The Crime Crypt

CHAPTER XIX. CARDONA’S CLEW

WHILE Brodie Brodan was chuckling over Joe Cardona’s dash to the Egyptian Museum, the ace detective had arrived at his destination. The museum was lighted; the front door was open. Joe Cardona entered and a policeman showed him to the room at the end of the corridor.

Cardona found two men in charge. One was Inspector Timothy Klein; the other, a lean-faced individual who the inspector introduced as Handley Matson; the curator. Klein led Cardona to the rifled tomb of Senwosri.

“Look it over, Joe,” ordered the inspector. “This is where they made the biggest haul. They took a lot of other stuff, too.”

“Out of there?” questioned the detective, with a perplexed stare, as he surveyed the stone sarcophagus, which still bore its padlocked bands.

“That is the sarcophagus,” explained Matson, nervously. “It used to contain the mummy case of Senwosri. It is empty at present. The thieves must have known that. They took the mummy case, but did not bother to touch the empty sarcophagus.”

“Where was the mummy case?”

“Standing right here.” The curator looked like a mummified king as he took his position to indicate the spot. “The case contained the embalmed body of Senwosri, the son of Amenemhe. He was the builder of the obelisk at Heliopolis and the temple at Wadi Halfa—”

“All right,” interposed Cardona. “What was the value of the stuff in the mummy case?”

“Thousands of dollars,” stated the curator, in an awed tone. “The golden mask; the jeweled boat that was to carry the soul — the ka — of Senwosri—”

Cardona was nodding as he turned to look at the outer room. He saw the rifled cases. He waved his hand toward them.

“These?”

“Very valuable,” declared the curator. “Antiquities from the collection of Cecil Armsbury. The purchase price was in excess of sixty thousand dollars. Examples of early Egyptian sculpture; clay tablets with hieroglyphic inscriptions which—”

“Those?”

Cardona was pointing to the farther wall. The row of opened mummy cases had attracted his attention.

The curator added another explanation.

“The thieves rifled those cases,” he stated. “They carried away the mummies, which were not of high value. We had not inspected the mummy cases, I must admit, but I have a list here of their contents — all articles of but little value, even as antiquities—”

“You mean those cases had not been opened here?”

“They were brought in only this afternoon. We intended to open them in the morning.”

“I see.” Cardona turned to Inspector Klein with an inquiring air.

KLEIN smiled slightly. He had listened to the curator’s long harangue before the detective had arrived.

“Here’s the story, Joe,” explained Klein. “At about eight fifty this evening, there was a muffled explosion heard on the street. About five minutes later came the second blast. The patrol arrived just after nine.

“They found that the burglars had blown open the rear doors of the museum. They came in here and blew open the door to the mummy’s tomb — where the empty scarab is located.”

“The sarcophagus,” interposed Handley Matson. “A scarab, inspector, is a beetle — about so large” — he showed the size with thumb and finger — “which was regarded as sacred by the Egyptians. I have a specimen in my office. Wait! I shall obtain it.”

“Scarab or sarcophagus,” laughed Klein, as the curator hurried away. “I mean that stone box that has the locks on it. The crooks got in the room and carried away a mummy case — the one that had King Says Who’s This in it.

“They also rifled this exhibit. Took the stuff from the cases and yanked the new mummies out of their wooden boxes. They must have gotten away in a truck. There must have been a crowd of them, too, to make such a quick clean-up. The king’s mummy case was a heavy one, the curator says.”

“Is that all?” asked Cardona.

“The watchman,” added Klein. “They landed on him in the basement, while he was making his rounds. Tied him up and gagged him. I quizzed the watchman. We’re holding him for further questioning.”

“Clews?”

“I don’t see any, Joe,” admitted Klein, ruefully. “You’re the man to find them, if they’re here. I’m going down to headquarters. If you can get the curator to calm down, maybe you can get some information out of him. I can’t.”

“Leave it to me.” Cardona strolled away and went to the curator’s office. He found Matson digging through desk drawers in search of his golden beetle.

“I had it here in my desk,” began the curator. “It’s made of gold — about so large—”

“Never mind the scab,” interposed Cardona, gruffly. “The crooks wouldn’t have had time to take it. You’ll find it later. Come along with me, Mr. Matson. I want to see that rear door the crooks blew open.”

The curator complied. He led Cardona to the rear of the museum.

JOE surveyed the blasted door. Beckoning to the curator, he led the way through the corridor to the rifled exhibit room.

“Let’s get things straight,” suggested the detective, as he stood alone with Matson. “When was the last time you opened that door to the king’s tomb?”

“This afternoon.”

“Was the mummy case there?”

“Yes. I locked the door myself. I showed the mummy case to a visitor — a Professor Sturgis Dilling.”

“What did he look like?”

“An old gentleman with stooped shoulders. Thin gray hair. A scholar — one acquainted with the history of Senwosri. He was sorry that I could not open the mummy case for him.”

“Did he want you to open any of these?” asked Cardona, pointing to the emptied mummy cases.

