October 27th 1940.
Professor Smith sat in his neat, tidy office on the second floor of the British Museum. He was drinking a cup of Earl Grey tea and dunking biscuits. He sat back on his padded leather chair and surveyed his surroundings, thinking that this is how any gentleman's office SHOULD look. He remembered Indy's untidy, rambling, disordered office in America and smiled to himself. Then he thought of Indy and Marcus and the smile faded. He put down the bone china cup carefully, aligning the cup precisely with it's matching saucer, then stood, straightening his jacket and looked into a small adjoining office. A younger man, with a round, florid expression looked up earnestly at professor Smith. his expression almost yelling,
"Can I help you, sir?"
Smith smiled, thinking that this lad was learning fast. In another ten or fifteen years he would make a half decent assistant.
"Any news of Dr. Jones yet, Robert?" He asked.
Robert shrugged and said, "I'm afraid not, Professor. I'll let you know the moment I hear anything."
A large clock in another room somewhere struck eleven am loudly.
Smith shook his head. Indy and Marcus had been missing almost twelve hours.
"Did you have breakfast this morning Robert. You were in very early?" He said.
Robert smiled. "Yes sir." He nodded.
"Well, make sure you take a decent lunch."
Professor Smith went back into his office and closed the door. He turned toward his desk and physically jumped back two steps, crying out with surprise. Almost instantly, Robert was in the room beside the professor.
"My god." He said. "Dr. Jones, I presume?"
Indy was sitting in the professors seat with his feet on the desk. Marcus was standing behind him. Both professor Smith and his assistant, Robert were looking at the revolver in Indy's hand, pointed directly at them.
"Nice to see you." Indy said. "Please, sit down." He pointed with the gun toward the chairs by the main door.
Smith stepped forward. "Dr. Jones..." He began, but stopped short as Indy raised the revolver to point at his head.
"Where have you been. Why the gun?" Smith sounded indignant but concerned.
"I was about to ask you the same thing." Indy replied. "Where did you get to last night?"
Smith raised his eyebrows. "ME" He exclaimed. "I went to call Robert here and when I returned, you were gone. Luggage and all."
Indy looked at Robert. "This is your driver?" He said, motioning toward Robert with the barrel of the gun.
"I am professor Smiths personal assistant." Robert replied, with more than a hint of a superior tone in his voice.
Indy and Marcus looked at each other and nodded, saying simultaneously, "He's his driver."
Indy put the gun into the holster inside his jacket. He stood up, extending his hand. "Nice to meet you, Robert." He said. Cautiously, Robert took the proffered hand and shook it, nodding. "Dr. Jones." He said, then shook Marcus' hand. "Dr. Brody."
Smith repeated his earlier question. "Where have you been. What is going on?"
"Do you have anyone here that weighs about four hundred pounds and smells like a pig farm?"
Smith raised his eyebrows. "Pardon?" He said.
Indy proceeded to explain what had happened to him and Marcus the night before.
"And you say your gun and things were just left on a table?" Robert said, somewhat incredulously.
Indy nodded. "That's right." He said. " If I hadn't been there, I wouldn't believe it myself."
"Did you get a look at the one who hit you?" Robert asked. Indy rubbed the bump on the side of his head and replied, "No. But when I find him..."
"How about you, Dr. Brody?" Smith added. "Didn't you see anything?" Marcus looked somewhat sheepish. "I'm afraid not. I was busy being attacked at the time." Indy smiled at Marcus' dry wit.
"Well, I don't know what to make of it." The professor said. "But you're here now. If it's all right with you, gentlemen, I'll show you the rest of my notes and everything I brought from the dig in Alexandria." Indy thought for a while, then looked at Marcus. "OK." He said. "If nothing else, my curiosity is sure getting the better of me."
Smith almost jumped at his filing cabinet. "Good. Good. I'll show you what we've learned so far." He said as he removed a slim folder from the top drawer. Indy, Marcus and Robert leaned over the desk as the professor spread his papers. There were several pages of notes, a few hastily drawn sketches of the cat figure, some papers with hieroglyphics and translations on and what appeared to be a very poorly drawn map. Indy picked up the map.
"Where is this?" He asked. Smith looked over Indy's shoulder at the map and said, "It's a sketch of the dig at Alexandria. I think." He added lamely. Indy and Marcus looked at him. "You think?" They said together. Then they looked at each other. " We're starting to sound like the Marx Brothers." Indy joked. Smith ignored the comment and said, "I've only been to the site on a few occasions, myself. Parts of the map certainly look how I remember it. It was in Professor Bensons jacket pocket when he was found." Indy pointed to the edge of the sketch and said," It's drawn right up to the edge of the paper." He said. Robert shrugged and said, "So? Whoever drew it just wanted it as big as possible, I suppose."
"Then why not use a bigger piece of paper?" Indy replied.
"Or two pieces." Marcus added, innocently, then realising what he had said.
"Brilliant, Marcus. Well done." Indy exclaimed.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Jones," Smith said, puzzled. I don't follow you."
Indy laid the map on the table, pointing to the edge of the drawing where it seemed to run off the page.
