CHAPTER TWO
In Which the Suspects Are Questioned
Lord Marcus Baeuvin watched with silent resignation as his young daughter Marion
plopped down angrily in the seat across from his desk. She was growing weary of
all the questioning, and truth to tell, so was he. Since the robbery at the
museum two nights ago, he and his daughter had spent most of their time fielding
questions from the police, the press, the Pinkerton Detective Agency, and today
is was to be from the British Secret Service. The Queen had given him the heads
up the day before that a few people from the agency would be stopping by to
gather information of their own. Of course, all was to be on the QT, he wasn't
even permitted to tell Marion. Not that she really cared at this moment. She
just wanted it over with.
"I don't even understand why you're so upset about the theft." she went on, her
anger subsiding. "You hated that stone. I thought you'd be happy it went
missing."
Baeuvin folded his hands on the desk in front of him, regarding his daughter
with a grim look. "I would be happy if the thing just simply disintegrated into
a pile of rubble. But to know that it is now in the hands of some evil person,
is simply unbearable."
Marion rolled her blue eyes and sank further into the comfort of the overstuffed
chair. Sometimes it embarrassed her that her father could be so obsessed with a
simple artifact. He had told her long ago about the excavation at Nubia and
what he had done. But she didn't believe in all that mumbo jumbo about the
Crown of Souls or about it being evil. Objects were not evil, people were. To
place the blame anywhere else was simply taking the responsibility away from
where it belonged. She was a big believer in taking responsibility for your own
actions.
"Oh, very well, Father. I will continue to be a dutiful daughter and answer
their questions. Although I don't see what they can possibly learn when all my
answers have been 'I don't know'. Really, they need to ask more observant
questions or they won't find anything."
Baeuvin smiled, "Thank you, my dear. And I promise this will be the last round
of questioning."
He motioned then for someone standing beyond Marion's point of view to enter the
office. She half turned in the chair just as a tall, dark and - need she say -
handsome man walked into the office. Her spine immediately straightened, forcing
her to sit up in the chair like the lady she desperately did not want to be.
Although at this very moment, she was very glad she was. She could not remember
ever laying eyes on a man more handsome than the one now shaking hands with her
father. He was very tall, over six-foot if not more, slender though not scrawny,
well dressed, with dark hair spiked with gray. But his most distinguishing trait
she did not discover until he turned as her father made introductions.
"Mister Fogg, may I present my daughter Marion. Marion, this is Mister Phileas
Fogg."
Marion found her breath catching in her chest as Phileas Fogg turned and
regarded her with the most piercing green eyes. She automatically extended her
arm and thought she said 'Pleased to meet you, Mister Fogg,' but she wasn't
exactly sure what came out. He smiled and accepted the proffered hand and she
thought he said, 'The pleasure is mine, Miss Baeuvin,' but again she wasn't
sure. The blood was pounding so loudly in her ears, that she couldn't hear much
of anything.
Oh, get a grip on yourself, girl! she admonished herself as she finally caught
her breath and everything started to return to normal. He's just a man. Yes,
he's very good-looking. But he's just a man. You'll look the fool if you
continue to stare at him that way!
"Please feel free to use my office, Mr. Fogg." The sound of her father's voice
caused Fogg to turn away, breaking the hold his eyes held sway over her and she
felt herself sag back into the softness of the chair, "You will have the privacy
you need and no one will interrupt you. If you need anything, Marion knows where
everything is kept."
Fogg inclined his head as her father rose to his feet. "Thank you very much,
Lord Marcus. I shouldn't take up too much of your lovely daughter's time. There
are some empty spaces in the report that just need clarification."
Marion felt her face flush at the description, immensely happy that neither man
was looking her way. She watched her father out the door and as he closed it
behind him she felt her heart beat a little faster in her chest. Taking a deep
breath to calm her nerves she finally turned her head to look at Phileas Fogg.
Fogg, perched on the corner of the desk, was regarding her again with those
piercing eyes. She had the distinct feeling that if she had been guilty of the
theft, she would have confessed right then and there. Instinctively she
swallowed hard and tried her best smile. "There are empty spaces in the report?"
she inquired. "I answered all the questions to the best of my knowledge."
