A LIGHT IN THE MUSEUM
(_Saturday, July 14; 1.15 a.m._)
Hani joined us in the drawing-room. He was very calm and dignified,
and his inscrutable eyes rested impassively on Vance like those of an
ancient Egyptian priest meditating before the shrine of Osiris.
“How do you happen to be up and about at this hour?” Vance asked
casually. “Another attack of gastritis?”
“No, _effendi_.” Hani spoke in slow, measured tones. “I rose when I
heard you talking to Brush. I sleep with my door open always.”
“Perhaps, then, you heard Sakhmet when she returned to the house
to-night.”
“Did Sakhmet return?” The Egyptian lifted his head slightly in mild
interest.
“In a manner of speaking.… But she’s a most inefficient deity. She
bungled everything again.”
“Are you sure she did not intentionally bungle things?” Despite the
droning quality of Hani’s voice, there was a significant note in it.
Vance regarded him for a moment. Then:
“Did you hear footsteps on the stairs or along the second-floor
corridor shortly after midnight?”
The man shook his head slowly.
“I heard nothing. But I was asleep for at least an hour before you
arrived; and the soft tread of footsteps on the deep carpet would
scarcely have been sufficient to rouse me.”
“Doctor Bliss himself,” Vance explained, “came down-stairs and
telephoned to me. You did not hear him either?”
“The first sound I perceived was when you gentlemen came into the
front hall and talked to Brush. Your voices, or perhaps the door
opening, awakened me. Later I could hear your muffled tones in Doctor
Bliss’s bedroom, which is just below mine; but I could not distinguish
anything that was said.”
“And of course you were not aware that any one turned off the light in
the second-story hall round midnight.”
“Had I not been asleep I would certainly have noticed it, as the light
shines dimly up the stairs into my room. But when I awoke the light
was on as usual.” Hani frowned slightly. “Who would have turned the
hall light off at that hour?”
“I wonder.…” Vance did not take his eyes from the Egyptian. “Doctor
Bliss has just told us that it was some one who had designs on his
life.”
“Ah!” The exclamation was like a sigh of relief. “But the attempt, I
gather, was not successful.”
“No. It was quite a fiasco. The technic, I might say, was both stupid
and hazardous.”
“It was not Sakhmet.” Hani’s pronouncement was almost sepulchral.
“Really, now!” Vance smiled slightly. “She is still reclinin’, then,
by the side of the great west wind of heaven.[*26]… I’m jolly glad to
be able to rule her out. And since no occult force was at work,
perhaps you can suggest who would have had a motive to cut the
doctor’s throat.”
“There are many who would not weep if he were to quit this life; but I
know of none who would take it upon himself to precipitate that
departure.”
Vance lighted a _Régie_ and sat down.
“Why, Hani, did you imagine you might be of service to us?”
“Like you, _effendi_,” came the soft reply, “I expected that something
distressing, and perhaps violent, would happen in this house to-night.
And when I heard you enter and go to Doctor Bliss’s room, it occurred
to me that the looked-for event had come to pass. So I waited on the
upper landing until you came out.”
“Most considerate and thoughtful of you,” Vance murmured, and took
several puffs on his cigarette. After a moment he asked: “If Mr.
Salveter had emerged from his room to-night after you had gone to bed,
would you have known of the fact?”
The Egyptian hesitated, and his eyes contracted.
“I think I would. His room is directly opposite mine----”
“I’m familiar with the arrangement.”
“It does not seem probable that Mr. Salveter could have unlocked his
door and come out without my being cognizant of it.”
“It’s possible though, is it not?” Vance was insistent. “If you were
asleep, and Mr. Salveter had good reason for not disturbing you, he
might have emerged so cautiously that you would have slept on in
complete ignorance of his act.”
“It is barely possible,” Hani admitted unwillingly. “But I am quite
sure that he did not leave his room after retiring.”
“Your wish, I fear, is father to your assurance,” Vance sighed.
“However, we sha’n’t belabor the point.”
Hani was watching Vance with lowering concern.
“Did Doctor Bliss suggest that Mr. Salveter left his room to-night?”
“Oh, to the contr’ry,” Vance assured him. “The doctor said quite
emphatically that any attempt to connect Mr. Salveter with the
stealthy steps outside of his door at midnight, would be a grave
error.”
“Doctor Bliss is wholly correct,” the Egyptian declared.
“And yet, Hani, the doctor insisted that a would-be assassin was
prowlin’ about the house. Who else could it have been?”
