The Mysterious Mummy by sax Roamer. It was about five o'clock on a hot
August afternoon that a tall, thin man, wearing a weedy beard and made
conspicuous by an ill fitting frock coat and an almost napless silk hat, walked
into the entrance hall of the Great Portland Square Museum. He carried no stick,
and looking about him as though unfamiliar with the building, he ultimately mounted
the principal staircase, walking with a pronounced stoop and at intervals coughing with a
hollow sound. His gaunt figure attracted the attention of several people, among them
the attendant in the Egyptian room. Hardened though he was to the eccentric inhumanity,
the man who hung so eagerly over the mummies of departed kings and cougheds
so frequently nevertheless secured his instant attention. Visitors of the regulation type were rapidly
thinning out, so that the gaunt man, during the whole of the time
he remained in the room, was kept under close surveillance by the vigilant official.
Seeing him go in the direction of the stairs, the attendant supposed the
strange visitor to be about to leave the museum, but that he did not
do so immediately was shown by subsequent testimony. The day's business being concluded,
the staff of police who patrol nightly the Great Square Museum duly filed into the
building. A man is placed in each room, it being his duty to
examine thoroughly every nook and cranny. Having done which, all doors of communication
are closed, the officer on guard in one room, being unable to leave
his post or or to enter another. Every hour the inspector, a sergeant
and a fireman make a round of the entire building, from which it will
be seen that a person having designs on any of the numerous treasures of the
place would require more than average ingenuity to bring his plans to a successful issue.
In recording this very singular case, the only incident of the night to
demand attention is that of the mummy in the Etruscan Room. Persons familiar with
the Great Portland Square Museum will know that certain of the tombs in the Etruscan
Room are used as receptacles for Egyptian mummies that have, for various reasons,
never been put upon exhibition. Anyone who has peered under the partially raised lid
of a huge sarcophagus and found within the rigid form of a mummy. Will
appreciate the feelings of the man on night duty amid das surroundings so lugubrious.
The electric light, it should be mentioned, is not extinguished until the various
apartments have been examined, and its extinction immediately precedes the locking of the door.
The constable in the etruscan room glanced into the various sarcophag guy and cast
the rays of his bull's eye lantern into the shadows of the great Stone tombs.
Satisfied that no one lurked there, he mounted the steps leading up to
the Roman gallery, turning out the lights in the room below from the switch
at the top. The light was still burning on the ground floor, and
the sergeant had not yet arrived with the keys. It was whilst the man
stood awaiting his coming, that a singular thing occurred from somewhere within the darkened
chamber beneath There came the sound of a hollow cough by no means deficient.
Encouraged, the constable went down the step in three bounds, his lantern,
throwing discs of light upon stately statues and gloomy tombs. The sound was not
repeated, and having nothing to guide him to its source, he commenced a
second methodical search of the sarcophaguy as, offering the most likely hiding places.
When all save one had been examined, the constable began to believe that the
coughing had existed only in his imagination. It was upon casting the rays of
his bull's eye into the last sarcophagus that he experienced a sudden sensation of fear.
It was empty, yet he distinctly remembered from his previous examination that a
mummy had lain there. At the moment of making this weird discovery, he
realized that he would have done better before commencing his search for the man with
the cough first to turn on the light, for it must be remembered that
he he had extinguished the electric lamps. Determined to do so before pursuing his
investigations further. He ran up the steps to find the Roman gallery in darkness.
The bright disk of a lantern was approaching from the upper end, and
the man ran forward. Who turned off the lights? Here came the voice
of the sergeant. That's what I want to know someone did it while I
was downstairs, said the constable, and gave a hurried account of the mysterious
coughing and the missing mummy. How long has there been a mummy in this
tomb, asked the sergeant. There was one there a month back, but
they took it upstairs. They may have brought it down again last week though,
or it may have been a fresh one. You see, the other
lot were on duty up to last night. This was quite true, as
the sergeant was aware. Three bodies of picked men share the night duties at
the Great Portland Square Museum, and those on duty upon this particular occasion had
not been in the place during the previous two weeks. Very strange, muttered
the sergeant, and a moment later his whistle was sounding from all over the
building. Men came running, for none of the doors had yet been locked.
There seems to be someone concealed in the museum. Search all the rooms
again with the brief order. The constables disappeared and the sergeant, accompanied by
the inspector, went down to examine the Etruscan room. Nothing was found there,
nor were any of the other searchers more successful. There was no trace
anywhere of a man in hiding. Beyond leaving open the door between the Roman
Gallery and the steps of the Etruscan Room, no more could be done in
the matter. The gallery communicates with the entrance hall, where the inspector,
together with the sergeant and fireman, spends the night, and the idea of
the former was to keep in touch with the scene of these singular happenings.
