The Medieval Murderers - The First Murder

His remark, intended to carry through the Egyptian Gallery, and overheard by Malinferno, was addressed to his companion, an elegant and, in contrast to Casteix, fashionably attired young man. Casteix’s disdainful gaze turned Malinferno’s way, and fell on him just as Doll called out to him.

‘Joe, I’ve just worked out something interesting.’

Malinferno tried to ignore Casteix, whom he had once consulted to learn more about Egyptology, only to be regaled with a tale concerning the loss of the Frenchman’s left leg to the snapping bite of a crocodile in the Nile waters. He hurried back to Doll Pocket, but could hear the stomping thud of Casteix’s wooden leg approaching up the gallery.

‘What’s that, Doll?’

Doll’s eyes were bright. ‘I’ve just calculated that there are some four hundred and eighty Greek words on the stone.’

Malinferno knew better than to question Doll’s figure, even though he knew she could not have had time to count every word. But she was fearfully adept with mathematical calculations. So he confined himself to querying the import of this revelation.

‘And what use is that in deciphering the words on the stone?’

‘Indeed, young lady, what can be the import of such irrelevant knowledge?’

The second enquiry, disdainful in its tone, came from the breathless Jean-Claude Casteix, who had now joined them before EA24. The other man, fitter apparently, for his breathing hardly increased at all, stood at his friend’s shoulder, his head cocked on one side like an alert hound.

Doll Pocket smiled enigmatically. ‘It is meaningless. Unless you compare it with the number of hieroglyphs on the stone. By my reckoning, there are one thousand four hundred and ten of those.’

Casteix’s companion looked puzzled, and, pointing with his silver-topped cane, spoke up in a distinct and, to Doll’s ears, engaging French accent. ‘Madame, what have all these numbers to do with decipherment?’

Casteix hurriedly interposed an explanation of the other man’s interest, introducing him with a flourish of his hand. ‘Monsieur Étienne Quatremain, here, is, like Champollion, a student of hieroglyphs.’

Quatremain waved away his friend’s flattering description. ‘I am no more than an amateur filled with curiosity. Not to be compared with Champollion, the future translator of hieroglyphs.’

Doll looked askance at Malinferno, who contained his disbelief over Quatremain’s claim for his countryman. He merely raised his eyes to the ornate ceiling over their heads. The preening Frenchman meanwhile continued in his charming tones.

‘But you have still not explained, Madame, your obsession with the numbers.’

Doll smiled sweetly, and fluttered her eyelids at the young Frenchman. Malinferno could see all the signs of Doll being in one of her moods when she pretended to be dim-witted to fool someone. Such a deception usually ended in the discomfiture of the other party. Surprisingly, though, she did not spring the trap on Quatremain this time. Instead she giggled inanely.

‘I’m sure there is some meaning in them, sir. But for the moment I cannot see it.’

Casteix snorted, his opinion of womankind confirmed.

‘Come, Étienne, let us seek more stimulating company elsewhere.’

His sweeping gesture was somewhat spoiled by his hand almost knocking his antique wig off his head. He clutched at it and, leaving it a little askew, stomped off down the gallery, scattering the idle gawpers in front of Young Memnon . His young companion bowed elegantly, his cane held to one side, and turned to follow. But not before he cast a wink in the direction of Doll. Malinferno wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw a simpering smile of pleasure fleetingly play across her features. And it did not seem feigned to his jealous eye. With a proprietorial gesture, he took her arm.

‘What was all that about numbers of words on the stone?’

‘Don’t you see? It’s obvious.’

He always got vexed when Doll made it clear that he was slow in reaching what for her was an obvious conclusion. He might have walked away and sulked for the rest of the day, except he desperately wanted to know what she had concluded.

‘No, I don’t see. And I don’t understand why, if it is so obvious, you didn’t tell Casteix and what’shisname.’

He feigned not recalling Quatremain’s name, as if the man was of no significance to him, when in fact he had got under his skin.

Doll squeezed his arm, pulling him close to her side. ‘Is Joe just a teensy bit jealous of the elegant Monsieur Étienne? He is quite handsome, isn’t he? But the reason why I didn’t tell them my conclusion was so that the old man didn’t rush off and beat us to it.’

‘Beat us?’

‘To solving the riddle of the hieroglyphs.’

Malinferno’s curiosity overcame his exasperation at Doll’s obtuseness. ‘And how is the riddle to be solved by us?’

Doll stuck her fingers under her turban and scratched her head. ‘Well, it’s only a start, you understand.’

Malinferno growled, and Doll held up her hands defensively.

‘If the Greek text is made up of four hundred and eighty words and the hieroglyphs amount to one thousand four hundred…’

‘… and ten. You said one thousand four hundred and ten.’

Doll grinned conspiratorially. ‘Oh, I added the ten to my estimate to make it sound more clever. But the point is, bearing in mind that the two texts are the same, then the disparity in numbers suggests that-’

Malinferno broke in. ‘That each hieroglyph is a letter, not a symbol of ideas or a full word.’

‘Give the man a prize!’

‘But it still doesn’t tell us their meanings.’

Doll’s face fell a little. ‘I know, but it’s a start. Now we know each picture is a letter. Let’s go back and see if we can decipher that cartouche. You see, I have an idea.’

They had hurried back to Creechurch Lane, intent on cracking the code. But an exciting message diverted them from even looking at the papyruses left lying on the table. As they climbed the stairs to Malinferno’s rooms, a rotund figure waddled out of the ground-floor parlour. It was their landlady. Mrs Stanhope’s mobcap sat askew on her head, and her face was flushed. When she spoke, her slurred voice betrayed her having imbibed the best part of a bottle of gin, despite it being not yet the middle of the day. She leaned on the doorframe or she might have fallen over, and called up the rickety stairs to her lodgers.

‘Mr Mali… Manli… Joe, there is an urgent message for you.’

Malinferno descended the stairs, and stood before his landlady. She grinned inanely.

‘A message you say?’ he prompted her.

Mrs Stanhope tilted her head to one side as if pondering the depths of his question. He observed in fascination as her mobcap failed to tip with her head, slipping down until it covered one eye.

‘Yes. From a perfect tadpole of a man. I could have wrapped him in a nappy and had him suckle at my breast.’

Malinferno recognised Bromhead from her description, and cast from his mind the image of Augustus as a baby on his landlady’s large and fulsome tit. He prompted her again.

‘May I have the message?’

Slowly, Mrs Stanhope’s hand went up to her face, where one long finger tapped the side of her nose. The other hand slipped into the pocket of her apron, where it rummaged around interminably. Finally it drew out a slip of paper, which was then offered to Malinferno. He took it, and read it. Excited by its contents, he went back up to Doll, who was hovering on the landing. She could tell by the look on his face that the message bore interesting news.

‘What does it say, Joe?’

‘That we should go directly to the Royal Coburg Theatre, where Augustus Bromhead is casting his play. He says there is a part for you.’