“I cannot imagine.” Hani appeared almost indifferent.
“You do not think that it could have been Mrs. Bliss?”
“Never!” The man’s tone had become quickly animated. “Meryt-Amen would
have had no reason to go into the hall. She has access to her
husband’s room through a communicating door----”
“So I observed a while ago,--she joined our _pourparler_ in the
doctor’s room. And I must say, Hani, that she was most anxious for us
to find the person who had made the attempt on her husband’s life.”
“Anxious--and sad, _effendi_.” A new note crept into Hani’s voice.
“She does not yet understand the things that have happened to-day. But
when she does----”
“We won’t speculate along those lines now,” Vance cut in brusquely. He
reached in his pocket and drew out the golden dagger. “Did you ever
see that?” he asked, holding the weapon toward the Egyptian.
The man’s eyes opened wide as he stared at the glittering, jewelled
object. At first he appeared fascinated, but the next moment his face
clouded, and the muscles of his jowls worked spasmodically. A
smouldering anger had invaded him.
“Where did that Pharaonic dagger come from?” he asked, striving to
control his emotion.
“It was brought from Egypt by Doctor Bliss,” Vance told him.
Hani took the dagger and held it reverently under the table-lamp.
“It could only have come from the tomb of Ai. Here on the crystal knob
is faintly engraved the king’s cartouche. Behold: Kheper-kheperu-Rê
Iry-Maët----”
“Yes, yes. The last Pharaoh of the Eighteenth Dynasty. The doctor
found the dagger during his excavations in the Valley of the Tombs of
the Kings.” Vance was watching the other intently. “You are quite
positive you have never seen it before?”
Hani drew himself up proudly.
“Had I seen it, I would have reported it to my Government. It would no
longer be in the possession of an alien desecrator, but in the country
where it belongs, cared for by loving hands at Cairo.… Doctor Bliss
did well to keep it hidden.”
There was a bitter hatred in his words, but suddenly his manner
changed.
“May I be permitted to ask when you first saw this royal dagger?”
“A few minutes ago,” Vance answered. “It was projectin’ from the
headboard of the doctor’s bed--just behind the place where his head
had lain a second earlier.”
Hani’s gaze travelled past Vance to some distant point, and his eyes
became shrewdly thoughtful.
“Was there no sheath to this dagger?” he asked.
“Oh, yes.” There was a flicker in the corners of Vance’s eyes. “Gold
and cloisonné--though I haven’t seen it. The fact is, Hani, we’re
deuced interested in the sheath. It’s disappeared--lying _perdu_
somewhere hereabouts. We’re going to make a bit of a search for it ere
long.”
Hani nodded his head understandingly.
“And if you find it, are you sure you’ll know more than you do now?”
“It may at least verify my suspicions.”
“The sheath would be an easy object to hide securely,” Hani reminded
him.
“I really don’t anticipate any difficulty in putting my hands on it.”
Vance rose and confronted the man. “Could you perhaps suggest where we
might best start our search?”
“No, _effendi_,” Hani returned, after a perceptible hesitation. “Not
at this moment. I would need time to think about it.”
“Very well. Suppose you go to your room and indulge in some lamaic
concentration. You’re anything but helpful.”
Hani handed the dagger back, and turned toward the hall.
“And be so good,” Vance requested, “as to knock on Mr. Salveter’s door
and tell him we would like to see him here at once.”
Hani bowed, and disappeared.
“I don’t like that bird,” Heath grumbled, when the Egyptian was out of
hearing. “He’s too slippery. And he knows something he’s not telling.
I’d like to turn my boys loose on him with a piece of rubber
hose--they’d make him come across.… I wouldn’t be surprised, Mr.
Vance, if he threw the dagger himself. Did you notice the way he held
it, laying out flat in the palm of his hand with the point toward the
fingers?--just like those knife-throwers in vaudeville.”
“Oh, he might have been thinkin’ caressingly of Doctor Bliss’s
trachea,” Vance conceded. “However, the dagger episode doesn’t worry
me half as much as something that _didn’t_ happen to-night.”
“Well, it looks to me like plenty happened,” retorted Heath.
Markham regarded Vance inquisitively.
“What’s in your mind?” he asked.
