Rattle His Bones (12 page)

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Authors: Carola Dunn

BOOK: Rattle His Bones
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Sam Johnson described a second marriage as the triumph of hope over experience. He was talking about a bad first marriage, though, and Alec had been very happy with Joan. Yet to be lucky twice seemed too much to hope for.
All life was a gamble, he reminded himself. If Daisy was prepared to take a gamble on him, then how could he not reciprocate?
Besides, he couldn't live without her, even when her interference in a case was driving him round the bend.
 
She was not interfering, Daisy assured herself. She could hardly interview the victim's senior assistant in the victim's private office without making some reference to the deceased. And it would be rude to cut him off in the middle
of his account of Pettigrew's determination to master flint-flaking and his malicious triumph in his growing success.
At last Grange exhausted the subject. Daisy embarked on her questions about the work of the Mineralogy Department, and Grange suggested they should go along to the gallery to look at specimens.
For the first time in ages, the sun was shining. Brilliant light flooded through the tall windows on the south side of the gallery, lighting dancing dust-motes and gleaming on polished wood and glass. The fishy mouldings on the rectangular pillars stood out in sharp relief.
With measured steps, Pavett patrolled the gallery. There were few visitors, several school parties having cancelled trips because of the murder, Daisy gathered. But over by the windows, the sun picked out a pale blue uniform garnished with a surfeit of gold. The Grand Duke was leaning over the display case that held the ruby.
“Dash it!” Grange exclaimed. “He's back. I'd better go and see what he's up to. Excuse me a minute, Miss Dalrymple.”
Naturally Daisy followed. At the sound of their approaching footsteps, Rudolf Maximilian looked up with a frown. He beckoned imperiously and Grange hurried.
“You work here,
nein?
Come, see mine ruby.”
“Not yours,” Grange muttered half-heartedly, bending over the case.
Catching up, Daisy saw that the Transcarpathia ruby was in full sunlight. The stone cast a pool of red light, all too reminiscent of blood.
Grange straightened, his face pale. “That's not beryllium aluminium silicate,” he gasped, with an accusing glare at the Grand Duke. “That's paste. Strass glass. What have you done with the ruby?”
“D
on't touch!” Alec commanded.
Much to Daisy's relief, he had miraculously appeared in the mineral gallery just as Grange made his accusation and pulled his bunch of keys from his pocket. A uniformed constable now stood by the iron-grated entrance. Tom Tring had gone first to the commissionaire, notebook in hand, then joined Ernie Piper in approaching each visitor and asking them to leave.
“Are you certain it's not the real thing?” Alec continued.
“Fairly certain,” Grange said grimly. “It's not easy to tell with the naked eye, but with the sun full on it, I ought to be able to see the ‘silk.' I can't.”
“Silk?”
“Rutile inclusions.” The explanation left his listeners none the wiser. “A closer look will settle the matter.”
“To me appears it not right,” put in the Grand Duke. “Mine muzzer and mine sister had once many gems. I know how should look, how should sparkle.”
“I bet you do,” snapped Grange, “since you pinched it.”
The Grand Duke drew himself up stiffly to his full
height. “If you was nobleman,” he declared, “I meet you at dawn. In Transcarpathia, I take the horsewhip.”
Alec shook his head. “Here in England, you could sue for slander, but I don't advise it. I suggest you watch what you say, Mr. Grange. I came up here to speak to the Grand Duke, but now I shall want a word with you, too.”
“So do I,” said Daisy. “We were just getting going. Can I have him first?”
“Sorry, I want a definitive answer on the ruby right away. At least, as soon as Sergeant Tring has checked it for fingerprints. The case too, Sergeant, before it's opened, though I imagine the cleaners have wiped off any evidence. By the way, Mr. Grange, just how valuable is the real Transcarpathia ruby?”
“I couldn't put a current retail value on it, Chief Inspector. We don't deal in such matters. I can tell you this: It is considerably larger than most gem-quality rubies, but not of the most favoured Burmese pigeon-blood colour, and with rather more silk than is generally thought desirable.”
“It is very fine, of first quality,” shouted the Grand Duke.
“I dare say, sir,” said Alec pacifically. “Now, I'd like you to come down to the Director's office with me.”
“Do you want to use the Keeper's office, Chief Inspector?” Grange asked. “No one's there now. Here's the key.”
Accepting the key, Alec went off with Rudolf Maximilian, looking tempestuous and Middle-European, and Piper. He left the uniformed officer guarding the entrance, Daisy noted. He had not gone so far as to make her leave, though.
