Phantoms of the Pharaoh

by Jason Blacker

  "A sleeping draught?" inquired Florence.

  Frances nodded.

  "The sodium salt of barbiturate. Two one gram draughts. This would be sufficient to kill Abigail, especially if she did not take any sleeping draughts regularly."

  Frances took a tissue from the dresser and wrapped the two envelopes in it and then put them away in her handbag.

  "We'll have to keep these safe until we can deliver them to the police."

  Florence nodded, and then returned the wastebasket to the bathroom. Commotion at the cabin door attracted France's attention. She looked up as Fowler, Pung and Badawi entered into the room. Fowler was leading them.

  "Good Lord," he said, looking down at the body. He turned to Frances. "What happened?"

  "Albert came in to check on his sister this morning after breakfast as she hadn't woken in time, and he knew she wanted to attend the tour."

  Fowler nodded.

  "He mentioned this to me."

  "He found she was dead, and rushed out of the room where he bumped into Florence and I. He asked for our help and here I am."

  Fowler kept looking back and forth from Frances to the dead body.

  "You've never seen a dead body before?" she asked.

  Fowler looked back at her and nodded.

  "It's quite off putting actually."

  "I'll need your help."

  "Of course."

  "I'll need a room to interview everyone. I'm afraid at this point, everyone and indeed anyone is a suspect. I'll also need any information you have on my fellow tourists. Their maiden names, their occupations. Anything at all that might have been filled out for this particular tour."

  "Yes, of course," said Fowler.

  "What about you?" asked Pung.

  "What about me?"

  "Well, how do we know you didn't do it?"

  "A detective in the wings. That's a fair question, Anton. Though I have an alibi. I believe that Abigail was poisoned with Somunol."

  "The sleeping draught?"

  Frances nodded.

  "In any event, everyone will attest that Florence and I were the last ones to leave the upper deck, long after Abigail and Albert had left for their cabin. We wouldn't have had a chance to slip the draught into her evening's milk."

  "Why not?"

  "Because it was after dinner that Abigail asked Albert about it and he had advised her that he had requested the staff to bring it to the cabin for nine thirty."

  "Very well, sorry I doubted you," said Pung.

  "Not at all, none of us are beyond reproach at this stage," said Frances. "Speaking of which, where were you two between nine thirty and ten last night?"

  "You're asking us seriously?" inquired Fowler.

  "I am indeed."

  "We were playing cards in the mess hall," said Fowler.

  "You and Pung?"

  Pung nodded.

  "Jafari was there too, until he left to deliver the milk. Ishaq came later. The two cooks were cleaning up the kitchen and the first mate was reading a book in the corner..."

  Frances nodded and put up her hand.

  "I'm not very interested in the staff at this point."

  Frances looked at Captain Badawi.

  "Captain, can you please contact the authorities and have them meet us here."

  "Right away, my Lady," he said, and Captain Badawi with his round kind face and full black beard left the cabin.

  "Why don't you think it was any of the staff?" asked Fowler.

  "We'll get to that," said Frances, "in due time. What we need now, if you don't mind Perry, is for you to collect any of the records that you have on all of us and let me take a look at them. Then I'd like to have somewhere to interview everyone."

  "Well, it won't be lunch for some time, and I'm assuming the tour is cancelled, so why not the dining room?"

  Frances nodded.

  "We also have to do something with the body. We can't leave it here, at least not once rigor starts to dissipate. Which cabins have baths in them?"

  "Just yours, I'm afraid," said Fowler.

  "The smell is going to be awful if we don't keep the body cool," said Frances. "Does this boat have an ice maker, other than the small one on the main deck?"

  "Yes, but it's also not a very big one."

  "It will have to do. We need to move Abigail's body and put her in the bathtub and keep it nestled in ice, until the authorities can take her."

  "I see."

  "Would the two of you mind moving her into my bath?"

  Fowler looked over at the dead body and swallowed.