“The picture presented to us to-night, d’ ye see, wasn’t finished. I
could still detect some of the under-painting. And there was no
_vernissage_. The canvas needed another form--the generating line
wasn’t complete.…”
Just then we could hear footsteps on the stairs. Salveter, with a
wrinkled Shantung dressing-gown wrapped about his pyjamas, blinked as
he faced the lights in the drawing-room. He appeared only half awake,
but when his pupils had become adjusted to the glare, he ran his eyes
sharply over the four of us and then shot a glance at the bronze clock
on the mantel.
“What now?” he asked. “What has happened?” He seemed both bewildered
and anxious.
“Doctor Bliss phoned me that some one had tried to kill him,” Vance
explained. “So we hobbled over.… Know anything about it?”
“Good God, no!” Salveter sat down heavily in a chair by the door.
“Some one tried to kill the doctor? When?… How?” He fumbled in his
dressing-gown pockets, and Vance, reading his movements correctly,
held out his cigarette-case. Salveter lighted a _Régie_ nervously,
and drew several deep inhalations on it.
“Shortly after midnight,” Vance answered. “But the attempt failed
dismally.” He tossed the dagger in Salveter’s lap. “Familiar with that
knick-knack?”
The other studied the weapon a few seconds without touching it. A
growing astonishment crept into his expression, and he carefully
picked up the dagger and inspected it.
“I never saw it in my life,” he said in an awed tone. “It’s a very
valuable archæological specimen--a rare museum piece. Where, in
Heaven’s name, did you unearth it? It certainly doesn’t belong to the
Bliss collection.”
“Ah, but it does,” Vance assured him. “A private item, so to speak.
Always kept secluded from pryin’ vulgar eyes.”
“I’m amazed. I’ll bet the Egyptian Government doesn’t know about it.”
Salveter looked up abruptly. “Has this dagger anything to do with the
attempt on the doctor’s life?”
“Everything apparently,” Vance replied negligently. “We found it
lodged in the headboard of the doctor’s bed, evidently thrown with
great force at the spot where his throat should have been.”
Salveter contracted his brow and set his lips.
“See here, Mr. Vance,” he declared at length; “we haven’t any Malayan
jugglers in this house.… Unless,” he added, as a startled
afterthought, “Hani knows the art. Those orientals are full of
unexpected lore and practices.”
“The performance to-night was not, according to all accounts, what one
would unqualifiedly call artistic. It was, in fact, somewhat
amateurish. I’m sure a Malay could have done much better with his
kris. In the first place, the intruder’s footsteps and the opening of
the door were plainly heard by Doctor Bliss; and, in the second place,
there was sufficient delay between the projection of the flash-light
and the actual hurling of the dagger to give the doctor time to remove
his head from the line of propulsion.…”
At this moment Hani appeared at the door holding a small object in his
hand. Walking forward he laid it on the centre-table.
“Here, _effendi_,” he said in a low voice, “is the sheath of the royal
dagger. I found it lying against the baseboard of the second-story
hall, near the head of the stairs.”
Vance scarcely glanced at it.
“Thanks awfully,” he drawled. “I rather thought you’d find it. But of
course it wasn’t in the hall.”
“I assure you----”
“Oh, quite.” Vance looked straight into Hani’s eyes, and presently a
faint, gentle smile crept into his gaze. “Isn’t it true, Hani,” he
asked pointedly, “that you found the sheath exactly where you and I
believed it to be hidden?”
The Egyptian did not answer at once. Presently he said:
“I have told my story, _effendi_. You may draw your own conclusion.”
Vance appeared satisfied and waved his hand toward the door.
“And now, Hani, go to bed. We sha’n’t need you any more to-night.
_Leiltak sa’îda._”
“_Leiltak sa’îda wemubâraka._” The man bowed and departed.
Vance picked up the sheath and, taking the dagger from Salveter,
fitted the blade into its holder, looking at the gold embossing
critically.
“Ægean influence,” he murmured. “Pretty, but too fussy. These ornate
floral devices of the Eighteenth Dynasty bear the same relation to
early Egyptian art that the Byzantine ginger-bread does to the simple
Greek orders.” He held the sheath closer to his monocle. “And, by the
by, here’s a decoration that may interest you, Mr. Salveter. The
formal scrolls terminate in a jackal’s head.”
“Anûpu, eh? Hani’s given name. That’s curious.” Salveter rose and
looked at the design. “And another point might be considered, Mr.
