Hugger-Mugger in the Louvre (23 page)

“Indeed,” said the professor, in astonishment. “Is that so? How logical. I cannot thank you enough for calling that to my attention. I shall read up on the matter without delay.”

I
N THE
neat and tidy bedroom of his cousin, Sofia Alexandrovna, Lvov Kvek sat in a rocking chair. He was still wearing Gus's clothes and he was very hungry, but he had a job and prospects of interviewing K. Parker Seldon later in the evening. Since he was not to begin active duty until after dinner time, Sofia advised him to walk the short distance to the town and stow away as much good food as he could. It seems that Dr. Truc fed his employees badly and his patients much worse.

They heard a light tap on the door.

“May I come in?” inquired a voice, softly modulated and of pleasing mezzo quality.

“Of course,” answered Sofia, rising.

The door opened timidly and Kvek saw a tall gray-haired woman in a dress that, although worn and old-fashioned, carried with it an air of dignity.

“Excuse me, Mademoiselle Sonia. I didn't know you had a caller,” the woman said, and was about to withdraw.

“My dear Marchioness,” said the nurse, putting an arm around the other's waist. “Come in and share my joy. I have found today my long-lost cousin, Lvov, who used to pull my sled for miles in the streets of old Moscow. My childhood playmate . . .”

“But I'm sure I shall be
de trop.
Another time, my dear. Perhaps this afternoon. My nerves have been troubling me . . . Oh, nothing. Just the uneasiness that comes with the fragrance of the fields and the warm summer sunshine. I am French, you know, and not like you full-blooded Russians. The very mention of miles in the snow has made me shiver.”

Lvov Kvek was a picture of sympathetic courtesy. “There was sunshine in Russia, too, madame, in the days of the Little Father,” he said, with feeling. “Ah, Sonia, the meadows, the wasps, the hayfields.”

His impetuous cousin threw her arms around his neck and when she released Lvov, their caller had stolen away in a manner that would make an Arab sound like a tank by comparison.

“She's been locked up here five years,” said Sonia, indignantly.

“Don't tell me she's a patient,” said Kvek. “Why, she's saner than I am.”

“Much saner, little dove,” Sonia agreed. “But only just lately the doctor has allowed her a little liberty.”

“Who is she? You addressed her as the Marchioness?”

“The Marchioness de la Rose d'Antan,” Sofia said.

“My God. Then she's the widow of that mummy we found in the Louvre.”

“I think the news of her husband's death improved her condition. He was responsible for her having been sent here. I'm sure, now he's out of the way, that she hopes to regain her freedom.”

“The devil,” said Kvek. “Why, this place is filled with victims. Just outside the doctor's doorway I was braced by a chap named Passepartout, an inventor, who said, ‘They think I'm crazy, but I'm not.' ”

“That's one of the few who really is off his rocker,” Sonia said. “I advise you to keep an eye on him.”

While the two impetuous cousins were enjoying their fortunate reunion, Homer Evans, with the chastened Frémont on his left and Professor de la Poussière on his right, was finishing off a very decent meal in the Restaurant Serieux, just across the square from the Luneville town hall.

“You won't forget about
The Pansy
?” asked Frémont anxiously, for the conversation had dealt largely with matters dating far back of the time when all Gaul was divided into three parts.

Evans, appreciating his uneasiness, smiled. “I promise again, to find your little painting, once the murder of the Marquis has been solved. That shall be my last act before I retire forever from detective work. From that time onward I shall devote myself to contemplation.”

“And study,” added Professor de la Poussière, who had been enchanted to find a man who listened so attentively when ancient Egypt was discussed.

It was then that Evans took the opportunity of telling the professor about K. Parker Seldon and the message carved on sandstone he had brought from Hugo Weiss. When, however, Homer scrawled from memory on a sheet of notepaper the hieroglyphics in question and explained their meaning, the chief of detectives groaned.

“I telephoned Weiss today,” Homer said to the professor, “and learned that a sale is afoot, involving the mummy of a king called Neferkesokar.”

“The twin brother of Tout-or-Nada,” the professor murmured. “But no one can sell his mummy, which consists only of a shin bone and a fragment of skull. For the existence and the whereabouts of those relics are known only to me and a trusted family of natives on the vastness of the upper Nile. There must be some mistake.”

