The Cairo Brief Page 13

  “Oh Poppy, you look spiffing, doesn’t she?” Delilah declared, appraising her friend from head to foot. “I told you it would suit you, didn’t I?” She then went on to explain to Marjorie and Yasmin exactly where she had suggested Poppy buy her new outfit and then to interrogate the two women as to the provenance of their own. Faizal drew on his cigarette and glanced over at the group of German and British archaeologists. Poppy wondered if he would hive off when he had the chance.

  However, he stuck with the ladies, and when he had an opportunity said: “Mrs Reynolds, would you mind if I walk with you to the shoot? I have something I would like to discuss with you. Is that all right?”

  “Of course, Dr Osman,” replied Marjorie, her tone pleasant but professional.

  Sir James, with Lady Ursula and Mr Grimes at his shoulder, called them all to order. He explained that they would be walking about half a mile to a field where the shoot had been set up. If anyone felt unable to walk, transport could be arranged. He asked for a show of hands as to who wanted a lift. Only Lionel Saunders’ hand went up.

  Rollo’s ribbing of “Come on Saunders, man up!” was met with a roar of laughter from the German and British groups. Lionel’s hand went down.

  “Well Saunders, if you change your mind – or any of you – Lady Ursula and Grimes will be bringing the sandwiches, port, and sherry in the motor.”

  “Thank heavens for that!” declared Rollo. “We Americans can’t shoot on an empty stomach!”

  Sir James raised his hat – a deerstalker – and replied: “Anything to make our colonial cousins feel at home.”

  “Former colonial cousins,” corrected Rollo.

  There were chuckles all round.

  “Righto, now that we’ve avoided an international incident, let’s get this show on the road!” With walking stick aloft, like a lightning rod conductor, he turned on his heel and led the way out of the courtyard.

  In a bubble of good humour, all the guests followed, gee’d on by a “tally ho!” from Fox Flinton, emerging from one of the stables trotting like a pony.

  “Oh Fox, you silly billy,” laughed Delilah.

  “Does my lady want a ride?” he asked, bending down. Buoyed by high spirits, Delilah jumped on his back and he gave her a piggy back around the courtyard. Poppy joined in with the corporate laughter but wondered to herself if Delilah had finally succumbed to the older man’s seductive charms. She hoped not. But Delilah was Delilah and wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want to do.

  The Rolls blasted its horn and the party stepped aside to let it pass. Mr Grimes, sitting next to the chauffeur, with Lady Ursula in the back seat, was a dark silhouette. Poppy shivered: could it really have been him?

  “Hold on Poppy!”

  Daniel, his Kodak Brownie camera case slung over one shoulder, and an unwieldy tripod on the other, caught up with her.

  “You should have put that in the motor,” she observed.

  He grinned, his face ruddy from fresh air and exercise. “I think I’ll manage half a mile. Have you seen Harry Gibson? I thought he’d be shooting the shoot.”

  “I thought so too,” said Poppy. “Lionel’s here. Perhaps he’s already out there.”

  Poppy gestured to the treeline beyond the field through which they were traipsing.

  “Could be.”

  “So what happened with the policeman this morning?”

  “All routine, really. He asked –”

  Poppy grabbed his arm and said “Shush.”

  “What?”

  She leaned in close and whispered: “Sorry, I just heard Faizal say something to Marjorie. They’re behind us, aren’t they?”

  Daniel looked back and confirmed that they were.

  “Then give me a minute...” Poppy tuned in to the conversation behind her.

  “– I’m sorry Mrs Reynolds, but that’s really not good enough.”

  “Well, Dr Osman, there’s nothing more I can say. That’s the official policy of His Majesty’s government. There has been a judgment by an esteemed member of the judiciary and it cannot be overruled. We are a democracy, sir, under the rule of law.”

  “But the judgment wasn’t legally sound! Have you read Yasmin’s brief?”

  “I have. And if the Egyptian government feels strongly enough about it, they can bring an appeal to the Supreme Court. Your sister should have told you that already.”

