The Mystery of the Venus Island Fetish (30 page)

Vere Griffon found himself bailed up.

‘Director! Let me introduce my husband, Dr Siegfried Leggenhacker.'

It was Elizabeth Doughty, dressed in a tartan skirt and highlands blouse, and a tam-o'-shanter
on her head. Her one leg looked splendid in a tartan stocking, while her newly fitted
peg of black ebony was striking, to say the least. At her side was a stout, blue-eyed,
walrus-moustached gent, peering at the world through a monocle. Dr Leggenhacker was,
Griffon thought, Teutonic to his bootstraps. Even his pot belly, loosely constrained
behind his blue-striped shirt with its low collar, seemed unmistakably German.

‘
Guten abend. Herzlich willkommen, sehr geehrter Herr Doktor Leggenhacker. Ihre anwesenheit
heute abend ist uns eine ganz besondere ehre!
' said Griffon.

‘How kind of you to welcome me in my native tongue, Director. It's a rare thing in
the far-flung colonies,' Leggenhacker replied.

‘Have you met your countryman, Herr Schmetterling? Let me introduce you.'

Griffon grew less certain as he approached Schmetterling. The man was somewhat the
worse for wear.

‘
Guten abend, Herr Schmetterling.
Meet your countryman,
Dr Siegfried Leggenhacker.'
Griffon's presence had reduced Schmetterling to a trembling mess. It was Joe who
responded.

‘Good onions, Dottore Leghacker! Is a good party, eh!'

‘
Ja
. But the best is yet to come, I think.'

The Japanese sailors, meanwhile, had gathered beneath an exhibit titled ‘The Ladder
of Progress'. It consisted of skulls, arranged in a pyramid whose bottom rung was
labelled ‘Australian Aborigine'. Then came layers of Africans, Papuans, Islanders,
Chinese, Arabs and finally, at the apex, a single skull with ‘Caledonian' written
in ink across its brow.

‘Director!' cried Admiral Iamaura. ‘Very excellent. British on top. But next should
be Japan. Why no Japanese?'

‘Oh…well, Admiral. Quite simple, really. Couldn't get the skulls.'

‘Ah so.' Iamaura bowed as Griffon moved on.

The director was intending to visit the bathroom, but at the far end of the hall
he felt a tap on his shoulder. He swung around, and came eye to eye with Cedric Scrutton.
Behind him was Hardy Champion Descrepency.

‘Griffon, you vile thief. We're onto you!' Flecks of foam appeared on Scrutton's
lips.

‘Really, old thing. No idea what you're talking about. Perhaps we could discuss it
tomorrow.'

‘Oh, that we will,' Scrutton spat back.

‘You've met your Golgotha now, Director,' added Descrepency.

‘
Gol
gotha, please!' Vere Griffon insisted with an emphasis on the first syllable,
as if he were correcting an ignorant child. He found mispronunciation intolerable.

The director was standing at the urinal with the faintest echo of satisfaction at
the launch having gone off so well, when he heard a tremendous crash. He cut things
off as best he could, buttoned up, and returned to the hall. A crowd had gathered
around the soaring tyrannosaurus skeleton, which he could see now ended at the neck.

An ashen-faced Cedric Scrutton was holding his shoulder. Brownlow, notebook in hand,
stood beside him. In front of them lay a shattered saurian cranium. Roger Holdfast
was looking up in horror at the abruptly terminating neck.

‘I just can't understand what happened. Gerald checked all the bolts this afternoon.
It's impossible that they could have come loose.'

Scrutton woke as if from a trance.

‘Griffon, I knew that you were a low life, but I had no idea that you were a murderer
as well. There will be an investigation into this, I swear. There will, indeed! I'll
see you hang!' He cried as he stormed off.

The museum guards soon erected a temporary barrier around the fallen skull. More
music, and a fresh round of drinks and canapés, restored gaiety. Archie, however,
could not relax, and did not trust himself to have a champagne. He was on the lookout
for Dryandra Stritchley, who was nowhere to be seen. Tied up with officework, he
thought. Just as the guests were getting over-jolly she marched into the hall, looking
about
as if in search of someone.

Archie slipped out and made his way to the boardroom. To his shock, the door opened
as he approached. Elizabeth Doughty and Dr Leggenhacker stepped into the hallway,
Leggenhacker's jacket was wrapped around what looked like a leg of lamb.

‘Meek. What are you doing here?' hissed Elizabeth.

‘I could ask you the same question,' he replied. Seeing the steely look in her eyes,
he added, ‘Err, I've come to replace the tooth in the fetish.'

