The Mummy Case (2 page)

“What are you doing?” Wilcox demanded sternly.

The guard slowly lowered the dagger. “It was loose on the wall, so I took it down to straighten the clamp. I didn't realize that it was enough to set off the burglar alarm. It never went off before.”

“Well, it does now. See that things are not removed from their displays in the future.”

“I will,” Ali murmured as he put the dagger back on the wall. Then he quickly went out of the Weapons Room.

Joe examined the clasp holding the dagger. “I don't see anything wrong with it,” he declared.

“Neither do I,” Frank agreed. “I think Ali was fooling with the dagger for his own purposes. I wonder if he was trying to steal it? Though that would be pretty stupid with us here!”

Wilcox agreed, nodding his head. “Well, let's go back to my office. I have my two assistant curators coming in, William Colden and Najeeb Salim, and I'd like you to speak to them.”

After Wilcox was seated behind his desk again, he turned off the burglar alarm, then inquired over the intercom about Colden and Salim. He was told that the two men had not yet returned from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where they had been inspecting a new shipment of Egyptian artifacts.

“While we're waiting,” Wilcox suggested, “I'll show you something that might interest you.”

“What's that?” Joe asked.

“The mummy of an unknown Egyptian pharaoh who died about three thousand years ago. It was stolen!”

“Stolen!” Joe gasped. “Another robbery here at the museum?”

“No,” Mr. Wilcox replied. “This mummy was taken out of Egypt by an unscrupulous archeologist many years ago. We purchased it in good faith. However, when Najeeb Salim joined our staff, he proved to me that the mummy really belongs to his country. So, we're preparing to send it back. Salim will accompany it and make the official presentation in Cairo. He'll sail the day after tomorrow aboard the freighter
Admiral Halsey.

“Mr. Colden contends that a ship is the safest way of transport,” Wilcox continued. “He's in charge of the mummies in the museum, so I'm taking his advice. Would you like to see the mummy?”

Frank and Joe agreed enthusiastically, and Wilcox took them through the hall to an elevator that carried them into the basement.

In one corner, a specialist was fitting bits of broken pottery together. Two men were measuring a small sphinx, whose damaged head lay beside it, while a woman was sorting out a box full of jewelry.

Wilcox led the way to the opposite side of the room near the stairs. Here, all by itself, the Hardys saw an ornate Egyptian case or sarcophagus. The lid bore the likeness of the pharaoh who had been buried in it. The headdress extended down to his shoulders, meeting a gown that reached to his feet. The face was shown in repose, its features carefully painted in brilliant colors. The chin terminated in a long, narrow beard, and the arms were crossed over the chest with one hand holding a scepter, the other a flail.

“I suppose you know the meaning of the scepter and the flail?” the curator asked.

“We've both studied Egyptian history in high school,” Frank said. “The scepter is a symbol of the pharaoh's right to rule.”

“And the flail,” Joe added, “means he had a right to knock anybody on the head who didn't obey.”

Wilcox smiled. “You're good students as well as good detectives. Now let's open the case.”

With the curator's help, Frank and Joe lifted the lid and placed it carefully on the floor.

“Meet our mummy,” Mr. Wilcox said. “I'm sorry I can't introduce him by name, but we still haven't figured out who he was.”

An eerie feeling penetrated the Hardys as they gazed down at the pharaoh who had been dead for three thousand years. He was wrapped from head to foot in linen cloth, with the features of his face painted on the bandages. Through holes in the linen, two artificial black eyes were staring at the boys.

“He—he almost looks alive!” Joe stammered. “As if he were about to say something to us!”

“That's what the ancient Egyptians intended,” Mr. Wilcox replied. “They wanted the embalmed mummy to be as lifelike as possible for its journey to the next world.”

“Embalmed?” Frank asked. “The pharaoh was embalmed?”

“That's correct,” the curator declared. “It was a complicated process that's still somewhat of a mystery. But we do know that most of the internal organs were removed, then the body was put in a jar of salted water. Sometimes preservatives were used, such as resin and natron.”

“And then?” Joe asked. “I mean, you can't just salt a guy in a jar and expect he'll last forever!”

Wilcox laughed. “Of course not. The ancient Egyptians filled the body with other chemicals, wrapped it tightly, and put it in its case. The burial site was the Valley of the Kings.”

“That's up the Nile near Luxor where they buried the pharaohs in the cliffs, isn't it?” Frank said.

“That's right. They covered the tombs to keep them from being found. But grave robbers got into all of them, except the one of King Tutankhamen.”

Joe smiled. “We saw the exhibition of King Tut's treasures,” he said. “It was fantastic how well everything was preserved.”

Frank noticed hieroglyphics on the case above the mummy's head. “Do you know what these mean, Mr. Wilcox?”

“It's the pharaoh's curse.”

Frank felt a cold chill run up and down his spine. He stared at the mummy, mesmerized for a moment, then shook himself out of his trance. “What curse? What's this guy saying to us?”

“I'll translate it into verse,” the curator replied. “It goes something like this:

Joe shuddered. “It gives me the creeps!”

“The ancient Egyptians wrote this type of warning because they thought it would protect the mummy,” Wilcox went on. “Unfortunately, it didn't help much.”

“It worked in the case of King Tut,” Joe pointed out. “If I remember correctly, Lord Carnarvon, the British aristocrat who financed the search, died shortly afterward. ”

“That's right,” Frank added. “He didn't even see the mummy of Tutankhamen. It was found later.”