His action was perfectly natural, but these precautions were subsequently proved to be absolutely
useless. The night passed without any disturbing event, and the mystery of the
vanishing mummy and the ghostly cough seemed likely to remain a mystery. The night
police filed out in the early morning, and the Inspector with the sergeant,
returned as soon as possible to the museum to make further inquiries concerning the missing
occupant of the sarcophagus. A mummy in the in tomb, exclaimed the curator
of Etruscan Antiquities. My dear sir, there has been no mummy in there
for nearly a month, but my man states that he saw one there last
night, declared the inspector. The curator looked puzzled, turning to an attendant,
He said, who was in charge of the Etruscan room immediately before six
last night? I was, sir, were there any visitors? No one
came in between five forty and six, and before that I was away at
tea, Sir, who was in charge? Then mister Robins? Call Robins,
the commissionaire in question arrived. How long were you in the Etruscan room
last night? About half an hour, sir? Are you sure that no
one concealed himself? The man looked startled. Well, sir, he said,
hesitatingly, I'm sorry I didn't report it before. But when mister Barton
called me at about twenty five minutes to six, there was some one in
there, a gent in a seedy frock coat and a high hat, and
I don't remember seeing him come out. Did you search the room, yes,
sir, but there was no one to be seen. You should have
reported the matter at once. I must see Barton. Barton, the head
attendant, remembered, speaking to Robin's at the top of the stairs leading to
the Etruscan room. He saw no one come out, but it was just
as possible for a person to have done so and yet be seen by neither
himself or robins. Let three of you thoroughly overhaul the room for any sign
of a man having hidden there, directed the curator briskly. He turned to
the sergeant an inspector, with a smile. I rather fancy it will prove
to be of Mayer's nest, he said. We've had these mysteries before.
The words had but just left his lips when a museum official, a well
known antiquarian expert, ran up in a perfect frenzy of excitement. Good Heavens
Peters, he gasped, the Rienzi vase has gone. What came an incredulous
chorus. The circular top of the case has been completely cut out and ingeniously
replaced at a plausible invitation of the vase substituted. They waited for no more,
but hurried upstairs to the vase room, which in the Great Portland Square
Museum is really only a part of the Egyptian Room. The Rienzi vase,
though no larger than an ordinary breakfast cup, all the world knows to be
of fabulous value. It seemed inconceivable that anyone could have stolen it. Yet
there in the midst of a nod of excited officials, stood the empty case.
Whilst the imitation antique was being passed from hand to hand. Never before,
nor since has such a scene been witnessed in the museum. The staff,
to a man, had lost their wits. What is to be done
was the general inquiry. In less than half an hour, the doors would
have to be opened to the public, and the absence of the famous vase
would inevitably be known. Noticed. It was at this juncture, and whilst
everyone was speaking at once, that one of the parties, standing close to
a wall cabinet, suddenly held up a warning finger. Hush, he said,
listen. A sudden silence fell upon the room, so that people running
about in other apartments could be plainly heard, and presently, from somewhere behind
the glass doors surrounding the place came a low moan, electrifying the already excited
listeners. The keys were promptly forthcoming, and then was made the second astounding
discovery of the eventful morning. A man, gagged and bound, was imprisoned
behind a great mummy case. Eager hands set to work to release him,
and restoratives were applied, as he seemed to be in a very weak condition.
He was but partially dressed and breathed heavily through his nose like a man
in a drunken sla lumber. All waited breathlessly for his return to consciousness,
for certainly he, if anyone, should be in a position to furnish some
clue to the deep mystery. On regaining his senses, he had disappointingly little
to tell. He was Constable Smith, who had been on night duty in
the Egyptian room. Sometime during the first hour, and not long after the
alarm in the basement. He had been mysteriously pinioned. As he paraded the
apartment, he caught no glimpse of his opponent, who held him from behind
in such a manner that he was totally unable to defend himself. Some sweet
smelling drug had been applied to his nostrils, and he remembered no more until
regaining consciousness. In the mummy case, that was the whole of his testimony
In setting out the particulars of this remarkable affair, a third and final discovery
must be noted. The three men who had been directed to examine the Etrus
skin room brought to light a bundle of old garments containing an ancient opera hat,
a faded frock coat, a pair of shiny trousers, and a pair
of elastic sighted boots. They were wedged high up at the back of a
tall statue, where they had evidently escaped the eyes of all previous searchers that
constituted the entire data upon which investigations had to be based. The Egyptian Room
was closed indefinitely four repairs. No further useful evidence could be obtained from anyone.
