Hugger-Mugger in the Louvre (33 page)

“What does an aristocrat of that type do when pressed for cash? His first step is to borrow from—I will not say ‘sharks', but lenders, who, for greater risk insist on a higher rate of interest. These men are to be found, not in banking establishments, but here and there, engaged in some form of business which brings them large sums spasmodically which have to be invested without preconceived plans. The Marquis came in contact with a member of our group who is with us tonight, a man whose name is Hagup Bogigian, according to his passport, and Xerxes, if one reads the firm name on the sign at his place of business.”

All eyes were turned toward Xerxes, who showed pained surprise.

“Why shouldn't I lend money to the Marquis?” the Armenian asked. “Besides, I never got it back. He got into me for 200,000 francs at compound interest. But I didn't murder him for that. If I murdered every guy who owes me money, I'd have Landru beat to a frazzle.”

“Please,” interrupted Homer, holding up his hand for silence. “Let us not jump ahead of the story. We must follow it, phase after phase, and overlook no salient details. When I wish to announce who murdered the Marquis de la Rose d'Antan, I shall do so.”

He paused dramatically, and Miriam could hear her heart pounding. “Steady, my girl,” she whispered, then gave Homer her full attention, except for the corner of her eye glued on the bedroom door.

“I merely said that Xerxes lent the Marquis a total of 200,000 francs.”

“At compound interest,” Xerxes muttered.

Mathilde indignantly hissed for silence.

“The need and possession of money bridge distances between social strata, so Xerxes and the Marquis became acquaintances, if not friends. Of course there came a time when even our adventurous Monsieur ‘X' could risk his coin no longer, and that was a painful moment for both. To the debtor it meant less debauchery and waste, to the creditor the horrid prospect of losing what he had already lent. Xerxes decided that he must find some way for the Marquis to make a good-sized haul.

“The director of an American museum in Woodburn, Oregon, I believe, complained one day to Xerxes that in the whole state of Oregon there was not a single Egyptian mummy, while California possessed two. That gave Xerxes the germ of an idea . . .”

“Aw, what was the harm in that?” objected Xerxes, his dark eyes burning eloquently beneath his wrinkled forehead.

“Patience, my good man,” Evans said. “I am here to state facts, not to judge human actions. Heaven forbid that I should go in for that.”

“A lot of people do,” said the Armenian, disconsolately.

“Now, securing a mummy is not an easy task. First Xerxes consulted an encyclopedia, probably the Britannica, to get a general idea of how mummies are made. Then it struck him that his client, the Marquis, had quite a few mummies, ready made, in the Louvre. He proposed to the Marquis that they sell one of them to Woodburn, Oregon, believing that the relic would never be missed. He was informed by the Minister of Beaux Arts that many scholars fairly doted on mummies and would raise a world scandal if an eyebrow were filched from a dead Egyptian king.

“It is not in the nature of our Monsieur ‘X' to give up easily. He applied to the problem the principles of his trade. If the real thing could not be had, why not make a mummy? For that purpose, of course, a corpse was necessary. Why not buy a corpse? Unfortunately, the state refuses to let human bodies be bartered about, after life has become extinct. Before that, almost anything goes, but once a man is dead he cannot be auctioned off except to certain qualified scientists for purposes of study.”

Evans shifted his position on the platform slightly, and turned suddenly to Dr. Balthazar Truc. Extending his hand toward the indignant alienist, Homer said, in a sharper tone, “That brings us to Dr. Balthazar Truc. He is a scientist . . .”

“Bah!” said Toudoux. “He is a coward and a fraud.”

“Nevertheless,” continued Homer, “within the meaning of the word, as used in the statutes, Dr. Truc is a scientist. He has passed an examination, has been granted a certificate.”

“Chapter 53 of the law of August . . .”

