Folly Du Jour - Barbara Cleverly [64]
‘Charming!’ Joe took the golden object gingerly and held it to the light between finger and thumb. ‘An amulet?’
‘No. Not my job, of course, to establish the provenance of exhibits but no one else seemed interested enough to do it. In the police report it’s listed as “imitation gold medallion, value 5 francs”. It would have been chucked out after a year but I was curious enough to preserve it. Oh, it’s not valuable. It’s not even ancient. A modern copy – gilded. Crudely done. Anyone with a bit of tin, a chisel and a pot of gold paint could produce the equivalent. Any mouleur-plaquiste could churn them out by the hundred. But you’d need to know your Egyptology. This is a bona fide, head and shoulders portrait, you might say.’
‘It’s a disgusting image! Whoever is this fellow? Or is it an animal?’ Joe peered more closely. ‘It seems to be half god, half bad-tempered greyhound. I know just enough to recognize that it’s not the rather stylish jackal-headed god, Anubis.’
‘You’re right. But he is a god all the same. And at one time widely venerated in Egypt. It’s the son of Ra and brother of Osiris.’
Joe shook his head. ‘We’re not acquainted. Don’t particularly wish to be.’
‘You show good taste! His name’s Set. Set murdered his brother and scattered his body parts all over Egypt. He debauched his own nephew Horus. In his capacity as Lord of the Desert, he had the power to stir up terrible storms. For the Ancient Egyptians, Set was utterly terrifying – the embodiment of Evil. The God of Evil.’
Joe put the gilded trinket back into its box. ‘I’m bringing no charge, Moulin. Let’s just keep the lid on him, shall we?’
Moulin, smiling, agreed. ‘And why don’t you take him away with you? I think I was just hanging on to him until someone who knew what he was about took an interest. You know, Sandilands, I think the purpose of that thing was to drop a hint as to motive for the crime. Out of the victim’s mouth came evil? Something on those lines? Again – no suspect was ever arrested. But, bearing in mind the closed circumstances, you’d have to say – an inside job. The man had many enemies. Archaeologist himself, he’d been ruthless in his acquisition of artefacts and had plundered his students’ and his fellows’ learned works for his own glory. He’d wrecked promising careers by his vitriolic criticism, his sly innuendoes. At least fifty academics must have raised a glass on hearing about the circumstances of his death. Now, they couldn’t all have been present at the discovery of the body but, Sandilands, a good many were. It never occurred to anyone pursuing the case to ask why so many experts, all known to the deceased, were right there on the spot.’
The doctor fell silent. Then: ‘There was a moment . . . When the amulet emerged, it dropped to the floor. Someone fainted at the sight of it and had to be taken out and I had the strangest sensation . . . I was acting in a drama. Onstage. Pushed on into the middle of a scene and left to improvise my part. The crowd – who should never have been allowed to remain – weren’t a crowd. They were . . . an audience. An invited audience.’
Moulin took a deep breath, relieved to have unburdened himself. ‘I say, Sandilands, does any of this make sense?’
‘Certainly does. My friend Sir George was himself pushed in, almost literally onstage, last night to perform the same function. And he was actually sent a ticket to the event! But, being an Englishman of a type you recognize, he bustled in rather too actively and got himself arrested for the murder. But, Moulin – four cases, in as many years? Is that all?’ Joe asked. And, tentatively: ‘If this were some sort of syndicate – shall we say? – taking commissions to carry out crimes spectacular to the general public or crimes deeply satisfying to the one who orders them up, well – we are rather assuming a business, I suppose. And businesses exist to make money. Not sure I’d take the enormous risks involved for the return.