"Oh, my God." The tears flowed down her cheeks.
"Mummies stolen, traded, sold," he said. "Was there any man, woman or child ever buried in this land whose body has not been defiled, if not displayed, or dismembered? What is not possible!"
For a moment it seemed he'd lose control altogether; but then he was quiet, merely staring at her again. And then his eyes went dim as if he had not seen her. He sat back in the little chair.
"We don't have to stay in Cairo any longer if you don't want. ..."
Again he turned slowly and looked at her. It was as if he were waking from a daze, that he had not just spoken to her.
"No!" he said, "We cannot leave. Not now. I don't want to leave. . . ."
And then his voice trailed off as if he'd just realized what he was saying. He rose and walked slowly out of the room, not even glancing back at her.
She saw the door close; she heard his tread in the hall; and then her tears flowed again.
What was she to do? What would comfort him? If she used all her influence, could she possibly have the body in the museum removed from public view and given proper burial? Not likely. The request would seem whimsical and foolish. Why, countless royal mummies were on display!
But even if she could accomplish such a thing, she feared it would not help now. It was the mere sight of the thing, not its desecration, which had crushed him.
* * *
The two officers from Scotland Yard watched the man from the British Museum uneasily.
"We should go now, sir. We don't have a court order to be disturbing the mummy's coffin. We came to check the coins, and we've done it."
"Nonsense," Hancock said. "We should check everything now while we have the court order. We came to see that the collection is intact. I want to see that the mummy's unharmed before I leave here."
"But, sir," Oscar intervened.
"Don't say another word, my good man. Your mistress ran off to Cairo and left a priceless treasure here. She did not have our permission." He turned to the two officers of the law. "Open the thing," he said sharply.
"Well, I don't like this, sir, I really don't," Trent said.
Hancock pushed past him and hefted the lid himself before the two men could stop him. Gallon tried to catch it before the bottom struck the floor. Oscar gave a little gasp.
Inside stood the mummy, shrunken, blackened.
"What the hell is going on here!" Hancock raged.
"And what exactly do you mean, sir?" Trent asked.
"Everything goes back to the museum now."
"But, sir."
"That's not the same mummy, you fool. That's from a peddler's shop in London! I saw it myself. It was offered to me for sale. Damn that woman! She's stolen the find of the century!"
* * *
It was long past midnight. No more music came from the public rooms. Cairo slept.
Elliott walked alone in the dark courtyard between the two wings of Shepheard's Hotel. His left leg was going numb; but he paid no heed to it. Now and then he glanced up at the figure pacing in the suite above; a shadow moving back and forth across the slatted blinds. Ramsey.
Samir's room was dark. Julie's light had gone out an hour ago. Alex was long gone to bed, worried about Ramsey, and thoroughly confused as to whether Julie had fallen in love with a madman.
The figure stopped. It moved to the blinds. Elliott stood stock-still in the chilly darkness. He watched Ramsey peer out at the sky, and perhaps at the great web of stars flung out over the rooftops.
Then the figure disappeared altogether.
Elliott turned and hobbled awkwardly towards the doors to the lobby. He had just reached the shadowy foyer beyond the front desk when he saw Ramsey come down the grand staircase and make for the doors, his loose mane of brown hair in unkempt tangles.
I am mad, Elliott thought. I am madder than he has ever been.
Firmly gripping his cane, he made to follow. When he emerged from the front doors, he saw the dark figure ahead of him, walking fast across the square. The pain in his leg was now so bad he had to grit his teeth, but he pressed on.
Within a few minutes, Ramsey had reached the museum. Elliott watched him turn from the main entrance, and walk slowly to the far right side of the building, towards a light burning behind a barred window.
The yellow light spilled out of the small rear alcove. The guard was slumped in the chair, snoring blissfully. The rear door was open.
Elliott slowly entered the museum. He passed quickly through the empty chambers of the ground floor, past towering gods and goddesses. At last he reached the grand stairs and, clutching the railing, moved up step by step, hoisting his weight off his painful leg, trying not to make a sound in the thinning darkness.
A gray murky light filled the corridor. The window at the far end was paling visibly. And there stood Ramsey beside the low shallow display case, in which the mass of the dead woman in her petrified rags gleamed like black coal. Ramsey bowed his head in the gray light, like a man praying.
It seemed he whispered something in the dark. Or was he weeping? His profile was sharply clear, and so was the movement of his hand as he reached into his coat and drew out something that sparkled in the shadows. A glass vial full of luminescent liquid. Dear God, he cannot mean to do this. What is this potion that he would even attempt it? Elliott almost cried out. He almost went to Ramsey and tried to stay his hand. But when Ramsey opened the vial, when Elliott heard the faint grinding of the metal cap, he shrank to the far side of the corridor, and concealed himself from view behind a tall glass cabinet.
How eloquent of suffering the distant figure was, poised there over the case, the open vial in his hand, the other hand rising to wipe his hair out of his forehead.
Then Ramsey turned as if to go and came down the corridor towards Elliott without seeing him.
Something changed in the light. It was the first palpable glow of the sun, a dull steel-gray radiance; a soft gray shimmer firing all the glass cases and cabinets of the long corridor.
Ramsey turned. Elliott could hear him sigh. He could feel his torment. Ah, but this is madness; this is unspeakable.
Helplessly, he watched as Ramsey approached the case again and broke loose the light wood-framed glass lid, and folded it silently backwards and away like the cover of a book, so that he might touch the dead thing inside.
With sudden speed, he produced the vial again. The gleaming white liquid flowed in droplets down on the corpse as Ramsey passed the vial back and forth above it.
"It's vain, it cannot possibly work," Elliott whispered half-aloud. He found himself shrinking even closer to the wall, peering now through the glass sides of the cabinet.
In horror and fascination, he watched Ramsey smooth the fluid over the dead woman's limbs. He saw him bend tenderly, as if placing the glittering vial to her mouth.
A hiss echoed through the darkness. Elliott let out a silent gasp. Ramsey stumbled back, pressing himself to the wall. The vial fell from his hand and rolled on the stone floor, a tiny bit of fluid still shimmering inside it. Ramsey stared down at the thing in front of him.
Movement of the dark mass in the low shallow bed of the case. Elliott saw it. He heard a low raw sound like breath.
Dear God, man, what have you done! What have you awakened!
The wood of the case gave a violent creak; the thin wooden legs appeared to shudder. The thing inside the case was stirring, rising.
Ramsey backed away into the corridor. A muffled cry escaped his lips. Beyond him, Elliott saw the figure sit up. The wooden case shattered and then collapsed, the noise echoing loudly throughout the museum. The thing stood square on its feet! Its great head of shaggy black hair poured down like thick smoke over its shoulders. The blackened skin was lightening, changing. A ghastly moan came out of the being. It raised its skeletal hands.