by Jim Eldridge
There was a knock at the door, which then opened to admit the familiar figure of Arthur Conan Doyle.
‘John!’ Doyle beamed. ‘Here I am for my next round of measurements.’ His smile became broader as he caught sight of Abigail and Daniel. ‘Miss Fenton! This is most opportune; I was hoping I’d run into you. Could we have a word?’ Turning to Tussaud, he said, ‘I’m sure you can forgive a few minutes’ delay before we start, but there is something quite important that I want to talk to Miss Fenton about.’
Tussaud looked at Daniel and Abigail, and then at Doyle, showing his discomfort.
‘Actually, Mr Doyle, something has just occurred about the tragic events here; two men have arrived that Mr Wilson and Miss Fenton are eager to interview …’
‘That’s all right.’ Daniel smiled. ‘I can talk to them while Miss Fenton talks to Mr Doyle.’ He looked at Abigail. ‘Would that be all right with you?’
‘Excellent.’ She nodded.
‘Capital!’ Doyle beamed. ‘In that case, may we use your office, Mr Tussaud? Possibly while you prepare things in your studio?’
Tussaud nodded. ‘I’ll take Mr Wilson to meet the two men and then – as you suggest – do some preparations, and I’ll see you in my studio when you’re ready.’
Daniel and Tussaud left, and Doyle and Abigail settled themselves on two chairs.
‘Capital man, Tussaud.’ Doyle smiled. ‘I like him immensely.’
‘I agree,’ said Abigail. She looked at him enquiringly. ‘My interest is piqued, Mr Doyle. What is the important thing you wish to talk to me about?’
‘I’m planning to sponsor a dig,’ said Doyle.
‘A dig?’
‘An archaeological exploration in Egypt. You remember I told you I recently spent a lot of time there and how intrigued I was, and still am, by the culture of ancient Egypt. I’m planning to undertake an exploration of the Sun Temple of Niuserre. Do you know it?’
‘Yes, it’s at Abu Ghurob, part of the area known as the Pyramids of Abusir, although it’s separate from the main pyramids there.’
Doyle nodded. ‘I shall be accompanying it, but I want you to be the leader of the expedition.’
She stared at him, stunned. ‘Me?’
‘I can think of no one better. It won’t happen until next year, there are lots of things to put in place, but what do you say?’
She continued to stare at him as her mind tried to cope with the enormity of what he was offering her. ‘I can only say, this is an opportunity I never ever thought would be avilable to me. Are you sure you mean me to lead the expedition?’
‘Absolutely. Are you in agreement?’
‘Well …yes, in principle. It’s the most incredible offer I’ve ever had.’
‘Excellent! Who do you think should accompany us?’
Abigail looked at him, her mind in a whirl. ‘To be honest, Mr Doyle, I need time to consider this.’
‘Of course,’ said Doyle. ‘We’d need a good team. They don’t all have to be British, but it would be good if that could be the case. Most of the site seem to be overrun with Germans, French and Belgians. That’s why I thought of the Sun Temple of Niuserre. It’s less well known than, say, the Great Pyramid. You were at Hawara with Petrie, weren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Abigail.
‘Well if you can cope with Flinders Petrie you can certainly cope with leading an expedition to Abu Ghurob,’ chuckled Doyle.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Daniel sat in the watchmen’s room with Bruin and Patterson. The more he listened to their story, the more convinced he became that they were not part of any conspiracy, at least, not as active participants. Their return to Tussauds had been prompted by the disappearance of the mysterious Mr Harry Michaels they talked about.
‘Why did you leave Tussauds?’ asked Daniel.
‘Like we told Mr Tussaud, we got offered this job. A good one, too.’ And they outlined the generous terms they’d been offered by Michaels to look after an empty barge, and then take a cargo to Birmingham.
‘But he never turned up this week to pay us. And it turned out it wasn’t his barge, he was renting it from this other bloke, and he hadn’t paid the last lot of rent on it. So the owner turfed us off.’
‘Just to make sure I’ve got this clear, Michaels was paying you your wages, and also this man the rent for the boat, up to this week, when he suddenly disappears.’
‘That’s the size of it,’ said Bruin.
