MERYT-AMEN
(_Friday, July 13; 12.45 p.m._)
Vance knocked on the narrow door and reached into his pocket for his
cigarette-case. We on the floor below watched the metal panel in
silent expectancy. A feeling of dread, for some unknown reason,
assailed me, and my muscles went tense. To this day I cannot explain
the cause of my fear; but at that moment a chill came over my heart.
All the evidence that had come to light pointed unmistakably toward
the great Egyptologist in the little room beyond.
Vance alone seemed unconcerned. He casually lit his cigarette, and
when he had replaced the lighter in his pocket, he knocked again at
the door--this time more loudly. Still no answer.
“Very curious,” I heard him murmur.
Then he raised his arm and pounded on the metal with a force that sent
reverberating echoes through the great room of the museum.
At last, after several moments of ominous silence, there was a sound
of a knob turning, and the heavy door swung slowly inward.
In the opening stood the tall, slender figure of a man in his middle
forties. He wore a peacock-blue dressing-gown of self-figured silk,
which reached to his ankles, and his sparse yellow hair was tousled as
if he had just risen from bed. Indeed, his entire appearance was that
of one who had suddenly been roused from a deep sleep. His eyes were
hazy, and their lids drooped; and he clung to the inside knob of the
door for support. He actually swayed a little as he peered dully at
Vance.
Withal, he was a striking figure. His face was long and thin, rugged
and deeply tanned. His forehead was high and narrow--a scholar’s brow;
but his nose, which was curved like an eagle’s beak, was his most
prominent characteristic. His mouth was straight, and surmounted a
chin that was so square as to be cubic. His cheeks were sunken, and I
got the distinct impression of a man who was physically ill but who
overrode the ravages of disease by sheer nervous vitality.
For a moment he stared at Vance uncomprehendingly. Then--like a person
coming out of an anæsthetic--he blinked several times and took a deep
inspiration.
“Ah!” His voice was thick and a trifle rasping. “Mr. Vance!… A long
time since I’ve seen you.…” His eyes drifted about the museum and came
to rest on the little group at the foot of the stairs. “I don’t quite
understand.…” He passed his hand slowly over the top of his head, and
ran his fingers through his rumpled hair. “My head feels so heavy…
please forgive me… I--I must have been asleep.… Who are these
gentlemen below?… I recognize Scarlett and Hani.… It’s been devilishly
hot in my study.”
“A serious accident has happened, Doctor Bliss,” Vance informed him,
in a low voice. “Would you mind stepping down into the museum?… We
need your help.”
“An accident!” Bliss drew himself up, and for the first time since he
appeared at the door his eyes opened wide. “A serious accident?… What
has happened? Not burglars, I hope. I’ve always been worried----”
“No, there have been no burglars, doctor.” Vance steadied him as he
walked nervously down the circular stairs.
When he reached the floor of the museum every eye in the room, I felt
sure, was focussed on his feet. Certainly my own initial instinct was
to inspect them; and I noticed that Heath, who stood beside me, had
concentrated his gaze on the doctor’s foot-covering. But if any of us
expected to find Bliss shod in rubber-soled tennis shoes, he was
disappointed. The man wore a pair of soft vici-kid bedroom slippers,
dyed blue to match his dressing-gown and adorned with orange
trimmings.
I did note, however, that his gray-silk pyjamas, which showed through
the deep V-opening of his gown, had a broad, turned-over collar in
which a mauve four-in-hand had been loosely knotted.
His eyes swept the little group before him and returned to Vance.
“You say there have been no burglars?” His voice was still vague and
thick. “What, then, was the accident, Mr. Vance?”
“An accident far more serious than burglars, doctor,” replied Vance,
who had not released his hold on the other’s arm. “Mr. Kyle is dead.”
“Kyle dead!” Bliss’s mouth sagged open, and a look of hopeless
amazement came into his eyes. “But--but… I talked to him last night.
He was to come here this morning… regarding the new expedition.… Dead?
All my work--my life’s work--ended!” He slumped into one of the small
folding wooden chairs of which there were perhaps a score scattered
about the museum. A look of tragic resignation settled on his face.
