The Blue Sphinx

CHAPTER VII IN THE MUSEUM

WHILE two trains were bringing new visitors to Latuna, that prosperous little city lay glittering beneath the darkened evening sky. Well-lighted streets were prevalent in Latuna; but they ended abruptly on the border of the business district. Beyond were blackened, vacant subdivisions that had ceased development with the sudden termination of a real-estate boom.

On a hill well out from the town stood a lonely marble building that looked like a vast mausoleum. This was the central portion of the unfinished Latuna Museum. It had been erected on the hill so that it might overlook the town.

Subdivisions as yet unbuilt; intervening trees that had not been cut down — these isolated the museum from the city. Instead of dominating a suburban district, the new building was actually in a rural area.

Viewed from the outside, the museum was a square-shaped building with broad steps leading up to four mammoth stone pillars. Modeled after the Parthenon in Athens, the structure was topped by a low, broad dome.

The marble front had large windows, guarded with heavy metal shutters; but the sides and back were windowless. Moreover, they lacked the marble surface of the front. These other walls were entirely of brick.

The reason lay in the fact that the museum was uncompleted. The final plans called for the addition of two wings and a rear extension which would be deeper than the rest of the structure; for the ground sloped downward at the back of the museum.

Entering the building, one found exhibit rooms in both front corners. Smaller rooms were situated along the side walls. From the center of the building back to the rear wall was a special exhibit room, directly beneath the broad dome. One entered this through a commodious anteroom. Heavy Florentine doors formed the first barrier; lighter doors were beyond, at the inner portion of the anteroom.

A main hall ran along the front of the building, just in back of the lobby and the corner exhibit rooms. Small corridors ran along the sides, between the blank walls of the central exhibit room and the small chambers at the sides of the building.

An incomplete arrangement. Many persons had predicted difficulties in the new extensions. On this particular evening, one man seemed deeply concerned with that problem. Joseph Rubal, curator of the museum, was seated in his office, which was reached by the last door on the right-hand corridor.

RUBAL was a tall, dry-faced man. His forehead showed deep furrows; his expression was perpetually solemn. He had a habit of running his long fingers through the sparse hair of his partly bald head. He was following this procedure as he studied a set of plans that lay upon his desk.

Eight o’clock. Rubal noted the time by his desk clock. He frowned as he looked toward the door; then his expression changed as he heard footsteps in the hall. The door opened and a uniformed attendant entered.

“Ah, Hollis,” expressed Rubal, as he eyed the stocky, square-jawed arrival. “Have the other attendants left?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You have locked up for the night?”

“Yes, sir. Until the watchmen arrive at nine.”

“Remain here. I shall make sure.”

Hollis watched Rubal leave the office. He shrugged his shoulders. As chief attendant, he never failed in his duty of closing the museum, yet the curator invariably insisted upon a personal check-up.

Five minutes later, Rubal returned to find Hollis standing stolidly in the spot where he had left him. Rubal gave an approving nod, a token that he had found the front door barred on the inside. Hollis started to leave the office.

“No inspection is necessary, Hollis,” remarked Rubal, dryly. “Remain here. I wish to talk to you. Did you notice these plans for the new extensions?”

“No, sir. Are they completed?”

“Not quite. It is a problem, Hollis.” The attendant nodded; then advanced as Rubal beckoned him to the desk. On view lay a floor plan of the museum as it now stood, with dotted lines to indicate the additions.

“As chief attendant, Hollis,” declared the curator, “you are quite familiar with the present plan of this museum. Therefore, I think that my difficulties will interest you.”

“They will, sir. Particularly because of the—”

“Well?” queried Rubal, as Hollis paused.

“On account of the criticism, sir,” admitted Hollis. “In the Enterprise, I mean—”

“I understand. That muckraker, Harrison Knode, has objected to my delay. He thinks that I should have submitted the complete plans before this.”

“He is a trouble-maker, sir.”

“I know it. Meanwhile I am handicapped.” Rubal’s voice rose as he pounded the desk. “Look, Hollis. See my problems! This building was designed wrong in the beginning!”

“Whose fault was that, sir?”

“No one’s. You see, Hollis, old Barnaby Soyer promised the city his entire collection of priceless art treasures provided that a museum would be built within one year after his death. That was a large order.”

Hollis nodded.

“A collection worth more than a million dollars,” resumed Rubal. “It would have been lost to Latuna, but for the timely aid of Strafford Malden. He denoted the ground and urged citizens to contribute preliminary funds. Construction began at once.

“IT was obvious that the Soyer collection could not be placed on exhibit until the entire building was completed. Many suggestions were made as to housing the treasures temporarily. Finally, we hit upon the best one, thanks to the rearward slope of the ground.

“A vault was created directly beneath the central room that stands under the dome. Barnaby Soyer’s treasures were brought in through the back of that vault. Gems, golden vessels, statuettes of precious metals — none of these would suffer by long storage. So the back of the vault was sealed with solid brick, not to be opened until the completion of the wings.”

Again, Hollis nodded. Very little of this was new to him. He wondered why the curator was going to such detailed explanation.

“Save for the front,” stated Rubal, still talking loudly, “this museum is windowless. Doorways will be cut through brick walls to make the entrances to new corridors in the wings and back extension.”

“The present corridors end abruptly, sir.”

“Yes. Because they will be continued through. But there lies a problem. Shall we have a joining corridor in the rear extension?”

“In back of the Sphinx Room, sir?” Rubal chuckled.