Several witnesses furnished consistent descriptions of the shabby stranger with the hollow cough,
but it may here be mentioned that no one of them ever set eyes upon
him again. The inspector, the sergeant, and the fireman solemnly swore to
have visited the Egyptian Room at the end of each hour throughout the night,
and to having found the constable on duty as usual. Smith swore with equal
solemnity that he had been drug during the first hour and subsequently confined in the
mummy case. The matter was carefully kept out of the papers, although the
museum throughout many following days positively bristled with detectives. As the second week drew
to a close, and the Egyptian Room still remained locked. Well informed persons
began to whisper that a scandal could no longer be avoided. There can be
no doubt that in many quarters Constable Smith's share in the proceedings was regarded with
grave suspicion. It was at this critical juncture, when it seemed inevitable that
the loss of the world famous Rienzi vase must be made known to an unsympathetic
public, that certain high authorities gave out that the vase had been removed,
and that none of the night staff were in any way implicated in its disappearance.
On this announcement being made, several strange theories were mooted. Some stated
that the vase had never left the museum. Others averred that it had been
pawned to a foreign government. Whatever the real explanation, and the secret was
jealously guarded by the high placed officials who alone knew the truth, Suffice it
that the Egyptian Room was again thrown open, and the Rienzi vase shown to
be reposing in its usual position. Now that it again stands in its place
for all to see, there can be no objection to my relating how I
once held the famous Rienzi vase in my possession for twelve days. If there
be any objection, I am sorry. You must understand. I am no
common feat, no footpad. I'm a person of keenly observant character, and
my business is to detect vital weaknesses in great institutions and to charge a moderately
high fee for my services. Thus I discovered that a certain famous tiara in
a French museum was inadequately protected, and accordingly removed it, replacing it by
a substitute. The authorities refused me my fee, and all the world knows
that my clever forgery was detected by the experts that brought them to their senses.
It is the genuine tiara that reposes in their cabinet now. In the
same way, I removed the world renowned historical mummy from its resting place in
Cairo, and two days later they grew suspicious of my imitation. It was
the handiwork of a clever Birmingham artist, and the department was closed. The
bulky character of the mummy nearly brought about my downfall, and it was only
by abandoning it that I succeeded in leaving Cairo. I'm not proud of that
case I was clumsy. But of the case of the Rienzi Vase, I
have every reason to be highly proud that you may judge of the neatness and
dispatch with which I acted. I will relate how the whole business was conducted.
You must know, then, that the first flaw I discovered in the
arrangements at the Great Portland Square Museum was this the wall cases were badly guarded.
I learned this interesting fact one afternoon as I strolled about the Egyptian room.
A certain gentleman I will not name him, was showing a party of
the ladies round the apartment. He had unlocked a wall case and was standing
with a handsome bead necklet in his hand, explaining where and when it was.
He was only a few yards away, but with his back toward the
case enough the key, with others attached, was in the glass door.
You will admit that this was exceedingly careless, but the presence of four charming
American ladies one can excuse him. I regret to have to confess that I
was somewhat awkward. The keys rattled, the whole party looked in my direction,
but the immaculate mad about town with his cultivated manner and his very considerable
knowledge of Egyptology, How should they suspect? I apologized I had brushed against
them in passing. I made myself agreeable, and the uncomfortable incident was forgotten
by them, not by me. I had a beautiful wax impression to keep
my memory fresh. The scheme formed. Then I knew that a body of
pick police promenaded the museum at night, and that each of the rooms was
usually in charge of the same man. I learned later that there were three
bodies of men, so that the same police were in the museum but one
week in every three. I made the acquaintance of seven constables and frequented eight
different public houses before I met the man of whom I was in search.
The first policeman I found, who paraded the Egyptian room at night, was
short and thick set. I gave him up as a bad job. I
learned from him, however, who was to occupy the posse during the coming
week, and presently I unearthed the private bar which this latter officer, his
name was Smith, used eureka. He was tall and thin. Incidentally,
he was also surly, but the winning ways of the jovial master plumber,
who was so free with his money, ultimately thought him. Every night.
Throughout the rest of the week I spent in this constable's company, studying his
somewhat colorless personality. Then one afternoon I entered the museum. My weedy beard,
my gaunt expression, my hollow cough. They were all in the part.