“This is terrible news.”
“I’m very sorry, doctor,” Vance murmured consolingly. “I fully
understand your great disappointment.…”
Bliss rose to his feet. His lethargy had fallen from him, and his
features became hard and resolute. He looked squarely at Vance.
“Dead?” His voice was menacing. “How did he die?”
“He was murdered.” Vance pointed to the body of Kyle before which
Markham and Heath and I were standing.
Bliss stepped toward Kyle’s prostrate figure. For a full minute he
stood staring down at the body; then his gaze shifted to the small
statue of Sakhmet, and a moment later he lifted his eyes to the lupine
features of Anûbis.
Suddenly he swung round and faced Hani. The Egyptian took a backward
step, as though he feared violence from the doctor.
“What do you know about this?--you jackal!” Bliss threw the question
at him venomously, a passionate hate in his voice. “You’ve spied on me
for years. You’ve taken my money and pocketed bribes from your stupid
and grasping government. You’ve poisoned my wife against me. You’ve
stood in the way of all I’ve endeavored to accomplish. You tried to
murder the old native who showed me the site of the two obelisks in
front of Intef’s pyramid.[*11] You’ve hampered me at every turn. And
because my wife believed in you and loved you, I’ve kept you. And now,
when I’ve found the site of Intef’s tomb and actually entered the
antechamber and am about to give the fruits of my researches to the
world, the one man who could make possible the success of my life’s
work is found murdered.” Bliss’s eyes were like burning coals. “What
do you know about it, Anûpu Hani? Speak--you contemptible dog of a
fellah!”
Hani had retreated several paces. Bliss’s vitriolic tirade had
pitifully cowed him. But he did not grovel: he had become grim and
morose, and there was a snarl in his voice when he answered.
“I know nothing of the murder. It was the vengeance of Sakhmet! _She_
killed the one who would have paid for the desecration of Intef’s
tomb.…”
“Sakhmet!” Bliss’s scorn was devastating. “A piece of stone belonging
to a hybrid mythology! You’re not among illiterate witch-doctors
now--you’re confronted with civilized human beings who want the
truth.… Who killed Kyle?”
“If it wasn’t Sakhmet, I don’t know, Your Presence.” Despite the
Egyptian’s subservient attitude there was an underlying contempt in
his manner and in the intonation of his voice. “I have been in my room
all the morning.… You, _hadretak_,” he added, with a sneer, “were very
close to your rich patron when he departed this world for the Land of
Shades.”
Two red patches of anger shone through the tan of Bliss’s cheeks. His
eyes blazed abnormally, and his hands plucked spasmodically at the
folds of his dressing-gown. I feared he would fly at the throat of the
Egyptian.
Vance, too, had some such apprehension, for he moved to the doctor’s
side and touched him reassuringly on the arm.
“I understand perfectly how you feel, sir,” he said in a soothing
voice. “But temper won’t help us get at the root of this matter.”
Bliss sank back into his chair without a word, and Scarlett, who had
been looking on at the scene with troubled amazement, stepped quickly
up to Vance.
“There’s something radically wrong here,” he said. “The doctor isn’t
himself.”
“So I observe.” Vance spoke dryly, but there was a puzzled frown on
his face. He scrutinized Bliss for a moment. “I say, doctor; what time
did you fall asleep in your study this morning?”
Bliss looked up lethargically. His wrath seemed to have left him, and
his eyes were again heavy.
“What time?” he repeated, like a man attempting to collect his
thoughts. “Let me see.… Brush brought me my breakfast about nine, and
a few minutes later I drank the coffee… some of it, at any rate----”
His gaze wandered off into space. “That’s all I remember until--until
there was a pounding on the door.… What time is it, Mr. Vance?”
“It’s well past noon,” Vance informed him. “You evidently fell asleep
as soon as you had your coffee. Quite natural, don’t y’ know. Scarlett
tells me you worked late last night.”
Bliss nodded heavily.
