Speaker 1: 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