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Authors: Adele Clee
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absence of a top lip did not prevent the curator’s mouth from quivering. “I was not aware that —”
“I asked Miss Linwood to refrain from discussing the matter,” Gabriel interrupted, “as we had not agreed the details. But rest assured I shall be spending a ridiculous amount of time here.”
Gabriel glanced at Miss Linwood, his eyes darting to the right to inform her it was her turn to speak.
“You must understand,” she began, “I could not discuss the matter until I was certain of Mr. Stone’s intentions. But he is considered an expert on ancient Egypt and his knowledge will be invaluable to us.”
Although he had told her to agree with him, he rather liked the idea that she held him in such high regard.
“I do have some antiquities of my own that I intend to display,” Gabriel added with an exaggerated wave of the hand. “I thought you could accompany us to the office to discuss the best way to proceed.”
The mere mention of his own objects caused an odd feeling to form in his stomach. The feeling he imagined one would get when conducting an illicit affair: the thrill and anticipation of a passionate encounter waging a bitter battle with a moral responsibility. He dismissed the image of his lonely books left abandoned on his desk, deserted and forsaken. After all, he was not betraying them; he was in a museum filled with the wonders of Egypt. Perhaps he would stumble upon something to further his knowledge on the process of mummification.
Gabriel waved his hand, instructing Mr. Pearce to take the lead. “On you go, Mr. Pearce. We shall follow.”
The gentleman edged past them and skulked off in the direction of the office, glancing behind periodically, as though aware of Gabriel’s piercing gaze burrowing into his back.
Once in the room, Miss Linwood took her place behind the desk and invited Mr. Pearce to sit opposite. Gabriel chose to stand, knowing his pacing would unnerve the curator.
“There is also another matter that needs to be addressed,” Gabriel said, slamming the office door to make Mr. Pearce jump. “And in some ways, it relates to my reservations regarding the security of my own objects.”
“I can assure you,” Mr. Pearce said, his head moving left to right while he tried to locate Gabriel, “all the antiquities are treated with extreme care.”
“That is not the case. Is it, Mr. Pearce?” Gabriel said as he moved to the curator’s side. “You see, for the past week, someone has been sneaking into the storeroom at night. The antiquities are in disarray, boxes open and scattered across the floor and yet you have said nothing to Miss Linwood. Why is that?”
Gabriel glanced at Miss Linwood, whose expression resembled someone on the front row of a gladiatorial arena, waiting to see if the outcome would be thumbs up or down.
“I … I haven’t been in the storeroom,” he stammered.
Gabriel moved to stand next to Miss Linwood, folded his arms across his chest and frowned. “A curator of a museum has not been in his storeroom or taken an inventory of its treasures for a whole week?” he said, feigning amazement. “Is this how you normally work, Miss Linwood?”
“No. Not at all. The list should be checked daily, Mr. Stone.”
Mr. Pearce ran his fingers along the edge of his collar and craned his neck as though his shirt chafed his skin. He looked at Miss Linwood, then at Gabriel, before turning to look at the closed door.
“Well, the watchman will be able to tell us more when we have assessed the damage. Of course, he will want to look at the item the intruder dropped, and I will conduct a meeting with all staff. The motive is obviously theft,” he turned to Miss Linwood. “What did you say was missing?”
Her eyes widened and then she said, “The bronze spoon is missing from its box. It is Eighteenth Dynasty.”
“Add that to trespass,” Gabriel said counting the list of transgressions on his fingers, “damage to property and intention to cause
“I asked Miss Linwood to refrain from discussing the matter,” Gabriel interrupted, “as we had not agreed the details. But rest assured I shall be spending a ridiculous amount of time here.”
Gabriel glanced at Miss Linwood, his eyes darting to the right to inform her it was her turn to speak.
“You must understand,” she began, “I could not discuss the matter until I was certain of Mr. Stone’s intentions. But he is considered an expert on ancient Egypt and his knowledge will be invaluable to us.”
Although he had told her to agree with him, he rather liked the idea that she held him in such high regard.
“I do have some antiquities of my own that I intend to display,” Gabriel added with an exaggerated wave of the hand. “I thought you could accompany us to the office to discuss the best way to proceed.”
The mere mention of his own objects caused an odd feeling to form in his stomach. The feeling he imagined one would get when conducting an illicit affair: the thrill and anticipation of a passionate encounter waging a bitter battle with a moral responsibility. He dismissed the image of his lonely books left abandoned on his desk, deserted and forsaken. After all, he was not betraying them; he was in a museum filled with the wonders of Egypt. Perhaps he would stumble upon something to further his knowledge on the process of mummification.
Gabriel waved his hand, instructing Mr. Pearce to take the lead. “On you go, Mr. Pearce. We shall follow.”
The gentleman edged past them and skulked off in the direction of the office, glancing behind periodically, as though aware of Gabriel’s piercing gaze burrowing into his back.
Once in the room, Miss Linwood took her place behind the desk and invited Mr. Pearce to sit opposite. Gabriel chose to stand, knowing his pacing would unnerve the curator.
“There is also another matter that needs to be addressed,” Gabriel said, slamming the office door to make Mr. Pearce jump. “And in some ways, it relates to my reservations regarding the security of my own objects.”
“I can assure you,” Mr. Pearce said, his head moving left to right while he tried to locate Gabriel, “all the antiquities are treated with extreme care.”
“That is not the case. Is it, Mr. Pearce?” Gabriel said as he moved to the curator’s side. “You see, for the past week, someone has been sneaking into the storeroom at night. The antiquities are in disarray, boxes open and scattered across the floor and yet you have said nothing to Miss Linwood. Why is that?”
Gabriel glanced at Miss Linwood, whose expression resembled someone on the front row of a gladiatorial arena, waiting to see if the outcome would be thumbs up or down.
“I … I haven’t been in the storeroom,” he stammered.
Gabriel moved to stand next to Miss Linwood, folded his arms across his chest and frowned. “A curator of a museum has not been in his storeroom or taken an inventory of its treasures for a whole week?” he said, feigning amazement. “Is this how you normally work, Miss Linwood?”
“No. Not at all. The list should be checked daily, Mr. Stone.”
Mr. Pearce ran his fingers along the edge of his collar and craned his neck as though his shirt chafed his skin. He looked at Miss Linwood, then at Gabriel, before turning to look at the closed door.
“Well, the watchman will be able to tell us more when we have assessed the damage. Of course, he will want to look at the item the intruder dropped, and I will conduct a meeting with all staff. The motive is obviously theft,” he turned to Miss Linwood. “What did you say was missing?”
Her eyes widened and then she said, “The bronze spoon is missing from its box. It is Eighteenth Dynasty.”
“Add that to trespass,” Gabriel said counting the list of transgressions on his fingers, “damage to property and intention to cause
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