“Atkins was with you?” asked the sergeant. “Where is he now?”
“If Atkins is the dinosaur gallery commissionaire,” said Daisy, “he went to guard the stairs to the basement from the General Library. He suggested these two should watch the other stairs from this part of the building.”
“Prob’ly too late, miss,” the sergeant said despondently, “but they might as well. I’ve got a man on the main entrance,” he continued, as Bert and Harry hurried off, looking relieved, “and one on the entrance to the fossil mammals. The other two I sent down to the basement, but there’s three back doors. They can’t cover ’em all, nor the stairs to the Spirit Building, besides.”
“The Spirit Building?” Daisy exclaimed, intrigued by a sudden vision of the Natural History Museum’s collection of ghosts. Then she realized he must be referring to the place where one of the zoologists had taken her to see specimens preserved in spirits. He had not mentioned the annexe by name.
“Out the back, ‘cause of the fire hazard,” the policeman confirmed her guess. “I haven’t got enough men for summat like this, miss, and that’s the truth, though luckily the next shift’ll be arriving any moment. I rang up the station. They’ll send some fellows round double quick, too, but meantime our murderer’s prob’ly done a bunk.”
“I’m afraid so,” Daisy agreed, not quite liking the “our.”
“I s’pose you won’t be able to identify him, miss? You saw what happened?”
“No, only heard. Dr. Smith Woodward and I were out there, in the through hall, coming this way. By the time I got here there was no one in sight except … except Dr. Pettigrew. At least,” she corrected herself conscientiously, “for abit all I looked at was the … the mess. I should have looked around. I’m sorry.”
“Can’t be helped, miss.” The policeman patted her arm. “Musta been a horrible shock. By the way, miss, Sergeant Jameson’s the name, and right sorry I can’t let you go, but the detective officers’ll want a statement when they get here.”
“Of course. They will be local detectives?”
“It’s up to the Chelsea Division super, miss, whether to call in the Yard.” He took out his notebook. “’Spect I’d better get your name and address down. It’s Miss Dalrymple, isn’t it, that’s writing about the museum? How d’you spell it?”
Daisy gave him the information, and told him about the woman who had declared Pettigrew dead. “I’ll go and keep her grandchildren out of the way,” she offered, “and send her to give you her name, if you like. You’ll want to stay here and see that no one interferes with the scene of the crime, won’t you?”
“That’s right, miss. You know a bit about police procedure, I see. Read detective stories, I dare say,” he added—to Daisy’s relief, as she was kicking herself for revealing her familiarity. Gratefully, he went on, “Yes, miss, it’d be a help if you could send the lady to me.”
Daisy retired into the dinosaur gallery. Mrs. Ditchley, as the ex-nurse introduced herself, went to see Sergeant Jameson, happy to leave her daughter’s children in Daisy’s charge. “I’ll be that glad when they go back to school next week,” she confessed.
Aged from six or so to the thirteen-year-old Arthur, they gathered excitedly around Daisy.
“What happened, miss?” Arthur asked. “Gran won’t tell.”
“Someone was hurt,” Daisy temporized, “one of the museum staff. He fell against the Pareiasaurus skeleton and smashed it all to pieces.”
“Cor, really? Which one’s that?”
“It’s the fat one,” a girl of perhaps ten told him knowledgeably. “Isn’t it, miss? Not as big as the dinosaurs, but its bones look awf’ly solid.”
“That’s right,” Daisy told her. “But fossil bones are often pretty fragile, even the big ones.”
“Told you so, Arthur, nyah, nyah, nyah. That’s why you’re not allowed to touch. I’m going to dig up fossils when I’m grown up, miss.”
“Good for you.”
“Girls don’t do stuff like that,” Arthur objected.
Daisy told them about Mary Anning and Mrs. Mantell. The girl, Jennifer, was thrilled.
“Who cares about stupid old fossils?” was Arthur’s reaction.
“My nephew thought the dinosaurs were pretty exciting, just because of their size,” Daisy said. “Have you looked at them properly?”
“Not much.”
“Did too! You were looking at the Megalosaurus.”
“The one with the big teeth? Well … I say, miss, what happened to the man who got hurt? Someone hit him over the head with a fossil?”
“Sort of. Did you see anyone cross the gallery?”
