Chapter Nine

The first thing I do is confirm that the door on the artifact room will lock from the inside. The lock would hearken back to a time when it'd likely been a guest bedroom, a very dreary and windowless chamber in the back hall, the sort you give to someone you don't want to stay very long. The fact that it can also be locked from the outside might seem a little concerning, but many such rooms can, this being an era where guests often stay for weeks, and they might wish to lock their room when they are out.

The interior lock is important because it gave the killer time to mummify their victim. Sir Alastair had the only key, and so if he was within, being mummified, no one could wander in and disturb his killer. Then the killer had to leave the door unlocked, so the staff could remove the mummy, and we'd all have the horrific moment of watching Sir Alastair unwrapped.

We speculated earlier that the killer might not have known about the party and wrapped Sir Alastair to hide him. I no longer believe that. In retrospect, the wrapping job was too poorly done to disguise the body for long. That's why we'd had no trouble unwrapping him. The chance that his killer just happened to hide him in the mummy wrapping while the staff was bustling about preparing for a mummy-unwrapping party? Slim to none.

The killer didn't want to hide the body. They wanted drama. Sir Alastair's dead body found in the bandages of the mummy he'd taken from Egypt. He'd been planning to unwrap some poor stranger, and instead, the corpse was his.

We're going to need to return to the artifact room for a more thorough search. For now, McCreadie has an officer stand guard with orders that no one—even family—is to be admitted. It's a crime scene, and even if police don't fully recognize the implications of that yet, they understand that McCreadie works differently, and they like him enough to allow it.

Michael takes us on a quick tour of the house. This is mostly for us to understand the layout. We don't know whether our killer is part of the household, but if not, then we need to see all the possible exits.

We are also looking for something. A very important literal missing piece.

The remains that had originally been in those wrappings.

We conducted a quick search in the artifact room, which was the most likely place to stash it. But with all the artifacts on display for the party, there hadn't been many places to hide a desiccated corpse.

That leads to a problem. A rather large one. Killing and then mummifying Sir Alastair in a locked room would have been easily done. Getting the mummified remains out? With a house full of staff bustling about for a party?

"I don't know how it would be accomplished," McCreadie says as we walk while we talk. "But certainly not out the front door."

"Then why not find a way to hide it in the artifact room? Taking it is a huge risk. So why? Is there a black market for mummified corpses?"

"A black…?"

"An illegal network you could sell it to, with buyers on the other end."

"I am certain there is a market for mummies among the wealthy. But this would be the body within, and it is the bandages that make it a mummy."

Michael clears his throat. "If I may?"

"Of course," I say, trying not to smile at how polite he is. That's a mark of a Victorian upbringing, but I suspect it's also his nature.

"The corpse could be sold for medical uses." He makes a face and hurries on. "Fakery, I mean. There is no actual medical use for dried bodies. There was a craze for such medicines in the earlier part of the century, and while it has passed its peak, we must still be cautious. A corpse like that could bring in hundreds of pounds."

"Right. I had heard of that. People would—" Which isn't important right now. "We can discuss it later, and we may need to ask for your expertise, Michael."

He eyes me, as if suspecting I'm humoring him. When he sees that I'm serious, he says gravely, "Certainly."

"For now, we presume someone took the mummified corpse, and they likely weren't just getting rid of it. Would they dare remove it from the house during the party preparations? Or stash it and come back later?"

"We will need to see all your hiding spots, Michael," McCreadie says.

"Yes, but there is something you need to see first."

We are in the subbasement. For most town houses like this, the basement is extended living quarters rather than storage. In Gray's town house, the lower level is the kitchen, the staff dining area, and the housekeeper's quarters. It's a similar setup here, with the first basement being the kitchen and food storage areas plus staff quarters. Some town houses in the New Town have another level—a subbasement. In this one, it's being used for storage. And in the far corner of that subbasement?

"A tunnel?" I say.

Michael gives me a smile that, I suspect, under any other circumstance would light up his face. Under the current one, it's a feeble thing, but he makes the effort.

"Yes, it is a tunnel," he says. "Phoebe and I do not know what it is for. Few know about it, and that does not include Mama or…" He glances away. "Sir Alastair. We could not ask about the history without telling them we'd found it, and if we said we'd found it, they'd shut it up."

I can see why the tunnel has gone undetected by all but curious children. To get to it requires taking rickety stairs down and then traversing the whole of the subbasement. At the back is a room filled with moldering crates, as if the staff decided at some point that anything back here wasn't worth getting out again. The entrance to the tunnel is a thick door behind those crates.

Michael opens the door. "The entrance is small, but the tunnel is bigger."

I look down at my dress. There's no way I'm getting in there with a crinoline cage. I'll need to remove it. I should also wear a wrapper to protect my dress, but I can't exactly ask the grieving widow if I can borrow one. I'll just be careful.