“An excellent term, Hollis,” he commended. “I shall remember it tomorrow, when the Blue Sphinx arrives. The Sphinx Room. Very good, Hollis.”

“It just popped out, sir. It will look fine in that room, the Blue Sphinx will. The bare pedestal, with its wooden covering, is hardly artistic, sir.”

“It is not meant to be,” declared Rubal, unsmiling. “The wooden platform merely protects the stone pedestal.”

“I understand, sir. When do you intend to remove the platform?”

“Not until the Sphinx is actually ready to go in its place. I shall superintend the work, Hollis.”

“Very good, sir.”

There was a pause. Before Rubal could speak, Hollis raised his hand warningly.

“Did you hear that, sir?”

“What?” inquired Rubal, nervously.

“A muffled sound, sir! Like something dropping!”

“Imagination, Hollis.”

“There it is again, Mr. Rubal!”

“I hear nothing. Come, Hollis. Let me show you these plans.”

“But I was sure, sir, that the noise could have come from the Sphinx Room!”

“I inspected that room, Hollis. The doors are closed. Come, come, man! You are making me nervous! Concentrate upon these plans. I want your opinion.”

THE chamber which Hollis had so aptly termed the Sphinx Room lay directly beneath the large dome of the museum. Glass sections in the circular roof admitted pale moonlight. Beneath those whitened rays, a strange scene was taking place while Rubal talked with Hollis in the office.

The chief attendant’s supposition had not been false. Beneath that dull light, shrouded figures were in motion. Like hunchbacked ghosts, they were creeping across the tiled floor, away from the wooden-platformed pedestal that was to form the resting place of the Blue Sphinx.

Doors lay open through the anteroom. Those had been unbarred from the outside. That explained why Hollis had heard some sound. The noise had carried through the corridors.

Creeping forms had completed some insidious mission, for they were moving together toward the outer door. One figure stopped on the fringe of the moonlight and carefully closed the doors that led from anteroom to Sphinx Room. Moonlight alone remained in the empty compartment that was to house the Blue Sphinx.

More whispers in the darkened anteroom. A flashlight glimmered as its bearer moved into the corridor. Doors from corridor to anteroom went shut. Locks turned in place. Prowlers continued toward the big front door. That barrier swung open. When it closed, the silence and gloom remained.

Five minutes. Then a bell tingled with a short, abrupt br-r-r. After that came new silence. Like a signal, that final touch had marked the passage of the unknown prowlers.

IN the office, Hollis looked up suddenly. His square face was troubled. Hollis stepped away from the desk and started to the door that led into the corridor.

“Hold on, Hollis,” ordered Rubal. “What is the trouble now?”

“The bell, sir,” explained the chief attendant. “I am sure that I heard it.”

“At ten minutes of nine?” quizzed the curator, pointing to the clock. “Impossible! Those watchmen never arrive ahead of time. Besides, they ring incessantly.”

“That is the trouble, sir. I heard just the slightest tingle.”

“I warned you to curb your imagination, Hollis. Here, sit down at my desk. Try one of these Puerto Rican cigars. Imagine yourself to be the curator, if you must indulge in fanciful notions. I shall investigate.”

Waving the attendant to the chair, the curator went out into the corridor and turned on a light. He continued to the big front hall, turning on more lights.

As he neared the front entrance, Rubal paused. He threw an anxious glance over his shoulder. Satisfied that Hollis was not following, he went to the door of the anteroom and found it tight.

Methodically, Rubal continued to the front door of the museum. The huge bar was raised from its place; but the curator did not seem perturbed. Carefully, he put the bar back in place. Moping his forehead with a silk handkerchief, he went back along the corridors, extinguishing lights behind him.

Hollis was puffing a perfecto when Rubal reentered the office. The curator shook his head to signify that he had found nothing. He motioned to Hollis to keep the chair. Taking a cigar for himself, Rubal paced back and forth across the little office.

“What do you think of the plans, Hollis?” he questioned.

“I can suggest no improvement, sir,” replied the attendant. “I consider them quite good.”

“They do not suit me, Hollis. Perhaps I shall finish them. Perhaps not.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“I mean that I may resign as curator, in deference to public opinion.”

“That would be a mistake, sir. Really—”

A long bell ring interrupted. It was repeated. Rubal waved his hand toward the door.

“The watchmen,” he said, bluntly. “Admit them, Hollis. You may leave without returning here. I shall need you no more tonight.”

“Very well, sir.”

As Hollis left, Joseph Rubal again mopped his glistening forehead. His ordeal was ended. Hollis had barred the big front door tonight; Hollis would find it still barred when he admitted the watchmen.

The chief attendant would never realize that the curator had unbarred that door during his check-up just after eight o’clock. Hollis would forget the noises that he had heard, never realizing that the curator, himself, had allowed skulking prowlers to enter.

That short ring had been a signal to Rubal. The curator had kept Hollis occupied while the interlopers had been busy. Departing, those associates had briskly informed Rubal that they were finished with their work.

Donning hat and coat, Rubal walked from his office. Hollis had already gone when the curator reached the front hall. A watchman blinked a torch; then unbarred the front door. Joseph Rubal stepped out into the night. The big door clanged behind him.

Like the chief attendant, the watchmen were in ignorance of the visitors who had come and gone. Of all entrusted with the guardianship of the Latuna Museum, the curator alone had knowledge of the strange treachery which he himself had perpetrated.