  Faizal cleared his throat. “You know as well as I do, Mrs Reynolds, that an appeal can take years. We do not have years. The mask is being auctioned off tonight. And if it’s bought by New York or Berlin it could be out of the country and beyond our reach in a matter of days. That mask has been stolen from the people of Egypt. It belongs in the Cairo Museum.” He paused, then continued in a more conciliatory tone: “Come Marjorie, the British government has a chance here to show its goodwill. As we all know, with independence coming in just a few months, it’s very important that we all remain on good terms, don’t you think?”

  Marjorie sighed. “I’m sorry Faizal; I really am – you know how I feel about this. But as a member of the Home Office my hands are tied. I’ll tell you what, though: I will make every effort to speak to Maddox again before tonight. Perhaps I can persuade him of the diplomatic delicacy of the situation. Perhaps he will delay the auction...”

  “And pigs might fly.”

  “It’s the best I can do for now, Faizal.”

  “I know, Marjorie. I know.”

  Poppy cocked her head, hoping to hear more, but the pair behind her fell into silence.

  Daniel nudged her elbow. “Did you get all that, Miss Nosey Parker?”

  Poppy chuckled. “I did. Pretty much what I suspected. So sorry I interrupted; what happened with the policeman?”

  A pair of crows were squabbling over a dead field mouse. They stopped and leered at the human cavalcade as it passed by, then resumed their territorial dispute.

  Daniel turned his attention from the birds to his companion. “He took statements from me, Grimes, and Sir James. He said he already had a statement from the boy’s father – he’s the gamekeeper, the fella in charge of the arsenal – if you recall.”

  “Yes, I remember.” Poppy looked to the treeline and could make out a couple of tents and a small group of men with shotguns waiting for them. “Who’s in charge when he’s away?”

  Daniel shrugged. “I should imagine he has assistants – an estate this size. They’ve obviously not allowed his absence to stop their fun.”

  “No. I shouldn’t imagine they would. Unless there was something suspicious going on...”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as what you told me and Rollo last night. About the wrong shot being in the weapon. What was it you said? It was buckshot, not birdshot?”

  “That’s right.” Daniel switched the tripod from his left to his right shoulder.

  “Need a hand there, Rokeby?” Faizal called from behind.

  “I’m fine, Osman, but thanks for the offer.”

  Poppy waited to hear if there would be any further comments from behind before eventually continuing. “So what did the policeman say? Did he ask Maddox and Grimes about it?”

  “He did. They said they weren’t sure how it happened and that they would have a talk to the men to make sure it didn’t happen again. They had no answer for why the gun had been left loaded. They said the policeman should ask the gamekeeper that. He said he had and that the man had sworn blind that he had emptied all the weapons of all shells before packing them away after the last hunt.”

  “And what did they say?”

  “They suggested the fella was a bit confused. But they didn’t blame him, worried about his son and all.”

  “And what did the policeman say?”

  “He pretty much agreed with them. So the long and the short of it is, the gamekeeper is getting the blame for negligence – and will get a warning from both the police and his employer – but no further action will be taken as no one was seriously hurt.”

&n
bsp; “The boy nearly lost his foot!”

  “Yes he did. But I think – because it’s the gamekeeper’s son – that that’s punishment enough.”

  “Hmmm,” said Poppy.

  “Hmmm, what?”

  “I was wondering what might have happened if the boy hadn’t fired the gun yesterday. If no one had noticed there was buckshot in the barrel instead of birdshot. If someone had deliberately loaded it with more powerful ammunition. And what if that gun was shot today...”

  Daniel shifted the tripod again. He was getting tired. But, Poppy knew, he’d be too proud to ask for help. “What are you suggesting, Poppy?”

  Poppy wasn’t really sure. But finding the shell in Mr Grimes’ overcoat pocket had sparked her suspicions. That and the unnerving incident in the maze. Was she just being paranoid? Probably, but she told Daniel about it anyway.

  “Hmmm, you’re right; that is very odd. And you say there was a green stripe around the top of the shell?”

  “Yes, green. It was definitely green. Does that mean anything?”

  “It certainly does. A green stripe means it’s a buckshot shell.”

  “Buckshot?” asked Poppy, far louder than she should have.

