The Crozier Pharaohs (Mrs. Bradley) Read online

  Titles by Gladys Mitchell

  Speedy Death (1929)

  The Mystery of a Butcher’s Shop (1929)

  The Longer Bodies (1930)

  The Saltmarsh Murders (1932)

  Death at the Opera (1934)

  The Devil at Saxon Wall (1935)

  Dead Men’s Morris (1936)

  Come Away, Death (1937)

  St. Peter’s Finger (1938)

  Printer’s Error (1939)

  Brazen Tongue (1940)

  Hangman’s Curfew (1941)

  When Last I Died (1941)

  Laurels Are Poison (1942)

  Sunset Over Soho (1943)

  The Worsted Viper (1943)

  My Father Sleeps (1944)

  The Rising of the Moon (1945)

  Here Comes a Chopper (1946)

  Death and the Maiden (1947)

  The Dancing Druids (1948)

  Tom Brown’s Body (1949)

  Groaning Spinney (1950)

  The Devil’s Elbow (1951)

  The Echoing Strangers (1952)

  Merlin’s Furlong (1953)

  Faintley Speaking (1954)

  On Your Marks (1954)

  Watson’s Choice (1955)

  Twelve Horses and the Hangman’s Noose (1956)

  The Twenty-Third Man (1957)

  Spotted Hemlock (1958)

  The Man Who Grew Tomatoes (1959)

  Say It with Flowers (1960)

  The Nodding Canaries (1961)

  My Bones Will Keep (1962)

  Adders on the Heath (1963)

  Death of a Delft Blue (1964)

  Pageant of Murder (1965)

  The Croaking Raven (1966)

  Skeleton Island (1967)

  Three Quick and Five Dead (1968)

  Dance to Your Daddy (1969)

  Gory Dew (1970)

  Lament for Leto (1971)

  A Hearse on May-Day (1972)

  The Murder of Busy Lizzie (1973)

  A Javelin for Jonah (1974)

  Winking at the Brim (1974)

  Convent on Styx (1975)

  Late, Late in the Evening (1976)

  Noonday and Night (1977)

  Fault in the Structure (1977)

  Wraiths and Changelings (1978)

  Mingled with Venom (1978)

  Nest of Vipers (1979)

  The Mudflats of the Dead (1979)

  Uncoffin’d Clay (1980)

  The Whispering Knights (1980)

  The Death-Cap Dancers (1981)

  Lovers, Make Moan (1981)

  Here Lies Gloria Mundy (1982)

  Death of a Burrowing Mole (1982)

  The Greenstone Griffins (1983)

  Cold, Lone and Still (1983)

  No Winding Sheet (1984)

  The Crozier Pharaohs (1984)

  Gladys Mitchell writing as Malcolm Torrie

  Heavy as Lead (1966)

  Late and Cold (1967)

  Your Secret Friend (1968)

  Shades of Darkness (1970)

  Bismarck Herrings (1971)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © The Executors of the Estate of Gladys Mitchell 1984

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle, 2014

  www.apub.com

  First published Great Britain in 1984 by Michael Joseph

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  E-ISBN: 9781477869369

  A Note about this E-Book

  The text of this book has been preserved from the original British edition and includes British vocabulary, grammar, style, and punctuation, some of which may differ from modern publishing practices. Every care has been taken to preserve the author’s tone and meaning, with only minimal changes to punctuation and wording to ensure a fluent experience for modern readers.

  To Ishma and Crispin

  Acknowledgement

  The author gives grateful thanks to Dr. Monica Still, hon. secretary of the Pharaoh Hounds Club, for her invaluable information regarding these splendid dogs.