‘Was this Michaels local?’
‘He sounded it, but we hadn’t seen him around before.’
‘Why the urgency?’ asked Daniel. ‘Why did you hand in such a short notice to Mr Tussaud? Just one day. Less than that, really, one night before.’
Bruin and Patterson looked uncomfortable. ‘Yeh, well, that’s the way this bloke Michaels said he wanted it. We’d have preferred to give Mr Tussaud proper notice.’
‘So why didn’t you?’ pressed Daniel.
Bruin and Patterson looked even more uncomfortable. Finally, Patterson said, ‘You were a detective with the police, weren’t you. At Scotland Yard. That’s what the papers say.’
‘I was,’ said Daniel.
‘Did you ever hear of a bloke called Gerald Carr?’
Did I, thought Daniel angrily. One of the nastiest pieces of work he’d ever encountered, but the police had been unable to nail him for anything because of the climate of fear around him.
‘I know of Carr,’ said Daniel. ‘How does he fit into this?’
‘Me and Steven owed him money,’ said Bruin. ‘Michaels said he’d pay our debt if we went with him straight away. If we didn’t, he wouldn’t pay Carr for us.’
Daniel stared at them. ‘How on earth did two intelligent men like you allow yourselves to get in hock to Gerald Carr? You lived in Somers Town; you must have known his reputation.’
‘We didn’t borrow the money from him, we borrowed it from a bloke called Nat Jackley,’ said Patterson.
‘Carr bought our debt off Jackley,’ added Bruin.
Or took it from him with the threat of violence, more likely, thought Daniel bitterly. He knew Jackley, a moneylender, but with no history of violence. Easy prey for someone like Carr.
‘I need to know the name of the barge Michaels had rented, and where it’s moored,’ said Daniel.
‘We’re telling the truth,’ insisted Bruin.
‘I’m sure you are, but I need to try and trace this Michaels character.’
‘You think he was behind what happened to the other two blokes who replaced us?’ asked Bruin.
‘At this stage I don’t know,’ said Daniel. ‘But the only way to find out is by talking to him.’
‘The barge is called Mary-Jane,’ said Bruin. ‘It’s on the River Lee Navigation canal by Hackney Marsh, on the towpath side. About a hundred yards downstream from the footbridge.’
‘The bloke who said it’s his barge also said that Michaels gave him a different name. Stafford, I think.’
‘In which case I need a description of Michaels, in case that isn’t his real name.’
‘I guess he was in his twenties. Shortish – shorter than us – about five foot six. He looked smart. Wore a suit of brown check material. Chubby sort of bloke, but with a long thin face and a long thin nose. Short brown hair.’
‘Beard or moustache?’
Bruin and Patterson shook their heads.
‘Scars or any identifying marks?’
Again, they responded in the negative. Daniel made notes of all this in his notebook, then asked, ‘One last question: have either of you ever worked as tunnellers?’
‘Tunnellers?’ repeated Bruin, puzzled.
‘Yes, digging tunnels. For railways, canals, that sort of thing.’
Both men shook their heads.
‘Strictly open air for both of us,’ said Bruin. ‘We were working on farms before we came to work here as nightwatchmen.’
Daniel stood up.
‘Thank you, gentlemen,’
he said. ‘I think you’ve told me everything I need to know. Where can I get hold of you if I need to get in touch with you again?’
‘Here, I suppose,’ said Patterson.
‘We ain’t had time to sort out any lodgings yet,’ said Bruin, ‘having just been turfed off the boat this morning. We wanted to see if Mr Tussaud would take us back first, and then when he said he would, he told us he wanted us to stay here and wait for you.’
‘We thought of asking our old landlord in Somers Town if he had anything,’ said Patterson. ‘But we don’t fancy being too close to Gerald Carr. I know our debt’s paid off, but you never know what he’s going to do.’
Daniel wrote down the address in Marylebone where Dudgeon and Bagshot had been staying. ‘This is where Eric Dudgeon and Walter Bagshot were staying,’ he told them. ‘The landlady’s name is Mrs Pershore. She might have let the room already, but as this has all happened so recently there’s a chance it might still be available. She’s looking for respectable men as tenants. Tell her you’re going to be working at Tussauds, that might help. Tell her Mr Tussaud will give you references if she wants one.’