“Yes--till three this morning. I wanted to have the report in order
for Kyle when he arrived.… And now”--he looked hopelessly toward the
outstretched body of his benefactor--“I find him dead--murdered.… I
can’t understand.”
“Neither can we--for the moment,” Vance returned. “But Mr.
Markham--the District Attorney--and Sergeant Heath of the Homicide
Bureau are here for the purpose of ascertaining the facts; and you may
rest assured, sir, that justice will be done. Just now you can help us
materially by answering a few questions. Do you feel equal to it?”
“Of course I’m equal to it,” Bliss replied, with a slight show of
nervous vitality. “But,” he added, running his tongue over his dry
lips, “I’m horribly thirsty. A drink of water----”
“Ah! I thought you might be wanting a drink.… How about it, Sergeant?”
Heath was already on his way toward the front stairs. He disappeared
through the door, and we could hear his voice giving staccato orders
to some one outside. A minute or two later he returned to the museum
with a glass of water.
Doctor Bliss drank it like a man parched with thirst, and when he had
set the glass down Vance asked him:
“When did you finish your financial report for Mr. Kyle?”
“This morning--just before Brush brought me my breakfast.” Bliss’s
voice was stronger: there was even animation in his tone. “I had
practically completed it before retiring last night--all but about an
hour’s work. So I came down to the study at eight this morning.”
“And where is that report now?”
“On my desk in the study. I intended to check the figures after
breakfast, before Kyle arrived.… I’ll get it.”
He started to rise, but Vance restrained him.
“That won’t be necess’ry, sir. I have it here.… It was found in Mr.
Kyle’s hand.”
Bliss looked at the paper, which Vance showed him, with dumbfounded
eyes.
“In--Kyle’s hand?” he stammered. “But… but.…”
“Don’t disturb yourself about it.” Vance’s manner was casual. “Its
presence there will be explained when we’ve come to know the situation
better. The report was no doubt taken from your study while you were
asleep.…”
“Maybe Kyle himself----”
“It’s possible, but hardly probable.” It was obvious that Vance
scouted the idea of Kyle’s having personally taken the report. “By the
by, is it custom’ry for you to leave the door leading from your study
into the museum unlocked?”
“Yes. I never lock it. No necessity to. As a matter of fact I couldn’t
tell you offhand where the key is.”
“That bein’ the case,” mused Vance, “any one in the museum might have
entered the study and taken the report after nine o’clock or so, when
you were asleep.”
“But who, in Heaven’s name, Mr. Vance----?”
“We don’t know yet. We’re still in the conjectural stage of our
investigation.--And if you’ll be so good, doctor, permit me to ask the
questions.… Do you happen to know where Mr. Salveter is this morning?”
Bliss turned his head toward Vance with a resentful gesture.
“Certainly I know where he is,” he responded, setting his jaws firmly.
(I got the impression that he intended to protect Kyle’s nephew from
any suspicion.) “I sent him to the Metropolitan Museum----”
“You sent him? When?”
“I asked him last night to go the first thing this morning and inquire
regarding a duplicate set of reproductions of the tomb furniture in
the recently discovered grave of Hotpeheres, the mother of Kheuf of
the Fourth Dynasty----”
“Hotpeheres? Kheuf?… Do you refer to Hetep-hir-es and Khufu?”
“Certainly!” The doctor’s tone was tart. “I use the transliteration of
Weigall. In his ‘History of the Pharaohs’----”
“Yes, yes. Forgive me, doctor. I recall now that Weigall has altered
many of the accepted transliterations from the Egyptian.… But, if my
memory is correct, the expedition which unearthed the tomb of
Hetep-hir-es--or Hotpeheres--was sponsored by Harvard University and
the Boston Museum of Fine Arts.”
“Quite true. But I knew that my old friend, Albert Lythgoe, the
Curator of the Egyptian department of the Metropolitan Museum, could
supply me with the information I desired.”
“I see,” Vance paused. “Did you speak to Mr. Salveter this morning?”
“No.” Bliss became indignant. “I was in my study from eight o’clock
on; and the lad wouldn’t think of disturbing me. He probably left the
house about nine-thirty,--the Metropolitan Museum opens at ten.”