  "I suppose not."

  He looked over at Pung, who had also turned slightly white.

  "We'll cover her in a sheet and you'll hardly know it's her."

  "Very well, let's get it over with," said Fowler.

  Fowler and Pung made a move towards the bed.

  "Just one other thing before you do, Perry. I imagine there are a few empty rooms here. Florence and I will need a room each, and I imagine that Albert will not be able to use this room any longer."

  Fowler thought for a moment and nodded his head.

  "There should be five vacant rooms," he said. "I'll double check and we'll get that sorted out."

  Frances nodded.

  "Good, we can move her now."

  Fowler and Pung went towards the bed and Frances and Florence exited the cabin. The remaining guests were all huddled around Simon, murmuring and whispering to each other.

  "I'm a doctor," said Samuel, stepping up to Frances and Florence.

  "Dr. Newton then," said Frances. Newton nodded. "I think it's a bit late for a doctor. Abigail has been murdered."

  "Are you sure?" asked Samuel.

  "You're welcome to take a look at the body yourself. I wouldn't mind your expertise in helping determine if there was any other foul play involved."

  Samuel nodded. Pung and Fowler slowly came out of the cabin, and Simon and Frances and Florence pushed the guests back further towards the bow of the boat. Fowler and Pung awkwardly wrestled with the stiff body to get it out and around the entryway and into the hall. They then moved her sternward towards Lady Marmalade's cabin.

  "Flo, do you want to open it for them," said Frances.

  Florence nodded and slid past the side of Fowler and Pung and opened up the cabin door for them. Samuel went back into this cabin, which was just in front of the gathered guests and on the port side. He came out moments later with a doctor's bag and walked off towards Lady Marmalade's cabin.

  "What's going on?" asked Captain Wainscott.

  "Yes, let us know," said Maurice.

  Frances put up her hand to quiet the group.

  "As I said, it appears as if Abigail has been murdered. As such, the authorities have been contacted and the day’s activities have been cancelled. I'm going to have to ask all of you for your full cooperation. I'll be investigating until the authorities arrive and I'll be asking questions of all of you."

  "Why you?" asked Maurice.

  "She's a famous sleuth," said Captain Wainscott to him, "she's often helped Scotland Yard on some of their more difficult cases."

  "Is that so?" said Maurice.

  "It is quite correct."

  "Good Lord," said Lady Pompress. "Are you saying that there is a murderer amongst us."

  Frances nodded.

  "I'm afraid so," she said, "but we will uncover this mystery."

  "I think it's her brother," said Lady Pompress, "he seemed quite upset with his sister."

  Frances put up her hand again to quell the whispers.

  "Please, let us not start any wild accusations. If you have any information that might be of help I want to hear of it. But please, let us not put the cart before the horse."

  Thirteen

  Frances was sitting behind one of the dining tables. In the middle was Fowler and to his left was Florence. Pung was sitting slightly behind Frances and off to her right. For about the last hour, they had been going through all the records that T
hoth Tours had managed to collect on all their guests. Frances was ready to start interviewing the others.

  Captain Badawi came in and walked up to the table. He did not look as happy as his usual disposition suggested.

  "My Lady," he said. "I have received a telegram back from the police in Cairo."

  "Good," said Frances. "Will they be here by this afternoon?"

  They were approximately eighteen, maybe more, miles from Cairo. A motorized police boat shouldn't take longer than a few hours to reach them.

  "I'm afraid not," said Badawi, crinkling his face into a sad smile. Frances admired the dedication and commitment he had to his beard. It likely took him longer to groom each day than his hair. It was also clearly colored a wet, shiny black onyx. Badawi cleared his throat.

  "There is a terrible simoom coming across from Jordan that will be hitting Cairo in about one hour," he said, looking at his watch.

  "I thought they usually only occur during the spring and summer."

  Badawi nodded sadly.