“An American museum has been offered the mummy of Neferkesokar in perfect condition,” insisted Evans.

“I have seen with my own eyes, on my last expedition, his plundered pyramid and the only two of his bones remaining,” said Professor de la Poussière.

The chief of detectives began to roll his eyes, clasp his forehead, extend his palms to heaven and give other symptoms of extreme agitation. “But the painting? The Marquis? The American business man? Who cares if some American has bought the carcass of Julius Caesar, or has made a bid for the whole French Pantheon? For the sake of my sanity, if for no better reason, let's get down to work. The theft, the murder, the abduction. Take your choice!”

“The cases are all related,” Evans said, “and are bound up closely with the Pharaohs Tout-or-Nada and his twin brother, Neferkesokar. I'll demonstrate that without delay.”

“I should remind you, perhaps,” the professor began, “that for many years the mummy of Tout-or-Nada remained unidentified in the Louvre. The king's name was not known, and no record had been found of his reign. Egyptologists had assumed that Neferkesokar held the throne from 2933 to 2926
B.C
. And those seven years were completely blank in Egyptian history.

“Last year, when I was exploring near Sokencor, I found a pyramid from which a pharaoh's mummy and his jewels had been removed soon after his burial. Imagine my delight when I noticed that the designs painted on the mortuary chamber corresponded exactly with the decorations on the casket of the unknown mummy in the Louvre. I will not bore you with needless details, but my investigations revealed that the unknown's name was Tout-or-Nada, that he was Neferkesokar's twin brother and that he had reigned for two months and a half, from December 2933, until sometime in February, 2932.

“The fact that Tout-or-Nada was born a minute in advance of Neferkesokar made the former the heir to the throne their father, the bastard king Seudi, had usurped. This fact caused Neferkesokar to hate his brother, and not only did he have him murdered but he had the remains removed from the pyramid and hidden in a libation priest's burial chamber in the lower kingdom.

“The records of Tout-or-Nada's reign his brother caused to be destroyed, so successfully that Egyptologists for untold centuries did not even know of Tout-or-Nada's existence.”

The professor began to laugh. “Neferkesokar's treachery came back to him, with interest. His oldest son, Huthefi Kere, was as vain as his father and when he came to the throne in 2925, he wiped out all records of Neferkesokar excepting his name. That, for religious reasons, he did not dare to do. It was permissible between brothers, apparently, but not between father and son.”

“I can't tell you how much you've helped me,” Evans said, rising in his enthusiasm and pacing the room, which was empty of diners except for the three who were in conference.

“Disgrace and exposure,” Frémont moaned. “Hydrangea dark beauty, how shall I nourish and pamper you when bereft of my monthly pay?”

Evans was thoroughly aroused, as always when confronted by intellectual problems. “Professor,” he asked, “how long ago did you publish your findings, the results of your exploration at Sokencor?”

“I haven't published them, as yet. I've been getting my report in shape,” the professor answered.

“You haven't confided them to anyone?”

“Lazare, of course. He's worked on my notes as hard as I have.”

“You didn't, by any chance, tell the Marquis de la Rose d'Antan?” asked Evans.

“As a matter of fact, I told him last week, perhaps Wednesday or Thursday, that I had identified the mysterious pharaoh of the Louvre. Now that you mention the incident, I seem to remember that the Minister of Beaux Arts was not as pleased as I had expected. But then, he was thoroughly incompetent. At the Sorbonne, he was always at the foot of my class,” said Professor de la Poussière.

Homer turned to Frémont, who was continuing his lamentations.

“Are you satisfied now that our cases are linked with Egypt?” he asked. “Hence, loathed melancholy! Reflect! A few days after our friend, the professor, tells the late Marquis about his discoveries, the professor is kidnapped . . .”

“And the Marquis is killed,” said Frémont, whose lethargy left him in an instant. “If the Rollers did one job, of course they did the other.”

“Not so fast,” objected Homer. “If the estimable Singe had been so foolish as to kill the Marquis, why would he have taken the trouble to embalm him and hide him in the Louvre? No, my friend! We've already forgiven The Singe for having borrowed you and the professor. We can't pin the murder on him, not by any stretch of the imagination.”