  “Who shot a buck? Where?” cried Fox Flinton, from further forward in the procession. Delilah let out a peel of laughter.

  “Just telling Miss Denby about another hunt I was on,” offered Daniel.

  “Quick thinking,” whispered Poppy, who was relieved to hear no further ribbing from the Fox. They were almost at the end of their walk with the canvas gazebos of the shooting camp a dozen yards ahead. She stopped and then stepped aside, pulling Daniel with her. “Perhaps we can get some wide-angle shots of the camp,” she said loudly. Only Rollo – and perhaps Lionel – would know that she would normally not be telling a professional photographer how to do his job. No one else seemed to think it curious, and they trudged past the pair of journalists and swarmed into the camp.

  Daniel, playing along, swung down his tripod and started setting it up.

  “Yes, a green stripe is buckshot, red is birdshot. So why did Mr Grimes have a buckshot shell in his pocket?”

  Poppy looked over at the Rolls that had preceded the perambulating guests. Grimes, with the help of one of the assistant gamekeepers, was unpacking picnic hampers from the boot and laying out the contents on a trestle table.

  “Well that, Daniel, is the question.”

  “Everything all right here, team?” Rollo trudged over to them, a cucumber and egg sandwich in hand. Trust Rollo to get to the food first, thought Poppy.

  “Right as rain, boss,” said Daniel, loud enough for everyone else to hear, then lowered his voice and told the editor what Poppy had discovered in Grimes’ pocket.

  “Jumpin’ jelly fish!”

  Jumpin’ jelly fish? Has he had a head start on the port as well as the sandwiches? But no, the face that grinned up at Poppy was very much sober. Amused, but sober.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You are, Miz Denby. If I recall, not too long ago, you were chastising me for crossing police lines and trespassing. Now here you are, rifling through people’s pockets! We’ll make a proper investigative journalist out of you yet!”

  Poppy narrowed her eyes and attempted a scowl. Daniel chuckled. “He’s just teasing you, Poppy.”

  “I know. However, my dubious tactics aside, what do you think, Rollo? Do you think there might be something in it?”

  “Something like...” prompted the editor.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Poppy, trying to sound nonchalant. “Something like the accident yesterday might have scuppered someone’s plans to stage an accident today.”

  Both men looked at her in surprise. But it was Rollo who replied. “You think someone – either Grimes working on his own or working for someone else – planned to shoot someone today? What a very interesting suggestion. Who do you think the victim was supposed to be?”

  Daniel shook his head. “Whoa! Hold your horses. I think you two are going a bit too far with this. So the wrong ammunition was in the gun. The gun wasn’t cleaned properly after the last shoot. It could easily happen.”

  “It could,” agreed Poppy, “but why then did Grimes have the shell in his overcoat?”

  “Yes, Danny Boy, answer the lady...”

  Daniel spread his hands out wide. “I don’t know. But I still think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill here. Look, I’ve got to get on with this. All right?”

  “Fine and dandy,” said Rollo. “You’re probably right.” Then with a wink at Poppy: “But what if you’re not? What if someone was planning on shooting someone today. The question is who and whom?”

  “And why?” added Poppy, only partially in jest.

  Daniel sighed. “You two are incorrigible. Even if you’re right, I don’t think you’re going to find out anything today. With that accident yesterday, and the police aware of the incident, you would have to be a fool to try anything at this shoot.”

  Poppy looked over at the gazebos, filling up with fellow guests. “I do hope you’re right, Daniel, I really do.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Daniel was right. The closest anyone got to being hurt was the pair of crows who were showered with shards from the blasted clay pigeons. And Poppy had a lot more fun than she thought she would. Not having to worry about suffering prey, Poppy relaxed into the event and enjoyed learning how to load the weapon, aim, and fire as the clay discs were catapulted from the trap. By the end of the session she had notched up two “kills” and was very proud of herself. This, though, paled in comparison with Lady Ursula who, as had been intimated the day before, was indeed a crack shot. She killed a dozen “pigeons” in succession, clearing and reloading her shotgun with the alacrity of a gunnery sergeant at the Somme.

