occasion to which I refer, Monsieur Pharos," I said, standing opposite him and speaking with a sternness that in the light of all that has transpired since seems almost ludicrous, "was an evening toward the end of March—a cold, wet night when you stood upon the steps below Cleopatra's Needle, and not only refused help to, but, in a most inhuman fashion, laughed at, a drowning man."
I half expected that he would offer a vehement denial, or would at least put forward the plea of forgetfulness. To my surprise, however, he did neither.
"I remember the incident perfectly," he answered, with the utmost composure. "At the same time, I assure you, you wrong me when you declare I laughed—on my word, you do! Let us suppose, however, that I did do so; and where is the harm? The man desired death; his own action confessed it, otherwise how came he there? It was proved at the inquest that he had repeatedly declared himself weary of life. He was starving; he was without hope. Had he lived over that night, death, under any circumstances, would only have been a matter of a few days with him. Would you therefore have had me, knowing all this, prolong such an existence? In the name of that humanity to which you referred just now, I ask you the question. You say I laughed. Would you have had me weep?"
"A specious argument," I replied; "but I own to you frankly I consider the incident a detestable one."
"There I will meet you most willingly," he continued. "From your point of view it certainly was. From mine—well, as I said just now, I confess I view it differently. However, I give you my assurance, your pity is undeserved. The man was a contemptible scoundrel in every way. He came of respectable stock, was reared under the happiest auspices. Had he chosen he might have risen to anything in his own rank of life; but he would not choose. At fifteen he robbed his father's till to indulge in debauchery, and had broken his parents' hearts before he was five-and-twenty. He married a girl as good as he was bad, and as a result starved not only himself but his wife and children. Though employment was repeatedly offered him, he refused it, not from any inability to work, but from sheer distaste of labour. He had not sufficient wit, courage, or energy to become a criminal; but throughout his life, wherever he went, and upon all with whom he came in contact, he brought misery and disgrace. Eventually he reached the end of his tether, and was cast off by every one. The result you know."
The fluency and gusto with which he related these sordid details amazed me. I inquired how, since by his own confession he had been such a short time in London, he had become cognisant of the man's history. He hesitated before replying.
"Have I not told you once before to-night," he said, "that there are very few things in this world which are hidden from my knowledge? Were it necessary, I could tell you circumstances in your own life that you flatter yourself are known to no one but yourself. But do not let us talk of such things now. When I entered the room you were reading a paper. You hold it in your hand at this moment."
"It is a translation of the inscription upon the mummy-case over yonder," I replied, with an eagerness to change the subject that provoked a smile in Pharos. "At his death many of his Egyptian treasures came into my possession, this among them. For some reason or another I had never read the translation until to-night. I suppose it must have been my meeting with you that put the idea into my head."
"I am interested in such matters, as you know. May I, therefore, be permitted to look at it?"
With a parade of indifference that I could easily see was assumed, Pharos had extended his withered old hand and taken it from me before I realised what he was doing. Having obtained it, he leaned back in his chair, and stared at the paper as if he could not remove his eyes from it. For some moments not a word passed his lips. Then, muttering something to himself in a language I did not recognise, he sprang to his feet. The quickness of the action was so different from his usual enfeebled movements that I did not fail to notice it.
"The mummy?" he cried. "Show me the mummy!"
Before I could answer or comply with his request, he had discovered it for himself, had crossed to it and was devouring it with his eyes.
Upward of three minutes must have elapsed before he turned to me again. When he did so, I scarcely recognised the man. So distorted was his countenance that I instinctively recoiled from him in horror.
"Thy father, was it, wretched man," he cried, shaking his skeleton fist at me, while his body trembled like a leaf in the whirlwind of his passion, "who stole this body from its resting-place? Thy father, was it, who broke the seals the gods had placed upon the tombs of those who were their servants? If that be so, then may the punishment decreed against the sin of sacrilege be visited upon thee and thine for evermore!" Then, turning to the mummy, he continued, as if partly to it and partly to himself: "Oh, mighty Egypt! hast thou fallen so far from thy high estate that even the bodies of thy kings and priests may no longer rest within their tombs, but are ravished from thee to be gaped at in alien lands? But, by Osiris, a time of punishment is coming. It is decreed, and none shall stay the sword!"
If I had been surprised at the excitement he had shown on reading the paper, it was nothing to the astonishment I felt now. For the first time since I had known him, a suspicion of his sanity crossed my mind, and my first inclination was to draw away from him. Then the fit, as I deemed it, passed, and his expression changed completely. He uttered a queer little laugh, that might have been one of shame or annoyance.
"Once more I must crave your forgiveness, Mr. Forrester," he said, as he sank exhausted into a chair. "Believe me, I had not the least intention of offending you. Your father was, I know, an ardent Egyptologist, one of that intrepid band who penetrated to every corner of our sacred land, digging, delving, and bringing to light such tombs, temples, and monuments as have for centuries lain hidden from the sight of man. For my own part, as you may have gathered from my tirade just now, my sympathies do not lie in that direction. I am one who reverences the past, and would fain have others do so."
"At the same time, I scarcely see that that justifies such language toward myself as you used a few moments since," I replied, with a fair amount of warmth, which I think it will be conceded I had every right to feel.
"It does not justify it in the least," he answered, with ready condescension. "The only way I can hope to do so is on the plea of the exuberance of my emotion. My dear Mr. Forrester, I beg you will not misunderstand me. I would not quarrel with you for the wealth of England. Though you are not aware of it, there is a bond between us that is stronger than chains of steel. You are required for a certain work, and for that reason alone I dare not offend you or excite your anger, even if I otherwise desired to do so. In this matter I am not my own master."
"A bond between us, Monsieur Pharos? A work for which I am required? I am afraid I do not understand what you mean."
"And it is not in my power to enlighten you. Remain assured of this, however, when the time is ripe you will be informed."
As he said this the same light that I have described before came into his eyes, causing them to shine with an unnatural brilliance. To use a fishing simile, it made me think of the gleam that comes into the eyes of a hungry pike as he darts toward his helpless prey. Taken in conjunction with the extraordinary language he had used toward me, I felt more than ever convinced of his insanity. The thought was by no means a cheerful one. Here I was, alone with a dangerous lunatic, in the middle of the night, and not a soul within call. How I was to rid myself of him I could not see. Under the circumstances, therefore, I knew that I must humour him until I could hit upon a scheme. I accordingly tried to frame a conciliatory speech, but before I could do so he had turned to me again.
"Your thoughts are easily read," he began, with a repetition of that queer little laugh which I have described before; and as he uttered it he leaned a little closer to me till I was sick and faint with the mere horror of his presence. "You think me mad, and it will require more than my assurance to make you believe that I am not. How slight is your knowledge of me! But there, let us put that aside for to-night. There is something of much greater importance to be arranged between us. In the first place, it is necessary both for your sake—your safety, if you like—and for mine, that yonder mummy should pass into my possession."
"Impossible!" I answered. "I could not dream of such a thing! It was one