Chapter 54
Jones and Deborah sat on the sofa and waited patiently as Victoria Davenport slowly and meticulously completed the preparation of tea for the three of them. While Indy sat patiently and silently his eyes worked overtime, scanning all around the large front sitting room in hopes of getting lucky and seeing the idol just sitting there; maybe as a paperweight on a desk, who knows?
But things were never that easy, right?
"Thank you again Mrs. Davenport for having us," Jones said politely as the woman finally sat down opposite them.
"Please call me Vicky," she said as she stirred sugar into her tea. "But then what brings you to my home today?" She got straight to the point. Jones liked that.
"Well…Vicky, as I said before I am an archaeologist," Jones said. "And I am in search of a piece of art, a sculpture, that has important archaeological significance."
She looked at him with her tired eyes but said nothing.
Jones then reached into his jacket and withdrew the scroll with the hand drawn sketch of the idol that old man McClung had given him. Carefully rolling it out, he showed it to her.
Her reaction surprised him.
Her eyes suddenly lost their tired look, and a slight smile crept across her lips.
"The Angry Little Man," she stated, as if instantly recognizing the drawing.
"The angry…?" Jones was puzzled.
"Yes," she said. "The Angry Little Man. That's what I always called him anyway."
"So you recognize this sculpture?" Jones struggled to contain his excitement.
"It was one of my favorites," She answered, still staring at the drawing. "It's been many years though since I've seen him."
"One of your favorites?" Jones again looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"Daddy had quite a collection," she looked up from the drawing. "He was an officer in the Royal Navy you know."
"Yes I do," Jones said.
"He traveled extensively, and had quite a collection of all sorts of knick-knacks and whatnot from all over the empire. Africa, Asia, India; my father was a collector of interesting works of art and sculpture, particularly what one might today call primitive, or aboriginal works of art."
She stared back down at the drawing again. Looking at the crouching little warrior seemed to draw her back to some long forgotten childhood memories. Memories that seemed to put a smile on her face and lighten the tired look in her eyes.
"I remember this figure," she continued on. "When I was a little girl I called him the 'Angry Little Man'. I remember asking Daddy why the little man looked so angry," she gave a little nostalgic laugh. "And Daddy said that maybe the little man was angry because he was so far from home, and he wanted to go home."
"But Mother hated his collection," she continued. "She made him keep it in the extra room behind his study; said she didn't want any ugly displays of savage heathen idolatry anywhere near her main drawing room."
"Yes, I understand," Jones nodded his head, though in actuality he would never understand such a narrow minded attitude. "But Victoria…do you still have the…..the Angry Little Man?"
"No," she said flatly. "Mother got rid of all of it shortly after Daddy passed."
Jones face dropped.
"Got ….rid of it?" He asked, unable to hide his disappointment.
"Got rid of the whole lot; the whole collection."
Jones was disappointed, but not defeated. "Do you know where, she 'got rid' of the collection?" He asked.
"If I'm not mistaken she boxed it all up and carted it off to the Bristol Museum," she answered. "Of course that would have been sometime around 1922 or '23. Richard and I were…Richard, that was my husband…..were still living in London at the time, so I can't be entirely certain. But I'm reasonably sure she carted the entire collection off to the Bristol Museum. I vaguely recall her telling me something about it at the time."
Jones looked at her. "Is your mom…..?"
"Mother passed in 1932 Mr. Jones," she answered his unfinished question. "After I received the inheritance, and the house here, Richard and I decided to move in and take up residence. All I know is that when we got here Daddy's collection was nowhere to be found."
"Have you ever looked for it?" Jones asked.
"Not really, but believe me Mr. Jones, if it were anywhere in this house Richard and I would have stumbled across it by now.
"May I speak with Richard?" Jones asked.
Victoria cast her eyes down. "Richard passed last year Mr. Jones"
"I'm so sorry," Jones said, now better understanding the tired look in her eyes.
After an awkward few moments of silence Victoria spoke again. "So if you are determined to find the Angry Little Man Mr. Jones I would recommend you contact the Bristol Museum."
Jones was already placing his fedora on his head and getting up off the sofa.
"Thank you very much Vicky, you've been of great help to us."
Two minutes later they were retracing their route from Clevedon back to Bristol. Crossing over the Clifton suspension bridge, they made their way into downtown and located the Bristol Museum and Art Gallery on Queens Road just as a light rain was beginning to fall.