  On the way back from the shoot Poppy walked with Sir James – who, by the look of him, perhaps should have taken the motor. He was out of breath and red in the face, having to stop every fifty yards or so. “I’ve got a dicky ticker,” he explained, when Poppy enquired if he was all right. “Bit late taking my medicine this morning... Couldn’t find... it... at first. Normally stabilizes things. Probably... thrown me... a bit... off pace... Should perk up... after lunch… I take... another dose... then. Not to worry... Miss... Denby.”

  Poppy smiled at him and waited patiently for him to catch his breath. “My Uncle Roger has a weak heart too. He takes a little bit of digitalis powder in the morning. It’s made from foxglove, apparently. Is that what you take?”

  Sir James braced his lower back and pulled himself up straight. He looked a little less flustered. “It is, yes. I used to take it just once a day too, but now it’s three times a day – morning, noon, and evening.” He crooked his arm; Poppy put hers through it. It was more familiar than she would normally be comfortable with, with a man she barely knew, but she could help support him over the uneven ground.

  “Are you enjoying yourself on the weekend, Miss Denby?”

  A montage of images flashed through Poppy’s mind: being run off the road by the Courier lads, watching the poor boy writhing in agony after he’d been shot, being upset by Madame Minette pretending to be her brother, seeing the worried look on Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s face as he reported his wife was poorly, being terrorized by the stalker this morning in the maze…

  “I am, thank you,” she lied, and then added, more truthfully: “The clay pigeon shooting was much more fun than I thought it would be. And the play last night about Nefertiti was tremendous!”

  Sir James chuckled. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it. And – if I’m honest – a little relieved.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. I was surprised – and saddened – by how upset you got last night at the séance.”

  Poppy’s arm tightened in his but she didn’t pull away. Should she challenge him on it? Should she tell him she knew the whole thing was a cruel hoax? No, not yet, she cautioned herself. The job’s not finished. Besides, she didn’
t have any evidence yet. So she replied: “Yes, it was a bit of a shock. I still miss my brother hugely.”

  Hopefully that was a neutral statement – acknowledging she was upset but not accusing anyone – or absolving anyone – of responsibility. There would be time enough for that later… once the weekend was over. The last thing she and the Globe needed was to be asked to leave before the auction this evening, which is what might happen if she confronted Sir James.

  Sir James patted her hand. “Perfectly understandable, my dear.”

  However, there was some information she needed from him. She would have to tread very carefully… “Er, Sir James, I’ve been meaning to ask you. How is Lady Conan Doyle? Have you heard from Sir Arthur?”

  Sir James paused for a moment to take a breath before responding. “Not yet. He might have telephoned when they got back to London. But as we were out on the shoot, I haven’t heard yet.”

  “I do hope she’s all right. Such bad luck to fall ill just before the séance. You were lucky you were able to get Madame Minette at such short notice. How did you know she was in the area?”

  Sir James and Poppy nodded to Faizal Osman, Giles Mortimer, and Marjorie Reynolds as they overtook them on the field.

  “It was a case of bad luck but good fortune,” continued Sir James. “Lady Ursula bumped into Mrs Chapman – the wife of a mill owner who lives in Henley-on-Thames – at the parish fete last weekend. She mentioned that Madame Minette was staying with them for a week. She’s a distant cousin of Mr Chapman, apparently.”

  “Good fortune indeed,” observed Poppy, patiently waiting while Sir James gathered himself to walk the next few steps.

  It was now the turn of Rollo and Howard Carter to overtake them. Carter raised his hat at Poppy. Rollo gave her an approving nod; she was doing her job. “Henley-on-Thames, you say?” she asked, turning her attention back to Sir James. “Do you think she’s still there – with the Chapmans?”

  “I should imagine so, yes. But to be honest, I don’t know. She left straight after the séance last night. She asked if my chauffeur could take her. Of course I agreed, but it was a bit inconvenient. She could have stayed overnight. We’d assumed she would. But she was insistent that she wanted to leave. So poor Fitzroy – that’s the chauffeur – had to take her. He’d barely got back from that hospital run! Then this morning he took Sir Arthur and Lady Jean home. That’s a good hour each way. He’d only just got back from that in time for the shoot...”