The Broken Sun (5 page)

The underground section resembled a railway station with pendant lights hanging from
the ceiling, illuminating the grey tiled walls and stone floors. Mahogany work benches
and walnut-veneered display cabinets, containing items still to be catalogued, clogged
the rooms. Dozens of staff worked here at any one time, cataloguing acquisitions
or determining their origin.

During the week, Jack and Scarlet kept an eye out for anything relating to the case—Darwinist
experiments, missing men from the war, watches—but nothing appeared out of the ordinary.
It was all remarkably normal.

‘What period?' Jack now said, biting his lip. ‘Could it be…the lunch period?'

‘No! No, my boy!' Doctor Benson had bushy eyebrows that danced up and down when he
got excited. ‘Late Rome! Fourth century AD!'

‘Yes, Jack,' Scarlet said, trying to stifle a grin. ‘Fourth century. How could you
not know that?'

Jack shot her a look that would have wilted daisies.

The doctor held up a hand. ‘Possibly it's time for lunch. We'll delve further into
the clays of the late Roman period when you return.'

‘There must be many differences between early and late Roman clay,' Scarlet said,
giving Jack a discreet wink.

‘There are.' The doctor looked at her delightedly. ‘We can spend the whole afternoon
on them!'

Scarlet's face froze. ‘Wonderful,' she said through her teeth. ‘We look forward to
it.'

They escaped, leaving the doctor to examine a tiny shard of Roman pottery that could
have been mistaken for a rock.

‘You are so terrible,' Jack said to Scarlet. ‘You encourage him!'

‘I'm conducting an experiment,' Scarlet said. ‘Can you fall asleep while standing
up?'

‘Not only am I asleep, but my eyes are still open!'

‘So that's why you were drooling.'

‘I was not… I wasn't drooling. Was I?'

Scarlet laughed. They passed a table where an intern by the name of Matthew Pocket
looked up. ‘It's our young work-experience students,' he said. ‘Not bored yet, are
you?'

‘Bored isn't really the word,' Jack said.

‘Old Benson means well,' Pocket said. ‘But he can talk the leg off a chair. You should
take a walk around the Mesopotamian section. A new display is on show.'

It sounded like an interesting way to spend their lunch break. They thanked Matthew
Pocket and went up in a wheezing elevator to the visitor's section. It was a quiet
afternoon, with only a few people spread around the exhibit.

‘I've often visited the museum with my father,' Scarlet said. ‘It's changed a lot
over the years.'

Mythical creatures, made from bronze, decorated the cornices of the rooms, with scenes
from history painted on the ceilings. Even the tiled floors had historical facts
inscribed across them. A person could glance down and discover the location of the
Battle of Waterloo or the launch date of the world's first steam-powered spaceship.

The museum was one of the biggest purchasers of cut flowers in the country. Every
visitors room contained a vase on a stand in the corner, giving the building a fresh
perfumed smell. Classical music, channelled throughout the exhibits, added to the
atmosphere.

One of Jack's favourite things at the British Museum was the life-size dioramas displaying
ancient people in their historical surroundings. There were hundreds of them, set
into the walls like stages in a theatre; moments of history frozen in time.

‘That one looks like Miss Bloxley,' Jack said, pointing. He was amazed at the resemblance.
Evolution and
family inheritance had unfortunately made their tutor look rather frog-like.
‘I didn't know she was alive in ancient times.'

‘You mustn't be so horrible about Miss Bloxley. She's not that old. And she doesn't
look like a frog. She looks like…well, she does look a
little
froggy.'

In the centre of the room were glass display cabinets, containing weapons, masks
and more pieces of pottery. As Jack and Scarlet stopped at one, an elderly man with
a beard and eyes like those of a basset hound crossed the floor, dragging a heavy
bag on wheels. He looked about uncertainly.

When Scarlet offered him assistance, he shook his head.

‘Thank you, young lady. I'm searching for the African section.'

‘We can take you there,' Scarlet said.

‘I've donated a number of pieces to the museum,' said the man as they walked to the
next exhibit. ‘The museum has been cataloguing them.'

‘Have you been to Africa?' Jack asked.

