“I’m meeting someone,” Daisy told him.
A couple with two children came out of the museum, stopped to stare in dismay, and scurried away. At the top of the steps, Daisy glanced back. The buildings on the far side of the street were vague shapes, details obliterated.
Successful or not, she thought, she would beg Sergeant Jameson to see her home.
A swirl of fog entered with her. Ahead, in the Central Hall, a haze softened the outline of the great elephant, as if it tramped across the dusty plains of Africa. Daisy almost expected it to raise its head and trumpet its disgust in this raw, clammy northern clime.
The earlier crowds had departed. A few stragglers were just leaving, shepherded from the galleries by commissionaires anxious to take their own leave. Each reported to the police post, where Jameson ticked them off by the light of an electric lamp. Not anxious to be seen, Daisy went and lurked out of the way, behind the nearest pillar.
Jameson’s men were in the post, waiting to sign out. The evening shift sergeant leant on the counter, chatting. From the rear of the hall came two constables together, one of them coughing with uninhibited ostentation.
“That don’t sound too good,” said the evening sergeant.
“I’m ever so ill, Sarge. Can I go home?”
“It’s just the fog, Sarge,” the other constable said with a grin. Daisy recognized Neddle.
“Nice try, Mason.” He caught sight of Daisy. “’Scuse me, miss, the museum’s about to close. Hey, don’t I know … ?”
“That’s Miss Dalrymple,” said Jameson. “Here, you lot, clear out. I want a word with Sergeant Drummond, private.”
The day constables were only too glad to get off five minutes early. The two latest-comers strolled to the main entrance and stood gazing out into the gloom. Daisy went to join the sergeants.
Jameson invited her to explain, which she did.
“Well now,” Drummond said cautiously, “I can’t see no harm in it, long as you’re careful not to bust nothing. You’ll have to wait till all the commissionaires have reported everyone out of their galleries, and the front doors are locked.”
Consulting his papers, Jameson said, “Ground floor’s all clear. Just upstairs to go. No staff in today, and who can blame ’em.”
A few members of the public trickled down the main stairs, followed by the commissionaires from the non-fossil mammal galleries and botany. Last of all came Pavett, from mineralogy, ushering a larger group than the others. With the stolidity of the deaf, he ignored their comments on the jewel theft.
He came over to the police post. “Everyone out, lights off, inner doors locked,” he reported laconically. Laying two keys on the counter, he took himself off.
“All yours, mate,” said Jameson, coming out through the flap in the counter.
Drummond locked the main entrance doors behind the last visitors, and returned to the police post. “Right, I’m going up to bar and bolt the Mineral Gallery,” he said, “after the horse has been stolen as you might say. The dinosaurs are all yours, miss. I’ll look in to see how you’re doing when I come down. Neddle, you stay here. Mason, go and reporteveryone out to the chap watching the back door, then come back.”
Sergeant Drummond and Constable Mason tramped off through the Central Hall on their way to the stairs up and down respectively. Daisy and Sergeant Jameson went round to the fossil mammal gallery.
The electric lights, on for the last half hour because of the fog, had been turned off. In the dingy daylight coming through the windows, the mammoths loomed larger than ever. But the fog had not penetrated thus far.
“What a difference!” Daisy exclaimed. “I didn’t realize so much fog had got in back there.”
“Nasty stuff,” said Jameson.
“Beastly. I was wondering if you’d very much mind seeing me home afterwards.”
“Don’t you worry, miss. We’ll get you home right and tight.”
Jameson’s boots echoed hollowly on the mosaic floor as they went through the hall to the fossil reptiles. Empty of people, lit only by the dreary light from the opaque skylights, the gallery seemed a fitting place for murder. Crossing it, they entered the dinosaur gallery.
The far end was lost in gloom. Daisy had taken several steps at the sergeant’s side before she saw that someone was there before them.
“Hey, you!” yelled Jameson.
The figure on the stepladder, just withdrawing his hand from the Iguanodon’s head, turned an aghast face. The Grand Duke!
While Jameson, immobilized by surprise, fumbled for his whistle, Rudolf Maximilian slithered down the rocking ladder and dashed through the arch to the cephalopods. Jameson blew a short sharp blast, then took off after the GrandDuke, his whistle shrilling between his lips. The sound, designed to call help from streets away, rang on after the sergeant had disappeared.
