He gently smoothed the cloth over the reptile’s massive shoulder.
That he was referring to the fate of the Pareiasaurus, not Pettigrew, was all too obvious. Losing patience with him, Daisy excused herself and went on into the dinosaur gallery.
Near the far end of the 150-foot chamber, a space had been roped off. Atkins, in his bottle-green uniform, stood nearby looking on. Several men were inside the rope, gazing down at something on the floor. Daisy’s heart jumped and her breath caught in her throat—another body?
No, they were talking calmly. She recognized Steadman’s lanky height, in a white coat today, while three of the men were in their shirtsleeves, the fifth in a blue suit. Drawing near, she saw behind them a wooden box some five feet high. Shavings on the floor and a hammer in the hand of one of the men suggested the box was newly constructed. On the floor between the men, the object of their interest, was an oddly shaped piece of metal about two feet long.
The commissionaire moved to meet Daisy. “Morning, miss. Can I help you?”
“I was going to ask you to find Mr. Witt for me, but what is going on here?”
At the sound of their voices, Steadman looked round. His thin cheeks were flushed, and a glitter of nervous excitement brightened his eyes. “Miss Dalrymple,” he greeted her, “you might find this interesting. I’m about to start mounting a skeleton.”
“I’d love to watch,” Daisy assured him.
“May I introduce Mr. Willis O‘Brien? Mr. O’Brien is visiting from Hollywood. He’s going to be in charge of creating dinosaurs for a film ofThe Lost World. You know the Conan Doyle story? It will be an American film, but set partly inLondon. Mr. O’Brien came over here with Mr. Hoyt, the director.”
Judging by Steadman’s excitement, he was as keen to be “in films” as any teen-age girl.
“I’ve done dinosaurs before,” the American informed Daisy. “You maybe sawThe Ghost of Spirit Mountain,ma’am? But Mr. Hoyt wants them realistic as can be, so I guess I can’t beat seeing how the real thing’s put together, before I turn Delgado, my modeller, loose.”
“It sounds like a good idea.” Daisy took out her notebook. “I’m writing an article about the scientific work of the museum. What is this dinosaur called, Mr. Steadman?”
“Saltopus. It’s small, just about two feet in length. It was found in Scotland, but it was a German, von Huene, who studied it and named it, in 1910. It rather got shuffled aside during the War. I’ve been working on it recently. The skull is missing, but the rest is similar to Scleromochlus, so I’ve modelled a similar head. I haven’t quite finished the rest of the missing bones. However, it’s the nearest to being ready to mount of any I have, so when Mr. O’Brien asked …”
As they talked, the other men had retrieved two tall stepladders from the floor behind the pedestal and set them up. Two climbed the first few steps. The third handed the metal frame up to them. They set it on the box and balanced it in the centre.
“Like this, Mr. Steadman?” asked one. “This all right, sir?”
Steadman turned back, drawing a sheaf of papers from the deep pocket of his lab coat.
Daisy rather lost interest in the exact placement of the stand. She was wondering whether it would be rude to go and see Witt and return later, when Dr. Smith Woodward came up. He greeted her in his rather absent-minded way andstarted to talk to Steadman about Saltopus and Scleromochlus, which latter he himself had named.
After a very few minutes the talk grew too technical for Daisy. “Excuse me,” she said tentatively, reluctant to interrupt but not wanting either to stay or to sneak off without a word, “I think I’d better go and see Mr. Witt. I’ll come back when you start putting the bones together, Mr. Steadman.”
“My dear young lady,” said Smith Woodward, “allow me to unlock the door for you.” Setting off towards the end of the gallery, he felt in his pocket. “Dear me, I seem to have mislaid my keys again. I wonder where I left them this time?” He turned back, looking around vaguely.
“Never you mind, sir,” said Sergeant Atkins kindly, “they’ll turn up right as rain. I’ll let the young lady through.”
“Does he often lose his keys?” Daisy asked in a low voice.
“Lor’ bless you, all the time. They’re gen’rally found on his desk or sticking in a lock somewhere.” He took out his own jangling bunch.
“You all have to carry such a lot around.”
“Not as many as it might be. Lots of the doors are keyed the same, see. This here I’m using now wouldn’t open Dr. Smith Woodward’s office, but it’s good for the liberries, f’rinstance. And his’ll open any of the other Keepers’ office doors. We each of us has just the ones we need, too. Elsewise we’d all be too weighed down to move. There you go, miss.”
Daisy went on into the private studies, which were not much more than a wide passage cluttered with desks, bookcases, cabinets, and chairs. Along one side, doors at intervals led into the General Library, the various galleries, and the work room which connected with the Geological Library. Most of the light came from skylights, but opposite each door was a window, looking out on the Spirit Building and the Imperial College of Science.
The Fossil Mammal Curator boasted a window to himself in a private cubicle of sorts, walled with bookshelves. He was seated at his desk, studying a large-scale drawing of a quadrupedal skeleton, with the animal’s outline sketched in, and enlarged views of individual bones.
“I don’t want to interrupt, Mr. Witt,” said Daisy untruthfully.
He looked up and smiled. “That’s all right, Miss Dalrymple. Just yet another early horse.”
“Tell me about it. I expect motor vehicles will entirely supersede horses one day, but meanwhile, people are interested in them.”
Witt was good at tailoring his exposition to his audience. He gave Daisy just the sort of detail she wanted, and she took reams of notes.
