The Cairo Brief Page 21

  “Did he say who he wanted the mask to go to?”

  “Just to the highest bidder, whoever that might be.”

  “And he didn’t mind if it was the Egyptians?”

  Ah, Martin was already on the case. “I think he made it clear that he would prefer that the Egyptians did not get the mask. But I don’t think he believed they would.”

  “No? And why’s that?”

  Again, it was probably already common knowledge. “Because of the court case they brought and the injunction they were trying to get. They would not be likely to pay for something they believed was already legally theirs. Although, of course Sir James disputed that. The legality, that is.”

  Martin nodded and tapped his pen against his notepad. “Yes, I’ve heard about that. Thank you, Miss Denby. And the Germans? Did he give any opinion on them?”

  Poppy thought about this then said: “Only that he felt the ‘Huns’ – as he called them – were spreading rumours reinforcing the idea that the mask had not been legally procured.” She stopped. Had she said too much there? Possibly, but he would find out anyway. So she continued: “If you don’t know already, the German delegation believe the mask might have been stolen from the original dig – which was German-run. No doubt you’ll be interviewing Herr Stein and his colleague in due course and they’ll fill you in on the details.”

  DCI Martin nodded. “Thank you, Miss Denby, I will.” He perused his notes again, then asked: “Do you recall if anyone did not attend the clay shoot that morning? Or if anyone was late arriving for it?”

  Poppy thought about it a moment then replied: “Yes, as a matter of fact I do. Miss El Farouk said she spent the morning catching up on some reading. And Harry Gibson – from the Courier – didn’t come either. I have no idea what his excuse was.”

  A mental image of Harry Gibson came to mind: he was wearing a fedora and a trench coat. Poppy pursed her lips. Yes, now that Grimes was clear, Gibson was very much at the top of her list of stalker suspects. And she’d just been reminded: his whereabouts during much of the weekend were uncertain. “Now that I think of it, I don’t recall him being at breakfast either.”

  “Oh?” asked DCI Martin.

  “No. He didn’t make an appearance. Lionel Saunders was there, but not Gibson. Oh, and of course the Conan Doyles. Sir Arthur made a brief appearance to tell us he was taking Lady Jean home. I’m sure you’ve heard that she was taken ill on the Friday, before the séance.”

  “Yes, I’d heard that. I shall be speaking to Sir Arthur when I get back to London. He has already been informed of Sir James’ death.”

  Poppy remembered how worried the poor man had been about his wife. And then, it suddenly occurred to her that she’d read somewhere that small doses of poison could cause gastritis. What was the poison? Digitalis? No, not that. Arsenic? Yes, that rang a bell… should she mention it?

  But DCI Martin had moved on. “Anyone else? Anyone else who missed a meal?”

  “Hmm, for breakfast on the Saturday I don’t recall seeing Lady Ursula either – but I think she was tending to Lady Jean. And also Miss El Farouk had a meal sent up to her room – something to do with not wanting her food to be contaminated by pork sausages and bacon, perhaps. Oh! And then the evening before, Daniel Rokeby missed the dinner as he accompanied a boy to hospital.” She turned to the Henley-on-Thames officer and said: “But I’m sure Constable Jones has filled you in on all that.”

  Martin nodded. “He has. So back to the shoot. Was there anyone else who missed it apart from Mr Gibson and Miss El Farouk? Or perhaps arrived late?”

  Poppy cast her mind back and remembered Fox Flinton galloping like a horse out of one of the stables. “Only Mr Flinton, I think. Although I’m not sure he was late or just hiding, waiting to play a prank on us.” She described the actor’s antics.

  DCI Martin’s face was impassive. He checked his notes. “Right then, moving forward to Saturday night. Did anyone disappear afterwards?”

  “Disappear?”

  “After Sir James died. Did anyone remove themselves suddenly?”

  Poppy recalled that everyone apart from Lady Ursula, Fox Flinton, and Marjorie Reynolds retired to the library while they waited for the doctor to come.