“They had not come in,” explained the curator. “They arrived after the museum had been closed. We opened the rear door and my attendants carried them into this room.”

“Hm-m.” Cardona was thoughtful. He paced about the room. Like Inspector Klein, Joe Cardona could see no clew. Handley Matson watched him anxiously.

Cardona half shut his eyes and rested his chin in his right hand. He was thinking over everything that Klein had told him. A practical sleuth, Cardona made no claim to deductive reasoning. He relied upon his hunches. Often, however, his hunches were deductions. He was gaining one now.

“Listen, Mr. Matson,” said the detective, slowly. “You’re an intelligent man and you know the layout of this museum. Forget your golden beetle and hear what I’ve got to say. Tell me whether I’m right or wrong.”

“Very well,” agreed the curator.

“First of all, it’s a long way from that back door here. It takes a few minutes to blow a door. I figure that the crooks would have needed a regiment to pile in here, blow the door to the tomb, grab off these exhibits, empty out the mummies and carry away the old king with his coffin. That is, they would have needed a regiment to do the whole job in about seven or eight minutes. Am I right?”

“Absolutely!” exclaimed the curator. “Especially with the watchman here. It must have taken them some time to find him. He was bound and gagged — and they knocked him out when they took him. He said he did not hear the explosions.”

“Hm-m. Of course he was down in the cellar. Still, the explosions were heard on the avenue. We’re getting somewhere, Mr. Matson. Getting somewhere! I’ve got it!”

Cardona stared across the exhibit room and pointed at the emptied mummy cases. He clutched the astonished curator by the arm and put a quick question.

“Why did the crooks take those mummies out of the cases?” demanded the detective. “Can you tell me why?”

“Perhaps they thought the mummies were of value—”

“Like the old king’s? Well why didn’t they yank the old boy out of his casket, too? Why did they want to lug away the box and all?”

“The mummy case of Senwosri had some value,” declared the curator. “Nevertheless, its contents were the actual prize. These other mummies — well, to be valuable, it would have been wise to take their cases also. It took time, unquestionably, to get those mummy cases open—”

“You’re right,” decided Cardona. “Listen. You didn’t open those cases when they came in. Suppose, Mr. Matson, that those mummy cases had each held a living man—”

“Living mummies?”

“No. Living crooks! In there instead of the mummies. There’s the answer! That’s how the crooks got in here. They came out of the mummy cases. They grabbed the watchmen. They swiped all these exhibits that are missing.

“They fixed two charges — one for the door to the tomb; one for the rear door of the museum. They let off the first blast in here — after they had dragged out the exhibits. The mummy case went out as fast as they could take it. They blew the rear door when they made their getaway. Am I right?”

CARDONA looked at Matson. The curator was standing open-mouthed. He was nodding in emphasis.

Cardona needed no more encouragement.

“Wait until the inspector hears this!” he exclaimed. “I’m going to follow this up, Mr. Matson. Tell me. Where did those mummy cases come from?”

“I do not know,” admitted Matson. “They were in some storage house — delivered at the order of the man who presented them to the museum.”

“Who is he?”

“Cecil Armsbury. The famous collector of Egyptian antiquities.”

“Is he here in New York?”

“I believe so. I have his address in my desk.”

“Let’s have it.”

Cardona accompanied the curator to the office. The detective was talking on the way.

“The crooks knew those mummies were coming in here,” he declared. “They must have gotten into the warehouse and chucked the mummies. If we can locate the warehouse, through this man Armsbury—”

Cardona paused. They were in the office. The curator was looking for the file which contained Armsbury’s address. He emitted a cry of satisfaction as he brought his hand from a desk drawer.

“You’ve got the address?” questioned Cardona.

“No,” returned Matson, excitedly, “I’ve found the scarab. See? Here it is. I must keep it to show to Inspector Klein if he returns.”

“Let me have it,” growled Cardona, seizing the golden beetle from the curator’s hand. “Get that address. Forget this yellow bug.”

Nodding, Matson delved through files. He finally produced a card and showed it to Cardona. It bore the name and address of Cecil Armsbury.

“You know this man?” questioned the detective.

“I have met him,” returned the curator.

Cardona seized the telephone. He called headquarters. He asked for Inspector Klein and was told that the official had not returned.

“I’ll call him later,” declared Cardona. “This is Joe Cardona.” He hung up the receiver. Then, to Matson:

“Come on; we’re taking a taxi to Armsbury’s house.”

The curator nodded and picked up his coat and hat. Joe Cardona, tapping his clenched fist against the table, suddenly realized its weight. He opened his hand and laughed as he saw that he was still holding the golden scarab.

Cardona chucked the metal beetle into the desk drawer from which Matson had taken it. He grabbed the curator’s arm and hurried the man out to the front door. Policemen were still in charge. Cardona told them to expect him back.

Three minutes later, the ace detective and the curator of the Egyptian Museum were whirling in a taxicab toward the home of Cecil Armsbury.