“Then who killed the fathead and stuffed him to the gills with asphalt? There's no likelihood that he committed suicide, you'll have to admit,” the Chief said, testily.

“Just now, I'm absorbed by another question,” said Evans. “I've got to figure out why, on Tuesday morning, The Singe wanted Professor de la Poussière badly enough to snatch him from the very doorsteps of the national museum, and today, on Thursday, was so keen about giving him away. What happened between those dates to make so careful and efficient an executive change his mind?”

“I'm worse than useless,” Frémont said.

A cry of joy was heard at the door, and Lvov Kvek came rushing in and embraced Frémont affectionately. It will be remembered that, although the Chief had seen the Russian, the latter had not seen the Chief since their thrilling adventure upriver more than twelve months before. The greetings having been disposed of, Kvek told Evans excitedly that he had found K. Parker Seldon in the Sanitorium Sens Unique without passport, money, false teeth or suitable clothes. Also that Dr. Truc had been custodian of the Marchioness de la Rose d'Antan for five years, and that the lady was saner than seven-eighths of the clients of the Dôme.

In the midst of his recital, Hjalmar, Tom Jackson and Melchisadek appeared on the scene. The big Norwegian was relieved to find Kvek in safety and was chagrined because there was so little to report. The bottle-green launch, now red, Homer had already found. Hjalmar told him about the odd purchase of two sacks of asphalt from the “Poor but Honest/' Instead of appearing disappointed when Hjalmar had finished his story, Evans was enormously interested. Of course, there were many men with heavy eyebrows who wore brown, but the description fitted Hagup Bogigian, or Xerxes, of the firm of Lewson-Phipps & Xerxes, so perfectly that an inquiry was in order.

Quickly Evans decided on the disposition of his forces. The Chief was to return to the prefecture to get the department back into running order and check up on all routine. Hjalmar was instructed to return with Kvek to the Sanitorium Sens Unique and present himself for employment. Dr. Truc was short of husky help, according to Sofia's statement, relayed by Kvek. Inside the institution both men were to use their ears and eyes to best advantage and refrain from arousing the doctor's suspicion until further notice. Particularly they were to watch the doctor and the Marchioness de la Rose d'Antan. They were also asked to persuade K. Parker Seldon to bear his incarceration a little longer, in the interest of justice and an adequate revenge.

It was not often that Tom Jackson showed pleasurable emotion, but when Homer suggested that the reporter accompany him to the premises of Lewson-Phipps & Xerxes, Tom actually beamed. The prospect of another crack at the Englishman drove off the last vestige of
mal de fleuve,
or river sickness, and started him briskly chewing on a long loaf of bread. Professor de la Poussière, anxious for once to take part in an enterprise of his own era, was assigned to the task of finding Lazare and Miriam, whom Evans supposed to be still in Paris.

As a matter of fact, Miriam and her charge had not yet entered the Sanitorium Sens Unique. It developed that Lazare had never ridden in an automobile and was fearful at every turn that the vehicle would be demolished with all hands. Likewise, he had never been
in
the country before, having grown accustomed as a lad to the fifth and sixth arrondissements of Paris and his natural timidity having restrained him for venturing on strange ground. Therefore, in order not to frighten the old man, Miriam had asked the chauffeur to drive not faster than twenty miles an hour and once, when the latter had shown some reluctance to carry out her suggestion, she had taken a playful shot at a cigarette butt he had tossed out with a gesture of defiance and had shattered it in mid-air. From that time on, the driver was even more solicitous than Miriam herself.

They approached the high walls of the Sanitorium in the starlight of mid-evening and the nearer they came the less Miriam liked the look of the place. She had never consulted a lawyer before she tried Maitre François Ronron and in spite of the latter's cheery and reassuring manner odd bits of gossip she had heard about members of that relentless profession began to drift into her mind. There they mingled with ominous tales she had heard about madhouses, both public and private, until she was almost ready to defy the court order and rush her protégé to the nearest foothills, a toss-up between the Vosges and the Pyrenees, there to lie in wait and shoot it out with whom it might concern till Homer Evans came. She reflected, though, that such a course might prove more disturbing to Lazare than a day or two in a country booby-hatch.