The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [10]
This was nonsense, of course, as were the tales of accidents befalling visitors to the museum. Much more interesting to a student of human nature like myself was the effect the story had had on weak-minded individuals. Some had placed flowers before the exhibit or sent money to the museum for the same purpose. Others had written, recounting similar occult experiences. A notorious medium had claimed to be in communication with the spirit of Princess (sic) Henemut (sic again), who explained that the officials and trustees of the museum had offended her modesty by exposing her to public view. (An unjust accusation, to say the least, for between the coffin and the wrappings she was more modestly covered than some of the ladies who came to look at her.) She demanded to be returned to her tomb. Since its location was unknown, this request was not susceptible of fulfilment even if the museum authorities had been mad enough to consider it.
The most entertaining of the mummy’s admirers was a lunatic (he could be nothing else) who visited her from time to time dressed in the costume of a sem priest. The distinguishing feature of this ensemble was the leopard-skin cloak the priest wore over his shoulders. In wearing this skin and in imitating the priest, whose duty it was to officiate at funerals, the lunatic showed his familiarity with ancient Egyptian customs, but when interviewed, Mr Budge jeered at the suggestion that the madman might be a scholar. ‘The fellow wears a wig. As Herodotus tells us, priests always shaved their heads and all other parts of their bodies.’ (The italics are not mine. I hoped they were not those of Mr Budge.)
Budge had never actually said he supported the insane theories of the reporters; in fact, he had rejected them in formal terms. It was perhaps not entirely his fault that his answers to some of the questions asked him did not go quite far enough in denying superstition. ‘But did not the ancient Egyptians believe in the power of curses, Mr Budge?’ ‘Why, yes, certainly; we have a number of examples of such things.’ ‘And the priests had magical powers, did they not?’ ‘One would not wish to deny the authenticity of Scripture; we read in Exodus how the priests turned their rods into serpents . . .’
‘Idiot,’ I said aloud. The elderly gentleman in the deck chair next to mine gave me a startled look.
Through haste or (more likely) a deliberate attempt at deception, Emerson had omitted one interesting aspect of the night watchman’s death. Like many of the people who hold such posts, Albert Gore had been elderly, uneducated, and given to the excessive consumption of spirituous liquors. None of these failings detracted from his ability to carry out his tasks, or so it was supposed; he was only required to make the rounds of certain sections of the museum several times during the night and doze in his cubicle near the door the rest of the time. It was most unlikely that a thief would have the temerity to enter the museum; apart from other difficulties, such as the impossibility of selling the unique objects on the open market, the building was always locked up tightly and the surrounding streets were constantly patrolled by constables.
It was probable, then, that poor Albert Gore had suffered a cerebral haemorrhage while patrolling the Egyptian Galleries, for overindulgence in food and drink not uncommonly leads to such a result. I discounted Kevin’s reference to ‘the look of frozen horror imprinted on the dead features’ as a typical journalistic excess.
But there was one odd thing. Clustering around and under the body, and more widely dispersed through the room, were a number of unusual