by Darrell Pitt
After taking a horse-drawn buggy back to Bee Street, they found Gloria in the office, updating Mr Doyle’s files. The detective had two dozen filing cabinets crammed into a coffin-shaped room in a corner of the apartment. Not only did he keep his case files, but he also tracked several other occurrences here: geese migration patterns, weather reports, the personal column from The Times, airship timetables, reports of circus accidents. The list went on. Jack had asked him why he kept an eye on such a strange assortment of things.
‘You never know when such knowledge may come in handy,’ Mr Doyle had responded mysteriously.
‘Welcome back,’ Gloria now said. ‘Anything exciting to report?’
‘Just the usual,’ Scarlet said, grinning at Jack’s look of incredulity.
After they freshened up, Jack and Scarlet returned to a meal of sausages and mash. While they ate, Mr Doyle picked at his food, thumbing through a book on the history of watchmaking.
Gloria raised her hand. ‘Did you hear that?’ she asked.
‘What?’
She left the sitting room and returned a minute later with an envelope, handing it to Mr Doyle.
He unfolded the letter.
‘Now this is interesting. A page of the calendar with next week marked through,’ he said. ‘And a place written across the page. Section Twelve of the British Museum.’
‘What does it mean?’ Jack asked.
‘I don’t know, but the handwriting is identical to that found on the envelope delivered to Amelia. I believe someone wants us to be at the museum next week. Section Twelve is the Ancient History department,’ Mr Doyle mused. ‘I wonder what is slated to happen.’
‘Should we contact the police?’
‘They won’t do anything based on such flimsy information, but I think having eyes and ears on the inside may give us an advantage.’
‘Who were you thinking of?’ Jack asked.
The detective smiled. ‘Who do you think?’
CHAPTER FOUR
‘And I’m sure you recognise this as being from Ancient Rome,’ Doctor Charles Benson said, smiling genially. ‘What period does it come from, Jack? Take a stab.’
Jack peered at the bowl with feigned interest. He glanced at Scarlet, but she simply raised an eyebrow. Jack was certain she knew the answer—Scarlet knew the answer to everything—but refused to give him any clues.
The British Museum had changed over the past ten years. The original building had been remodelled and was now housed within a perfect bronze cube with a glass ceiling. It had so many rooms that even the staff sometimes got lost.
Jack and Scarlet had been assisting an old friend of Mr Doyle’s, Doctor Benson, in the research department. At first Jack had been excited, but his enthusiasm quickly faded: rather than learning about suits of armour and battles and Egyptian mummies, he had spent the week studying broken bowls, vases and pieces of pottery. When he offered to throw one in the bin, the panicked professor snatched it from him. It dated back to the second century BC, apparently.
‘Can’t you just buy a new one?’ Jack had asked.
Not often did Jack doubt the abilities of Ignatius Doyle, but this time he was sure they were on the wrong track. Ancient History in the British Museum was enormous, covering hundreds of square feet. The research department, three floors below ground, contained pieces that had not yet been identified, or were too valuable for display.
The underground section resembled a railway station with pendant lights hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the grey tiled walls and stone floors. Mahogany work benches and walnut-veneered display cabinets, containing items still to be catalogued, clogged the rooms. Dozens of staff worked here at any one time, cataloguing acquisitions or determining their origin.
During the week, Jack and Scarlet kept an eye out for anything relating to the case—Darwinist experiments, missing men from the war, watches—but nothing appeared out of the ordinary. It was all remarkably normal.
‘What period?’ Jack now said, biting his lip. ‘Could it be…the lunch period?’
‘No! No, my boy!’ Doctor Benson had bushy eyebrows that danced up and down when he got excited. ‘Late Rome! Fourth century AD!’
‘Yes, Jack,’ Scarlet said, trying to stifle a grin. ‘Fourth century. How could you not know that?’
Jack shot her a look that would have wilted daisies.
The doctor held up a hand. ‘Possibly it’s time for lunch. We’ll delve further into the clays of the late Roman period when you return.’
‘There must be many differences between early and late Roman clay,’ Scarlet said, giving Jack a discreet wink.
‘There are.’ The doctor looked at her delightedly. ‘We can spend the whole afternoon on them!’
Scarlet’s face froze. ‘Wonderful,’ she said through her teeth. ‘We look forward to it.’
They escaped, leaving the doctor to examine a tiny shard of Roman pottery that could have been mistaken for a rock.
‘You are so terrible,’ Jack said to Scarlet. ‘You encourage him!’
‘I’m conducting an experiment,’ Scarlet said. ‘Can you fall asleep while standing up?’
‘Not only am I asleep, but my eyes are still open!’
‘So that’s why you were drooling.’
