The Broken Sun Read online

  ‘He seems to be in some sort of trance. He is completely unresponsive.’

  Clarke’s eyes were open, but they were dilated and unfocused. Occasionally he blinked, but it was a lazy movement as if he were operating in slow motion.

  ‘You’d best send for an ambulance,’ Mr Doyle said to Mills. ‘This looks quite serious.’

  Jack and Scarlet waited for the desk clerk to leave.

  ‘We have another problem,’ Scarlet said.

  ‘What is it?’ Mr Doyle asked.

  ‘This man isn’t Professor Clarke,’ Jack said. ‘I don’t know who he is.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s not him.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Mr Doyle asked. ‘You did only meet him for a few minutes.’

  ‘Completely,’ Scarlet said, examining him. ‘He looks similar, but the man we met had a longer face.’

  ‘And his eyes were a different colour,’ Jack agreed. ‘The man we met had brown eyes. This isn’t the same man.’

  ‘How very strange,’ the detective said. ‘We should search the room.’

  Jack looked inside the wardrobe while Scarlet opened drawers. But there wasn’t much to find. The professor—if that’s who he was—had little in the way of personal effects. Apart from the papers on the desk, he only had a few items of clothing and some toiletries.

  ‘Look at this,’ Mr Doyle said, pulling something from the chair. ‘It’s some kind of thorn.’ It was purple and thin as a needle.

  ‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ Scarlet said.

  ‘It’s certainly not native to this country.’ The detective examined the professor again. ‘There’s a small mark under his jaw.’ Mr Doyle placed the thorn into a bag. ‘Which brings us to another mystery. How did the perpetrator escape this room?’

  Good question, Jack thought. The room was locked from the inside.

  ‘Could the professor have done this to himself?’ he asked.

  Mr Doyle tilted his head.

  ‘You already know,’ Scarlet said.

  ‘I believe so.’

  Ignatius Doyle went to the window and carefully eased it open. A ledge, half a foot wide, ran the length of the building.

  ‘You think someone escaped through the window?’ Scarlet said. ‘The ledge is very narrow.’

  ‘It could be done,’ Jack said, remembering back to his days at the circus. It was all about controlling your balance and remaining calm. ‘But it wouldn’t be easy. It’s a fifty-foot drop.’

  ‘Yet it would seem to be the only possibility.’ Mr Doyle leaned out the window. ‘And I think I can see where the assailant went. A window leading to the next room is ajar.’

  Mills returned. ‘I’ve sent a boy for an ambulance,’ he said. ‘It should be here in a few minutes.’

  ‘Good,’ Ignatius Doyle said. ‘Is there anyone staying in this next room?’

  ‘I don’t believe so.’

  ‘Please open it for us.’

  Mills lent them the key while he guarded the professor. The room next door was identical. Mr Doyle gave a satisfied grunt as he examined the windowsill.

  ‘There’s a thread on this window from an orange shirt,’ he said, placing the fabric into another small bag. ‘I wonder if they found what they were looking for.’

  ‘What do you mean, Mr Doyle?’ Jack asked.

  ‘You mentioned Professor Clarke had a large trunk with him earlier, but we have seen no sign of it.’

  ‘The man next door is not him,’ Scarlet said firmly.

  ‘Or,’ Jack said, ‘the man we saw at the museum wasn’t the professor.’

  ‘Either way,’ Mr Doyle said, ‘there is no sign of the bag.’

  They returned to the other room. Two ambulance men had just arrived with a stretcher. The professor’s condition was unchanged, his eyes wide open, staring into space. Jack found it unnerving.

  As they carried the professor away, Mr Doyle turned to the desk clerk. ‘Did he leave anything in the hotel safe?’

  ‘One moment.’

  They headed downstairs where Mills disappeared into a room behind the front desk. He emerged a minute later, frowning.

  ‘What is it?’ Mr Doyle asked.

  The clerk looked pained. ‘There is something, but hotel regulations do not allow us to disclose that information.’

  ‘Are you sure you can’t bend the rules? A man’s life may be at stake.’

  ‘It would be my job if I were to tell you,’ he said. ‘And the reputation of the hotel.’

  Mr Doyle nodded. ‘I’m sure you won’t mind if I ask a friend at Scotland Yard to contact you.’

  ‘Not at all. A request from the police is a completely different matter.’

  They bade him goodnight, left the hotel and paused in the early evening air. The sky above London was growing dark. The Metrotower angled up between two buildings, thousands of windows illuminated like small eyes watching over the city. A fog was rolling in. The streets were busy with commuters heading home, steamcars spilling smoke into the air as horse and carts jockeyed for position on the road. The ambulance carrying Professor Clarke—or whoever he was—disappeared around the corner.

  Jack shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold. He couldn’t get the horrible expression on the professor’s face from his mind.