He nodded. 'Yes, you did. The problem was more with the questions asked not the
answers given."
A smirk crossed her lips. Hadn't she just said the same thing to her father not
more than ten minutes earlier? At least this time they sent someone not only
with looks but brains as well. "You have other questions then?"
"No. I was hoping you could just tell me in your own words what happened that
night and possibly the days surrounding the theft."
"Does that include suppositions of my own?"
He raised an eyebrow. "You have your own suspects?"
She shrugged. "I know I didn't do it. But I also know that I'm the prime
suspect. So in order to prove my innocence, I figured I'd help the police out
with other suspects."
A small smile crossed his lips. "Why don't we stick with the facts first. If I
need help after that, we'll discuss your opinions."
Well, that was more than the other detectives had given her. They wouldn't even
let her speak other than
to answer their questions. But that had possibly been because she had called
them stupid questions. Open mouth, insert foot, she had chided herself. She
would not make that same mistake this time. Although she was certain Mister
Phileas Fogg was not an asker of stupid questions.
"Very well." she replied. That's when she noticed he hadn't anything to write on
or with. "Aren't you going to write all this down?"
"No need. I'll remember exactly what you say."
It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. "I'm impressed, Mister Fogg. Perhaps if
they had sent you in the first place, this mystery would have already been
solved."
Again that small smile. "Perhaps."
* * * * * * * *
Phileas Fogg had been true to his word. Half an hour after he had walked into
her life, he walked back out. With a disappointed sigh she watched as he walked
out of the office and down the hallway to where her father stood speaking with a
young woman Marion had never seen. She was a very beautiful woman with long
auburn tresses that spiraled down her back and shoulders. Marion felt a tinge of
jealously tug at her heart as the woman turned and graced Fogg with an
enchanting smile.
"Ah, Rebecca," Fogg greeted her warmly.
So they knew each other. At first she had hoped they were just co-workers,
working this case together, but they were standing far too close and familiar
for that. No, she must be his wife. A man of such beauty and stature deserved a
woman of the same beauty and stature. Oh, well. She had really stood no chance
with such a man anyway. Still, daydreaming was not such a bad thing.
With another sigh of resignation and one last look down the hallway where her
father was now leading the couple into the museum, Marion slipped out of the
office and headed toward the back of the building. Phileas Fogg had not quite
agreed with her own assumptions of the guilty party, so she was bound and
determined to prove them on her own.
"So how did the inquisition go?"
Marion stopped short and turned to find Roland Jackelton, her father's faithful
assistant, standing in the doorway of the laboratory where he and her father
cleaned and examined new acquisitions to the museum.
She shrugged. "He had a better handle on the examination then those other fops
from the night before," she answered.
Jackelton nodded his agreement. "Aye. The one that questioned me was very good.
Not to mention very beautiful. I cannot recall ever seeing a lovelier vision,
let alone being questioned by one. Although I have no idea what she could deduce
by my answers. I wasn't even here that night."
"Same here. But figuring out what happened is not for us to decide. It's their
job to prove someone guilty." She had no intentions of sharing her suspicions
with her main suspect. She only hoped her suspicious nature didn't show through.
"I must be going now, Roland. Tell my father I went home for the day. I'll be
back in time for my shift tonight."
Jackelton inclined his head then turned and resumed his business inside the
office. Marion took a deep breath and blew it out then resumed her own course.
She had to learn to control her tongue or she would blow the whole thing. It
would not be easy, but she was bound and determined. She was not about to take
the fall for the theft, nor was she going to allow it to tarnish her father's
impeccable reputation.
She hadn't been entirely truthful with Roland, although she did have plans to go
home for a while. She just didn't plan on coming back for the night shift.
Mason - the other night guard - owed her plenty and she was sure she could
persuade him to take her shift tonight. Because tonight she planned on finding
out if her suspicions about the man were correct. She wasn't exactly certain
why she thought he would be making his move tonight, but with the added
incentive brought on by the questioning today, she just knew. Roland worked
until seven o'clock this evening. She would return then.
Pushing the back door open, she stepped out into the bright daylight of
afternoon and made her way across town for home.