Vance,” he went on, after a pause. “These lower-class Copts are, for
all their superficial Christian veneer, highly superstitious. Their
minds run along one traditional groove: they like to fit everything to
a preconceived symbolism. There have been nine more or less
coincidental deaths of late among those connected with the excavations
in Egypt,[*27] and the natives ridiculously imagine that the afrîts
of their ancestors lay in ambush in the various tombs to mow down the
western intruders, as a kind of punitive measure. They actually
believe in such malefic forces.… And here is Hani, at bottom a
superstitious Egyptian, who resents the work of Doctor Bliss:--is it
not possible he might consider the death of the doctor by a dagger
once worn by a Pharaoh as a sort of mystical retribution in line with
all these other irrational ghost stories? And Hani might even regard
the jackal’s head on that sheath as a sign that he--named after the
jackal-headed god, Anûbis--had been divinely appointed the agent in
this act of vengeance.”
“A charmin’ theory,” was Vance’s somewhat uninterested comment. “But a
bit too specious, I fear. I’m comin’ to the opinion that Hani is not
nearly so stupid and superstitious as he would have us think. He’s a
kind of modern Theogonius, who has found it the part of wisdom to
simulate mental inferiority.”[*28]
Salveter slowly nodded agreement.
“I’ve felt that same quality in him at times.… But who else----?”
“Ah! Who else?” Vance sighed. “I say, Mr. Salveter; what time did you
go to bed to-night?”
“At ten-thirty,” the man returned aggressively. “And I didn’t wake up
until Hani called me just now.”
“You retired, then, immediately after you had fetched the
memorandum-book from the study for Doctor Bliss.”
“Oh, he told you about that, did he?… Yes, I handed him the book and
went on up to my room.”
“The book, I understand, was in his desk.”
“That’s right.--But why this cross-examination about a
memorandum-book?”
“That dagger,” Vance explained, “was also kept in one of the drawers
of the doctor’s desk.”
Salveter leapt to his feet.
“I see!” His face was livid.
“Oh, but you don’t,” Vance mildly assured him. “And I’d appreciate it
immensely if you’d try to be calm. Your vitality positively exhausts
me.--Tell me, did you lock your bedroom door to-night?”
“I always lock it at night.”
“And during the day?”
“I leave it open--to air the room.”
“And you heard nothing to-night after retiring?”
“Nothing at all. I went to sleep quickly--the reaction, I suppose.”
Vance rose.
“One other thing: where did the family have dinner to-night?”
“In the breakfast-room. It could hardly be called dinner, though. No
one was hungry. It was more like a light supper. So we ate
down-stairs. Less bother.”
“And what did the various members of the household do after dinner?”
“Hani went up-stairs at once, I believe. The doctor and Mrs. Bliss and
I sat here in the drawing-room for an hour or so, when the doctor
excused himself and went to his room. A little later Meryt-Amen went
up-stairs, and I sat here until about half past ten trying to read.”
“Thank you, Mr. Salveter. That will be all.” Vance moved toward the
hall. “Only, I wish you’d tell Mrs. Bliss and the doctor that we
sha’n’t disturb them any more to-night. We’ll probably communicate
with them to-morrow.… Let’s go, Markham. There’s really nothing more
we can do here.”
“I could do a whole lot more,” Heath objected with surly antagonism.
“But this case is being handled like a pink tea. Somebody in this
house threw that dagger, and if I had my way I’d steam the truth out
of him.”
Markham endeavored diplomatically to soothe the Sergeant’s ruffled
feelings, but without any marked success.
We were now standing just inside of the front door preparatory to
departing, and Vance paused to light a cigarette. He was facing the
great steel door leading into the museum, and I saw his frame suddenly
go taut.
“Oh, just a moment, Mr. Salveter,” he called; and the man, who was now
nearly at the head of the first flight of stairs, turned and retraced
his steps. “What are the lights doing on in the museum?”
I glanced toward the bottom of the steel door where Vance’s gaze was
resting, and for the first time saw a tiny illuminated line. Salveter,
too, glanced at the floor, and frowned.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” he said in a puzzled voice. “The last person
in the museum is supposed to turn off the switch. But no one to my
knowledge has been in there to-night.… I’ll see.” He stepped toward
the door, but Vance moved in front of him.
“Don’t trouble yourself,” he said peremptorily. “I’ll attend to it.…
Good-night.”
Salveter took the dismissal uneasily, but without another word he went
up-stairs.
When he had disappeared round the banisters on the second floor, Vance
gently turned the knob, and pushed the museum door open. Below us, on
the opposite side of the room, seated at the desk-table near the
obelisk, and surrounded by filing-boxes, photographs, and cardboard
folders, was Scarlett. His coat and waistcoat were hanging over the
back of his chair; a green celluloid shade covered his eyes; and a pen
was in his hand, poised above a large note-book.