  “Everyone?” Martin prompted.

  Poppy went through a mental checklist. “Yes, I think so… oh, hang on! Harry Gibson slipped out when Fox Flinton came back to tell Albert Carnaby that he should take custody of the mask. I think that’s when he took the photograph that appeared on the front of the Courier on Sunday morning. He and Lionel hightailed it back to London on Saturday night.”

  “Hightailed? When was that?”

  “Mr Rokeby – our photographer – said he heard their motor soon after the doctor had left.”

  DCI Martin made a note. “And did Gibson come back into the library after he slipped out?”

  “He did not.”

  “Right, thank you. And before that, at the auction? Did anyone not attend?”

  “No, everyone was there. All the guests, anyway. I can’t account for the staff.”

  “Of course not, no. So everyone was there apart from the Conan Doyles – who had left that morning – and the medium who had left the night before? Madame Minette, was it?”

  Poppy felt uncomfortable. Was Martin about to dig into her behaviour at the séance?

  “Yes, that’s right, Madame Minette. A last-minute replacement for Lady Jean Conan Doyle.”

  Martin stopped writing and met Poppy’s gaze. “So I’ve been told. Is there anything you want to tell me about the séance?”

  Poppy’s stomach tightened. “Not unless you have something specific you want to know,” she countered.

  “Not really. Although Mr Rolandson tells me that you felt the medium was deliberately trying to influence the price that might be paid for the Nefertiti mask. Is that correct?”

  “It is, yes.” Should she mention her and Jenny Philpott’s theory about the Renoir? No, too tenuous. There was more that needed to be fleshed out there. Instead she said: “I felt that she was also trying to manipulate Albert Carnaby, the auctioneer. She appeared to deliberately target him – bringing him a message from his dead mother and wife. It was most unkind.”

  Poppy did not try to disguise the anger in her voice.

  Martin looked at her pointedly. “Just Mr Carnaby?”

  “No, she also tried to push Howard Carter’s buttons too – but he just laughed it off. He didn’t appear to take the whole séance thing seriously, unlike poor Mr Carnaby, who was quite taken in by it.”

  “Hmm, Lady Ursula told me Mr Carnaby was not the only person who was upset. She said you made a bit of a scene and stormed out of the room. Is that correct?”

  Poppy met Martin’s gaze. “I hardly stormed out. But yes, I did leave. I did not want to be subject to a cruel game.”

  “Cruel?”

  Poppy let out an exasperated sigh. “She pretended to be my dead brother. It was in poor taste. That’s all.”

  Martin looked over at Constable Jones who made a note. “Quite,” said the Met Detective. “These séances usually are.”

  As Poppy regained her composure, he perused his notes again. “What did you do when you left the séance?”

  “I went straight to bed.”

  “Straight?”

  “Yes. I was too upset to see anyone.”

  Martin raised an eyebrow. “Ah, so you don’t know who was where while the séance was going on without you?”

  “I do not, no. I’m sure Lady Ursula has told you that only a few of us were actually involved. I don’t know where everyone else was. As far as I know they were listening to gramophone records. Mr Rolandson was with that crowd; he’d be able to tell you.”

  Martin smiled tightly. “He has, thank you. But tell me, Miss Denby, on the way to bed might you perhaps have stopped by Sir James’ bedroom?”

  Poppy was taken aback. “I did not! I have no idea where it is even. Apparently somewhere in the central pa
rt of the house. I was in the west wing. Or did Lady Ursula fail to tell you that?”

  The detective and journalist held each other’s gaze, neither giving way until a pine cone fell off the fire and sent sparks flying. Jones jumped up and gave the fire a poke.

  DCI Martin closed his notebook. “Well Miss Denby, you’ve been a great help, thank you. If there is anything else I need to ask I know where to find you. You will be going directly back to London after this, won’t you?”

  “Yes, of course.” He did not need to know she was hoping to track down Madame Minette on the way back. If something came of that – linked to his enquiry – she would let him know.