  Contents

  Doggerel

  1 Mainly For Dog-Fanciers

  2 Eccentric Patient

  3 A Thief in the Dog-Watches

  4 Dead in the River

  5 Theories and Speculations

  6 The Poacher’s Story

  7 Trouble at Crozier Lodge

  8 Kennel-Maid

  9 Poacher and Doctor

  10 Dead in the Valley

  11 Scalpels

  12 Information From Crozier Lodge

  13 Brother and Sister

  14 Full Marks For Artistic Impression

  15 Watersmeet Again

  16 Exhumations

  17 Judgement Suspended

  About the Author

  Doggerel

  The hounds in this my story

  Are overmatched in glory

  By those whose names they carry,

  Yet here Nile gods may tarry.

  Isis, Osiris, falcon-headed Horus,

  Nephthys, Anubis, Amon, bay in chorus.

  Gods named these hounds, for better or for worse,

  For dog, heaven bless us!—god is…in reverse.

  1

  Mainly For Dog-Fanciers

  “I’ve been looking them up while I was in London,” said Laura.

  “Friends of yours?” asked Dame Beatrice.

  “No. I’ve never met them.” Perceiving a look of innocent enquiry on her employer’s yellow countenance, Laura hastened to add, “Oh, I see what you mean. In saying I’ve been looking them up, I was referring to a spot of research I’ve done into the history of those hounds the Rant sisters told us they keep. Very interesting. Do you know that the breed has remained true to type for more than five thousand years?”

  “Dear me! Then the Pharaoh hound must be the oldest domesticated dog in the world. I see that you are bursting with your newly acquired knowledge. Share it with me while I get on with my knitting.”

  “What’s it supposed to be?” Laura looked critically at the shapeless mess of wool which cascaded from Dame Beatrice’s wooden knitting needles.

  “Well,” said its creator, regarding her handiwork with toleration, “it began as a pullover, but it seems to have lost its way.”

  “Haven’t you got a pattern?”

  “No. I hoped my innate genius would suffice.”

  “Who is the pullover meant to fit?”

  “I have no idea. I thought I would knit it and then bestow it when I saw what size it turned out to be.”

  “One way of doing things, I suppose.”

  “Tell me about these Pharaoh hounds. They will distract my mind from this disastrous attempt at improvisation.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take it back to its stitches of origin after dinner and knit it up again to fit Rory. He’s the only one of your relations who would be seen dead in that colour. Tell you about the Rant Pharaohs? Right.”

  Laura’s account of the hobby of the Rant sisters was given with conviction and enthusiasm. The Pharaoh hounds came originally from Egypt, as, with such a name, they could scarcely fail to do. They were the hunting dogs of Egyptian kings and nobles, although there was a bas-relief with hieroglyphics from the reign of Amenemhet the First which indicated that wealthy farmers used the hound
s as herd dogs for cattle. The picture showed a man in a rather inadequate lower garment followed by an alert-looking dog. The man, flourishing a stout stick, and the dog, with tail in air, were advancing towards two fighting bulls which had managed to get their horns interlocked. The dog had a collar with two loose ends which reminded Laura (she said) of the bands which eighteenth-century clergymen used to wear. “I say,” said Laura, breaking off, “I wouldn’t do any more of that knitting until you’ve let me see to it. The length of it is beginning to make me think of Eternity, a concept I can’t absorb.”

  “I feel the same about what the astronomers tell us of Outer Space,” said Dame Beatrice, obediently laying aside her knitting.

  “Time and Space, and we’re back to Einstein, I suppose,” said Laura. “Do you think jet lag comes into it somewhere?”

  “Go on about your visit to London,” said her employer. “You appear to have filled in your time well.”

  “Oh, the Pharaoh hounds, yes. Of course I did see quite a lot of Gavin while I was there.”

  “It has always intrigued me that you call your husband by his surname, even to his face.”

  “Well, Robert is the rather facetious name which used to be given by students and other semi-educated persons to the bobby on the beat. As you know, Ian is Gavin’s other name, but I don’t use it for fear of confusing him with my brother. That’s all there is to it. As for my researches, there were hieroglyphics with the picture of the farmer, the dog, and the bulls and I was given a translation of the name of the dog. It was ‘Breath of Life of Senbi.’ I think it must be Breath of Life who has been adopted by the Pharaoh Hound Club as their badge.”