‘I was not… I wasn’t drooling. Was I?’
Scarlet laughed. They passed a table where an intern by the name of Matthew Pocket looked up. ‘It’s our young work-experience students,’ he said. ‘Not bored yet, are you?’
‘Bored isn’t really the word,’ Jack said.
‘Old Benson means well,’ Pocket said. ‘But he can talk the leg off a chair. You should take a walk around the Mesopotamian section. A new display is on show.’
It sounded like an interesting way to spend their lunch break. They thanked Matthew Pocket and went up in a wheezing elevator to the visitor’s section. It was a quiet afternoon, with only a few people spread around the exhibit.
‘I’ve often visited the museum with my father,’ Scarlet said. ‘It’s changed a lot over the years.’
Mythical creatures, made from bronze, decorated the cornices of the rooms, with scenes from history painted on the ceilings. Even the tiled floors had historical facts inscribed across them. A person could glance down and discover the location of the Battle of Waterloo or the launch date of the world’s first steam-powered spaceship.
The museum was one of the biggest purchasers of cut flowers in the country. Every visitors room contained a vase on a stand in the corner, giving the building a fresh perfumed smell. Classical music, channelled throughout the exhibits, added to the atmosphere.
One of Jack’s favourite things at the British Museum was the life-size dioramas displaying ancient people in their historical surroundings. There were hundreds of them, set into the walls like stages in a theatre; moments of history frozen in time.
‘That one looks like Miss Bloxley,’ Jack said, pointing. He was amazed at the resemblance. Evolution and family inheritance had unfortunately made their tutor look rather frog-like. ‘I didn’t know she was alive in ancient times.’
‘You mustn’t be so horrible about Miss Bloxley. She’s not that old. And she doesn’t look like a frog. She looks like…well, she does look a little froggy.’
In the centre of the room were glass display cabinets, containing weapons, masks and more pieces of pottery. As Jack and Scarlet stopped at one, an elderly man with a beard and eyes like those of a basset hound crossed the floor, dragging a heavy bag on wheels. He looked about uncertainly.
When Scarlet offered him assistance, he shook his head.
‘Thank you, young lady. I’m searching for the African section.’
‘We can take you there,’ Scarlet said.
‘I’ve donated a number of pieces to the museum,’ said the man as they walked to the next exhibit. ‘The museum has been cataloguing them.’
‘Have you been to Africa?’ Jack asked.
‘Certainly. I’m Professor James Clarke.’ The way the man said it made Jack think he was supposed to know the name. ‘I’m an archaeologist. I suppose you wouldn’t know me if you’re not interested in African artefacts.’
‘I don’t really know anything about them.’
‘I didn’t either when I was your age,’ Professor Clarke said. ‘Although I was a reader. My favourite book was Ivanhoe by Sir Walter Scott. Have you read it?’
‘Yes, sir. I loved it.’
‘And you, my dear?’ The professor turned to Scarlet. ‘Do you also like reading?’
Jack groaned. Scarlet shot him a look before regaling the old man with an outline of the Brinkie Buckeridge books.
Professor Clarke’s bag looked very heavy. One of us should help him with that, Jack thought. As he reached for it, the professor grabbed his wrist. His grip was surprisingly strong.
‘I’m fine. Thank you.’ He released Jack. ‘These items are quite valuable. They must not leave my care.’
They entered another section with dark-green walls and dioramas of life-size South American people. Professor Clarke crossed to a glass display in the centre of the room.
‘This was purchased by the museum last year. It’s the Cusco necklace, named for the ancient Inca city in which it was found.’
‘It’s amazing,’ Scarlet said. ‘Is that—’
‘Gold? Yes. Legend has it that the necklace was once worn by the Emperor Kalamazar.’
It was an exquisite silver circle that fitted around the neck, and all the way around the outside were flat, lozenge-shaped bars made of gold.
‘It must be very valuable,’ Jack said.
‘It is,’ the professor said. ‘I believe—’
A gunshot split the air. A woman screamed. Jack turned to see a family diving for cover. Two masked men were in the doorway, waving guns about. Dressed in blue trousers and jackets, they were wearing porcelain masks, one smiling, one frowning. They fired a second shot into the ceiling.
Professor Clarke abandoned his bag. ‘Take cover!’ he cried, shoving Jack and Scarlet behind a seat in the corner.
‘Everyone on the floor!’ one of the men yelled.
Jack heard the sound of glass smashing. Another bullet rang out. He peered around the seat.
‘What’s happening?’ Scarlet asked him.
‘They’re singing a little song about butterflies! What do you think is happening? It’s a robbery!’
Jack squinted. There was something strange about their outfits. What was it?
I know. Those are police uniforms, but without the insignia.