  “Then I’ll be in touch.”

  Poppy put down her tea cup and stood up. Jones stood too. But Martin did not. “Actually, I might see you at the British Museum.”

  “The museum?”

  “Yes, I think I might just drop in on the meeting this afternoon. Quite a few birds with one stone there, methinks, eh? Will you be going?”

  “The press aren’t invited to the actual meeting. But I expect there will be some sort of press statement or announcement afterwards. One of our journalists is going to be covering it.”

  “Not you?”

  “I wasn’t planning on it, no.”

  “Then I suggest you change your plans, Miss Denby. Thank you. That will be all.”

  CHAPTER 24

  The drive back from Winterton was abuzz with conversation as all three journalists shared their stories. Ike had had a difficult interview with Lady Ursula, interrupted periodically by Grimes reminding him that the lady had had a terrible shock lately. When she did speak it was to present her husband in glowing terms as a Renaissance Man, an internationally renowned explorer and a saviour of Classical culture. No mention of the well-known tensions in the marriage about money.

  “Did you ask her what she thought of the accusations that he had stolen many of the antiquities he had purported to save – including the mask?” asked Poppy.

  “I did, yes. She flatly denied it, putting it down to ‘colonial types’ wanting to have their cake and eat it. She said if it hadn’t been for people like her husband the artefacts would still be under Egyptian sand or pilfered away by ‘the natives’. She was a bit hesitant to use the word, seeing she was being interviewed by a ‘native’,” Ike chuckled, “ but she did.”

  “What did she have to say about the future of the mask? Will the auction still go ahead?”

  Ike slowed the Model T to negotiate a bend then answered: “She said it would. I suggested that it might be delayed until after the funeral – or investigations into her husband’s murder had been completed – but she said there was no need for that. It would have been what Sir James wanted. He’d died as the mask was about to be auctioned; she wanted him to rest knowing it had gone to a good home.”

  “How would he know?” asked Poppy.

  “She’s a spiritualist, remember?” said Ike. “She’ll be setting up a meeting with him soon.”

  Rollo laughed. “Then she can ask him who killed him. I wonder if a ghost brief has any legal standing?” He laughed again. “Seriously, though, did she indicate whom she might suspect of killing her husband? Or –” he chuckled “– why she and the butler did it?”

  Ike snorted with mirth. “Unfortunately, I didn’t get a confession, no. She said she had absolutely no idea who would want to hurt James. He was so well loved by everyone. But she was keen to steer the interview towards what she referred to as ‘the ghostly goings on’.” Ike paused as he slowed to avoid a fallen tree branch near the edge of the road, then continued: “She told me about Nefertiti’s appearance at the séance and her mention of the so-called curse of the pharaohs. She also referred to the terrible accident with the boy. She asked me if I thought it strange that there had been a near death and then an actual death on the same weekend. I said I absolutely did. I think she was trying to imply it was all part of the curse, but I said I think the police will be pursuing the theory that the same real-life killer was involved in both. And you know what?”

  “What?” said Poppy and Rollo in unison.

  “Well, you won’t believe it, but when I said that, she went even paler than she already was and looked at the butler in shock. She said: ‘Good gracious, so they think it’s linked too!’ Then she said: ‘Grimes, do you want to tell Mr Garfield what you told me?’ And Grimes said...” Ike paused as a faster vehicle overtook them. “… He said ‘if madam thinks it’s a good idea’, then went on to tell me that he had found a buckshot cartridge lying on a pouffe in the drawing room after he supervised the clean up on Friday night. He had no idea where it had come from. But he wondered if it was connected to the boy’s accident on Friday afternoon.”

  “Ha!” said Rollo. “Either they suspect that we already know about the cartridge and are trying to pre-empt us with a plausible alibi, or they genuinely aren’t involved. I am reluctant to accept the latter option without further proof. What about you, Poppy?”

  Poppy leaned between the gap in the two front seats to be better heard. “I agree. I do think there’s something up with those two. However, it might not be murder.”