“Would you mind answering a few questions, Mr. Grange, while Sergeant Tring works his magic?” she said, as Tom blew powder over the display case.
Grange obliged, though rather distractedly. They moved
away from the ruby case to look at some other displays, but both kept half an eye on the sergeant's actions. When he straightened after peering closely at the results of his powdering, they were both ready to dash back.
“What have you found?” Daisy asked.
Tom threw her a quizzical glance, but answered. “A few dabs on the glass and this front edge of wood, probably just visitors, including the Grand Duke. Nothing on or near the lock. Can you open it up, sir, without touching this area here? I haven't got my camera with me so we don't want 'em messed up.”
“We wear gloves to handle polished stones.” Grange took a white cotton pair from a pocket, put them on, and delved again for his keys. As he unlocked the case and cautiously raised the glass top, he said, “It
must
be that foreigner who made the substitution—after all, he claims the ruby is his. But supposing it wasn't, I can't help wondering if it's the only stone missing.”
“I'm sure the Chief Inspector is considering the possibility, sir, but we'll just make quite sure you're not mistaken about the ruby first, shall we, before we look any further. Just a moment while I check it for dabs.”
The red gem, real or fake, was as immaculate as its sheen proclaimed, with no sign of a fingerprint on any surface. Grange polished off the powder with a soft cloth, stuck a glass in his eye, and held up the stone to the sunlight, turning it this way and that. Daisy held her breath.
“Paste,” he said flatly. “No dichroism, no rutile or other characteristic inclusions, only the round bubbles typical of glass.”
There was a moment's silence. Then Tring said, “Have a look at the rest of 'em, sir.”
“I will, and at the other gemstones. But lots of them I can't be sure of without the refractometer. I'll fetch it up from the workroom.”
Daisy saw her article disappearing into limbo. A glimpse of the work room would be something to go on with. “I'll go with you,” she proposed.
“You do that, Miss Dalrymple,” said Sergeant Tring. “I'll just have a word with the constable there.”
He headed for the entrance while Grange led the way to the east end of the gallery and unlocked a door on the left. Behind the wooden door was another of solid steel, now folded back against the wall.
“That's locked and barred at night,” said Grange, “and only our museum police sergeant has the key.”
He continued down a narrow staircase. On the landing at the bottom of the first flight, half way between the first and ground floors, a room opened off to the right. There, amid bookcases, shelves of rocks and pebbles, maps and diagrams of geological formations, and battered worktables laden with gadgets, they found the second mineralogy assistant.
Grange explained what was going on, then picked up a smallish instrument and a reference book, and turned to go. His junior moved to join him.
“I'll stay for a bit, if you don't mind,” Daisy said quickly. Work before pleasure, alas. “Perhaps Mr. Randell wouldn't mind explaining some of this stuff to me?”
“Yes, do help Miss Dalrymple, there's a good chap,” said Grange, departing.
Obviously wishing himself upstairs sharing the excitement, Randell hurriedly answered Daisy's questions, showed her specimens and demonstrated equipment. Daisy, just as eager to know what was going on in the mineral gallery, was soon satisfied.
“Sergeant Tring hasn't got his camera with him,” she said. “I'm sure he'd appreciate the loan of yours, to photograph fingerprints.”
“Of course,” Randell agreed eagerly, glad of an excuse to go with her. Bearing camera, tripod, plates, and one of the ubiquitous bunches of keys, he ushered her back up the stairs.
During her absence, Alec had returned to the gallery, with Piper but without the Grand Duke. The constable still guarded the entrance, and Sergeant Jameson was just arriving. Half a dozen display cases were open. Near one of them, the detectives stood around a bench where Grange slumped, his head in his hands. Pavett, unheeded, continued his fruitless patrol, casting frequent anxious glances at the knot of men. Daisy came to a halt slightly to Alec's rear.
Sergeant Jameson strode in, crying, “What's this, sir? That foreigner's pinched the big ruby?”
“It's gone,” said Alec, “but I have absolutely no evidence on which to hold the Grand Duke, especially as most of the rest of the unset precious stones are missing.”
“Oh lor'!” groaned Jameson. “On my watch, too!”
“Mine,” Grange wailed.
“Now that's what I'm trying to find out.” Alec's patience appeared to be wearing thin. “How soon would the substitution of paste gems be noticed? It seems Mr. Grange needs a machine to tell the good from the bad.”
Grange was beyond lucidity. Randell spoke for him.