The museum was a fine example of Edwardian Baroque architecture. The sand colored multi-story edifice rose up gracefully, supported by multiple Dorian columns and topped by impressive classical sculptures.
Jones and Deborah entered through the front entrance. Once inside they sought out museum staff and insisted on speaking with the curator. Jones used all his powers of persuasion and within five minutes they stood inside the office of Margarite Chatsworth, Curator, Bristol Museum and Art Gallery.
Jones gave a brief introduction and then got straight to the point. As he had done with John Allenby at the British Museum in London, he explained his plight in trying to locate the long lost archaeological piece, without divulging too much information.
"And you think this piece may be somewhere in my museum?" She said after Jones was finished.
Not only was she very young to be a Lead Curator, Jones thought to himself, she was also very pretty, with long dark hair and an olive complexion that appealed to him.
"Yes." He answered.
She studied the drawing of the idol laid out on her desk before her and then looked up again. "Well, I can tell you right now that we do not currently have any Pacific Island archaeological displays on exhibit, nor to my knowledge do we have any such piece as this," she pointed to the drawing. "Though it is an interesting looking sculpture."
"But you might have it in storage?" Jones asked hopefully.
"Doctor Jones, you are telling me that it would have been sometime around 1922 or '23 that the museum would have received it, well," she smiled. "That was quite a bit before I got here. I've only been here since '32."
"Perhaps you have some long time staff members who would remember receiving it?" Jones implored her. "It would have been received along with a lot of other pieces."
She shook her head and smiled. "The only current member of our staff I can think of who would have been here 15 years ago and still here today might be our janitor. But I don't think he would be of too much help."
Jones felt he was running into another dead end, but then he switched tactics. "Could we search for it? …search the museum?" He asked.
Margarite looked a little uneasy. "Well, I don't know Doctor Jones. I mean you walk into my museum off the street, demand to see me, and now you want to go digging around looking for some long lost piece. I don't really know who you are, nor do I want my museum turned upside down…."
"Do you know John Allenby?" Jones interrupted as politely as possible.
"John Allenby? Of course…..Egyptology, British Museum. I correspond with John on a regular basis."
"Would you mind calling him right now?" Jones pointed to the telephone on her desk. "He can vouch for me, I guarantee."
Margarite made the telephone call to the British Museum and got through to Allenby. After a brief and pleasant conversation she replaced the receiver.
"Well Doctor Jones, John speaks very highly of you. I place myself at your service," She said with a smile and a playful bow.
A few minutes later she escorted Jones and Deborah down the staircase into the basement of the museum. "I guess this is as good as anywhere to start looking," she said as she switched on the electric lights.
The lights revealed row after row of stacked shelves packed with all manner and sizes of boxes and crates. Indeed the task ahead would be daunting to say the least, Jones thought. But they had to start somewhere.
Margarite turned to go back up the stairs. "I'm going to take care of some paperwork in my office, after that I'll fix some tea, would you like some?"
Jones and Deborah both nodded. "That would be very nice, thank you," Deborah replied.
The two then began a systematic and meticulous search of the seemingly endless shelves; opening countless boxes and crates, but to no avail. After an hour of their fruitless efforts, Margarite returned.
"Tea's ready," she said, and then added "I was doing some thinking in my office just now Doctor Jones."
"Yes?" Indy said.
"Well I was thinking that being as this piece, if it had been brought to the museum so long ago, 15 years or so as you say, it might very well be stored in the sub basement."
"The sub basement?" Jones cocked his head slightly.
"Yes, there's a sub basement, another level below us here," she said.
Jones looked down at the floor.
"It's round here," she walked forward and around one of the large stacks of shelves.
"There," she said as she pointed to a sort of large trap door in the floor.
Jones bent down and grabbed hold of the handle of the door and lifted. It was heavy, and creaked on its hinges as if it had not been opened in a very long time.
His nostrils were immediately filled with a strong, musty, pungent scent of earth and mold.
"How often do you go down there?" He asked.
"Essentially, never," the young museum curator answered. "I'm just going on a hunch."
Jones nodded approvingly. Thus far hunches had worked out fairly well, he thought.