  "Usually," he said. "But the weather, she does what she wants. I'm afraid I have no further information at this time. They have asked us to contact them this evening when they'll have a better idea of when they might be able to send a police boat."

  Frances nodded.

  "Thank you, Captain," she said.

  The simoom was a hot dusty wind that blew in from the Sahara in the west or as far east as Syria. It created excessive heat, with temperatures regularly reaching above fifty centigrade, and dust and was translated as 'poison wind'. The only small mercy was that they were usually of short duration. Most often less than a half hour. Though Frances wasn't going to bank on it.

  Badawi left the dining room and Frances turned to Fowler.

  "We'll need to keep the body packed in ice."

  "I've already mentioned it to them. If the ice maker holds out."

  Frances nodded.

  "Who do you want to talk to first?" he asked.

  Frances looked at the stack of papers in front of her. The top one was of Dr. Samuel Newton.

  "Let's talk to the doctor first," she said. "I'd also like to hear if he found anything else related to Abigail's murder that might be of help.

  "Very well," said Fowler.

  Frances had noticed that Perry hadn't been smiling as much as he usually did. Not ever since he saw Abigail's dead body this morning.

  Pung got up and went up to the top deck, where all the guests had been asked to gather. He came down not long after with Samuel Newton following him. Samuel's eyes were even more heavily bagged and smudged almost a purple black. He looked like hell. Like the grim reaper had just warmed him up and put the barest amount of life back into him. His face was ashen and his thin body looked frail. He was no longer wearing his fedora, and his thin straight brown hair, parted in the middle, was showing gray at the roots. It was in desperate need of a touch up.

  Samuel took a seat across from Frances, Fowler and Florence. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a cigarette case. He offered it around but no one accepted. He fished out a lighter from his pants and lit his cigarette. Florence got up and brought an ashtray back from one of the other tables. She placed it in front of him and he nodded at her.

  "Thank you for joining us," said Frances.

  "Don't see how I had a choice," he said.

  He was leaning back in his chair, his brown eyes, cold and hard like agate. He held Frances' gaze steadily as if they were tied to each other's foreheads by invisible twine.

  "I wanted to ask you if you found anything unusual about the state of Abigail's dead body."

  "I took a look, but I found nothing unusual. In fact, I'd suggest that she died naturally in her sleep. There were no signs of foul play."

  "Perhaps that is as the murderer wanted it."

  "What gave you the impression she was murdered?" Samuel asked.

  "These," said Frances and she took out the two small blue envelopes from her handbag and put them in the middle of the table. Samuel looked at them, and nodded.

  "That ought to be enough to do it."

  "That's what I thought."

  "And how was it administered?" he asked.

  "I believe it was in her evening milk last night."

  Samuel nodded.

  "That would mask any taste."

  Frances looked back down at the papers in front of her.

  "It says here, you're from New York."

  Samuel nodded.

  "You have a practice there?"

  "I do."

  "But you've decided to take a holiday to Egypt. That seems quite the excursion when there are so many holiday spots closer to you."

  "What's your point?"

  "What brings you to Egypt specifically?"

  "A curiosity, like us all I'm sure. I'm trying to retire, but I can never get away for long enough. I have a young lad working at my office while I'm away. If all goes well I'll likely sell it to him."

  "Tell me, Doctor, do you have any sleeping draughts in the bag you bought with you?"

  "I have these very kind," he said, stabbing at the blue envelopes in the middle of the table.

  "I see, and you usually carry them around with you?"

  "I do. I sometimes take them myself, I've been an insomniac for years."

  "Are all of yours accounted for, Doctor?"

  "I believe so, though I haven't looked closely."

  "I'd greatly appreciate it if you would make a record of all drugs you have with you, so that we can be certain that no more go missing."

  "Certainly."

  Samuel took a puff on his cigarette and knocked out the ash into the ashtray. He blew the smoke up towards the ceiling.