  “You appear to have gone deeply into the matter of the man, the hound, and the bulls.”

  “I managed to get a lot of other information, too. Another of the Pharaoh breed is depicted on the tomb of Antefa the Second, a Pharaoh of the eleventh dynasty. I also came upon a tribute to a hound which was guard dog to a king of the fifth dynasty. He thought so highly of the dog that when it died he commissioned a special coffin from the royal treasury, together with much fine linen, incense, and perfumed ointment, and the burial was carried out with all the ceremony due to one of noble birth and high rank.”

  “Did the king expect to find the hound waiting to guard him again when he, too, reached the hereafter? One hardly imagines the need for a guard dog after one has gone to join the immortals.”

  “It seems that the Pharaoh’s main idea was to make the hound acceptable to the jackal-headed god Anubis. Perhaps he thought a hound and a jackal might have something in common. I wrote down the dog’s name, but I can’t pronounce it and I don’t know what it means in English, if it has a meaning. Anyway, the hound guarded in its lifetime the king of Upper and Lower Egypt and I hope it was admitted to Sekhtet Hetes, the land of the happy dead, and passed the test of being weighed against the Feather of Righteousness. As for the present-day hounds,” went on Laura, “if I hadn’t got my couple of Dobermanns, I’m dashed if I wouldn’t go in for Pharaohs. They come up as being lively, affectionate, intelligent creatures with perfect temperaments, good with children—although that would hardly matter in my case, now that Hamish and Eiladh are grown up and have left home—”

  “They might be welcomed by Eiladh’s two boys though,” said Dame Beatrice. “You were wondering what to give them for Christmas.”

  “Today’s great thought. I’ll see what Eiladh and Tom have to say. You can’t just wish a couple of lively young pups on to people, and kids are apt to get bored when the puppy stage is over and responsibility has to be taken to feed and exercise grown dogs.”

  “A couple, did you say?”

  “Certainly. One for each boy. Besides, it’s kinder to the hounds. They will have been used to company.”

  “Are these Pharaoh hounds very large dogs?”

  Laura answered the question in detail. They were what she would call medium-sized. The males would be from twenty-two to twenty-five inches tall, the bitches a little smaller at twenty-one to twenty-four inches.

  “Unless you prefer it in centimetres,” said Laura, looking up from her notes.

  “No, no. I much prefer our country’s ancient measurements. I can see the virtues of the metric system where money and what one may call general arithmetic are concerned, but give me an honest yard of cloth and seventeen hundred and sixty yards to the mile. However, I am interrupting you. What colour are these hounds?”

  “Tan, with white markings. A white tip to the tail seems to be an asset, also a white ‘star,’ so-called, on the chest is OK. White on the toes is all right and the judges at dog shows will permit a narrow white blaze down the centre of the face. What you mustn’t have are white flecks on the coat. Pharaohs are smooth-coated dogs. I must say I much prefer that, when it comes to grooming them. These hounds have rather deep-set, amber-coloured eyes. I’ve copied down the full standard as laid down by the Kennel Club, so if I do give a couple to young Nigel and Barry, I know what to look out for. Oh, and characteristic of the breed are their fine large ears. You can see them pricked and erect in all the ancient Egyptian representations. There is a hunting scene in the tomb chapel of Sembi at Meir in Upper Egypt, and there is a statue in black basalt of an Egyptian hound in the Louvre. Unfortunately its ears have been broken off, but they must have been erect, or that couldn’t have happened.

  “Another tomb picture I was shown was a hunting scene. It was lively and detailed. There were hounds, deer, and a chap with bow and arrows. On the papyrus of Anhai, showing scenes from the land of the happy dead, there are two of the hounds, one on either side of a stream and each is followed by a man. The caption in the book I read says the animals are cattle and that the man is ploughing, but neither looked likely to me. It’s true that one of the animals is spotted, but so is the bitch in a copy I saw of a mural in the tomb of”—Laura referred to her notes again—“in the tomb of Khnumhotep, near Beni Hasan. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

  “Date?” asked Dame Beatrice, amused by Laura’s absorption in her subject matter.