"This is only half the map." He looked up. "Somewhere, there's the other half. We need to find it."
Smith looked at the map, thunderstruck. "Why on earth didn't I see that?" He said quietly. "I've studied that map dozens of times."
"Maybe it explains why you didn't completely recognise it as the Alexandria dig." Robert said, coming to his superiors defence.
Indy shook his head. "I don't think so." He said.
"What do you mean?" professor Smith asked.
Indy pointed to a wavy band drawn along one side of the map. "Would you say that's meant to be the river, running into the bay?" Smith looked closely. "Well, yes. Of course." He said.
Indy shook his head. "Uh huh." He said. "I know this area well. The river is no way that shape."
"Perhaps the map is just badly drawn." Robert ventured.
Indy shook his head. " No way." He answered. "The drawing may be sketchy but it's carefully laid out. I think the drawing is quite accurate."
"Then what are you thinking, Indy?" Marcus said.
Indy looked up. "We HAVE to find the other part of this. It's not a map of the Alexandria site. It's a map leading to Cleopatra's tomb."
He looked at the professor. "Where did this other guy, Ballard, or whatever, where did he live?"
"Ballard? Why, not far from here, actually. Why?"
"Just a hunch." Indy answered. " Too many coincidences. Too many people dead. Too many missing pieces and this guy Ballard ups and vanishes? And half the map's missing?"
Marcus nodded. "Ballards house?" He said, questioningly.
Indy picked up the papers and stuffed them in an inside pocket of his jacket. Smith was about to object, but Indy's expression changed his mind.
"Ballards house." Indy replied, looking at the professor to lead the way. Smith nodded, understanding the request. "Let us go, gentlemen." He said. Robert fidgeted uneasily. The professor noticed and said," Yes, you too, Robert."
Indy smiled. He liked the affable young man and felt sure he would prove useful.
As they left the Museum, Indy noted, not for the last time that it was still raining. Fortunately however, he also noticed that cabs were far easier to hail than back home. Within moments they were ensconced dry in a somewhat cramped and noisy, Indy thought, London taxi, on their way to Ballards apartments just off the Charing cross road. Marcus was busy once again absorbing as many of the sights and sounds as he could manage in the space of the rather short, expensive journey.
Indy made a somewhat caustic remark about Nazi's already being in England, disguised as taxi drivers.
The roads were not very busy and the driver had dropped them directly outside a long high white building of exquisite architecture before driving off.
"Early nineteenth century?" Marcus ventured. Smith looked up at the building and somewhat sheepishly said, "To be honest, Dr. Brody, I haven't a clue."
A screech of tyres made them all look round to see a large black saloon rounding the corner at high speed, heading toward them. Some strange, second sense warned Indy and he yelled, "Get down!" as a hail of machine gun bullets riddled the wall behind them seconds later. The car sped into the distance as Indy looked up from his prone position on the ground, holding his hat on his head with one hand, almost as if he were trying to hide under it, as if it would have protected him from the gun fire.
People were running, yelling, in all directions as Indy and the others stood up.
"Damn!" He cursed to himself. He looked around. No one was hurt.
"How did they miss us?" Marcus exclaimed, feeling himself all over just to make sure that in fact he hadn't been shot. Indy looked at the row of bullet holes in the building wall behind them. They had impacted at a height of around eight feet from the ground and as there were no windows in this stretch of the building, the damage was actually fairly minimal.
"They are either a lousy shot, or they didn't want to hit us."
Indy said, dusting himself down with his hat.
"What do you mean?" Asked Robert.
"Look at the holes. Those bullets would have gone over Robert Wallow's head, let alone Robert..." Indy stopped. "Robert what?" He said. "I don't even know your last name."
Robert coughed, obviously somewhat embarrassed. Professor Smith smiled, but said nothing. Indy saw the look.
"What?" He said, looking from Smith to Robert and back again.
"What?" He repeated, puzzled.
"My name is Robert." The young man said, sheepishly.
"I know that." Said Indy, more than a little baffled.
Robert coughed again. "No, you don't understand." He said. "My name is Robert. Robert Robert."
Indy looked at Marcus, who was grinning, then he himself looked the other way and coughed to cover a snigger.
"Well, Robert, ah, that is, Robert. Our friends in the car obviously don't want us dead." Indy shook his head. Something was not right about the whole affair but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Not yet. But he would. His interest in the whole business was growing all the time and looking at Smith, who was still carefully brushing the dust from his immaculate suit, he said, "Well, where to now?"
Professor Smith looked up at Indy and nodded toward a large portal to the end of the building.
"Apartment 9." He said, continuing to dust himself. Indy shook his head and with another look at the road in each direction, strode off toward the doorway.
There was a short flight of steps leading to a pair of high, ornately decorated gothic topped doors. In the centre of the left hand door was a brass bell pull. Indy tugged it and faintly, in the distance he heard a bell ring. Moments later, the door opened to reveal an old man in a neat dark blue uniform holding a tray. On it were two cups of tea. The man looked Indy up and down, giving him a somewhat disparaging look, and then saw professor Smith over Indy's shoulder. His face brightened at once.