I slip into the next room and carefully remove my crinoline cage. The next issue is my slippers. That's when I remember seeing boots on the next level up. I find several pairs, probably belonging to the maids, and I send up a silent apology as I borrow a pair that fits. I also swipe an apron to go over my dress.

Then it's back down to join McCreadie and Michael.

McCreadie has brought a lantern, and he goes in first. While I need to squeeze through the small door, the tunnel within soon slants until we can walk upright.

"Where does it lead?" I ask.

"To a garden at the end of the street," Michael says. "There are side passages, but they are sealed or caved in. Only this main tunnel goes anywhere." He glances back, the lantern casting his face in shadow. "It ends at a hatch that leads into a shed in a private park, and the shed is in ruins, unused."

"A secret exit?" I say. "Is the hatch kept locked?"

Michael shakes his head as he walks. "No, and I told Phoebe that is why we ought to mention it, but she argued that the subbasement door is always kept locked, so no one can sneak into the house that way."

"I noticed it was unlocked when we came in."

"That is because of the party. The servants would have been going in and out of the storage rooms all day."

We continue on. I'm behind McCreadie, who has the lantern, meaning I can't see much more than his back. The floor is earth and silt-covered rock, so it's no surprise when one of my boots slips. My gloved hand smacks into the wall and McCreadie spins, but I lift my other hand to say I'm all right.

I motion for him to go on but, gentleman that he is, he waits for me to recover. He holds the lantern out for me to watch where I put my feet. After a few steps, he starts to turn around, confident that I have my footing. As the light turns, it catches on something by my foot. Something that looks like a charred piece of wood with a pale stick poking from it.

"Hold up," I say. "Can I get that light?"

McCreadie turns as I go to bend over, forgetting that's impossible in an evening-gown laced corset. I inhale sharply, mutter under my breath, and sweep my gown up so I can bend at my knees. As I gather the silk, I'm reminded I'm tramping through a filthy tunnel in a dress worth more than a year's wages. Damn it.

With all my fussing, though, I lose the chance to retrieve what's on the ground. McCreadie has spotted it and—not being in a corset—easily bends to pick it up.

"What the devil?" he murmurs.

He moves the object in front of the lantern. It's maybe an inch long, blackened and dried, with bone protruding from the end.

"A finger," I say. "From the mummy."

Michael has ducked under McCreadie's arm, and he peers at it. "Yes, that's what it is. A finger broke off. The tip, at least."

"So we are on the right track," I say.

"I am going to put this into my pocket," McCreadie says. "I know how much you hate it when we treat evidence so cavalierly but—not expecting a murder tonight—I didn't come prepared."

"Yes, yes," I say. "Just be careful with it."

As we've walked, we've passed a couple of those side passages Michael mentioned—the ones that no longer lead anywhere. Once we continue, we almost immediately reach another one and—

Michael lets out a yelp and dives into the side passage. I resist the urge to shove past McCreadie, though I may give him a less-than-gentle nudge.

Michael is in that side passage, bent beside the fallen figure of a man, and on seeing that figure, my heart does a little jump. In the shadows, all I can make out is brown skin on a smooth-shaven cheek and dark wavy hair falling over a strong nose. It only takes a moment to realize it is not Gray, and in the next moment, Michael is saying, "Uncle Selim!" and shaking the man's shoulder.

I hurry past McCreadie. The man—Lady Christie's brother, Selim—lies on his side, his eyes closed. Blood trickles down the side of his neck. I touch my fingers to his throat and feel a pulse.

"Duncan," I say to McCreadie. "Get Duncan."

We have Selim upstairs in the kitchen. That was as far as Gray wanted the young man's unconscious body carried before a proper examination. During that examination, Selim wakes, and Gray declares he's fit to be taken to his guest bedroom. We're in there now, with Selim slowly rousing as Gray tends to a gash on the back of his head. That gash is presumably what knocked him unconscious.

While Gray tends to Selim, I switch back to my slippers and remove the apron I borrowed. I don't bother with the crinoline cage and extra skirts. I'm sure I'm a mess, but under the circumstances, no one cares.

Michael has been playing messenger, telling his mother that Selim is here and was hurt but is fine. Naturally, she wants to see her brother, but we need to speak to him first. McCreadie handles that by saying Selim is groggy and needs rest, and that is the best thing for him, along with broth and perhaps a bit of brandy. Getting that keeps Lady Christie occupied while we question her brother.

Once Selim is alert and sitting in a well-lit bedroom, there's no chance I could mistake him for Gray. It's only the clean-shaven brown skin and the wavy dark hair and a bit of his profile that resembles Gray. The young man is leaner and a few inches shorter, with lighter eyes and a face that seems more given to laughter than somber contemplation… or it would be when he isn't recovering from a blow to the head. Even then, his mouth curves in a wry twist when he explains.