* * * * * * * *
"Not very imposing," Phileas Fogg commented as Baeuvin was showing him and
Rebecca where the artifact had been displayed. It was a simple glass case set
upon a wooden pedestal among other similar pedestals in a row running up and
down the corridor of the museum.
"It was not meant to be, Mister Fogg," Baeuvin explained. "The museum does not
wish for the general public to see anything but that which is displayed. The
security system is all hidden under the drop cloths and inside the pedestals."
"How does it work?" Rebecca inquired.
Baeuvin lifted the empty glass case from the pedestal with one hand and the
black velvet drop cloth with the other to reveal the wooden pedestal beneath.
The surface of the pedestal was perhaps an inch wider in circumference then the
glass case itself, and was square in shape. In the very center of the surface a
large circle had been cut out of the wood and replaced with a steel plate.
"That is what is called a pressure plate," the older man replied. "Each plate
in each pedestal is calibrated to the weight of each piece that is placed upon
it. Therefore if the pressure placed upon it increases or decreases by just a
fraction of an ounce, an alarm is sounded."
"And you are certain that it was working properly the night of the theft?" Fogg
inquired.
"Positive, Mister Fogg. The moment the case was disturbed the alarm sounded,
alerting Marion to the theft. And the instant the alarm sounded the security
system for the building was activated, effectively sealing all means of exiting
the Museum."
Fogg raised an eyebrow in intrigue. "Really? How is that done?"
Baeuvin directed their attention back towards the double set of doors they had
used to gain access to the museum. "Once the alarm is sounded, a large sheet of
iron drops down from the ceiling in front of every set of doors, blocking the
exit. Even after the alarm has been silenced, it takes two sets of keys to
unlock the mechanism that pulls the sheets of iron back into place. One set the
guard carries, the other set only I have access to."
"May I take a look?" Rebecca asked.
Baeuvin nodded and escorted her back towards the doors. Fogg remained before
the pedestal, arms crossed, and a pensive expression on his face. Rebecca knew
better then to disturb her cousin when he was in such deep thought.
The door was just as Baeuvin had described. Just inside the door, in the
ceiling an inch from the top, a slit, six-inches wide, ran the entire width of
the door. She also found one keyhole on each side of the door jamb.
"What are you're regular security measures?" she inquired. "I mean besides the
guard inside."
"All the doors are locked of course. And each set of doors around the entire
building has a heavyweight wrought-iron gate that is pulled across it each
night. Then the doors which lead from the lobby to the exhibit area and these
doors here which lead from the offices and laboratories to the exhibit area also
have wrought iron gates. Only I have keys to these doors, which I lock once the
guard is inside and I am ready to leave for the night. And of course each and
every door has an alarm."
Rebecca was noticeably impressed. "And were all the doors still locked when you
were informed of the theft?"
Baeuvin nodded. "Each one. On the outside as well as the inside. This is what
makes the theft so mysterious."
"The report says you arrived here shortly after the police were alerted. You
opened only this door. So if the thief were to escape, he would have to come
through this way. And the only one who came out was your daughter."
"Yes, Miss Fogg." Baeuvin knew exactly where her line of questioning was going.
"I assure you that the police searched her completely before they allowed her
through. And they searched the museum completely as well. The artifact was
nowhere to be seen and neither was the thief. Both vanished into thin air."
"There is no other way inside the museum but the doors? No windows?"
"No windows except those in the lobby and the offices. Sunlight can be very
destructive to ancient artifacts, Miss Fogg."
"You say the museum was search completely." Came Fogg's voice from where he
still stood before the pedestal.
"Completely, Mister Fogg. It took all night and most of the next morning."
Fogg turned around then to look at the displays across the aisle from the
pedestals. This is where the larger cases stood, containing statuary and the
like. This being the Egyptian collection, there were also several sarcophagi
standing without cases but on short pedestals an inch or two off the ground.
"Are there pressure plates under the sarcophagi as well?"
Baeuvin's face scrunched in confusion. "Why no. Certainly someone walking out
with one of them would be noticed, Mister Fogg."
"Off course, Lord Marcus." Fogg moved closer to one of the sarcophagi and
stooped down to examine the pedestal. "I was not alluding to that. I was
merely wondering if they were alarmed in the same way as the smaller cases."
