Relic

Wright frowned at the Assistant Director. “Rumors of a curse. Maybe it’s true. Look at all the disasters that have followed that ugly little figurine halfway around the world.” He laughed mirthlessly.

“You’re not serious,” said Cuthbert.

“I’ll tell you what I’m serious about,” Wright snapped. “I don’t want to hear you talking like that again. Frock has important friends. If he starts complaining to them ... well, you know how stories grow and spread. They’ll think you’re withholding information. They’ll think you’re banking on these killings bringing people in to see the exhibition. How’s that for publicity, eh?”

“Agreed,” Cuthbert said with a wintry smile. “But I don’t need to remind you that, if this exhibition doesn’t open on time, everything becomes academic. Frock must be kept on a short leash. Now, he’s sending hired help to do his dirty work. One of them tried to get into the Secure Vault less than an hour ago.”

“Who?” Wright demanded.

[219] “The security guard made a right hash of it,” Cuthbert replied. “But he got the fellow’s first name—Bill.”

“Bill?” Rickman sat up.

“Yes, I think that was it,” Cuthbert said, turning to the public relations director. “Isn’t that the name of the journalist who’s doing the book on my exhibition? He’s your man, isn’t he? Is he under control? I hear he’s been asking a lot of questions.”

“Absolutely,” said Rickman, a bright smile on her face. “We’ve had our ups and downs with him, but he’s toeing the line now. Control the sources, and you’ve controlled the journalist, as I always say.”

“Toeing the line, is he’?” Wright said. “Then why did you feel it necessary to send that mail message round to half the western world this morning, reminding them not to talk to strangers?”

Mrs. Rickman quickly held up a lacquered hand. “He’s been taken care of.”

“You’d damned well better make sure of that,” Cuthbert said. “You’ve been in on this little party from the begi

There came a hiss of static over the intercom, and a voice said: “Mr. Pendergast to see you.”

“Send him in,” said Wright. He looked sourly at the others. “This is it.”

Pendergast appeared in the doorway, a newspaper tucked under one arm. He paused for a moment.

“My, this is a charming tableau,” he said. “Dr. Wright, thank you for seeing me again. Dr. Cuthbert, always a pleasure. And you are Lavinia Rickman, ma’am, are you not?”

“Yes,” Rickman replied, smiling primly.

“Mr. Pendergast,” said Wright, with a small, formal smile. “Please take any seat you wish.”

“Thank you, Doctor, but I prefer to stand.” Pendergast moved over to the massive fireplace and leaned against the mantle, arms folded.

[220] “Have you come to make a report? No doubt you’ve asked for this meeting to inform us of an arrest.”

“No,” said Pendergast. “I’m sorry, no arrests. Frankly, Dr. Wright, we’ve made very little progress. Despite what Ms. Rickman has been telling the newspapers.”

He showed them the newspaper’s headline: ARREST NEAR IN “MUSEUM BEAST” MURDERS.

There was a short silence. Pendergast folded the paper and carefully placed it on the mantelpiece.

“What’s the problem?” asked Wright. “I don’t understand what’s taking so long.”

“There are many problems, as you are no doubt aware,” said Pendergast. “But I’m not really here to brief you on the case. It’s enough if I remind you simply that a dangerous serial killer remains loose in the Museum. We have no reason to believe he has stopped killing. As far as we know, all his killings have been nocturnal. In other words, after 5 P.M. As the special agent in charge of this investigation, I’m regretfully informing you that the curfew we’ve set up must remain in force until such time as the killer is found. There will be no exceptions.”

“The opening. … Rickman bleated.

“The opening will have to be postponed. It may be for a week, it may be for a month. I can’t make any promises, I’m afraid. I’m very sorry.”

Wright stood up, his face livid. “You said the opening could go on as scheduled provided there were no more killings. That was our agreement.”

“I made no agreement with you, Doctor,” Pendergast said mildly. “I’m afraid we are no closer to catching the murderer than we were at the begi

[221] Wright stared at the agent in disbelief. “Because of your incompetence, you expect us to delay the opening, and do the Museum irreparable harm in the process? The answer is no.”

Pendergast, unruffled, walked forward into the center of the room. “Forgive me, Dr. Wright, if I didn’t make myself clear. I’m not here to ask your permission; I’m merely notifying you of my decision.”

“Right,” the Director answered, his voice shaking. “I see. You can’t do your own job, but you still want to tell me how to do mine. Do you have any idea what delaying the opening would do to our exhibition? Do you know what kind of message it would send to the public? Well, Pendergast, I’m not going to allow it.”

Pendergast stared steadily at Wright. “Any unauthorized perso

“The only thing that’s clear right now is your path to the door,” Wright said, his voice rising. “It’s unobstructed. Please take it.”

Pendergast nodded. “Gentlemen. Ma’am.” Then he turned around and moved silently out of the room.

Closing the door quietly, Pendergast stopped for a moment in the Director’s outer office. Then, staring at the door, he quoted,

So I return rebuk’d to my content,

And gain by ills thrice more than I have spent.

Wright’s executive secretary stopped her gum chewing in mid-snap. “Howzat?” she inquired.

“No, Shakespeare,” Pendergast replied, heading for the elevator.

¯

[222] Inside, Wright fumbled at the telephone with shaking hands.

“What the hell happens now?” exploded Cuthbert. “I’ll be damned if a bloody policeman’s going to boot us out of our own Museum.”

“Cuthbert, be quiet,” said Wright. Then he spoke into the handset. “Get me Albany, right away.”

There was a silence while he was put on hold. Wright looked over the receiver at Cuthbert and Rickman, controlling his heavy breathing with an effort. “Time to call in some favors,” he said. “We’ll see who has the final word here: some inbred albino from the Delta, or the Director of the largest natural history museum in the world.”

= 32 =

The vegetation here is very unusual. The cycads and ferns look almost primordial. Too bad there isn’t time for more careful study. We’ve used a particularly resilient variety as packing material for the crates; feel free to let Jörgensen take a look, if he’s interested.

I fully expect to be with you at the Explorer’s Club a month from now, celebrating our success with a brace of dry martinis and a good Macanudo. Until then, I know I can entrust this material and my reputation to you.

Your colleague,

Whittlesey

Smithback looked up from the letter. “We can’t stay here. Let’s go to my office.”

His cubbyhole lay deep in a maze of overflow offices on the Museum’s ground level. The honeycomb [224] passages, full of noise and bustle, seemed a refreshing change to Margo after the damp, echoing basement corridors outside the Secure Area. They walked past a large green Dumpster overflowing with back issues of the Museum’s magazine. Outside Smithback’s office, a large bulletin board was plastered with a variety of irate letters from subscribers, for the amusement of the magazine staff.