14
Pangs of hunger began to distract Daisy from her work. She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. Nearly lunchtime.
Practically all the planning for the article was done: the headings arranged in logical order, vital and particularly interesting bits of her notes underlined in red ink. Another hour or so and she could begin the actual writing. She needed a break.
Standing up, she stretched and went out into the hall.
Mrs. Potter was straightening her hat in the looking-glass, preparatory to leaving for the day. Artificial cherries bobbed, silk violets nodded, and sequins glittered as she turned to Daisy.
“I’asn’t done your study out proper in a month o’ Sundays, Miss Daisy,” she said severely. “You’ll be able to grow spuds on that desk soon if you don’t let me dust.”
“As soon as I finish this article,” Daisy promised, “you can have a whole morning at it. Toodle-oo, then, see you Monday.”
“You take termorrer off, miss. All work and no play, like they say.”
The char departed and Daisy went thoughtfully down tothe kitchen. Dust—she had dreamt about dust, and she had a feeling it was important to remember the dream.
She took a tin of sardines from the cupboard. As usual when she was absentminded, she put the key on crooked, so the lid rolled back crooked and only half way, and she had to extract the fish with a fork. Fish? Dust and fish? What on earth was the connection?
Eyeing the fish on her plate, she decided she wasn’t really awfully keen on sardines. For a start, someone ought to be able to invent an easier way to open the tins than those idiotic keys. And then, there were the bones … .
Keys, bones, and fish. Dr. Smith Woodward, who kept losing his keys, was a recognized expert on fossil fish. The fossil fish were in the dinosaur gallery.Who dusts the dinosaurs?
The dream flooded back.
Who dusted the dinosaurs, those fragile fossils with their heads in the air, out of reach from the floor? Who but their curator? “Has to do it all himself, does our Mr. Steadman,” said Sergeant Wilfred Atkins.
Yet Steadman showed no apparent interest in the police investigation, being almost feverishly engrossed in his Saltopus. Too feverishly, perhaps, Daisy thought. He was a nervy type who, having stolen the jewels, might well lose his head and lash out if he understood Pettigrew to say all was discovered.
Still, why choose what must be a nerve-racking time to start on a new and complex project? There was theLost Worldman, of course, with the lure of fame and fortune which always accompanied the word Hollywood.
It dawned on Daisy that the man from Hollywood might have arrived like manna from heaven. Steadman himself said he had not yet completed models of all the missing bones,but O’Brien’s interest was the perfect excuse to start assembling a skeleton not really quite ready for display. And for the assembly he needed ladders—
Ladders ready and waiting in the gallery, so that when the right moment came, he could seize his chance to retrieve the stolen gems from the dinosaurs’ heads.
Abandoning the sardines, Daisy ran upstairs to the telephone. On the way, doubts arose. She refused to tell Alec that her insight arose from a dream. Was her reasoning good enough to ring him at Scotland Yard, or was there a fatal flaw she had not spotted? He would not be pleased if she disturbed him at work for nothing.
Perhaps he was at home. It was worth trying, though she’d be a bit pipped if he had gone home after seeing Constable Westcott and not ’phoned her to tell her what he had found out. After all, he might never have heard of Westcott but for her.
She dialled the St. John’s Wood number. After several rings, she heard Belinda’s breathless voice giving the number.
“It’s Aunt Daisy, darling.”
“Oh, hello, Aunt Daisy. Sorry I was so slow to answer. I was brushing Nana.”
“Good for you.” Daisy enquired after the puppy and her relations with Mrs. Fletcher, which had improved slightly. Then she asked, “Is Daddy there?”
“No, he had to go to Devon.”
“Devon!”
“It’s quite a long way, isn’t it? He said he won’t be back today. He went to see a man this morning, and the neighbors said he’d gone to stay with his sister in Devon, only they weren’t sure of her name or the village or anything, just the name of the farm, near Taviscott. I think.”
“Tavistock?”
“That’s it. Daddy decided he really needed to talk to the man, so he and Mr. Tring went right away, in the car.”
“Bother!” said Daisy. She gave Alec the benefit of the doubt and assumed he had rung her when Lucy was on the ’phone, as she had been for some time before going out.