‘Certainly. I'm Professor James Clarke.' The way the man said it made Jack think
he was supposed to know the name. ‘I'm an archaeologist. I suppose you wouldn't know
me if you're not interested in African artefacts.'

‘I don't really know anything about them.'

‘I didn't either when I was your age,' Professor Clarke said. ‘Although I was a reader.
My favourite book was
Ivanhoe
by Sir Walter Scott. Have you read it?'

‘Yes, sir. I loved it.'

‘And you, my dear?' The professor turned to Scarlet. ‘Do you also like reading?'

Jack groaned. Scarlet shot him a look before regaling the old man with an outline
of the Brinkie Buckeridge books.

Professor Clarke's bag looked very heavy.
One of us should help him with that
, Jack
thought. As he reached for it, the professor grabbed his wrist. His grip was surprisingly
strong.

‘I'm fine. Thank you.' He released Jack. ‘These items are quite valuable. They must
not leave my care.'

They entered another section with dark-green walls and dioramas of life-size South
American people. Professor Clarke crossed to a glass display in the centre of the
room.

‘This was purchased by the museum last year. It's the Cusco necklace, named for the
ancient Inca city in which it was found.'

‘It's amazing,' Scarlet said. ‘Is that—'

‘Gold? Yes. Legend has it that the necklace was once worn by the Emperor Kalamazar.'

It was an exquisite silver circle that fitted around the neck, and all the way around
the outside were flat, lozenge-shaped bars made of gold.

‘It must be very valuable,' Jack said.

‘It is,' the professor said. ‘I believe—'

A gunshot split the air. A woman screamed. Jack turned to see a family diving for
cover. Two masked men
were in the doorway, waving guns about. Dressed in blue trousers
and jackets, they were wearing porcelain masks, one smiling, one frowning. They fired
a second shot into the ceiling.

Professor Clarke abandoned his bag. ‘Take cover!' he cried, shoving Jack and Scarlet
behind a seat in the corner.

‘Everyone on the floor!' one of the men yelled.

Jack heard the sound of glass smashing. Another bullet rang out. He peered around
the seat.

‘What's happening?' Scarlet asked him.

‘They're singing a little song about butterflies! What do you think is happening?
It's a robbery!'

Jack squinted. There was something strange about their outfits. What was it?

I know. Those are police uniforms, but without the insignia.

There was no doubt about it. They were either real police officers or…

The one wearing the smiling mask stared at Jack. Ducking away, Jack heard the sound
of approaching footsteps before he was grasped by the back of his collar and had
the cold barrel of a gun pressed against his head.

‘I don't like people staring at me,' the man said.

‘Leave him alone!' Scarlet cried.

The man's gun moved away from Jack. Scarlet gasped as it was pointed at her.

‘Don't look at me!' the man snapped. ‘Do it again and you'll be sorry!'

Jack was terrified. The man cuffed him across the head and swore. Scarlet gripped
Jack's hand. The armed man retreated. Somewhere in the room a child started crying.
A man tried to console a weeping woman.

Someone touched Jack's shoulder. He looked up to see Professor Clarke.

‘They're gone,' the old man told him. ‘And they've stolen the Cusco necklace!'

CHAPTER FIVE

Within an hour, the British Museum was flooded with police and emergency services
in search of the thieves.

‘Jack! Scarlet! Are you all right?'

Ignatius Doyle hurried towards them.

‘Just a little shaken up,' Scarlet said.

‘If you can call absolute terror
a little shaken up
,' Jack added.

Police interviewed witnesses. When the broken display case was thoroughly processed,
a photographer took pictures with a square bellows camera the size of a bread bin,
set up on a tripod.

Jack noticed Inspector Greystoke—an old friend of Mr Doyle's from Scotland Yard—enter
the room.

The inspector arrowed over. ‘Doyle!' he said. ‘I should have expected you to be involved
in this!'

‘Only peripherally,' Mr Doyle said. ‘It was my young assistants who were at the heart
of the action.'

Greystoke asked them to go through the chain of events, and Jack and Scarlet obliged.
They explained about meeting Professor Clarke and the arrival of the masked men.
Mr Doyle listened thoughtfully while the inspector made notes on a small jotter.