Vance nodded.
“Yes; Brush said he went out about that time. But shouldn’t he be back
by now?”
Bliss shrugged his shoulders.
“Perhaps,” he said, as if the matter was of no importance. “He may
have had to wait for the Curator, however. Anyway, he’ll be back as
soon as he has finished his mission. He’s a good conscientious lad:
both my wife and I are extremely fond of him. It was he who, by
interceding with his uncle, made possible the excavations of Intef’s
tomb.”
“So Scarlett told me.” Vance spoke with the offhandedness of complete
uninterest, and drawing up a collapsible wooden chair sat down lazily.
As he did so he gave Markham an admonitory glance--a glance which said
as plainly as words could have done: “Let me do the talking for the
time being.” Then he leaned back and folded his hands behind his head.
“I say, doctor,” he went on, with a slight yawn; “speaking of old
Intef, I was present, don’t y’ know, when you appropriated that
fascinatin’ lapis-lazuli scarab.…”
Bliss’s hand went to his four-in-hand, and he glanced guiltily toward
Hani, who had moved before the statue of Teti-shiret and now stood
with his back to us in a pose of detached and absorbed adoration.
Vance pretended not to have seen the doctor’s movements, and, gazing
dreamily out of the rear windows, he continued:
“A most interestin’ scarab--unusually marked. Scarlett tells me you
had it made into a scarf-pin.… Have you it with you? I’d jolly well
like to see it.”
“Really, Mr. Vance,”--again Bliss’s hand went to his cravat--“it must
be up-stairs. If you’ll call Brush----”
Scarlett had moved forward beside Bliss.
“It was in your study last night, doctor,” he said, “--on the desk.…”
“So it was!” Bliss was in perfect control of himself now. “You’ll find
it on my desk, stuck in the necktie I was wearing yesterday.”
Vance rose and confronted Scarlett with an arctic look.
“Thanks awfully,” he said coldly. “When I need your assistance I’ll
call on you.” Then he turned to Bliss. “The truth is, doctor, I was
endeavorin’ to ascertain when you last remembered havin’ your scarab
pin.… It’s not in your study, d’ ye see. It was lyin’ beside the body
of Mr. Kyle when we arrived here.”
“My Intef scarab here!” Bliss leapt to his feet and gazed, with a
panic-stricken stare, at the murdered man. “That’s impossible!”
Vance stepped to Kyle’s body and picked up the scarab.
“Not impossible, sir,” he said, displaying the pin; “but very
mystifyin’.… It was probably taken from your study at the same time as
the report.”
“It’s beyond me,” Bliss remarked slowly, in a hoarse whisper.
“Maybe it fell outa your necktie,” Heath suggested antagonistically,
thrusting his jaw forward.
“What do you mean?” The doctor’s tone was dull and frightened. “I
didn’t have it in this necktie. I left it in the study----”
“Sergeant!” Vance gave Heath a look of stern reproval. “Let’s go at
this thing calmly and with discretion.”
“Mr. Vance,”--Heath’s aggressiveness did not relax--“I’m here to find
out who croaked Kyle. And the person who had every opportunity to do
it is this Doctor Bliss. On top of that fact we find a financial
report and a stick-pin that hooks Doctor Bliss up to the dead man. And
there’s those footprints----”
“All you say is true, Sergeant.” Vance cut him short. “But
ballyragging the doctor will not give us the explanation of this
extr’ordin’ry situation.”
Bliss had shrunk back into his chair.
“Oh, my God!” he moaned. “I see what you’re getting at. You think _I_
killed him!” He turned his eyes to Vance in desperate entreaty. “I
tell you I’ve been asleep since nine o’clock. I didn’t even know Kyle
was here. It’s terrible--terrible.… Surely, Mr. Vance, you can’t
believe----”
There was a sound of angry voices at the main door of the museum, and
we all looked in that direction. At the head of the stairs stood
Hennessey, his arms wide, protesting volubly. On the door-sill was a
young woman.
