“And the giant armadillo, perhaps.”
“Ah, the glyptodon. Right-oh.”
Witt summoned the commissionaire on duty in the Fossil Mammal Gallery. Sergeant Hamm’s bottle-green uniformed chest boasted not only well-polished brass buttons but an impressive array of military medals. Despite lacking an arm,he helped Witt move aside the rope barrier around the mammoth skeleton, while Daisy unfolded the tripod.
She was trying to work out where best to set it up when Pettigrew reappeared.
“Witt!” he hallooed. “Come along, I’ve something to show you.”
“I’m afraid I’m busy just now.”
“Come along, come along, man,” the Mineral Keeper repeated impatiently. “I found some flints in a cave in Cornwall, and I want your opinion on whether they have been worked or not. I know you’re hand in glove with that little pipsqueak, ffinch-Brown.”
“Mr. ffinch-Brown is the man you should consult.”
“Bosh! He’ll only try to take them away from me.” Pettigrew seized Witt’s arm and practically dragged him along.
Witt glanced back, his smooth façade ruffled by a grimace which combined anger, embarrassment, and an apology to Daisy. “Help Miss Dalrymple, Hamm, there’s a good chap,” he called as he was borne away by the irresistible avalanche.
“Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap,” Sergeant Hamm muttered forebodingly.
“Mr. Pettigrew doesn’t seem frightfully popular,” Daisy observed.
“Huh!” snorted the commissionaire, waving away a couple of boys who were approaching the mammoth too closely. “The destruction that walketh at noonday, that’s ‘im. I could tell you some stories, miss, as ’d curl—Don’t touch, if you please, madam! Big but fragile, them bones … . As I was saying, miss, Ol’ Stony, he’s a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour, like it says in the Scriptures. Made Sergeant Underwood cry, ’im as was third up the ridge at Vimy.”
“Good heavens!” Daisy inserted a plate in Lucy’s camera, wondering whether she need mess about with a magnesiumpowder flash or if the grey light coming through the window was sufficient.
“Underwood was on duty in the Mineral Gallery, see, and ‘e didn’t ’op to it quick enough for Ol’ Stony’s liking. Well, stands to reason, ‘e’s a bit slow, only got one leg, though ’e does ‘is job right enough. Same as what I do and I’d like anyone to say the cont’ry,” said the sergeant belligerently.
“I’m sure you do.”
“But Ol’ Stony, out of his mouth went a sharp two-edged sword, which is to say, ‘e told Underwood ’e was bloody useless—pardon the language, miss—and only ’ired for charity’s sake.”
“How beastly,” Daisy sympathized, peering through the viewfinder. “I think that’s all right. What happened?”
“Oh, Mr. Wright, as is Superintendent of House Staff, his anger was kindled, like it says in the Good Book. ‘E stationed Underwood in Fossil Plants, Corals, and Sponges, where it’s nice and quiet, and sent Pavett up instead.” Hamm grinned. “Young Pavett were a gunner. Deaf as a post, ’e is, or near as makes no odds. Been no trouble up there since.”
Laughing, Daisy asked, “Hasn’t Dr. Pettigrew complained?”
“’Asn’t ’e just! But ‘e might as well be a voice crying in the wilderness for all the good it does ’im. Sir Sidney ’Armer, that’s our Director, ’e says non scientific staff is Mr. Wright’s business and ‘e’s got better things to do with ’is time than sorting out Dr. Pettigrew’s petty problems.”
The flow of gossip continued, interrupted by occasional admonitions to members of the public who tried to take advantage of the absence of the rope barrier. Going about her photography, moving on to a lifelike, life-size model of a shaggy mastodon, Daisy listened with half an ear. It soundedas if the Keeper of Minerals had managed to alienate half the museum staff, including his own assistants.
Daisy had not realized the museum had so many scientific staff working behind the scenes. If she had, she would have supposed scientists were too engrossed in their work to squabble like ordinary mortals. On the contrary, it seemed they simply added personal spats to professional disagreements and jealousies. Even if she discounted half of what Sergeant Hamm relayed to her with such relish, scientists were human after all!
The commissionaire accompanied her to the pavilion at the end of the gallery, where the Glyptodon awaited her. The twelve-foot, armoured creature with the medieval morningstar tip to its tail would make a spiffing illustration to her article. She was setting up the camera when Witt returned, looking harassed.
“Look here,” he said, “I’m most frightfully sorry, Miss Dalrymple, but Pettigrew’s thrown me right out. There’s some work I simply must get done before lunchtime.”
“That’s all right,” said Daisy. “Sergeant Hamm has taken very good care of me, and I’m nearly finished here. Just a couple of quick questions …”
“Perhaps you’d allow me to take you to lunch, and we could talk at leisure?”
“Thanks, but I’ve brought two children with me.” The way his face fell made her want to laugh. She asked her questions and thanked him, and he went off, promising to tell Mr. Steadman she would like to see him.
As Daisy folded up the tripod after finishing the Glyptodon’s portrait, a plump man scurried up to her. He wore a long, dusty, white lab coat with frayed cuffs. His greying fair hair curled wildly above a round, pink face adorned with straggling eyebrows and an incongruous hooked nose.
“Miss Dalrymple?” he asked, speaking very rapidly. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mummery, Septimus Mummery, Curator of Fossil Reptiles. I want to make quite sure you understand that the Archaeopteryx skeleton really belongs among the reptiles, with the pterodactyls. Witt is utterly unreasonable about it, simply refuses to give it up. I hope any reference to it in your article will point out the misplacement.”