  ‘We’ll find a tavern to have a meal before we return to Bee Street,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘I suspect you haven’t eaten lunch.’

  ‘We did miss out,’ Jack said, suddenly aware of his growling stomach.

  ‘And we’ll visit the hospital to check on the professor’s condition first thing tomorrow morning,’ Mr Doyle said.

  But it was not to be.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘Good heavens!’

  Mr Doyle’s startled exclamation came halfway through breakfast in the kitchen of 221 Bee Street.

  On the small table in the centre sat a cage that contained Bertha, Mr Doyle’s cobalt blue tarantula. Jack had lived in mortal terror of the arachnid when he first moved into the apartment, but now he was able to happily live with the spider—as long as she remained in her cage.

  ‘What is it, Mr Doyle?’ Jack asked as the detective stared at the newspaper.

  ‘It’s the British Museum,’ he said. ‘It’s been robbed.’

  Jack caught Scarlet’s eye. ‘Uh…yes,’ he said. ‘We were there when it happened. Don’t you remember?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ the detective said. ‘It’s been robbed again.’

  Within minutes, they were racing in a steamcab through the fog-filled streets towards the museum. Mr Doyle stared out the window, his brow furrowed.

  ‘A second robbery,’ Scarlet said. ‘Plus the missing… somebody.’

  ‘It’s all quite puzzling,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘I wonder if you’ve had any thoughts as to why the thieves returned to the museum.’

  ‘Maybe they missed something the first time,’ Scarlet suggested.

  ‘Or maybe they lef
t something behind,’ Jack said.

  ‘A good idea,’ Mr Doyle said.

  The scene outside the museum was chaos. Reporters shouted questions. Photographers with cameras on tripods took photos, flash lamps burning. The police struggled to hold back the crowd as spectators pushed forward for a glimpse. Traffic around the museum was at a standstill.

  Pushing through the crowd, Mr Doyle entered the main foyer, an enormous room with cathedral ceilings. The museum director, Mr Silas Roylott, was wringing his hands with dismay as he spoke with Inspector Greystoke.

  ‘Ah, Ignatius,’ Greystoke said. ‘I had a feeling we might see you again.’

  ‘You could not have kept me away with a barge pole.’

  ‘It’s a puzzling mystery, to be sure.’

  ‘I don’t see how they could have broken in,’ Silas Roylott said. ‘It’s impossible.’

  ‘And yet they have achieved the impossible,’ Mr Doyle said.

  ‘Then they must be ghosts,’ Mr Roylott said.

  Mr Doyle smiled. ‘I don’t believe in ghosts. Shall we attend the scene? And perhaps you can fill us in on exactly what was stolen.’

  ‘What was stolen was a piece of the Broken Sun.’

  Great, Jack thought. That’s cleared everything up.

  The director elaborated as they walked through the museum. ‘The Broken Sun is an ancient device, comprised of three pieces, and discovered in the city of Alexandria. It only arrived at the museum this week. The expedition had been privately funded, and Professor Clarke was happy to let us examine his piece. The other two parts are in the hands of private collectors.’

  ‘Professor Clarke?’ Mr Doyle said. ‘The man who was here yesterday?’

  ‘Yes. I was surprised to learn he had visited the museum, but I was told he was here to deliver some other artefacts.’

  ‘That’s what he told us,’ Scarlet said.

  ‘And the other collectors?’ Mr Doyle asked.

  ‘They are both ancient history experts—Professor Stein of Scotland and Professor Morely of Norway.’

  ‘Why is it called the Broken Sun?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Each piece is made from gold, in a similar shape to a relay baton. They are covered in dials that turn like the wheel of a slot machine. These dials are inscribed with numerous images, but common to each is that of a fractured sun. The pieces are unlike anything ever recovered from the ancient world.’

  ‘It reminds me of a combination lock,’ Mr Doyle said.

  ‘They may be,’ Roylott admitted. ‘But no-one has been able to decode them. We suspect they’re designed to slot together into a single shaft, but no-one has even been able to find a way to link them.’

  They walked into an elevator and started to descend.

  ‘And how did the thieves enter this time?’ Mr Doyle asked.

  The elevator came to a stop. They were deep underground. Jack had never seen this part of the building. It looked like a bank vault: a room clad with brick led to a safe room secured by a circular metal door. It was open now and he could see the shelves beyond laden with artefacts. Police were inside looking for breaks in the stonework.

  ‘That’s the most baffling part of the mystery,’ Roylott said. ‘There’s no sign of a break-in from outside and the only way to enter the vault is through this door.’

  ‘And no-one entered?’

  ‘There is a guard posted at the end of this corridor. He has worked at the museum for almost thirty years.’

  ‘And so you trust him.’

  ‘Completely. And the door can only be opened by knowing the combination, and only myself and two other directors have that knowledge.’