Bruin put the piece of paper in his pocket. ‘Thanks,’ he said. Then he looked inquisitively at Daniel. ‘Was it anything to do with us?’ he asked. ‘What happened here?’
‘Only the business of Michaels wanting you out so he could put the other two men in,’ said Daniel. He shook hands with both men. ‘I’m glad the job was still open for you.’
‘Do you think we’ll be safe here, though?’ asked Patterson apprehensively, looking around the room.
Now that is a different question, thought Daniel, and one to which I don’t have the answer. However, aloud he said, ‘I’m sure you will,’ putting as much sincerity into his voice as he could permit himself, and hoping he wasn’t wrong.
He made his way back to Tussaud’s office and knocked at the door, entering when he heard Abigail’s voice calling. She was on her own.
‘Where’s Mr Doyle?’ asked Daniel.
‘He’s with John Tussaud in his studio. He left some time ago.’
‘You should have come and joined me in the watchmen’s room.’
‘I didn’t want to interrupt,’ said Abigail. ‘You might have been in a crucial piece of questioning. How did you get on?’
‘More importantly, what did Mr Doyle want to talk to you about?’ asked Daniel.
‘He’s planning a dig at the Sun Temple of Niuserre at Abu Ghurob in Egypt.’
‘And he wanted your advice?’
‘No, he wants me to lead the expedition.’
Daniel stared at her, astonished, then sat down.
‘Lead it?’ he repeated, awed.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Isn’t that a particular honour?’ he asked. ‘That’s the impression I got from your previous involvements in expeditions.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘The convention is that an expedition is named after its leader. A Flinders Petrie, for example. Or Gautier and Jéquier. As far as I know, no woman has ever had that honour.’
‘So you’ll be the first.’
She looked at him, uncertain.
‘I’m not sure,’ she said doubtfully.
‘Why on earth not?’ he asked. ‘This is the opportunity of a lifetime.’
‘I’m not sure if I’m up to it.’
‘You’ve been on expeditions before,’ said Daniel. ‘Plenty of them.’
‘Yes, but as one of a team. And it’s a long time since I’ve been in the field.’
‘Abigail, you can do this. It’s an incredible opportunity, one which you may never get the chance of again. Alternatively, it could be the start of a whole new branch of your career, as a leading archaeologist.’
‘But these things aren’t over in a matter of weeks,’ protested Abigail. ‘Some take years.’ She reached out to take his hands in hers and gripped them tightly, passionately. ‘I don’t want to be away from you for that length of time, Daniel.’
‘I could visit,’ Daniel told her. ‘If Conan Doyle is able to pop out to Egypt, so can I.’
‘The sea journey takes weeks.’
‘It’ll be worth it to be with you.’ He returned her squeeze. ‘This is what you do. Who you are. It’s who you were when I met you and I know how important it is to you. You’ve forsaken it because of what we’ve been doing together, the investigating. But you’d regret it for ever if you turned this down.’
The door opening interrupted them, and they separated their hands and got to their feet as John Tussaud entered.
‘Ah, here you are,’ he said. ‘I saw Bruin and Patterson and they said you’d finished with them, so they were off to arrange lodgings. They said you’d given them an address.’
‘Yes,’ said Daniel. ‘The house in Marylebone where Eric Dudgeon and Walter Bagshot were lodging. The room might be available. I assume you’ve finished with Mr Doyle?’
‘For today,’ said Tussaud. ‘What did you make of Bruin and Patterson?’
‘I think they were just innocent dupes who got caught up in someone else’s scheme,’ said Daniel.
‘So it would be safe to take them back?’
‘I believe so.’
‘You said you’d been talking to the other wax museums in London today,’ said Tussaud. ‘Did you get any information that might point to who did this terrible thing?’
‘We’re not sure,’ replied Daniel. ‘We wondered if someone involved in making wax models might be involved, especially after what was done to Walter Bagshot’s body. Just in case there might be some connection, we asked at each one if they had wax artists who’d previously worked for you.’