  “Don’t mock! The date was around 1900 BC, and the artist lived at some time during the twelfth dynasty. What’s more, there’s a picture in our exhibition catalogue of the Treasures of Tutankhamun. It looks like hounds attacking deer.”

  “I must look at the catalogue again. But what has caused you to take so much interest in these hounds that you spent so much time finding out about them while you were in London?”

  “The Rant sisters, Bryony and Morpeth, are interesting people, and I’m still wondering what made them take such an interest in these hounds, so I thought a bit of research and an application to the hon. sec. of the Pharaoh Hound Club would help me to fathom Bryony and Morpeth. Anyway, I’ve always been interested in Ancient Egypt and, like a lot of people, superstitious about it. I’ve got a hunch that something very strange is going to happen in connection with the Rant sisters and these hounds.”

  “Your hunches make me superstitious, not to say extremely nervous. At any rate, you appear to have immersed yourself in your subject.”

  “Meaning you’ve had enough of it. But it’s the same with everything, isn’t it? Once you get involved, you go from strength to strength. Once you get yourself really interested, it’s like being in a maze. You pursue this avenue and that, make a number of false assumptions, and go back and make a fresh start. Sometimes it must seem to researchers that the maze has neither centre nor exit. You just follow your nose and hope for the best.”

  “I am beginning to wonder whether a suggestion I made a short time ago was a wise one.”

  “What suggestion would that be? Oh, I know. Christmas presents for the two kids. What is wrong with it? I think it’s a red-hot idea if Eiladh and Tom agree. I would much rather give them pedigree animals than cross-breeds or mongrels. Not that I’ve got anything against either, but, after all, the best is the best and, fortunately for me, the price doesn’t matter. I’ve rather set my heart on these puppies.”
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  “That is obvious. However, I do have certain misgivings. Do you not think that Nigel and Barry are over-young to be in charge of such valuable and beautiful animals as your Pharaoh hounds?”

  “My bet is that in no time the hounds will be looked after by the whole household, although still the nominal property of the boys. Eiladh loves dogs and I’m sure these Pharaohs will interest Tom. Children ought always to have pets, although there must be adequate supervision, of course, and the kids geared to face up to their responsibilities. It’s very good training, actually, if it’s done properly.”

  “Does it not spoil a hound to make too much of a pet of it?”

  “Yes, I suppose so, if you intend it to follow its nature and its calling. The Maltese, who have preserved the breed, train them for rabbiting, but it’s hardly likely the boys will be allowed to use them for that sort of thing. I see the hounds as pets because of their temperament, and as show dogs because of their beauty and comparative rarity. They have been known in this country only since the early 1930s and then they seem to have disappeared in England until another pair was brought here in 1963 and then eight more came in 1968. Crufts have recognised the breed and America is also taking an interest.”

  “How does Malta come into the story?”

  “The Phoenicians, those indefatigable travellers and traders, took some of the dogs to Malta from Egypt and, to their great credit, seem to have preserved the breed more or less intact.”

  “The Maltese have terriers of their own, have they not?”

  “Yes. I wouldn’t really want to own one, though. The only terriers I really care about are the lively, gallant little Yorkshires.”

  “But how unpatriotic, when Scotland has the West Highland, the Aberdeen, and other terriers of its own.”

  “Yes, but as Wodehouse points out, our Scottish terriers are all too apt to look like disapproving elders of the kirk. Give me a large deerhound or a tiny Yorkie any day, rather than an Aberdeen or a West Highland or a Cairn. I only wish the Rants would ask us over there to see them—the hounds, I mean. I doubt whether they’d bring them when they come to see us.”

  “The sisters Rant are not intending to become commercial breeders, are they?”