"Ah. Professor Smith." He said, in a dry, raspy voice that reminded Indy sharply of the Mummies in the museum.
Smith stepped past Indy and said, "Hello Timms. We've just come to have another look around Mr. Bensons rooms."
Indy spotted a quick flash of coins changing hands and Timms coughed. "Thank you, sir." He said, stepping aside and letting the party enter. "You know the way." he said, disappearing once more back into a small, dimly lit room near the entrance and closing his door with a barely audible click.
Indy looked at Marcus and raised his eyebrows.
Smith led the way down a wide, richly carpeted corridor. Expensive drapes hung at windows to one side overlooking an ornate rose garden that would be beautiful in the spring.
Indy looked around. "They must pay better here than at home." He said.
"I never came here before this business started." professor Smith said, hearing Indy's comment. "If I had, perhaps things wouldn't have gone as far as they have. We certainly don't earn enough at the museum to pay for a place like this." He added, looking around at the expensive decor.
"Perhaps he was earning money in other ways." Marcus said almost to himself, again stating the obvious without realising it. Indy only nodded.
Smith stopped outside one of the many doors along the passage and drew out a key from his pocket. He winked knowingly to Indy. "The advantages of friends in high places."
Indy grinned back, slightly irritated by the mans cock-sure attitude. They entered Ballards apartments and stared around. Everything was neat and orderly, typically 'English', Indy thought and very much a larger version of professor Smiths office. There was no sign that the police had thoroughly searched and examined the place several times recently.
Indy, Smith, Marcus and Robert began a systematic search of the room, carefully removing drawers and even looking underneath them to see if anything was stuck there. They pulled back the carpets, searched in the folds of the drapes at the windows, down the backs of chairs, behind cupboards, between pages of books in the bookcase, in fact, everywhere they could think of. After perhaps an hour they stopped. "Do you think there's any chance we'll find anything?" Robert asked, almost nervously. He had never been to the room before and he stared around wide eyed, almost smelling the death in the air. He wanted to leave quickly.
"If there's another piece to the map here, we'll find it." Indy said, a note of dogged determination in his voice. Smith smiled inwardly, pleased that Indy's doubts were being overcome by his curiosity.
"But the police have already searched everywhere. We're only repeating what they must surely have already done." Robert continued, almost as if Indy hadn't spoken.
Marcus spoke up. "Mr. Robert, er, that is, Robert. Archaeologists are a funny breed. Nothing is ever straight forward. I think it has something to do with constantly having to search for hidden pieces of a puzzle. They tend to treat their own lives in the same way. Everything they do themselves becomes a puzzle. The piece of map will be hidden, or at least the trail to it will be." Marcus' words struck a note in the back of Indy's mind. And he thought deeply for a moment before turning and staring wide eyed at the book case against the wall. He strode over to the books, scanning the titles, using his index finger as a pointer.
"You've hit it again, Marcus." He said, almost triumphantly, pulling a book from the shelf. The others crowded around immediately. "What is it, Dr. Jones?" Smith asked urgently, excited. Indy turned the spine of the book so that they could all read it. "Caring for your cat." He read out. "What's this doing among a load of books on ancient history." He added, turning the book over and slowly flicking through the pages. He stopped, noting one page was starred in the top right corner in ink. It showed a poorly printed black and white photograph of a skinny, almost hairless cat sitting proudly upright. The similarity of the cat with the small figurines was uncanny.
"An Egyptian short hair." Indy said, sensing everyone's surprise. "Been around in Egypt for thousands of years. That's where their artists got their models."
Marcus leaned over Indy's shoulder to look more closely at the page. "What's that?" He asked, pointing to a faint pencil ring around the pictures sub heading. Smith read out the words.
"The authors cat, Euston." Indy turned the book over to read the authors name. ""James Tobbin." He looked at the others. "Mean anything to you guys?" He asked. They all nodded no. Indy looked back at the picture. "Perhaps it's the cats name that's important." He ventured, shaking his head, although the name 'Euston' meant nothing to him either.
"Er, well," Began Robert, nervously.
"Go on son, speak up if you have an idea." Said Indy, encouragingly.
Robert looked at the others, then coughed before continuing. "Well, it's just that there's a railway station not far from here called Euston." He ventured. Indy was interested but could see no useful connection. Then Robert added, "There's a left luggage office there. Maybe the map's hidden there."
Indy's face brightened, then fell again. "Surely there must be a key." Then a look of curiosity came over his face, followed by a smile. Gently, he bent the book spine back on itself and shook the book. Silently, a small key slid out, falling onto the carpet. Indy bent and picked it up, studying a number on the shank.
"One fifty five." He said, turning to the picture in the book gain, underlining the page number with his thumb.
"One hundred and fifty five." Marcus whispered.
"Indy snapped the book shut, stuffed it in his shoulder bag and jammed the key into his pocket.
"Well done, Robert." He said. "Lets go."
"Where?" Asked professor Smith, having slight difficulty keeping up with the speed of events.
Indy, Marcus and Robert all answered at the same time.
"Euston station." Within minutes, they had hailed a taxi and were on their way.