‘The what!'

‘The tooth. On the day I returned from the islands I discovered that an incisor had
dropped out of one of the skulls of the Great Venus Island Fetish. I haven't had
a moment to replace it until now.'

The Leggenhackers seemed not to care for his explanation. They moved swiftly down
the corridor towards the exit. Archie entered the darkened boardroom. The great fetish
hung in the eerie twilight. Its eyes seemed to be staring at him, their manic spirals
drawing him closer.

He was soon face to face with the beastly thing. He struggled to lift it from the
wall, but his damaged hand lacked strength. It was as if he could smell the smoky
fumes of hell itself emanating from the monstrous oral cavity. The fetish was far
heavier than he'd imagined, and in his battle to lift it he found himself leaning
repeatedly into the tooth-lined cavern. He felt like he was being consumed by it.

Then something broke. An object crashed to the floor and split in half. It was a
skull—one of the orange ones. Archie stared at it in petrified silence. Then he looked
at the gap in the skull ring.

The next few moments would always remain confused in his mind. His clearest memory
was of a tremendous roar, as if the hobnails of hell had been let loose. The air
about him turned into an inferno, the flames of which licked at him like the tongue
of the devil himself. He knew that to save his life he must drop the mask, yet now
it seemed to be holding onto him. Then the sleeve of his coat burst into flames,
and he found himself running down the hall, screaming, ‘Fire, fire,' at the top of
his lungs.

Almost instantly Vere Griffon was at his side, acting with the resolve of the captain
of a sinking ship. The director seemed to be simultaneously organising an orderly
departure of the guests, a bucket chain of museum staff to pour water on the fire,
and directing the newly arrived firemen towards the blaze. It was, everybody later
agreed, the man's finest hour.

Chapter 24

The following morning Griffon learned that the fire brigade had been alerted by
a tip-off. The fire chief quizzed him about the caller, but the director was unable
to help. Examination of the scene revealed that the blaze had started in the old
walk-in safe at the back of the director's office. It had smouldered there for some
time before the heat blasted out a window in the adjacent corridor. Then the influx
of fresh air had caused the flames to explode.

While inclined to arson as an explanation, the fire department could not rule out
other causes. The electrical wiring of the museum, for one, was antique. Coming to
a firm conclusion would be hampered, the chief explained, because the fire had almost
completely consumed the director's office, destroying
vital evidence. As Griffon
examined the ashes, he realised that not only had the museum's financial records
perished, but also his collection of Meissen porcelain and the Great Venus Island
Fetish. All the exchange material he had accumulated for Professor Giglione had also
gone up in smoke, though thankfully the rest of the museum had survived unharmed.

While Vere Griffon was pondering the previous night's events, Cedric Scrutton marched
into the office of the premier's secretary, Winston Spencer. ‘We have an emergency
on our hands, Spencer. A full-blown emergency. The fire at the museum last night
is highly suspicious, and I damn well know it was lit to cover up gross malfeasance,
including a colossal misuse of government funds. If the premier is to avoid becoming
besmirched, he must order an inquiry immediately.'

The following day it was revealed that a special commission would investigate not
only the fire, but also the entire administration of the museum. It would be headed
by that hammer of evildoers, Sir Harbottle Grimston, retired chief of the premier's
department. Mentor and close friend of Cedric Scrutton, Grimston was renowned for
his dogged ferreting-out of crooked public servants. It was whispered in the corridors
that he always got his man.

The commission's first hearings, Grimston announced, would be held forthwith, in
the Parliament building itself.

In the aftermath of the fire, Archie made his way to the boarding house to organise
the Venus Islanders for their return. How, he agonised, could he tell Sangoma that
the fetish had been destroyed?

‘Uncle,' he began. ‘The dance you performed last night was a triumph.'

‘Thank you, my son. I had no idea that we had been invited to perform at such an
important ceremony. When we islanders come to the end of a great ceremonial cycle—one
lasting many years—we burn the spirit house that the ceremonies took place in. We
see that your tribe follows a similar custom. When the fire started we followed the
museum clan outside. Then your enemies, the men dressed in red, arrived, and tried
to put out the fire so they could steal the sacred things and shame you. We were
ready to join the fight and drive them away, but your great war leader Jeevons was
not vigorous. He did nothing to protect the cleansing flames.'

‘Uncle, I can't explain things now. But I do have something important to tell you.
Last night I tried to take the fetish.'

Sangoma's eyes widened. He held his breath as Archie went on. ‘I tried to pull it
from the wall, but it was too strong. Then the fire came, and it was burned to ashes.
I'm so sorry.'