Bless You, Agent Pendergast, Margo thought. The last thing she felt like doing was going back down into the exhibition.
Frock sighed. “No matter, we’ll know soon enough. Once Pendergast leaves, we’ll learn the truth. This Mbwun figurine could be the additional proof I’ve been searching for. If, that is, you are correct about the claws matching the lacerations in the victim.”
“But how could such a creature be loose in the Museum?” Margo asked.
“Ah!” Frock exclaimed, eyes shining. “That’s the question, is it not? And let me answer a question with a question. What thing, my dear Margo, is rugose?”
“I don’t know,” Margo said. “Rugose, as in bumpy?”
“Yes. It’s a regular pattern of ridges, wrinkles, or creases. I’ll tell you what’s rugose. Reptilian eggs are rugose. As are dinosaur eggs.”
A sudden current passed through Margo as she remembered. “That’s the word—“
“—that Cuthbert used to describe the seed pods missing from the crate,” Frock finished her sentence. “I ask you: were they really seed pods‘? What kind of seed pod would look wrinkled and scaly? But an egg ...
Frock drew himself up in his wheelchair. “Next question. Where have they gone? Were they stolen? Or did something else happen to them?”
Abruptly, the scientist stopped, sinking back in his wheelchair, shaking his head.
“But if something ... if something hatched, something broke out of the crates,” Margo said, “how does that explain the killings on board the freighter that carried the crates from South America?”
“Margo,” Frock said, laughing quietly, “what we have here is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. It is essential that we gather more facts without wasting additional time.”
There was a soft rapping at the door.
“That must be Pendergast,” Frock said, drawing back. Then, louder: “Come in, please!”
The agent walked in, carrying a briefcase, his black suit as ever impeccable, his blond white hair brushed back from his face. To Margo, he looked as collected and placid as before. When Frock gestured to one of the Victorian chairs, Pendergast seated himself.
“A pleasure to see you again, sir,” Frock said. “You’ve met Miss Green. We were once again in the middle of something just now, so I hope you won’t mind if she remains.”
Pendergast waved his hand. “Of course. I know you’ll both continue to respect my request for confidentiality.”
“Of course,” said Frock.
“Dr. Frock, I know you’re busy and I’ll keep this short,” Pendergast began. “I was hoping you’d had some success in locating the artifact we spoke about. An artifact that might have been used as a weapon in these murders.”
Frock shifted in the wheelchair. “As you requested, I considered the matter further. I ran a search of our accession database, both for single items and for items that could potentially have been broken apart and recombined.” He shook his head. “Unfortunately, I found nothing that even remotely resembled the imprint you showed us. There has never been anything like it in the collections.”
Pendergast’s expression betrayed nothing. Then he smiled. “Officially, we’d never admit this, but the case is—shall we say—a trying one.” He indicated his briefcase. “I am awash in false sightings, lab reports, interviews. But we’re slow in finding a fit.”
Frock smiled. “I believe, Mr. Pendergast, that what you do and what I do are not all that different. I’ve been in the same predicament myself. And no doubt His Eminence is acting as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening.”
Pendergast nodded.
“Wright is very eager that the exhibition go on as scheduled tomorrow night. Why? Because the Museum spent millions it didn’t really have to put it together. It’s vital that admissions be increased to keep the Museum from slipping into the red. This exhibition is seen as the best way to do that.”
“I see,” Pendergast said. He picked up a fossil lying on a table next to his chair, turning it over idly, in his hand. “Ammonite?” he asked.
“Correct,” replied Frock.
“Dr. Frock—” Pendergast began. “Pressure is now being brought to bear from a variety of quarters. As a result, I must be doubly careful to conduct this investigation by the book. I can’t share our results with outside entities such as yourself—even when the conventional avenues of investigation are proving fruitless.” He put down the fossil carefully and crossed his arms. “That said, do I understand correctly that you are an expert on DNA?”
Frock nodded. “That’s partly true. I have devoted some study to how genes affect morphology—the shape of an organism. And I oversee the projects of various graduate students—such as Gregory Kawakita, and Margo here—whose studies involve DNA research.”