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decorative?’ George wondered.
    â€˜They are canopic jars,’ Sir William explained. ‘As was the tradition, they are in the shapes of the sons of Horus. I forget their names, but as you can see, we have an ape, a falcon, a jackal and a human figure.’
    â€˜Jars?’ Eddie said. ‘You mean they open and there’s stuff inside?’
    â€˜I wouldn’t,’ Sir William warned as Eddie reached for the dog-like jackal-head of the nearest canopic jar.
    â€˜Why not?’
    â€˜Well, I was right. These jars and this chest do indeed belong with the mummy of Orabis. In fact, you could say they are part of the mummy. Part of the ancient process of mummification involved the removal of bodily organs. They were placed in these jars.’
    Eddie’s hand came away from the jar. ‘That’s just … disgusting,’ he said, screwing his face up. ‘What bodily organs?’ he asked after a moment.
    â€˜Liver, lungs, stomach and intestines, I think.’
    Eddie nodded, looking no happier. ‘That’s
really
disgusting.’
    Sir William was looking into the casket again. Hereached down into the larger compartment, feeling round. ‘Seems to be empty,’ he announced.
    â€˜What should be inside it?’ George asked.
    â€˜Well, nothing. We have the four canopic jars. So far, so ordinary and entirely as expected. But why have a compartment if there’s nothing to go in it?’
    â€˜Something’s been taken out?’ Eddie asked.
    â€˜Or perhaps the casket was a little too big, so there was space left after they divided it up for the jars,’ George said.
    Sir William drummed his fingers on the narrow dividing wall. ‘Possibly. Perhaps the inscription explains it.’ He crouched down in front of the casket, inspecting the hieroglyphs.
    â€˜So, what do all these symbols mean?’ George wanted to know.
    â€˜Mmm?’ Sir William straightened up, rubbing his chin as he considered. ‘I’m afraid I have no idea,’ he said at last. ‘Perhaps someone in Egyptology will be able to enlighten us. We should make a copy.’
    Eddie whistled. ‘Take a while for George to copy that lot in his sketchbook.
    â€˜Which is why,’ Sir William said, ‘we shall have photographs taken. If that photographer ever turns up.’
    â€˜Oh yes,’ Eddie said. ‘I knew there was something I had to tell you. There’s a man up in your office. I said I’d let you know. Anyway, he said something about photographs.’
    â€˜Anything else?’ George asked, sarcastically.
    Eddie nodded. ‘Murder.’ He grinned. ‘Photographs, and murder.’

CHAPTER 3

    Liz was unable to get away from home until she was sure her father was settled and asleep. He was frail and weak, and retired early so she was hopeful that the rehearsal would not yet have finished.
    Leaving a note for her father explaining that she had gone out and not to worry as she would be back soon, Liz made her way to the Parthenon Theatre. Her heart was pounding and she felt more nervous than she could remember. She tried to convince herself that it was better to arrive late than to be at the theatre on the stroke of six and watch the whole rehearsal. Of course, she wanted to see how the actors worked, how Henry Malvern organised and ran the session. But she did not wish to intrude.
    The theatre was large and imposing, built in the early 1850s. It dominated the small street in the West End of London where it was situated. It was not a theatre that Liz had been to, but she could imagine the audience spilling on to the narrow pavement at the end of a performance –talking about the play they had just seen, the experience they had shared …
    There was no sign of life from inside, though posters proclaimed: ‘Coming Soon –
The Lady of the Camellias
’, giving top billing to Henry Malvern and Marie Cuttler. Even more prominent