  "Can you tell me what you were doing yesterday afternoon with your bag at the boat pits south of the funerary temple of Khafre?" asked Frances.

  Samuel put the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled deeply. He took his time exhaling, all the while keeping his eyes steadily on Frances'. He smiled, which was unusual for him.

  "I thought I saw someone in distress out there. Turned out I was wrong."

  "So you decided to explore while still holding onto your bag?"

  Samuel shrugged.

  "Why not? I thought it too warm to come back and return my bag and then head out again."

  "I also saw you heading towards the Pyramid of Menkaure at shortly after four."

  "You don't miss much do you?"

  "Well, it just seemed curious. Everybody was heading towards the Pyramid of Menkaure just after Abigail and Albert had exited it via the queen's pyramid."

  "Maybe we were looking for stolen treasure."

  "I think you were."

  Samuel looked at Frances and Frances held his gaze. They stared at one another for a while.

  "I'm not joking," said Frances.

  "I was," he said.

  "But you were headed towards the Pyramid of Menkaure, were you not?"

  "I was. Like I said before, I have a great interest in the pyramids and Egypt. I wanted to see as much as I could. So I headed out with my bag, thinking someone needed my help. I thought I saw someone swoon in the heat. Turns out they were just resting against a mastaba. So I then decided to explore the eastern cemetery and from there I made my way towards the pyramid like you said. From there I took the western route back to look at the Tomb of Hemon and the western cemetery."

  "I find the tomb quite fascinating. What did you think of the reliefs of Hemon on his tomb? Considering he was the chief architect I found it quite surprising that he was shown so emaciated."

  "Quite surprising indeed."

  Frances smiled at him. He didn't smile back.

  "Last night, Doctor, where did you go when you left the top deck just after nine thirty."

  "I went to bed. As I've said before, I have terrible insomnia and I wanted to try and get some sleep during the night. The earlier I can turn down the lights the better."

  "Did you see anyone went you went below decks to your
cabin? Anyone at all?"

  "No."

  "Not even Maurice? You left moments after him."

  "Well, yes, I did see him, but I didn't speak to him. I saw him enter his cabin as I came down the stairs to the hallway."

  "I didn't ask you if you spoke to him."

  "But you were going to."

  "Did you murder Ms. Abigail Beckles, Doctor?"

  Samuel laughed aloud, a forced laugh that didn't last long. Then he took the last puff on his cigarette and put it out.

  "No, I didn't. Why would I?"

  "Because you wanted to find out where the spoils were that she was carrying. You wanted to search the room."

  Samuel looked away off to his left. For the first time he didn't hold Lady Marmalade's gaze.

  "I didn't do it. Now if that'll be all, I'll go and itemize my drugs for you."

  Samuel stood up and Frances watched him walk out of the dining room.

  "He's lying," she said.

  "How do you know?" asked Florence.

  Frances looked at Fowler and he smiled at her.

  "Because the reliefs of Hemon on his tomb do not show an emaciated figure, but rather someone quite plump."

  "I see," said Florence.

  "Which means, my dear Flo, that he never visited the Tomb of Hemon, and it brings into question his whole story. I don't for a moment think that he took his bag to help a fellow tourist."

  "Then what do you think it was for."

  "Well, Perry told me something quite interesting this morning that he hadn't thought important until we found Abigail's dead body."

  "What was that?" asked Florence.

  Frances looked at Perry. Perry looked from Frances to Florence.

  "Darius, our driver, said he overheard Albert and Abigail arguing yesterday afternoon before they headed off towards the north side of the Great Pyramid of Giza."

  "Fascinating. What were they arguing about?" asked Florence.

  "Darius couldn't say for certain, but he said it had something to do with putting it back, and Albert arguing that they needed the money."

  "I see," said Florence, looking at Frances.

  "I believe, that as naïve as Abigail was, I think she had some of the missing items from Menkaure's pyramid and she was going to put them back. Albert wanted to keep them."