  Ignatius Doyle stood in the centre of the safe room and turned, his eyes focusing on every detail. The floor, ceiling and walls were made of stone. The shelves appeared undisturbed, the artefacts on them carefully labelled.

  The detective looked up. ‘Where does that lead?’ he asked, pointing to a small grille set into the ceiling.

  ‘That’s a vertical air vent,’ Roylott said, frowning. ‘You can’t seriously believe that anyone could climb down it? It wouldn’t even fit a child.’

  ‘Someone fetch me a chair, please.’

  A moment later Mr Doyle peered through the grille with his goggles. ‘There appear to be clips attaching it to the vent.’ He removed the metal piece and examined the inside. A stone shaft led straight up into darkness. ‘Now that’s very interesting.’

  ‘What is, Ignatius?’ Greystoke asked.

  The detective produced a pair of tweezers and removed something from the edge of the grille. He stepped down from the chair, pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and laid something down on it. ‘We’ve seen this before.’

  ‘Good heavens,’ Scarlet said.

  ‘It’s a piece of orange thread!’ Jack said. ‘Just like at the hotel.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Mr Doyle turned to Roylott. ‘What’s above this room?’

  ‘The South American section.’

  ‘Where the first robbery occurred?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Inspector, will you ask one of your constables to assist us?’

  Greystoke now called on a tall, gangly colleague to stand on the chair and rap on the inside of the vertical shaft with his truncheon. Mr Doyle asked everyone to follow him upstairs.

  The South American section was still closed to the public. The broken display case had been removed, but everything else was unchanged.

  Mr Doyle headed to the life-size dioramas. Native people, with tents behind, were grouped around a pretend fire. Mr Doyle paused before the diorama. They all listened hard. A faint rapping sound came from the display; they could hear the police officer from far below. Mr Doyle stepped into the diorama, skirting the mannequins.

  ‘Excuse me, madam,’ he said, picking up a mannequin and putting it to one side. ‘Ah ha.’

  Jack, Scarlet and the others climbed into the display to find Ignatius Doyle examining a vent behind one of the tents. ‘This is it,’ he said. ‘The point of entry.’

  Roylott snorted. ‘That’s ridiculous. That shaft is still too small for a person to fit down.’

  ‘A young child, or an exceptionally small adult, could do it.’

  ‘But how did they enter and leave the museum after hours?’

  The detective turned to Jack and Scarlet. ‘Do either of you remember anything unusual about the professor?’

  ‘He left very quickly after the robbery,’ Jack said.

  ‘He practically disappeared,’ Scarlet said. ‘I was quite surprised, especially considering his age—and the weight of his bag.’

  The detective fixed them with a stare. Jack remembered watching the professor leave. He had moved very quickly. Prior to the robbery he had struggled to drag his enormous suitcase behind, but afterwards he almost ran away. An unpleasant sensation swam in Jack’s stomach as the pieces of the puzzle came together.

  No!

  Scarlet squealed as the same thought occurred to her.

 
‘Mr Doyle!’ she said. ‘You don’t think—’

  ‘I do,’ he said. ‘I think the first theft was merely a decoy.’

  Inspector Greystoke shook his head. ‘I have no idea what you three are talking about. What was a decoy?’

  ‘This is what we believe happened,’ Ignatius Doyle said. ‘A man posing as Professor James Clarke entered the museum. He was working with the criminals, who arrived shortly after. They started firing their weapons, sending everyone fleeing or diving for cover. The criminals broke into the display case containing the Cusco necklace. With everyone facedown on the floor, the man posing as Professor Clarke carried out his part of the plan.’

  ‘Which was?’ Greystoke asked.

  ‘To open his bag,’ Jack said, ‘and—’

  ‘—release the person inside,’ Scarlet concluded. ‘They must have been very small. They took refuge in the diorama while the criminals escaped. The police arrived, investigated the scene, and the museum closed shortly after.’

  ‘You mean he purposely left someone here?’ Inspector Greystoke said. ‘And none of us knew it?’

  ‘Why would anyone search for an intruder?’ Mr Doyle asked. ‘Everyone thought the crime had already taken place.’

  ‘When the real crime was to steal the piece of the Broken Sun after the museum closed,’ Jack said.

  Mr Roylott looked ill. ‘I ordered this section closed off after the robbery. The staff normally run a security sweep of the entire building at closing time. But they skipped this floor.’

  ‘But why go to so much trouble to hide someone in the museum?’ Greystoke asked.

  ‘I imagine it is much easier to break into the vault downstairs once you’re actually inside,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘Is that correct, Silas?’

  ‘It is,’ Roylott confirmed, dabbing sweat from his brow. ‘The building is a fortress at night. Nothing in. Nothing out.’

  Inspector Greystoke was now shaking his head in amazement. ‘And you’re saying the thief stayed here overnight,’ he said, ‘and walked out scot free?’