‘In case they left under a cloud, you mean?’ asked Tussaud. He shook his head. ‘There are none that I can recall. All our previous artists left on what I’d describe as good terms. No animosity. Who did you turn up?’
Daniel took out his notebook.
‘Deirdre le Faux at the London Wax Museum, Ernest Maxim at Worple’s Waxworks, and Caroline Duckworth at Greville’s.’
Tussaud gave a sigh. ‘Sadly, they all departed because they felt that I wasn’t giving them the really important figures to depict, the famous, especially those from modern times. The truth is, they were adequate at the art, but nothing more than that. Of the three, Caroline Duckworth was better than either Ernest or Deirdre, but she had a very high opinion of her talents that I didn’t share. I believe that’s why she left us. She was ambitious and she realised she wouldn’t achieve what she wanted here. She thought Greville’s would give her the recognition she felt she deserved.’
‘He said that she left to get married and gave up the wax business.’
‘Really? Who did she marry?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Daniel. ‘I didn’t ask.’
‘I imagine it would have to be someone who was successful and rich. As I say, she was very ambitious and wanted to make a name for herself.’
‘Socially?’
Tussaud smiled. ‘Socially and financially, in my opinion. Wax was a means to an end for her. For the true artist in wax, it’s not about financial rewards, it’s the satisfaction of a representation one is proud of.’ He looked enquiringly at them. ‘Is there anything else? It’s been a long and emotional day, with Bruin and Patterson returning, and then the session with Mr Doyle. A wonderful man, but he can be exhausting!’
‘Actually, Mr Tussaud, there is one other question,’ said Abigail. ‘Nothing to do with the case, but it intrigued me. When we met with Maurice Greville he was keen to involve Daniel in a Jack the Ripper display for his Chamber of Horrors.’
‘Which I declined, very firmly,’ said Daniel, his face showing his distaste for the proposition.
‘The thing is, he made the point that the Ripper is the most infamous murderer of recent times and said that audiences would clamour to such a display. Yet I notice that you don’t feature him in your own chamber.’
‘There is a very simple reason for that,’ said Tussa
ud. ‘We keep strictly to the policy of our founder, Madame Tussaud, that there should be no models of persons whose likeness is not absolutely known, unlike unscrupulous people like Greville. There were suspects in the case of Jack the Ripper, but no one was positively identified.’
‘That is true,’ said Daniel. ‘And can I say, Mr Tussaud, that I absolutely support your policy. There has been far too much unpleasant speculation about the identity of the Ripper, with certain people’s names being dragged through the mud unnecessarily.’
‘You must have had your own particular suspect, as one of the chief investigators in the case,’ said Tussaud.
‘I did.’ Daniel nodded. ‘My chief, Inspector Abberline, shared the same view, but we lacked the necessary proof due to the reluctance of key witnesses to come forward and give testimony. And the person we viewed as the culprit is now long dead.’
‘And you will not reveal their name?’ asked Tussaud.
‘No,’ said Daniel. ‘Without the vital proof I spoke of, it would be just sensationalism that could cause great upset to people close to them. Perhaps one day the truth will be made public, but not in my lifetime, I believe.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
As Daniel and Abigail walked away from the museum he told her about his conversation with Bruin and Patterson. ‘I’m sure they weren’t part of the plot, they were unwittingly part of a con by this Harry Michaels. Although we don’t know why, as yet. Tomorrow I suggest we go to Hackney Marsh and see if we can find the barge’s owner. He might be able to throw some light on this mysterious Mr Michaels.’
‘Should we tell Inspector Jarrett that Bruin and Patterson have returned?’ Abigail asked.
‘No, we’ll tell John Feather and let him do it,’ said Daniel with a smile. ‘He can say he wormed the information out of us, and that’ll make Superintendent Armstrong think his plan is working, and he’ll encourage John to keep in with us.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s half past eight. John should be at home now, and finished his supper.’
John Feather’s house was in Frederick Street, just off Gray’s Inn Road and not far from King’s Cross Station, a double-fronted redbrick terraced building with ornamental window boxes packed with colourful blooms on the two ground floor windows that were either side of the front door.
