The Museum Mystery: Ten
...“Hardly curios, inspector,” said Whitcliff with his throaty chuckle.
“They were expensive unguent jars and a dagger. A gold dagger. which he claimed had belonged to the Princess Hathor. It was missing from her tomb when it was opened.''...
John Waddington-Feather continues his murder mystery story.
He wished Mrs Adams goodnight and escorted her to the church door. She made her way home down one path; he down the other through the graveyard to the pub. The church lowered blackly behind, surrounded by blacker gravestones. Before him the pub looked inviting. A steady drizzle had set in and he was glad to get inside.
The place was packed. The snick-snack of snooker balls and the thud of darts came from the games room. He was wished a cheery goodnight by the regulars as he passed through into the back parlour where it was quieter.
When Jock Swinford, the landlord and sidesman at church, had pulled him his pint, he asked about Silas Blackwell, handing over the card Elsie Adams had given him. “Does the name there register with you, Jock? You come from Halifax.”
The landlord stood with one hand on a beer-pump as he studied the card. “Aye. I remember him,” he said at length. “Wasn’t he in with that lot who were caught smuggling in protected species about five years ago? Making a right packet they were till they were caught.”
“I thought I knew the name,” said the inspector. “But he didn’t live on our patch then. Wonder why he’s drifted over here.”
“Give a dog a bad name and it sticks. He’s moved to where he’s no name. Out in the wilds. You wouldn’t get me living up there,” said Swinford.
“Just the sort of place to run a racket from,” observed the inspector. “Can I borrow your phone a minute, Jock?”
The landlord lifted the hatch and Hartley went behind the bar to phone. He took out Elsie Adam’s card and rang the number on the back. The phone rang for some time and he was about to ring off when someone answered. It was Jason Whitcliff!
It took Inspector Hartley by surprise. So he bluffed.
“Oh, I’m glad I caught you in, sir. Just a routine call after your visit the other day. I hope you didn’t pick up my cold?”
“Not at all,” said the other. Then added, rather sharply. “I can’t stay long. I’ve got guests, inspector. Is there anything particular you want to discuss? Anything further about the museum business?”
“That’s why I’m ringing, sir,” said Hartley. “You mentioned Dr Manasas had been trying to sell you some Egyptian curios.”
“Hardly curios, inspector,” said Whitcliff with his throaty chuckle.
“They were expensive unguent jars and a dagger. A gold dagger. which he claimed had belonged to the Princess Hathor. It was missing from her tomb when it was opened. My great-grandfather always suspected one of the labourers filched it. Why do you ask?”
“Oh,” said Hartley, doodling on a telephone pad, “just routine. It helps if we have details. You never know, we might come across that golden dagger.” He returned Whitcliff’s chuckle, then said, “I shall be going along to where Dr Manasas worked to check out one or two things.”
“Going? I gather you’ve been there already, inspector. Find anything?” said Whitcliff. Then he checked himself, and there was something in his voice which sounded as if his curiosity had got the better of him.
“News travels fast, sir,” said Hartley, surprised. “May I ask who told you?”
There was a moment’s pause at the other end.
“Oh, - er - an acquaintance. I’m friendly with many of the staff there. We share the same interest in all things Egyptian, you understand,” said Whitcliff.
“Quite,” said Hartley.
“Well, inspector. I really must be getting back,” said Whitcliff, who sounded as if he wanted to get off the phone double quick.
Hartley apologised for disturbing him and wished him goodnight. He’d learned something. Jason Whitcliff was keeping tabs on him. And he’d wanted to get off the phone as quickly as possible once he’d let slip he knew Hartley had visited Manasas’ workplace. His phone-call also linked Whitcliff and Silas Blackwell.
