The Egyptologist - Arthur Phillips [190]
I hope I’ve filled in the outlines and logic of the case with enough justice to complete your “family history” and also to let you expand it for our readers.
I look back now on this, though, and I’m a little troubled by the amount of time I’ve spent telling you this story. You see, I’ve already selected our next case from my files, my friend, and were I equipped with a recorder and microphone, I could simply dictate the tale. I shouldn’t think the expense would be too prohibitive. It would, of course, be figured into our partnership agreement, if you can spare the sum in advance. I look forward to your thoughts on this matter. I await your word. I’m ready to begin as soon as I hear from you. Our readers await. Time is of the essence.
Yours in limbo,
Ferrell
Miss Margaret Finneran
2 Commonwealth Avenue
Boston
January 25, 1923
My dear Miss Finneran,
As Mr. Trilipush’s employment with Harvard concluded at the end of the autumn term, I am taking the liberty of forwarding you the post that has accumulated in his office during his continued wanderings in Egypt, to wit: six journals of Egyptology and archaeology; a personal package from England; two letters from museums; and a few notes from students (not sealed). If you would be good enough to forward these to Mr. Trilipush when he returns from Egypt, that would save us all a good deal of trouble and embarrassment.
With every good wish for your approaching nuptials to the great man,
C. ter Breuggen
Chair, Egyptology
PERSONAL for Professor R. M. Trilipush
In care of the Department of Egyptian Studies
University of Harvard
Cambridge, The United States of America
29 September, 1922
My dearest Ralph,
I have just spent a positively dreary afternoon (and this on one of the rare sunny days our moody, not to say bitchy, Heavenly Father has granted us of late). I was forced to pass a rather exhausting hour or two with this little Australian fellow, all spotty and orange-coloured, with a head of the most ludicrous fur. The very moment he left I set pen to paper to you, as he was kind enough to give me your address at dear, lovely Harvard. Harvard! How very grand! Of course, for old Balliol men like you and me, perhaps just a bit provincial, no? Don’t I recall Marlowe calling it some rather amusing names? “The last refuge of the unemployable”?
Well, I see I’ve told a fib: no, I did not set pen to paper the very moment he left, dear. I waited until he was well and truly out the building and on his way, and then I had a bit of a sob first. I am no longer prone to dramatics, Ralph, not for a very long time, but wretched little Mr. Ferrell, a detective of the dullest variety, delivered me the confirmation of some very bad news. Nothing I hadn’t suspected for years now, but it’s one thing to know something and quite another to know it, if you see my meaning. When I saw your dear book autographed for Hugo’s parents, well then I knew what you of course have known for years already, what I daily feared but tried vainly not to believe.
Calm down, ducks, I can imagine you running about in a frenzy. I have my grief and my grievance, but no real complaint to make to you, considering the events with fairness. Rending my garments whilst blithering to the constabulary and Hugo’s dreary family certainly holds no appeal. You are free, as far as I am concerned. As long as I never actually meet you, I can imagine his face on you and tell myself he lives on in you, but there are some things you should know, before you make any more fatal errors. I should hate to see Hugo’s creation meet his divine maker too soon. To begin with, Hugo’s unbearable parents are called Hector and Regina, our Hugo’s persistent claims to the contrary notwithstanding. Sit down, my angel, the story grows rather more surprising.
I rather overdid it for Ferrell just now, but he was quite asking