Nora wondered at the man’s ability to pile on non sequiturs. “Wasn’t it a kind of natural history collection?”
“Precisely. It was the precursor to the natural history museum. Many educated gentlemen of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries collected strange artifacts while roaming the globe—fossils, bones, shrunken heads, stuffed birds, that sort of thing. Originally, they simply displayed these artifacts in cabinets, for the amusement of their friends. Later—when it became clear people would pay money to visit them—some of these cabinets of curiosities grew into commercial enterprises. They still called them ‘cabinets of curiosities’ even though the collections filled many rooms.”
“What does this have to do with the murders?”
“In 1848, a wealthy young gentleman from New York, Alexander Marysas, went on a hunting and collecting expedition around the world, from the South Pacific to Tierra del Fuego. He died in Madagascar, but his collections —most extraordinary collections they were—came back in the hold of his ship. They were purchased by an entrepreneur, John Canaday Shottum, who opened J. C. Shottum’s Cabinet of Natural Productions and Curiosities in 1852.”
“So?”
“Shottum’s Cabinet was the building that once stood above the tunnel where the skeletons were found.”
“How did you find all this out?”
“Half an hour with a good friend of mine who works in the New York Public Library. The tunnel you explored was, in fact, the coal tunnel that serviced the building’s original boiler. It was a three-story brick building in the Gothic Revival style popular in the 1850s. The first floor held the cabinet and something called a ‘Cyclorama,’ the second floor was Shottum’s office, and the third floor was rented out. The cabinet seems to have been quite successful, though the Five Points neighborhood around it was at the time one of Manhattan’s worst slums. The building burned in 1881. Shottum died in the fire. The police report suspected arson, but no perpetrator was ever found. It remained a vacant lot until the row of tenements was built in 1897.”
“What was on the site before Shottum’s Cabinet?”
“A small hog farm.”
“So all those people must have been murdered while the building was Shottum’s Cabinet.”
“Exactly.”
“Do you think Shottum did it?”
“Impossible to know as of yet. Those glass fragments I found in the tunnel were mostly broken test tubes and distillation apparatus. On them, I found traces of a variety of chemicals that I have yet to analyze. We need to learn a great deal more about J. C. Shottum and his cabinet of curiosities. I wonder if you would be so kind as to accompany me?”
He obligingly opened the door to her office, and Nora automatically followed him into the hallway. He continued talking as they walked down the hall and took an elevator to the fifth floor. As the elevator doors hissed open, Nora suddenly came to her senses.
“Wait a minute. Where are we going? I’ve got work to do.”
“As I said, I need your help.”
Nora felt a short jolt of irritation: Pendergast spoke so confidently, as if he already owned her time. “I’m sorry, but I’m an archaeologist, not a detective.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Is there a difference?”
“What makes you think I’d be interested?”
“You already are interested.”
Nora fumed at the man’s presumption, although what he said was perfectly true. “And just how will I explain this to the Museum?”
“That, Dr. Kelly, is the nature of our appointment.”
He pointed to a door at the end of the hall, with the name of the occupant in gold lettering on a wooden plaque.
“Oh, no,” groaned Nora. “No.”
They found Roger Brisbane ensconced in his Bauhaus chair, crisp Turnbull & Asser shirt rolled up at the cuffs, looking every inch the lawyer. His prized gems still nestled in their glass box, the only touch of warmth in the cold immaculate office. He nodded toward two chairs opposite his desk. It did not look like Brisbane was in a good mood.
“Special Agent Pendergast,” Brisbane said, glancing from his appointment book up to Pendergast without acknowledging Nora. “Now, why is that name familiar?”
“I’ve done work in the Museum before,” said Pendergast, in his creamiest drawl.
“Who did you work for?”
“You misapprehend. I said I did work
Brisbane waved his hand. “Whatever. Mr. Pendergast, I enjoy my quiet mornings at home. I fail to see what the emergency was that required my presence in the office at such an hour.”
“Crime never sleeps, Mr. Brisbane.” Nora thought she detected a note of dry humor in Pendergast’s voice.
Brisbane’s eyes veered toward Nora, then away again. “Dr. Kelly’s responsibilities are here. I thought I made that clear on the telephone. Normally the Museum would be delighted to help the FBI, but I just don’t see how we can in this particular case.”
Instead of answering, Pendergast’s gaze lingered on the gems. “I didn’t know the famous Mogul Star Sapphire