Rebecca wandered back to where her cousin stooped, continuing to examine each of
the pedestals in turn. Baeuvin had no choice but to follow, his curiosity
peeked as well. "No, we have found no need to go to such extreme lengths with
the larger pieces."
"Ah," Fogg replied, which could have meant anything. He went on to the fourth
sarcophagi pedestal and found what he sought almost immediately. Since these
pedestals were not covered with velvet drop cloths, they were made of soft
marble instead of wood. And etched into the surface of this particular pedestal
were several deep scratches. And each scratch contained several slivers of
wood. "Ah," he said again and this time Rebecca knew he had come upon
something.
"What is it, Phileas?" she asked.
Fogg glanced up at Baeuvin before answering her question. "How often are these
sarcophagi opened?"
Another confused look flashed across the older man's face. "Never, Mister Fogg.
Exposure to air starts the deterioration process. We found this out due to
trial and error in the earlier days of the museum. Until we find a way to keep
them open for display without decaying, they must remain closed."
Fogg nodded. "So there would be no need to open this one."
"None at all."
"Phileas?" Rebecca asked again, placing her hand upon her cousin's shoulder.
"This one has been opened. And while it was on this pedestal."
"Impossible!" Baeuvin exclaimed.
Fogg ran his fingers along the deep scratches, drawing both Rebecca's and
Baeuvin's eyes to them. Then he gingerly felt under the lid of the sarcophagi
near the opening. There he found a stiff wooden post that corresponded with
each scratch.
"These scratches in the surface of the pedestal were made when the lid was
dragged opened." He replied. "And made deeper when it was closed. Twice each
way I would say."
Rebecca's grip on his shoulder tightened. "You're not saying what I think you
are, are you, Phil?"
He nodded as he rose to his feet. "Lord Marcus, I believe our thief hid himself
inside this sarcophagus until the museum closed and your daughter was in some
other part of the building. Then he crept out, stole the artifact, then
returned to the sarcophagi where he remained most probably until the next day
when he could slip out without the possibility of being seen."
"Again, Mister Fogg, I say that is impossible. These sarcophagi are sealed
after the mummies have been removed to preserve the air-tightness of their
construction."
Fogg felt along the lid of the sarcophagus until he found the edge of the lip
and then he tugged slightly on it until a soft whoosh filled the room and the
lid popped open. Rebecca gasped and a strangled gargle escaped Baeuvin's
throat. Fogg pulled the lid toward him until a space wide enough for an average
size man to squeeze through was made. He noted with satisfaction the grate of
the lid as it scraped across the soft marble pedestal. All three moved around
to the side of the sarcophagi and peered inside.
Baeuvin cursed softly and moved closer to examine the seal that should have kept
the lid from being removed. As he had feared, the seal had been neatly melted
away.
"How long would it take to melt away the seal?" Rebecca inquired as she took the
chance to examine it as well.
"With heat, like you would a candle, several days constantly applied. And I can
assure you that if someone had been standing here for several days holding a
candle to the seal, it would have been noticed." The old man drew her attention
to the wood on the edge of both the lid and the casket. "See here where the
wood looks as if it, too, had been melted?"
Rebecca moved in closer. She nodded. "It is melted, not burned, as it would be
if a flame had been applied to it."
"Exactly. This indicates that the seal was eaten away by an acid of some sort."
Fogg raised an eyebrow. "And could this acid be found here in the museum
somewhere?"
Baeuvin sighed and nodded. He had been hoping against hope that the theft had
not been an inside job. But now, all evidence seemed to point to exactly that.
"Yes. Yes, it can be. In any of the laboratories."
"Who has access to the laboratories?"
"Anyone who has access to the offices."
Fogg pursed his lips for a moment before speaking. "An acid strong enough to
eat away the seal and parts of the sarcophagus would have to be quite acidic,
wouldn't it?" Baeuvin nodded. "So I would be safe in saying that whoever did
it, knew what they were doing or there would be evidence of the acid on the base
as well as on the floor beneath."
Again Baeuvin nodded. "And to answer your unasked question, Mister Fogg. That
would narrow your suspects down to myself, my assistant Roland Jackelton, and my
daughter Marion."
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