Ron Goulart - The Curse of the Obelisk

8 RON GOULART
"Ah, but alas, monsieur, that is not possible," explained Allegre. "They are no longer employed
here. Albert, in point of fact, ran screaming from this place three midnights ago. Though Gaspar
made a less flamboyant exit, he too is gone."
"Is midnight when the ghostly happenings usually happen?"
"Not every midnight, but far too many, yes," answered the museum director. "You also cannot,
I fear, interrogate either Gerard or Paul."
"The new watchmen?"
"Exactly, monsieur." He sighed his deepest sigh thus far. "Gerard and Paul lasted but a single
night. Thus, you have indeed arrived at a most fortunate juncture in the affairs of our plagued
institution."
Harry eyed him for a few seconds. "You want me to act as watchman tonight?"
"Are you not ideally suited for such a task? A stalwart and manly fellow, well versed in the
handling of such unusual situations," said Allegre. "You know how to deport yourself when faced
with dangers of an unusual sort, and you are not superstitious like Gaspar, Albert, Gerard and
Paul."
"Have you ever spent a night here?"
The director shuddered. "I am, you understand, not a brave man," he confided. "Were I to run
screaming from the premises in the dead of night it might lead to further scandal, providing fodder
for yet another unflattering caricature in Le Figaro and other vicious publications. Besides, M.
Challenge, since we are paying you such an enormous fee, it is only fair that—"
"Substantial," corrected Harry, "not enormous. Okay, I'll stay here tonight. That'll give me a
chance to go over the Egyptian wing and the rest of the museum."
"I appreciate that," said Allegre, allowing himself a small, sad smile. "Will your quite charming
young assistant who waits in the foyer be sharing your nocturnal duties, monsieur?"
Harry grinned. "Yes, I seldom go anywhere without her."
● ● ●
The ceiling of the vast room was lost in shadows. The air was chill, scented faintly with
sandalwood and ancient dust.
"This particular chest is one of my favorites," Allegre was saying. "The framework is of ebony,
the inner panels of beautifully carved redwood. Here we see the bronze and ivory blended to
produce . . ."
Jennie whispered to Harry, "You're a rat."
He assumed a beatific expression and ignored her.
"Passing me off as an operative in your dim-witted detective agency after promising me a
chance to interview this guy." She delivered a disappointed nudge to his ribs.
"He loathes the press. Now hush."