“This is my house,” she said in a shrill, angry voice. “How dare you
tell me I can’t enter here?…”
Scarlett at once hurried toward the stairs.
“Meryt!”
“It’s my wife,” Bliss informed us. “Why is she refused admittance, Mr.
Vance?”
Before Vance could answer, Heath was shouting:
“That’s all right, Hennessey. Let the lady come in.”
Mrs. Bliss hastened down the stairs, and almost ran to her husband.
“Oh, what is it, Mindrum? What has happened?” She dropped to her knees
and put her arms about the doctor’s shoulders. At that instant she
caught sight of Kyle’s body and, with a gasp and a shudder, turned her
eyes away.
She was a striking-looking woman, whose age, I surmised, was about
twenty-six-or-seven. Her large eyes were dark and heavily lashed, and
her skin was a deep olive. Her Egyptian blood was most marked in the
sensual fulness of her lips and in her high prominent cheekbones,
which gave her face a decidedly Oriental character. There was
something about her that recalled to my mind the beautiful
reconstructed painting made of Queen Nefret-îti by Winifred
Brunton.[*12] She wore a powder-blue toque hat not unlike the
headdress of Nefret-îti herself; and her gown of cinnamon-brown
georgette crêpe clung closely to her slender, well-rounded body,
bringing out and emphasizing its sensuous curves. There were both
strength and beauty in her supple figure, which followed the lines of
the old Oriental ideal such as we find in Ingres’ “Bain Turc.”
Despite her youth she possessed a distinct air of maturity and poise:
there were undeniable depths to her nature; and I could easily
imagine, as I watched her kneeling beside Bliss, that she might be
capable of powerful emotions and equally powerful deeds.[*13]
Bliss patted her shoulder in an affectionately paternal manner. His
eyes, though, were abstracted.
“Kyle is dead, my dear,” he told her in a hollow voice. “He’s been
killed… and these gentlemen are accusing me of having done it.”
“You!” Mrs. Bliss was instantly on her feet. For a moment her great
eyes stared uncomprehendingly at her husband; then she turned on us in
a flashing rage. But before she could speak Vance stepped toward her.
“The doctor is not quite accurate, Mrs. Bliss,” he said in a low, even
tone. “We have not accused him. We are merely making an investigation
of this tragic affair; and it happens that the doctor’s scarab-pin was
found near Mr. Kyle’s body.…”
“What of it?” She had become strangely calm. “Any one might have
dropped it there.”
“Exactly, madam,” Vance returned, with friendly assurance. “Our main
object in this investigation is to ascertain who that person was.”
The woman’s eyes were half-closed, and she stood rigid, as if
transfixed by a sudden devastating thought.
“Yes… yes,” she breathed. “Some one placed the scarab-pin there… some
one.…” Her voice died out, and a cloud, as of pain, came over her
face. But quickly she drew herself together and, taking a deep breath,
looked resolutely into Vance’s eyes.
“Whoever it was that did this terrible thing, I want you to find him.”
Her expression became set and hard. “And I will help you. Do you
understand?--_I_ will help you.”
Vance studied her briefly before replying.
“I believe you will, Mrs. Bliss. And I shall call on you for that
help.” He bowed slightly. “But there is nothing you can do at this
moment. A few prelimin’ry routine things must be done first. In the
meantime, I would appreciate your waiting for us in the
drawing-room--there will be several questions we shall want to ask you
presently.… Hani may accompany you.”
I had been watching the Egyptian with one eye during this little
scene. When Mrs. Bliss had entered the museum he had barely turned in
her direction, but when she had begun speaking to Vance he had moved
silently toward them. He now stood, his arms folded, just behind the
inlaid coffer, with his eyes fixed upon the woman, in an attitude of
protective devotion.
“Come, Meryt-Amen,” he said. “I will remain with you till these
gentlemen wish to consult you. There is nothing to fear. Sakhmet has
had her just revenge, and she is beyond the mundane power of
Occidental law.”
The woman hesitated a moment. Then, going to Bliss, she kissed him
lightly on the forehead, and walked toward the front stairway, Hani
servilely following her.