“Ages, to be frank. We can go for weeks without any reason to examine the stuff on display in the gallery. It's for the public, and not many of them know anything. Occasionally, we get accredited experts coming to take a look. We open up the cases for them, of course.”
“How long since you did that?”
“Weeks. A couple of months, at least.”
“Would you know if Dr. Pettigrew had shown anyone the jewels more recently?”
“Not necessarily,” said Randell, shaking his head.
Daisy put in her twopenn'orth. “Dr. Pettigrew opened one case and let Belinda and Derek hold a couple of opals.”
Alec had not hitherto noticed her presence. His mouth tightened in exasperation. “The opals have not been stolen,” he said irritably. “It seems they are virtually impossible to imitate. What you are saying, Mr. Randell, is that weeks can pass without any of the mineralogy staff so much as glancing at the contents of the cases?”
“Glancing, yes, especially when lecturing to parties of visitors. Examining, no. What's on display has already been thoroughly investigated. Besides, as you've seen, for the most part it's practically impossible to tell good strass glass from the real thing without instruments. A large ruby in bright sunshine …” He shrugged. “What are the chances of someone knowledgeable happening to look when the sun happened to strike it?”
“So the theft could have occurred weeks ago,” Alec sighed. “I must telephone my superintendent.”
“The Director will have to be told,” said Grange unhappily. “He's at a symposium in Cambridge.”
“I'll have someone at the Yard try to get hold of him,” Alec offered, and he went off to the Keeper's office.
Tring gratefully accepted the loan of the camera and started photographing fingerprints. Ernie Piper, intercepting the worried commissionaire, tried to explain with gesture, paper, and pencil what had happened. Grange and Randell muttered together.
“It was that Grand Duke done it,” Sergeant Jameson said to Daisy.
“I doubt it. Actually, he drew Mr. Grange's attention to the ruby in the first place.”
“That'd be a ruse, miss, so's people'd think like you. Knowing it'd be found gorn in the end, see, and everyone'd suspect him right away, because of him claiming it's his.”
“Well, if I'd stolen a ruby, I wouldn't keep going back and laying claim to the substitute. Besides, lots of other jewels are missing, too.”
“So we don't notice the ruby special, miss,” Jameson explained earnestly. “It's another ruse. They're cunning, these foreigners. Specially the Huns.”
As an example of muddled reasoning, that took the biscuit. Jameson would never make it into the plainclothes branch, Daisy decided. Nevertheless, she persevered.
“It seems to me it must have been a museum employee,” she said. “None of the cases was broken open, and only they had access to the keys.”
“Skellingtons,” said the sergeant darkly.
Daisy's mind flew momentarily to the fossils down below, especially the Pareiasaurus Pettigrew had wrecked in dying. Was there a connection? Then she realized, “Oh, skeleton keys. I suppose it's possible. But surely the theft couldn't have taken place during opening hours, and the Grand Duke couldn't have got in when the museum was shut.”
“Could've hid, couldn't he? I mean, the night shift patrols the whole building, but it's a big place, you can't look everywhere with just a sergeant and two constables on duty, and the lighting in the basement's something chronic. So I reckon the Grand Duke hid hisself at closing time—not in here, prob'ly, 'cause we check in here pretty thorough before we lock up—but if he's got skellington keys for the cases he could have one for the big gate, too. See?”
He beamed when Daisy conceded he had made a persuasive
case for the Grand Duke obtaining access. She did not bother to tell him she still failed to believe Rudolf Maximilian would have drawn attention to the false ruby if he were the thief.
Alec returned, looking harried, and went to confer with Tring. Piper joined them, then Alec and Piper haled Grange and Randell off to the interrogation chamber. Tring came over to Daisy and the sergeant.
“Here's a pretty how-d' ye-do!” he said. “Mr. Jameson, the Chief Inspector'd take it kindly if you'd get him a list of all the coppers seconded to the museum, and he'd like a word with you when he's finished with them two in there.”
“Right you are, Mr. Tring. Only thing is, with one of my men posted at the entrance here …”
“Don't worry about that. Detective Constable Ross is on his way and he'll take over there. Oh, and Mr. Fletcher wants the keys to the doors to this gallery. It'll have to be locked up till further notice, I'm afraid.”
“No skin off my nose. Er, Mr. Tring, the Chief Inspector doesn't blame
us,
does he?”
“You do the best you can with what you've got, don't you?” Tom Tring said, a trifle evasively to Daisy's ears. “He might have a suggestion or two about safety measures after he's talked to you and seen what's what.”

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