‘So you believe these men were dressed as police officers?' Greystoke said.

‘They were,' Jack confirmed, ‘except for the masks, of course.'

‘It's the perfect disguise,' Mr Doyle said.

‘I'll get a constable to see if anyone noticed them change,' Greystoke said.

Mr Doyle nodded. ‘We may be lucky, but there are two rather more intriguing questions
regarding this case.'

‘And they are?'

‘First of all, why did they steal the Cusco necklace?'

‘Surely that's obvious. It's quite valuable.'

‘But why take it when there are several other equally precious pieces in the museum
that would have been far easier to steal?'

‘It
is
rather puzzling,' Greystoke admitted. ‘But sometimes people steal pieces for
their private collection. The artefact never sees the light of day again.'

‘You said you had two questions, Mr Doyle,' Scarlet said.

‘Indeed I do,' Mr Doyle said. ‘I am wondering exactly where Professor Clarke went.'

Jack was confused about that too. After the robbery, Jack and Scarlet had checked
the other museum visitors to see if anyone had been hurt. By the time they came back
the professor was hurrying from the room, his bag in tow.

Matthew Pocket appeared from downstairs. They told him about Professor Clarke's rapid
departure.

‘I met James Clarke a few years ago at a symposium on ancient history,' Pocket said.
‘He's a genius, but also rather reclusive.'

‘Did you see him today?' Inspector Greystoke asked.

‘No. I didn't know he was coming in.' The young man frowned. ‘I remember hearing
he had a heart condition. I hope he's all right.'

‘We should check,' Mr Doyle said to Jack and Scarlet. ‘There are twelve hotels within
walking distance of the museum. He can't have lugged such an enormous bag far.'

They began the arduous task of trekking from hotel to hotel. The sixth was a modest-looking
building near the Thames called The Bainbridge. Mr Doyle inquired about the professor
at the front desk.

‘He is staying here,' the clerk confirmed. He wore a badge that read
John Mills
.
‘But we are not in the habit of handing out the room numbers of our guests. I can
have a message sent up, if you like.'

When Mr Doyle explained they were concerned
about the professor's health, Mills sent
one of the bellhops to check. He returned a moment later and spoke quietly to the
desk clerk. ‘There may be something wrong with Professor Clarke,' Mills relayed.
‘There's no answer at his door, and it appears to be locked from the inside.'

Jack, Scarlet and Mr Doyle took an elevator to the fifth floor with Mills. At the
end of the corridor, Mills pointed to a door, numbered 56. He called Professor Clarke's
name, but there was no reply. Mr Doyle tried the handle, then threw himself against
the door. Inside they found the old man in a chair facing the window.

‘Professor Clarke?' Mr Doyle inquired, rounding the figure and grasping his arm.
‘Can you hear me?'

The old man did not make a sound. The detective snapped his fingers a few times,
repeating his name.

‘What's wrong with him?' Mills asked.

‘He seems to be in some sort of trance. He is completely unresponsive.'

Clarke's eyes were open, but they were dilated and unfocused. Occasionally he blinked,
but it was a lazy movement as if he were operating in slow motion.

‘You'd best send for an ambulance,' Mr Doyle said to Mills. ‘This looks quite serious.'

Jack and Scarlet waited for the desk clerk to leave.

‘We have another problem,' Scarlet said.

‘What is it?' Mr Doyle asked.

‘This man isn't Professor Clarke,' Jack said. ‘I don't know who he is.'

‘What?'

‘It's not him.'

‘Are you sure?' Mr Doyle asked. ‘You did only meet him for a few minutes.'

‘Completely,' Scarlet said, examining him. ‘He looks similar, but the man we met
had a longer face.'

‘And his eyes were a different colour,' Jack agreed. ‘The man we met had brown eyes.
This isn't the same man.'

‘How very strange,' the detective said. ‘We should search the room.'

Jack looked inside the wardrobe while Scarlet opened drawers. But there wasn't much
to find. The professor—if that's who he was—had little in the way of personal effects.
Apart from the papers on the desk, he only had a few items of clothing and some toiletries.