“On the other hand,” Wilcox said, “Howard Carter, who directed the excavation, lived to a ripe old age!”

Joe grinned. “If King Tut put the whammy on anybody, it should have been Carter. The pharaoh knocked off the wrong man!”

“That's about it,” Wilcox agreed. “But don't underestimate the power of the pharaoh's warning. Many people still believe in it.”

Frank and Joe replaced the lid on the mummy's coffin, then they all went back to the curator's office. Two men were waiting for them. One, William Colden, was short, rotund, and had a friendly smile. The other, Najeeb Salim, was a tall, thin man with a dark complexion and a solemn expression on his face. Although he wore Western dress, he was unmistakably Egyptian.

“We were caught in traffic,” Colden apologized after the introductions had been made. “That's why we're late. ”

Wilcox nodded. “I showed Frank and Joe the mummy in the meantime. They're here to investigate the theft of the golden statuettes.”

Salim glowered at the Hardys. “And have you discovered the culprit?”

“So far we haven't much to go on,” Frank replied, “except for maybe Ahmed Ali and the dagger.” He described the event in the Weapons Room after the alarm had gone off. “Ali could have stolen the statuettes,” he added. “He knew about the alarm system the museum used to have, and he was on guard that night.”

Wilcox got to his feet. “I'd like to stay longer,” he said, “but I have to catch a plane to Chicago for a conference of archeologists. In fact, I'm the main speaker. You boys know what you have to do, so I'll leave the investigation to you.”

“What about the mummy?” Colden asked.

“You and Najeeb are in charge,” Wilcox replied. “See that the case is prepared for shipment to Cairo and cooperate with Frank and Joe in the matter of the stolen statuettes.”

Wilcox left, and Colden excused himself to make a phone call. Najeeb Salim stood up and paced around the room. “Perhaps we should have Ali arrested at once!” he proposed.

“We can‘t,” Frank said. “There's no real evidence against him. Even though we saw him holding the dagger, we don't know what he intended to do with it.
^»

“Then we should dismiss him! Why give him another chance to steal?”

The Egyptian's vehemence began to arouse Frank's suspicion. “Maybe Salim's involved in this and is looking for a scapegoat,” he thought.

The same idea occurred to Joe, who made a mental note to keep an eye on Salim. Just then Colden returned from his office. “I talked to Cairo,” he announced. “They're ready for you and the mummy, Najeeb. How's the investigation coming along?” he asked Frank and Joe.

Frank shrugged. “Ali is our prime suspect so far, but we don't have any proof. What do
you
think, Mr. Colden?”

“I think we should have a cup of coffee,” the assistant curator replied, “and go over the events point by point. I'll call the kitchen. Will you boys join us?”

“I'd prefer a soda,” Frank said. “There's a machine at the end of the hall. How about you, Joe?”

“Soda's fine.”

Frank went out and came back with two colas. He handed one to Joe just as the woman who ran the museum's kitchen arrived in the office. She was an attractive blonde in her late twenties whose somewhat sharp features softened for a moment as she smiled at the boys.

“I'm Norma Jones,” she said. “If you want anything from the galley, just say the word.”

Colden settled himself on the sofa with Salim beside him and the Hardys occupied the chairs in front of the desk. Norma Jones left and closed the door behind her.

“The police interrogated the staff,” Colden began, “but no one could shed any light on the matter. ”

“I suppose they searched the premises for clues?” Joe inquired.

“They did,” Salim replied. “It took hours since there was no sign of breaking and entering. But—” Suddenly a strange look came over him. His pupils dilated, and his breath came in short gasps. He shuddered and ran his fingers around his collar in an effort to loosen it.

“Mr. Salim,” Frank exclaimed, “are you okay?”

There was no reply. Instead, the Egyptian jerked to his feet and lunged toward the young detective. His fingers reached for Frank's throat in a convulsive grip! The chair went over backward, and the pair landed on the carpet. Savagely, Salim tried to strangle Frank Hardy!

Joe leaped to his brother's aid, but Frank had already managed to break Salim's grip. Pushing the Egyptian aside, he scrambled clear. Salim jerked to his feet again. For a moment he swayed there and the boy braced for another violent attack. However, Salim suddenly collapsed onto the carpet, rolled over, and lay motionless!

“Wow!” Joe exclaimed. “What got into him?”

Frank pointed at Colden. “Something's wrong with both of them!”

Colden was leaning back on the sofa. His eyes were closed, and he gasped loudly. Joe shook him, and gradually the man stopped gasping. Opening his eyes, he said, “W-what happened?”

“You tell us!” Joe responded.

“I must have passed out,” Colden murmured.

Frank bent over Salim and slapped his face a few times. The Egyptian let out a low moan, then slowly opened his eyes. He looked pale. “What are you doing?” he whispered.

“Trying to get you back to reality,” Frank replied. “You almost strangled me, then you collapsed on the floor!”

“What!” Salim stared at the boy in utter disbelief. “But—but I don't remember any of this!”

Joe had examined the coffee cups. Both were still half-filled. “Frank!” he called out, “there's something in here. A powder. I can see it on the rim of one cup!”

Salim gasped. “Someone tried to poison me!”

“Not only you, both of us!” Colden added.

“Oh, what a terrible, terrible thing!” Salim struggled to his feet with Frank's help, then sat down on the sofa again. “May I see the cup?”

Joe handed it to him. “Right here,” he said and pointed to minute specks of gray powder. “Do you have any idea what this is?”

Salim stared at it for a few moments. “It looks like mummy powder. ”