# Deuces Wild/Chapter 8

pp. 77–87

### VIII
#### MUMMIES

HAGGERTY kissed his wife and went his way. His journey's end was a brick house, three stories in height, in a quiet side street He rang the bell and waited. No one answered. Five minutes passed, then Haggerty went across the street and began to patrol the block. He smoked incessantly and thought deeply, for he was worried. He was sure that yonder lived his man, but he had never known a case like this. The picture-puzzle had been so wonderfully cut and so abnormally interesting that he had let too much time go by. There was a fine chance of the whole thing being knocked out of his hands. He had waited because it might possibly be a joke; he had waited for the man to return the jewels, and he hadn't done it He must get that thumb-print to-night or to-morrow morning at dawn on the boat
He reviewed the facts of the case methodically, with his eyes directed toward the sharp clear stars of this October night The man had thousands in the banks, unlimited credit, was without kith or kin; was rarely seen in the restaurants over on Broadway, and never with a woman. His cook and valet had been with him for ten years and had accompanied him. on his travels. He lived comfortably, not luxuriously. He was a fine chess player and was lucky at bridge and poker, but never gambled in stocks or public places. He was thirty-nine years old, in good health. What would draw a man toward playing at safe-breaking if not a latent criminal instinct? On the other hand, this pastime was known to several of his banker friends, who sometimes made wagers with him. Well, well; his right or left thumb would presently settle the whole matter, one way or the other.
A taxicab came chugging into the street, stopped for a moment before the brick house, and went on. Haggerty jotted down the license number as he trotted across. He reached the top step just as the man with the bundle under his arm opened the door.
“Wait a moment,” said Haggerty.
The man turned.
“Are you Mr. Crawford?”—for it was too dark for Haggerty to distinguish the man's features.
“No, sir. Mr. Crawford is out for the evening.”
“When will he be back?”
“I can't say, sir. Possibly at midnight; probably later.”
“Does he go aboard the Celtic to-night or to-morrow at dawn?”
The man with the bundle under his arm withdrew the night-key and calmly thrust the key-ring into his pocket He shifted the bundle slightly.
“Is your business important?” The voice was well modulated, but it possessed a crispness which spoke of impatience.
“Rather important.”
“Sorry you will not be able to see him to-night, sir.”
“I'm in no hurry. I'll wait till he comes. I take it you're his valet.”
“Yes, sir; Mr. Mason. But I doubt I can let you in under the circumstances. If you will designate a place I will telephone you the moment he arrives.”
“That's reasonable enough; but I'm going inside to wait”
“Why, sir...!”
“I'm a detective, Mr. Mason; an' your master an' I have a little matter to discuss.”
“Impossible!”
“An' he wouldn't be pleased at all if he knew I'd been here an' had t' go away.”
“Oh! He expects you?”
“Yes.” Which was truthful enough, since all criminals expect the law sooner or later.
“Your credentials?”
“This.” Haggerty exhibited his badge.
“That's not sufficient, sir.”
“All right,” replied Haggerty grimly. “Suppose we both go over to th' precinct an' have 'em identify me there? They know me.”
“I suppose I'll have to let you in, sir; but it's all very queer and unusual. Follow me.”
The valet turned on the single light in the hall. He immediately began to mount the stairs to the first floor, Haggerty at his heels. The valet stumbled, and the bundle slipped from his arm. The wrapping paper broke and disclosed half a dozen pairs of old shoes. Haggerty picked up two pairs and the valet gathered up the others. He gravely led the detective into a large room. Haggerty grasped his revolver, then let go of it, grunting inaudibly. What he saw in the dim fire-light were not living people, only the shells: rows of mummies and mummy-cases called cartonnages.
“Better not turn on the lights,” said Haggerty. “Th' fire's enough. These things give a fellow th' chills.”
The valet deposited the shoes along the wall and Haggerty placed his beside them. Next, the valet crossed to the wood-box and threw on a log. A blaze started up.
“Sit down, sir. This is Mr. Crawford's study.” Haggerty was quite familiar with it, but only in the daytime. “You'll excuse me, sir, till I pack the shoes. You see, Mr. Crawford tramps about a good deal and likes old shoes because they are most comfortable. We leave for Naples. There have been some new excavations at Herculaneum which Mr. Crawford is anxious to see.”
“You can pack th' shoes when your master returns,” replied Haggerty. The valet, whether he knew anything or not, would be perfectly justified in warning his master of his, Haggerty's, presence. Then genially, to cover the menace of his words, he added: “These ol' geezers might walk out on me if I was left alone with them.”
Mason shrugged. He turned on the low desk-lamp and began to arrange the books and papers on the broad flat desk. Some he put away in drawers which he locked. He then put out the light and took the easy chair by the fire, his back in half-view. Here Haggerty recognized the gentleman's gentleman, the servant who held himself detached from all affairs that did not concern his master personally, and who considered it ill-bred to converse with strangers of Haggerty's caliber. It was a lean serious face; the hand which propped his chin was long and slender.
It was half after eleven by Haggerty's watch. An hour, probably, to wait. There they were, four of them, and the one with the door hanging loosely a new one; four safes of various makes and sizes. What was the game?
“May I ask what it is you wish to see Mr. Crawford about?” asked the valet, after a long pause.
Ha! thought Haggerty; he was human after all. “Oh, he's going t' give me something for my collection.” Haggerty chuckled. “But what's all these safes for?”
“A hobby of Mr. Crawford's when he's not at work on his brochures.”
“His what?”
“His little books on new discoveries in archeology.”
“Ah! What's he do with them?”
“Sends them to the various universities and societies.”
“No, no; I mean th' safes.”
“He opens them. Do you know anything about the French Revolution?”
“I've heard about it,” answered Haggerty cautiously.
“Well, when Louis XVI wasn't tinkering with the revolution, he was tinkering with locks and clocks. It amused him; took his mind off his cares and troubles. Mr. Crawford finds like amusement in buying up old safes and opening them; cracking them, I believe, is the vernacular. He is remarkably clever at it.”
“Well, whata you know about that!”
“Beg pardon?”
“I mean, that kind of amusement beats me. Buys safes an' cracks 'em for th' fun of th' thing! Well, I never!”
Haggerty slipped a cigar between his teeth and began to chew it.
“Smoke if you wish.”
“No, thanks,”
Everything open and above board; no mystery, no secrecy. A joke, it could not be anything else but a joke, a wager. But why all these months of waiting to spring it? Haggerty's troubled gaze went round the room, touched the valet's face again, and finally paused at the shoes. Twelve of them, broad-toed, comfortable, newly-soled and heeled. They looked very funny to Haggerty, marshaled as they were alongside a mummy perhaps three thousand years old.
“Funny idea.”
“What is, sir?”
“Toting round ol' shoes like that.”