"But you'd probably be wise to let it air for a bit before going down there," Margarite cautioned. "Why don't we go back to my office for tea first, give it some time to air, then we can go exploring down there. I'm a bit curious myself."
Much as he wanted to continue searching, Jones knew it was best not to immediately go down into the sub basement. He'd crawled around in enough tombs to know the dangers of toxic gasses in long unopened spaces. Besides, he was beginning to tire and could use the tea.
Back in the curator's office the three of them enjoyed the late afternoon tea. The museum had closed a half hour ago, and Jones knew that the woman was staying late in order to help them.
"I appreciate you staying here late to help us Margarite," he said to her.
She smiled warmly at him. "Oh it's no problem Doctor Jones. I had a lot of paperwork to catch up on anyway. Oh and please, you can call me Rita."
"Well, thank you Rita," he said. "And you can call me Indy."
"Indy?"
"Short for Indiana," Jones explained.
"Indiana? Isn't that one of the states?"
"It's a long story," Jones smiled.
"I'd like to hear it sometime," she said.
Indy couldn't help noticing that Rita was giving him the 'eye' just a bit. Or maybe it was just his vanity, and his imagination. No, it wasn't his imagination… Anyway, Jones was taking a liking to the young museum curator
Deborah threw him an icy stare. But oddly, Jones didn't detect a hint of jealousy; it was more of a 'focus on the mission' kind of icy stare.
They finished tea.
Twenty minutes later they stood at the top of the stairs leading to the sub basement. Rita had accompanied them also, and led the way down the somewhat ancient looking stone steps. Jones followed.
As soon as he began descending, the strong scent of earthy mustiness dominated his sense of smell.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs and looked around, for a brief moment he was disheartened. The sub basement was a mess of broken crates, molded boxes, and other rotted remnants of long forgotten museum displays and other refuse; a deserted tomb of lost and forgotten relics.
Then suddenly another of Jones five senses began to send him a signal.
Just as had occurred at Avebury earlier in the day, the good luck 'faerie cross' staurolite crystal Jones carried in his front right pocket began to vibrate. However this vibration seemed significantly stronger than that which he'd experienced at Avebury.
Indiana Jones reached his hand into his pocket and withdrew the crystal. For whatever reason he did not want to call any attention to it and so he closed his fist around it and kept it concealed.
The strong vibrations made no sound, but continued to strongly pulse.
Many thoughts passed through Jones' mind as he contemplated the strange phenomena occurring inside his tightly clenched fist. Could there be some connection? Was it possible? Anti-gravity? Energy fields? Ley lines? Whatever was occurring, Jones' thoughts went back to the things old man McClung had said about what he had seen on Pohnpei Island. He remembered particularly what McClung had said about the vibrations in the chamber of the temple
"It was not the kind of vibration that you could hear, but more like the kind that you can feel."
And then Indiana Jones' archaeological sixth sense kicked in.
He knew it! The idol was here. In this room! Just follow the vibrations.
Rita and Deborah both looked around, their faces pinched in simultaneous disagreement with the strong musty smell of the sub basement. They were both unsure of just where to begin, but Jones knew exactly what to do.
Without being obvious Indy held his hand out, the one in which his clenched fist held the staurolite crystal, and ….followed the vibrations. Moments later he stood before a molded old crate that had been nailed shut. The nails themselves were now old and rusted.
It's in there! Jones thought confidently.
"Do you have a crow bar? …..or something else I can use to open this?" He pointed to the crate.
"I'll take a look upstairs," Rita said, eager to leave the creepy claustrophobic space.
A few moments later she tossed a large rusty screw driver down the steps. "Will this work?!" She shouted from above.
Jones picked it up and went to work on the crate. It didn't take long before he had the lid off and was looking at a crate full of newspaper.
Actually it was a tightly packed crate full of fascinating figures and pieces of art, each carefully wrapped in newspaper. Jones noted the date on the newspaper pages…..November 22nd, 1922.
BINGO …again.
Indy unwrapped package after package, revealing a most interesting menagerie. But it was only a matter of time, and in due course he picked up a small package near the bottom of the crate. He slowly and carefully removed the tightly wound page of 1922 newsprint, that sported an elaborate ad for 'Parnaby's Miracle Hair Tonic'.
A moment later the 'Angry Little Man' emerged, grinning, happy to be liberated after so many years of forced exile, and hibernation.
…And eager to go home.