“Laws should not be made in August,” Evans said. “Heat puts legislators in a vicious mood. However, let me tell you all how Xerxes and Dr. Truc got together. The story is a slight digression, but pertinent nonetheless. Xerxes' partner, an Englishman, indulged a bit too freely in order to celebrate the Armistice and just after Christmas got into such a state that Xerxes had to put him away. The Briton's condition was not grave [grunts from Jackson], but he wasn't in fit shape to hang around the store in the avenue de l'Opéra where the swell trade might get a glimpse of him soused. Dr. Truc, however, by means best known to him, kept the poor chap on edge for six weeks, until, in fact, his fee would equal the asking price of a large rug lie wanted for his bedroom. Lest you all feel bad for Xerxes, I want to assure you that the rug is an imitation. Now men who will exchange quack cures for fake rugs have something in them that draws Xerxes to them irresistibly. Our Armenian colleague learned that Dr. Truc had the necessary credentials for buying corpses, and tactfully the proposition was made and cautiously accepted. Truc procured a stiff from the morgue, turned it over to Bogigian, and, like Pilate, washed his hands. Of course, Pilate never had any such soap as Cosmidor or Garlin, so his hands were never washed as thoroughly as those of the doctor.”

Dr. Truc rose solemnly and faced the gathering. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, sonorously. “An innocent action of mine is being made to appear in a criminal light. The law expressly states that a registered physician, having secured a license, may purchase human bodies for dissection . . . Dr. Toudoux will bear me out.”

“I'll
kick
you out,” growled Toudoux.

“The law also says,” continued Truc, “and Maitre Ronron will agree, that once a physician has bought a corpse, in the words of the statute ‘he may dispose of said body or bodies in such manner and at such time and place as he sees fit, provided: that the remains of such body or bodies is not disposed of in such manner, and at such time or place, as to constitute a public nuisance, under the meaning of the act of July 4, 1776.' If Mr. Evans, our chairman, desires to do full justice to one and all, he should confirm my statement.”

“Granted,” Evans said. “Let us go on. Xerxes, with a corpse on his hands, takes the same to his warehouse in the
rue
Réaumur, unbeknown to everyone except his watchman, who has such good reasons for keeping his mouth closed that I will not, in fairness, disclose them. With the encyclopedia open to the letter ‘M,' Xerxes learns that the ancient Egyptians removed the inner organs of pharaohs, before stuffing them with asphalt and natron. The watchman is dispatched for asphalt, Xerxes deciding that the natron or sodium sesquicarbonate, being expensive, can be omitted.

“Ladies and gentlemen. It is more difficult than is at first supposed to dispose of parts of human bodies secretly. Xerxes turned out a creditable mummy, but the spare innards constituted a major problem. Finally he placed them in a jar of alcohol which he concealed in a corner of his warehouse where only he would be likely to go.

“Well. The mummy, after having been certified by the Minister of Beaux Arts and Public Monuments, was sold to the Woodburn Museum, for a handsome price. Lumber was booming just then and the Oregonians were feeling that the best was none too good for them.

“A second time the operation was repeated with success, mummy No. 2 going to Austin, Texas, at a time when cattle were fetching top prices. Then came the chance the resourceful M. ‘X' had been hoping for. An American multi-millionaire, Mr. T. Prosper Stables, having heard that mummies were going around, put in a bid for a genuine pharaoh, with wrapping intact, and a pedigree beyond question, for the Manhattan Museum. There, of course, a number of keen Egyptologists would inspect the treasure, and scholars are more critical of historical relics than are lumber men or ranchers.”

Frémont and Schlumberger, side by side, perched on the straight-backed gilded chairs with their feet on the highly polished floor, listened doggedly, one more impatient than the other. Noticing their perturbation, Evans smiled and assured them that he would be as brief as possible.

“The Marquis, by that time, was desperate for money, and Xerxes offered him a generous sum, and the cancellation of old debts, if he would make possible the removal of an unidentified mummy from the Louvre and give the name of some pharaoh so little known that the experts in New York would have no cause for suspicion. In short, the Marquis consented to have the unidentified mummy taken from the Louvre, and a false one substituted. The unknown king was to be called Neferkesokar, about whose reign nothing whatever was known except the name of the monarch and the years he occupied the throne.

“Hugo Weiss, an American philanthropist and business man who dislikes the multi-millionaire Stables, for sound and excellent reasons, got wind of the proposed sale and sent word to Professor de la Poussière, asking him to investigate.”

Frémont grunted. “It's an odd way to send word, by making scratches on a tombstone, and a soft one at that,” the chief of detectives grumbled.

“Professor de la Poussière, ladies and gentlemen, is the foremost Egyptologist in France,” Evans continued.

