“Or any time, come to that. It wasn’t like he was fossil mammals, nor yet fossil plants, poor blighter.”
Witt exonerated? Alec wasn’t sure whether the “poor blighter” was the thief, or merely old Dr. Bentworth.
Westcott enlightened him, on that question at least: “Still, we all come to that, lessn we’re in the grave. Which is where they ought to leave them monsters, if you arst me. Stands to reason it’ll turn a man’s mind, messing about with them dinysores.”
“Steadman!” breathed Tom.
“Dinosaurs?” Alec said sharply. “It was the dinosaur curator you saw wandering about on the first floor, late at night, on July thirteenth?”
“Aye, sir. I didn’t see his face plain, mind, but he’s the only one tall and skinny like that, see, and I knowed his voice, too. It were Mr. Steadman all right. I’d swear to it.”
“You may have to. Please describe exactly what you did, where you were, what was said if anything.”
Fortunately, once it was a matter of making a straightforward report, Westcott recalled his police training. Worry over his minor dereliction of duty had obviously impressed the incident on his memory, as well as stopping him wondering at the time what Steadman had been doing. The report was soon done.
Alec stood up. “We’ll get a statement typed up tonight and bring it out for you to sign tomorrow. Thank you, Mr. Westcott. Allow me to wish you a happy retirement.”
Mrs. Trevinnick, impressed by the speed with which Tom had devoured his piece of cake, and convinced that wholesome food was unobtainable in London, had packed a basket of provisions for them. She refused payment, even for the basket, which she had made herself. Alec managed to pressfive bob on Jack Trevinnick, who pulled on his boots to light them out to the Austin.
Tom delved in, by feel, as they drove out of the farmyard. “Aha, a great slab of cake,” he said with satisfaction. D’you mind a bit broken off, Chief?”
“Not at all. Hold on while I get my gloves off. Oh, right or left?” queried Alec, coming to a fork in the lane.
“Hold on, I’ll have to find that bit of paper and my electric torch. Should’ve brought young Ernie with us. He’d know.”
“There would be less cake for you.”
“True! Just as well we left him behind. It’s almost worth coming all this way for, even if we hadn’t got the answer out of Westcott. Left here, Chief, and … uh … right at the next crossroads.”
“But we have no proof, you know, Tom, not even that Steadman’s the thief, let alone that he’s the murderer. Remember Mummery and the crocodiles. Steadmanmighthave been studying parallels between dinosaurs and mammals. He could claim to have been comparing their necks with giraffe necks, say.”
“The giraffes are on the other side,” Tom pointed out.
“That was just an example.” Alec racked his brains. “If you’re going to be fussy, something to do with rhinos, perhaps, or hippos. They’re all built like tanks. And Steadman is noted for working late.”
“Now we know where to look,” said Tom, confidently though muffled by a mouthful of cake, “we’ll find evidence, sure enough, or confront him and get a confession. Steadman won’t hold out.”
With Westcott’s signed statement, they left for London early on Sunday morning. Today, ominous clouds hung low overthe moor, so Alec took the main road via Okehampton. They kept ahead of the rain all the way however, and even came out into sunshine as they crossed Bagshot Heath.
But from Hounslow Heath, they could see ahead a sepia mass of fog crouched over the city like a hungry octopus, sending out tentacles to draw the suburbs within its grasp. Alec groaned.
“Maybe Mrs. Trevinnick wasn’t as far out as all that,” said Tom, a sad admission from a born Londoner.
The premature dusk closed down on them. Soot-spattered windscreen open, they crept through the empty streets to Westminster. At New Scotland Yard, a message awaited them.
“Just come in a couple of minutes ago, Gov’nor,” said the duty officer. “D. I. Wotherspoon went home. I was going to ring him up.”
Alec scanned it. “Great Scott! Telephone Chelsea and tell them I want a dozen constables sent to the Natural History Museum at once. Come along, Tom.”
Without protest, if wearily, Tom came. Not until the Austin was crawling up Birdcage Walk through the thickening murk did he venture to ask, “What’s up, Chief?”
“Steadman entered the museum at five to six. On a Sunday evening, Tom! I knew the jewels were still there, hidden lord knows where. Damn this fog. Can you stick your head out of the window that side and tell me if I’m going to hit the kerb?”
Driving as fast as he dared, Alec reached the rear of the museum at last. Two plainclothesmen were on duty there at all times, well concealed among the pillars of the arcade. A third, who had been following Steadman, lurked nearby. They converged on Alec.
“I thought I’d better telephone, Gov’nor, him coming this time on a Sunday, and in all this muck … .”
“Well done—Culver, is it? I’ll remember you. Now, who has the key? Right, open up. One of you inside and one stationed just outside—Steadman is not to be allowed to leave on any pretext whatsoever. You can arrest him if he refuses to stay with you. There will be more men arriving any minute in case we have to chase him all over this damn pile. Tring, Culver, come with me.”