There was no doubt about it. They were either real police officers or…
The one wearing the smiling mask stared at Jack. Ducking away, Jack heard the sound of approaching footsteps before he was grasped by the back of his collar and had the cold barrel of a gun pressed against his head.
‘I don’t like people staring at me,’ the man said.
‘Leave him alone!’ Scarlet cried.
The man’s gun moved away from Jack. Scarlet gasped as it was pointed at her.
‘Don’t look at me!’ the man snapped. ‘Do it again and you’ll be sorry!’
Jack was terrified. The man cuffed him across the head and swore. Scarlet gripped Jack’s hand. The armed man retreated. Somewhere in the room a child started crying. A man tried to console a weeping woman.
Someone touched Jack’s shoulder. He looked up to see Professor Clarke.
‘They’re gone,’ the old man told him. ‘And they’ve stolen the Cusco necklace!’
CHAPTER FIVE
Within an hour, the British Museum was flooded with police and emergency services in search of the thieves.
‘Jack! Scarlet! Are you all right?’
Ignatius Doyle hurried towards them.
‘Just a little shaken up,’ Scarlet said.
‘If you can call absolute terror a little shaken up,’ Jack added.
Police interviewed witnesses. When the broken display case was thoroughly processed, a photographer took pictures with a square bellows camera the size of a bread bin, set up on a tripod.
Jack noticed Inspector Greystoke—an old friend of Mr Doyle’s from Scotland Yard—enter the room.
The inspector arrowed over. ‘Doyle!’ he said. ‘I should have expected you to be involved in this!’
‘Only peripherally,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘It was my young assistants who were at the heart of the action.’
Greystoke asked them to go through the chain of events, and Jack and Scarlet obliged. They explained about meeting Professor Clarke and the arrival of the masked men. Mr Doyle listened thoughtfully while the inspector made notes on a small jotter.
‘So you believe these men were dressed as police officers?’ Greystoke said.
‘They were,’ Jack confirmed, ‘except for the masks, of course.’
‘It’s the perfect disguise,’ Mr Doyle said.
‘I’ll get a constable to see if anyone noticed them change,’ Greystoke said.
Mr Doyle nodded. ‘We may be lucky, but there are two rather more intriguing questions regarding this case.’
‘And they are?’
‘First of all, why did they steal the Cusco necklace?’
‘Surely that’s obvious. It’s quite valuable.’
‘But why take it when there are several other equally precious pieces in the museum that would have been far easier to steal?’
‘It is rather puzzling,’ Greystoke admitted. ‘But sometimes people steal pieces for their private collection. The artefact never sees the light of day again.’
‘You said you had two questions, Mr Doyle,’ Scarlet said.
‘Indeed I do,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘I am wondering exactly where Professor Clarke went.’
Jack was confused about that too. After the robbery, Jack and Scarlet had checked the other museum visitors to see if anyone had been hurt. By the time they came back the professor was hurrying from the room, his bag in tow.
Matthew Pocket appeared from downstairs. They told him about Professor Clarke’s rapid departure.
‘I
met James Clarke a few years ago at a symposium on ancient history,’ Pocket said. ‘He’s a genius, but also rather reclusive.’
‘Did you see him today?’ Inspector Greystoke asked.
‘No. I didn’t know he was coming in.’ The young man frowned. ‘I remember hearing he had a heart condition. I hope he’s all right.’
‘We should check,’ Mr Doyle said to Jack and Scarlet. ‘There are twelve hotels within walking distance of the museum. He can’t have lugged such an enormous bag far.’
They began the arduous task of trekking from hotel to hotel. The sixth was a modest-looking building near the Thames called The Bainbridge. Mr Doyle inquired about the professor at the front desk.
‘He is staying here,’ the clerk confirmed. He wore a badge that read John Mills. ‘But we are not in the habit of handing out the room numbers of our guests. I can have a message sent up, if you like.’
When Mr Doyle explained they were concerned about the professor’s health, Mills sent one of the bellhops to check. He returned a moment later and spoke quietly to the desk clerk. ‘There may be something wrong with Professor Clarke,’ Mills relayed. ‘There’s no answer at his door, and it appears to be locked from the inside.’
Jack, Scarlet and Mr Doyle took an elevator to the fifth floor with Mills. At the end of the corridor, Mills pointed to a door, numbered 56. He called Professor Clarke’s name, but there was no reply. Mr Doyle tried the handle, then threw himself against the door. Inside they found the old man in a chair facing the window.
‘Professor Clarke?’ Mr Doyle inquired, rounding the figure and grasping his arm. ‘Can you hear me?’
The old man did not make a sound. The detective snapped his fingers a few times, repeating his name.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ Mills asked.