“Too generous,” the professor murmured.

“A year ago, the professor made a successful expedition to Egypt, where he uncovered the long-lost secrets of the reign of Neferkesokar and identified the unknown in the Louvre as Neferkesokar's twin brother, Tout-or-Nada . . .”

“Ha! Ha! Ho! Ho! Bless my soul,” roared Lazare.

“The remains of Neferkesokar consist of a shin bone and a bit of skull, while Tout-or-Nada is in a perfect state of preservation. Of course, the professor did not publish his findings before his report was in shape, so Xerxes and the Marquis went on blithely with their plans. Early last week, my friends . . .”

“Thank God, we're getting up to date,” said Schlumberger.

“. . . Early last week,” Evans went on, “the conspirators found out that the professor was about to publish the facts that would expose them and shatter their dream of wealth. The American was willing to pay a cool million, and for a million dollars men like Xerxes and the Marquis will do nearly anything.”

“I didn't kill the Marquis,” Xerxes cried, rising plaintively to his feet.

“One thing at a time,” cautioned Evans. “Let me explain what the Marquis did. This part of the tale is extremely important. The Marquis hired a certain gang leader, who for ethical reasons I shall not name, to shift the unknown mummy from its mummycase in the Egyptian room of the Louvre and hide it for safe keeping in a near-by sarcophagus in the Assyrian corridor. Thus the casket of the unknown pharaoh was left empty for a day or two, and was to have been filled with a mummy manufactured by Xerxes, who was growing more adept as his experience in embalming ripened.”

“Not noticeably,” grunted Lazare.

“But
The Pansy,”
Chief Frémont could not help exclaiming. “The chair promised me to find the painting. The Watteau! The 30 by 20 worth three million francs!”

“I'm coming to that,” Evans said. “The gang leader knew the Marquis was broke, the Marquis knew the gang leader worked only for cash in advance. Xerxes could raise enough to cover the transfer of the mummies by night. But when it became necessary to kidnap and kill the professor . . .”

A shriek startled the already tense assembly as Hélène de la Poussière turned white and slid from her chair to the floor in a dead faint. Hydrangea was at her side in an instant, and revived her gently as Homer continued his elucidation.

“A bargain between the Marquis and the master criminal was struck, and that was where
The Pansy
entered into the proceedings.”

“I don't understand,” said Frémont.

“I shall try to make it clear,” Homer said. “The gang chieftain agreed to murder the professor . . . ”

“Now see what you've gone and done,” said Hydrangea reproachfully. “I jus' got this lady brought around and you start right off talkin' about murder again.” For the professor's wife had swooned once more.

“I'm sorry,” said Hélène, on reviving. “Pray continue, with no thought for me.” Hjalmar left his post a moment and offered a pint bottle he had tucked in a hip pocket in case of emergency. Hélène, although unaccustomed to drinking from a bottle, swallowed a few drops of the brandy and thanked the painter courteously. “I feel easier,” she said, the roses returning to her cheeks, to match her scarf. “Please go on.”

“The gang leader agreed to murder the professor for one third of the million to be paid for Tout-or-Nada, passed off as Neferkesokar. As security, he insisted that one of the expensive paintings from the Louvre be delivered to him, promising to return it unharmed to the national museum when he got his $333,333.33. It was a desperate maneuver, but there was no alternative. The Marquis chose
The Pansy
of Watteau because of its small size . . . ”

Frémont was on his feet, gesticulating. “Then The Singe has
The Pansy.
I shall haul him in. Bonnet! Schlumberger . . .”

“I beg of you, be calm. I promised you the painting and you shall have it. Not later than tomorrow morning,” Evans said, with pardonable severity. The officers subsided.

“It was arranged,” Evans said, “that the Marquis should leave Paris and establish a perfect alibi at the time when
The Pansy
was removed. The thief, who shall remain anonymous for the time being . . .”

“Anonymous,” Frémont said, indignantly. “Anonymous, indeed! Just let me lay my hands on him. I'll teach him to let loose pandemonium in the world of art . . .”

Dr. Truc looked at the irate Chief with speculative eyes. “On the verge of a breakdown,” he sighed, in his best professional manner. “A few weeks of absolute quiet . . .”