  She told Ike and Rollo that when she and Daniel got back from Henley-on-Thames she had asked the footman if Mr Grimes was around. He had said he wasn’t – that he’d left on some business. “Perhaps he was taking the cartridge to the police station. Like you suggest though, Rollo, it might have been deliberate misdirection. But perhaps not. I wonder if he also told them about the note.”

  “The note?” asked Ike, gearing down to negotiate a bend.

  “Yes, the note the boy told you and Daniel about.” She grinned. “And you won’t believe it gents, but here it is!” She presented the note to Rollo with a flourish. Rollo read it out loud to Ike. Both men were delighted and congratulated her on not giving it to the police.

  “I will give it to them,” said Poppy, smarting slightly that her colleagues might think she was losing her moral compass, “but Daniel should photograph it first.”

  “Quite right,” agreed Rollo, then braced himself against the dashboard as the Model T rattled over a pothole. Poppy felt as though every bone in her body had been shaken in a tin can. She sat back into the relative ease of the rear upholstery.

  “I did mention the note to Ursula and Grimes,” said Ike. “That the boy had said Grimes had given one to him telling him to load Lady U’s gun with the shot. I suggested that that might implicate them both and wondered if they had anything to say about it. I didn’t know at that stage that the note had been found.”

  “Oh? What did they say?” asked Poppy, leaning forward again.

  “Lady U was astounded – or at least appeared to be. She turned on Grimes and asked him to explain. He said he had been given a sealed envelope to give to the boy and had no idea what was in it. He said he had written the boy’s name on it as it was blank.”

  “Well that’s true – about him writing the name – the footman identified the handwriting on the outside,” said Poppy.

  “Did he say who had given it to him?” asked Rollo.

  Ike sighed. “Unfortunately not. He said he would tell her in private and as this was a police investigation he didn’t think it was appropriate to tell the press something before he’d told the authorities.”

  “So he hadn’t told the police yet, about the note. I wonder why?” asked Poppy.

  “Well, he’ll have to now,” added Rollo. “He’ll know that we know. And that the boy has told us. He’ll look as guilty as sin if he doesn’t.”

  “He already looks as guilty as sin,” observed Ike.

  “Perhaps,” said Poppy. “The thing is, Grimes does not strike me as a stupid man. And only a stupid man would deliver a note orchestrating a shooting – accidental or otherwise – and then not try to retrieve it afterwards. It obviously implicates him. The only thing I can think of is that he genuinely didn’t know what was in the note, or that he’s trying to cover for whoever wrote
it.”

  “Lady Ursula? She’s a cool customer. She could quite easily have been putting on an act for you, Ike,” said Rollo.

  Ike agreed. “Quite easily. I definitely felt as though there was an undercurrent between them. I would love to have been a fly on the wall after I left.”

  The old car careered over a series of three potholes.

  “Steady on!” shouted Rollo. “We’re not in Monte Carlo, Ike!”

  Ike grinned at his editor. “Sorry, unavoidable. A motor with a better suspension wouldn’t have such problems, eh, Poppy?”

  Poppy agreed that it wouldn’t, thinking back to the luxury of Marjorie’s Lincoln. But before she could slip into further reverie, Rollo prompted her to continue with her thoughts on the story at hand. “What do you think, Poppy? Do you believe Ursula knows more about the note than she’s letting on?”

  “I do, yes. I don’t have any evidence of that yet, but I think Grimes might be covering for her. On the other hand, the footman said it wasn’t her handwriting…”

  “She could have got someone else to write it for her,” offered Ike.

  “That’s possible,” agreed Poppy. “But whoever it was, it was the same person who came to my house on Sunday night.” She reached into her satchel and took out the second note, passing it forward to Rollo.

  He perused it, nodded to Ike, and said: “I agree. They’re written by the same person. If I get my hands on the scoundrel who’s trying to scare you…” He made a wringing gesture with his hands.