I went up to the Egyptian room to assure myself that a certain mummy
case had not been removed, and having found it to occupy its usual place,
I descended to the Etruscan basement. For half an hour I occupied myself
there, but the commissionaire never budged from his seat. I knew that this
particular man was only in temporary charge, whilst another was a tea for I
was well posted, and wondered if his companion were ever coming back. Luckily,
an incident occurred to serve my purpose. The chief attendant appeared at the
head of the steps Robin's. He called Robins, ran briskly upstairs at his
command, and then in fifteen seconds my transformation was complete, gone with a
weedy gray beard and mustache, gone, the seedy black garments and the elastic
sighted boots, gone the old opera hat. And behold I was Constable Smith,
attired in mummy wrappings, an acrobatic spring, and the bundle of aged
garments was wedged behind a tall statue, where nothing but a most minute search
could reveal it. Down again, not a second despair into the empty sarcophagus
at the further end of the room. And lastly, a hideous rubber mask
slipped over the ruddy features of Constable Smith and attached behind the ears. My
arms stiffened and my hands concealed in the wrappings, and I was a long
dead mummy with a neat leather case hidden beneath my arched back. Brisk work,
I assure you, but one grows accustomed to it in time. The
Commission entered the room very shortly afterwards. He had not seen me go out,
but as I expected, neither was he absolutely sure I had not done
so. He peered about suspiciously, but I did not mind. The real
ordeal came a couple of hours later, when a police officer flashed his lantern
into all the tombs. For a moment, my heart seemed to cease beating
as the light shone on my rubber countenance. But he was satisfied, this
stupid policeman, and I heard his footsteps retreating to the door. I allowed
him time to get to the top and extinguished the light in the Etruscan room.
And then I was out of my tomb and hidden in the little niche
immediately beside the foot of the stairs. I coughed loudly. Heavens. He
came back down the steps with such velocity he was carried halfway along the room.
He began to flash his latern into the tombs again, but before he
had examined the first of them, I was upstairs in the Roman gallery without
the electric light. It was quite dark in the Etruscan room, which is
in the basement, but being a bright night, I knew I could find
what I required in the Roman Gallery without the aid of artificial light. Besides,
I had not to act in the open. Someone might arrive too soon.
So thoroughly well posted as to the situation of the switches, I extinguished
the lamps and dodged in among the Roman stone work, to the foot of
a great pillar, towering almost to the lofty roof and surmounted by an ornate
capitol. I had planned all this beforehand. You see, but I must
confess it was an awful scramble to the top. I had only just curled
up on the summit, the hand of my invaluable leather case held fast in
my teeth, when a sergeant came running down the gallery, almost into the
arms of the constable, who was running up the steps from the Etruscan room.
A moment's hurried conversation, and the lights turned on, and the sound
of a whistle. It was foolish, of course, but I had expected
it from all over the building. The police arrived and fatigued. As I
was with my climb, yet another acrobatic feet was before me. The top
of my pillar was no great distance from the stone balustrade of the first floor
landing on which the Egyptian room opens, and a narrow ledge, perhaps of
eleven inches, runs all round the wall of the Roman gallery, some four
feet below the ceiling. I cautiously stepped from the pillar to the ledge.
I was invisible from the other end of the place, and pressing my body
close against the wall, reached the balustrade before Constable Smith, who had left
his post and descended to the lower gallery. On hearing the sergeant's whistle,
re entered the Egyptian room my bright A new key had found the lock of
a certain cabinet, and I was secured behind a mummy case, whilst a
little steel pin prevented the spring of the lock from shutting me in. Poor
Constable Smith, I was sorry to have to act so, but ten minutes
after the closing of the doors of communication, I came on him from behind,
having silently crept from the case as he passed me, and following him
down the darkened room, the thin linen wrappings that covered my feet making no
sound upon the wooden floor. I had a pad ready in my hand,
saturated with the contents of a small pile that had reposed in my mummy garments.
I thrust my knee in his spine, seized his hands by a trick
which you may learn for a pasetta any day. In the purliest of Tangier,
a muscular man, he tried hard to cope with his unseen opponent,
but the pad never left his mouth and nostrils, and the few muffled cries
that is escaped team more luckily unheard. He soon became conscious, and I
had to work hard lest the inspectors should make his round before I was ready
for him. The mummy case had to be lowered onto the floor and the
heavy body tightly bound and lifted into it, then stood up again and securely
locked behind the glass doors. It was hot work, and I had but
just accomplished the task and climbed into the constable's uniform when the inspector's key sounded
in the door. Ah, it is an exciting profession. The rest was
easy, wrapped up in my yellow mummy linen where the various appliances required,
and in the leather box with the imitation riens evase. The circular glass top
of the case gave some trouble, so hard and thick was it. I
had to desist five times and conceal my tools. Owing to the hourly visits
of the inspect Poor Constable Smith began to groan towards six o'clock, and a
second dose of medicine was necessary to keep him quiet for another hour or so.
I filed out with the other policeman in the morning, the Rienzi vase
inside my helmet. As to the sequel, it is brief, of course.
The detectives tried their hands at the affair, but pooh, I'm too
old a bird to leave clues. It's only amateurs that do that. My
fee and the conditions to be observed in paying it, I conveyed to the
authorities privately. They thought they had a clue then, and delayed another week.
They actually detained my unhappy agent, a most guileless and upright person who
knew positively nothing. Oh it was too funny, But realizing that only by
the vase being returned to its place could a scandal be avoided, they met
me in the matter and of the mysterious mummy