looked over at him.

  "Howard Trenglove was one of the original thieves. He had two sisters, both younger than him. The older of the two sisters was Samuel's mother. Her name was Edna Newton."

  Frances looked back over at Samuel whose head hung low.

  "The younger of the two sisters was Hortence, Hortence Hutchings. Hortence had two daughters. The youngest daughter got Howard Trenglove's estate when he died. Her name is Lottie Hutchings, and she employed Maurice's brother Pascal as the groundskeeper. Isn't that so?"

  Frances looked at Samuel. He looked back up at her and nodded slowly.

  "That's right. But murder was never part of the agenda. All Maurice and I were planning on was to get back what was rightfully mine. Albert and Abigail had no right to what had been my uncle's. It belonged back with us, the Trengloves. We had come here to steal it from them when Pascal had informed Maurice that Abigail and Albert were coming here to return the treasures. We were going to take it back."

  "Only it's not really yours, Samuel, it was stolen."

  "So they didn't murder Abigail, or my darling Abby?" asked Captain Wainscott.

  "We didn't murder anyone," said Maurice, feeling quite exasperated.

  "All three murders were committed by the same person," said Frances.

  "We followed Abigail and Albert into the pyramid, but we saw Simon come out just as we were getting there. We asked him if he'd found anything, and he said he hadn't. However, we couldn't just take his word for it, so we asked him for some water and he opened up his rucksack in front of us and we could see he didn't have any of the artifacts," said Samuel. "We went into Menkaure's pyramid but when we got there we realized that Albert and Abigail hadn't left any of the jewelry and other goods behind. Our plan was to wait until the day after, yesterday, when Maurice would feign heat stroke at Memphis and come back to the boat and see if he couldn't find the stolen goods in their room. Obviously, the murder put those plans on halt."

  Frances nodded.

  "Finally," she said, "we are starting to get some truth out everyone."

  "Then who killed all these people and for what reason?" asked Timothy.

  "The reason is obvious. Abigail Beckles was killed for the stolen goods, and the person who killed her didn't want her to be alive to notice that the artifacts had been stolen. The problem was, the stolen goods were never found. You see, what the killer didn't know, was that Albert had decided to keep the Menkaure artifacts for himself after his sister had tasked him with returning them. The killer thought that the goods were still with Abigail. The Somunol was added to the milk first, and when the goods weren't found she left the cabin for fear of being found..."

  "She?" asked Captain.

  Frances nodded.

  "Yes, the woman who murdered both Abigails and Albert is Orpha Bendled."

  Everyone turned to look at Orpha, the old woman who despite being a little curmudgeonly seemed like anyone's grandmother.

  "This is preposterous," she said.

  "Why?" asked Timothy.

  Frances looked at Orpha but she kept her mouth shut.

  "Would you like to tell us why you did it?" asked Frances.

  "I didn't do it, and I don't appreciate your tone."

  Orpha looked off and pushed her chair away from the table.

  "All right then," said Frances, "I'll tel
l you all why. I first started getting suspicious about Orpha at the hotel when Albert walked up to her during dinner and asked if he knew her. Orpha of course denied knowing him..."

  "Because I didn't," snapped Orpha.

  "Well, actually you did. Albert might have been much younger, but he recognized you as one of the Trengloves. He remembered meeting you when Arthur had invited him round to Howard Trenglove's home where you were. This was many years ago and he thought he must have been mistaken, but I believe that made him a liability, and when the opportunity presented itself to murder him, she took it."

  "I still don't understand," said Captain Wainscott. "Who is she?"

  "I mentioned the Trengloves before," said Frances, looking at him. "Howard had two sisters, the older one was Edna and the younger was Hortence. Hortence had two children, the youngest of whom was Lottie who now lives in the Trenglove estate. The oldest daughter was given up for adoption, and she is Orpha Bendled."

  Frances paused and looked at Orpha. Orpha remained mute.

  "You carried with you a great umbrage, didn't you, Orpha?" asked Frances.

  Orpha still remained mute.

  "Not only had you been cast aside as not being worthy of the Trengloves, but after you found out who your real mother was you spent years ingratiating yourself with Howard Trenglove in the hope that you'd one day find yourself in possession of the stolen artifacts he still had."

  Frances looked at her and waited.

  "If anyone deserved them, I did," said Orpha. "Cast aside as I was from the bosom of my mother, I've had to claw and scrape my way back to any sense of decency. I was so close to Howard trusting me when he died suddenly when that ungrateful bastard, Arthur, stole what was rightly ours right from under us. And he gave it to that stupid niece of his. She didn't deserve it, she didn't even want it."

  "Why did you have to kill her?" asked Frances, softly.

  "Because she wouldn't let me have them. I sent her a letter telling her that they belonged to me. She rudely told me that she was going to return them and that if anything should happen to her before then she would send my letter to the police. I couldn't chance it. She was better off dead then."