He looked up as the door opened.
“Oh, hallo!” he called cheerily. “Thought you were through with the
Bliss ménage for to-day.”
“It’s to-morrow now,” returned Vance, going down the stairs and
crossing the museum.
“What!” Scarlett reached behind him and took out his watch. “Great
Scott! So it is. Had no idea of the hour. Been working here since
eight o’clock----”
“Amazin’.” Vance glanced over a few of the upturned photographs. “Very
interestin’.… Who let you in, by the by?”
“Brush, of course.” Scarlett seemed rather astonished at the question.
“Said the family were having dinner in the breakfast-room. I told him
not to disturb ’em--that I had a bit of work to finish.…”
“He didn’t mention your arrival to us.” Vance was apparently engrossed
in a photograph of four amuletic bracelets.
“But why should he, Vance?” Scarlett had risen and was getting into
his coat. “It’s a commonplace thing for me to come here and work in
the evenings. I’m drifting in and out of the house constantly. When I
work at night I always shut off the light on going and see that the
front door is fastened. Nothing unusual about my coming here after
dinner.”
“That probably accounts for Brush’s not telling us, don’t y’ know.”
Vance tossed the photographs back on the table. “But something out of
the ordin’ry did happen here to-night.” He laid the sheathed dagger
before Scarlett. “What do you know about that bizarre parazonium?”
“Oh, much.” The other grinned, and shot Vance an interrogatory look.
“How did you happen on it? It’s one of the doctor’s dark secrets.”
“Really?” Vance lifted his eyebrows in simulated surprise. “Then
you’re familiar with it?”
“Rather. I saw the old scalawag slip it into his khaki shirt when he
found it. I kept mum--none of my business. Later, when we were here in
New York, he told me he’d smuggled it out of Egypt, and confided to me
that he was keeping it sequestered in his study. He was in constant
fear that Hani would unearth it, and swore me to secrecy. I agreed.
What’s one dagger, more or less? The Cairo Museum has the cream of all
the excavated items anyway.”
“He kept it ensconced under some papers in one of his desk drawers.”
“Yes, I know. Safe hiding-place. Hani rarely goes in the study.… But
I’m curious----”
“We’re all curious. Distressin’ state, what?” Vance gave him no time
to speculate. “Who else knew of the dagger’s existence?”
“No one, as far as I know. The doctor certainly didn’t disclose the
fact to Hani; and I doubt seriously if he informed Mrs. Bliss. She has
peculiar loyalties in regard to her native country, and the doctor
respects them. No telling how she’d react to the theft of such a
valuable treasure.”
“What about Salveter?”
“I’d say no.” Scarlett made an unpleasant grimace. “He’d be sure to
confide in Meryt-Amen. Impulsive young cub.”
“Well, some one knew of its whereabouts,” Vance remarked. “Doctor
Bliss phoned me shortly after midnight that he had escaped
assassination by the proverbial hair’s-breadth; so we sped hither and
found the point of that poniard infixed in the head of his bed.”
“By Jove! You don’t say!” Scarlett seemed shocked and perplexed. “Some
one must have discovered the dagger… and yet----” He stopped suddenly
and shot Vance a quick look. “How do you account for it?”
“I’m not accountin’ for it. Most mysterious.… Hani, by the by, found
the sheath in the hall near the doctor’s door.”
“That’s odd.…” Scarlett paused as if considering. Then he began
arranging his papers and photographs in neat piles and stacking his
filing-boxes under the table. “Couldn’t you get any suggestions out of
the rest of the household?” he asked.
“Any number of suggestions. All of ’em conflictin’, and most of ’em
silly. So we’re toddlin’ along home. Happened to see the light under
the door and was overcome with curiosity.… Quitting now?”
“Yes.” Scarlett took up his hat. “I’d have knocked off long ago but
didn’t realize how late it was.”
We all left the house together. A heavy silence had fallen over us,
and it was not until Scarlett paused in front of his quarters that any
one of us spoke. Then Vance said:
“Good-night. Don’t let the dagger disturb your slumbers.”
Scarlett waved an abstracted adieu.
“Thanks, old man,” he rejoined. “I’ll try to follow your advice.”
Vance had taken several steps when he turned suddenly.
“And I say, Scarlett; if I were you I’d keep away from the Bliss house
for the time being.”