"I wanted to surprise the children," he says, in an accent that matches his sister's: upper-crust English with a melodic undercurrent of what I presume is an Egyptian accent in this period. "I know of their secret tunnel, and so I came in that way. As I was walking, I heard someone. I presumed it was the children. With the party preparations, I knew Phoebe would try to slip away for a bit of fun. I tucked myself into a side passage to surprise them. Yet the figure that passed was neither Michael nor Phoebe. It was someone carrying a bundle of what looked like firewood. I shrank back, intending to slip out after them and see what they were up to. Only it seems the person heard me. I was creeping down the tunnel, thinking they were up ahead, when they leapt out of a side passage and clubbed me on the back of the head. Then I woke here."

"This fellow," McCreadie says. "What did he look like?"

That smile twists more. "I cannot even say it was a fellow. I saw only a cloak and that bundle. The bundle is what caught my attention, as the stick I saw poking out looked already burned, which struck me as odd. I could describe the stick better than the person. I know they were smaller than me. Shorter and slighter of build. Definitely larger than the children, though. And the cloak—or coat—was dark. I fear that is all I can say."

"The sticks you saw," I say. "Could they have been parts of a mummy? The corpse within, that is."

Selim glances my way, as if seeing me for the first time. His brows furrow, as if I do not look like the person who would ask such a question.

"Miss Mitchell is my confederate's assistant," McCreadie says gently. "Please answer her questions as if they were my own."

"Yes, of course." Selim dips his chin. "I did not mean any offense, miss. You asked whether the sticks could have been—" He stops, eyes widening. "Part of a mummified corpse. Yes. That would make sense. I was not aware that Sir Alastair brought back parts, in addition to the mummies. That is…" He clears his throat. "I hope he did not. Perhaps they were from a mummified cat or dog?"

I glance at McCreadie and pull back to let him take this next part. He tells Selim that his brother-in-law is dead, his body having been wrapped in the mummy cloths.

"Miriam," Selim says, rising swiftly. "I must see Miriam. And the children. They will be—"

McCreadie stops the younger man from getting up. "As Sir Alastair was murdered and you were discovered in a secret tunnel, I'm afraid I need to speak to you first. Your sister and the children are well, and you will get to them soon."

Selim's mouth sets before he rubs it away. When he says, "Yes, of course," the words are curt. He doesn't like being kept from his grieving sister, but he won't fight us on it.

I say, "Whoever killed Sir Alastair also took the mummified remains. We suspected they went down that tunnel, and that's how we found you. Could what you saw have been a bundled corpse?"

"A whole corpse? No," Selim says sharply. "It would have been pieces. They… they broke it up like kindling." Anger sizzles through his voice. "They took a human body and snapped it into pieces for easier transport."

"They just cared about getting it out of there easily," I say.

"Not only that," Selim says. "The only reason to steal mummified remains is to sell it for medicines. You do not need it whole for that."

"Michael did mention something about that," I murmur. "Any information you could provide will help Detective McCreadie, but we can get that later."

"For now," McCreadie says, "we will need as much detail as you can give us on that tunnel encounter. What time you arrived. How you entered. What you heard. We will also need to know your movements between leaving the ship and arriving here."

"The ship arrived at two yesterday afternoon. I caught a hansom cab directly here. I can give you details on where I was picked up and what my driver looked like. I had him drop me at the corner. I'm not sure which—I can never remember the street names here—but I can point it out on a map. Then I walked directly to the tunnel entrance."

"Do you know what time you arrived?"

"I know I was in the cab at four. I was hungry and knew dinner would be early because of the party. I checked my watch hoping I had not missed it."

"And your bags? I presume you brought some."

"I left them in the little shed, where the tunnel starts. Hopefully, they are still there."

McCreadie asks a few more questions. Then he looks at me.

"In light of what happened to Sir Alastair," I say, "we're going to need to speak to someone who might know how long it would take to unwrap the mummified remains and… rewrap a body."

I avoid saying who was rewrapped, but the flash of grief on his face says my workaround didn't help.

I continue, "I don't know who we'd speak to about that."

"Me," he says. "I have worked at my brother-in-law's excavations since before he was my brother-in-law. Archaeology is my area of study. I found that particular mummy, and I know it was in poor condition, with little resin holding the cloths in place. One could unwrap it rather than cut it open."

Selim considers for a moment, lips moving as if calculating. "As a rough estimate, I would venture it would take a few hours to unwrap and rewrap. Two to three hours, depending on the expertise of the person doing the work."

"And that was my next question. How much expertise would be required?"

"For remains in such poor wrappings? The unraveling would be simple enough, the speed only checked by a need to note how the wrapping was done. If one took care and did not simply yank off the cloths but paid attention, the rewrapping could be done by anyone."

"Thank you." I look at Gray. "Anything to add, sir?"

"Only instructions for care of that head injury," Gray says.