We told him some of these fantastic tales and asked him about his health. Had he ever had any accidents during his work? He smiled and then laughed. We laughed and then smiled as he made fun of the whole type of story. His burly health and sound common sense seemed an assurance in favour of the life he led. He looked like a retired football-player with a sense of humour, not in the least like a man who devoted his soul to unwrapping the dead and, when possible, to deciphering their hidden secrets. He told us some interesting things, but quite scientific, about Egyptians and their writings.
After dinner we tried him again, especially about the famous mummy in the British Museum which had wrought such devastation. This particular case had never crossed his path. He had read about it in the papers. In fact he looked to the daily Press for all the exciting sidelights of his profession, but those kind of things didn’t happen as a rule. He was disinclined to believe this wonderful tale, and he smiled and laughed in turn. But the simpler theories of the spiritualists which we propounded to him he was willing to accept, because, he said, there were no facts to prove or controvert them.
As far as facts stood, he insisted that he must remain a materialist. He had never investigated the spirits of those whom he unravelled, but he was interested when we suggested that the Egyptians were thinking of their spirits rather than their bodies when they went to such elaborate lengths of bodily preservation; our theory being that the astral body, or ghost, is entirely delivered by fire or cremation, but in the case of earth-burial is liable to linger perhaps as long as the process of decay itself. This was more so the case when the body was laid away secretly or ill-buried behind panelling or under flooring.
Suicides were often earth-bound, and this seemed to be the reason why in the Middle Ages their bodies were staked at the cross-roads. Somebody suggested that people who had been burnt never left a ghost. By the burning of the astral body they escaped instantly to the next plane. But no cut-and-dried rule could be laid down. Some occultists were deeply opposed to the destruction of the astral body involved in cremation. Others welcomed the great release.
The Egyptians seemed to have gone to the opposite extreme, as their complicated burial system was an effort to retain the body and its astral shape together in the indefinite silence of the tombs. As long as the body was undecayed, the astral body remained. There must be some powerful reason behind the amazing immobility which they decreed to their dead. No other race had made the tomb its national monument. What a people! Their art was devoted to the dead, and their hierarchy was one of undertakers!
Naturally, our view, being based a little on rumoured happenings, was that the ghost was unable to escape from the undecaying mummy, but that when the coffins were opened and the spices and preservatives were interfered with anything might happen. Astral forms, though reduced to feeble transparency by time, were bound to pass out. In some cases it was possible that they should assume a malevolent medium, but it was difficult to say how long they survived the opening of the coffins in which they had been immobile so long.
This was pure theory, and our wise old friend took it very well. He was even considerate. Yes, it might be so. He was bound to take a scientific attitude himself towards mummies. He had dug them up as stolidly as other men dig up potatoes or nuggets, according to their respective callings. He had examined, dissected, labelled, and exported them. He had packed them for the post and arranged them on shelves. He had lectured about them holding specimens in his hand, and here he was. He had often arranged for them to be photographed. We listened very humbly.
But when he mentioned photography he ceased in his talk. We thought he became rather more solemn, and, as though unwilling to carry us over relentlessly to his own arguments, he was giving us a chance of recovery.
‘Talking of photography, I do remember something happening which to my mind remains quite unexplained.’
We begged him to tell us. He seemed unwilling, but with great fairness he told us what seemed to be a singular exception against his theories and belief that mummies could be dealt with like merchandise from the grocer or the apothecary.
‘Yes, there was one event in my life which remains inexplicable. I was collecting Egyptian curios for an amateur who had commissioned me to buy whatever genuine stuff came into the market. One day a traveller called and asked me if I were interested in mummy-cases. I replied I certainly was, provided they had not been manufactured in Paris with French paupers’ bodies wrapped up in modern preservatives. He said he had no mummy, but an Egyptian coffin-board to dispose of—and that immediately. He asked me if I could feel interested in a single board, which was painted with hieroglyphics from the Book of the Dead. What he showed me was rare and interesting, and I asked him the price.
“Oh, it’s valuable, is it?” he asked. “May I inquire what it would fetch in the auction rooms?” I was prepared to do an honest deal with him, and I said that such a rarity was worth two hundred pounds to me.
“Well,” he snapped, “suppose I were to let you have it for nothing!”
‘“As a gift? Well, I should be very grateful.”
‘Before I could speak further, he said: “Done! You can have it, but on one condition—that you fetch it from my address today.”
‘It was already late in the afternoon, and I doubted if I could get my furnisher’s van round to him before it was put away for the night. I suggested coming next day. No, it must be that afternoon—before midnight or never. I did not wish to lose such a chance, and called my workmen back from supper to perform a special job. That evening the painted plank stood in my study, and my benefactor, with a sigh of relief, shook my hands and I never saw him again.
‘That night the plank remained in my rooms, and I was complimenting myself on my luck in picking up such a good item. Suddenly the bell rang, and some excitable gentlemen arrived who said they were spiritualists as hot in the search of their science as I was in my line. They were very interested in this famous mummy-plank, which had already given some rather wonderful results to their medium. Unfortunately the owner had become nervous or frightened, thought he was incurring bad luck, and had sold it. I did not inform them that he had been very glad to give it away.
‘The upshot of their visit was that they were anxious to carry out a seance with this object, and, if I would permit them, to make a photograph of it. After a little questioning I learnt from them that it had been photographed once and that the plate had revealed an unpleasant face in the wood. They were unwilling to show it to me, as there had been some question of a fraud. I made up my mind. I said I had no intention of allowing a seance, especially as they proposed to sit up all night in my rooms. But I was willing to allow the plank to be photographed under my own conditions, which were that I should choose the photographer and use the firm who usually developed my plates for me, and that six negatives should be taken and kept locked in a box for future reference.
‘To these conditions they agreed, and for a week I was left alone.
‘When they returned to the charge I was ready for them. I had communicated with my photographer and my trustworthy firm, who agreed to take every precaution against the slightest fake. Mr Bashford, the photographer, arrived with the head of the firm I had mentioned the matter to. The latter had been so interested that he had the box for the negatives prepared under his own supervision and a special lock fitted. The plank was photographed six times in the presence of witnesses, and the negatives taken away to be developed.
‘On the morning following I was surprised, though not alarmed, to receive a telegram from Bashford asking me to telegraph him money to return to London with. As he lived at Enfield I was surprised to notice that he telegraphed from Edinburgh. The resemblance between the two names was slight. However, I forwarded him the money and he returned that night. He came to see me, a little worried and not quite coherent. He had fallen down my steps when leaving my house, and struck his head. He must have asked for the wrong train, for he knew nothing about it until he found himself at Edinburgh. That was all he had to say.