LITMIR.BIZ

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idea, wasn't it? But it was all very complete and consistent, and quite reasonable, too, if once one accepts the belief in the persistence of the individual apart from the body."

      "Yes," I agreed, "and that is the only fair way to judge a religious system, by taking the main beliefs for granted. But what a business it must have been, bringing all these things from Egypt to London."

      "It was worth the trouble, though, for it is a fine and instructive collection. And the work is all very good of its kind. You notice that the Ushabti figures and the heads that form the stoppers of the Canopic jars are quite finely modelled. The mummy itself, too, is rather handsome, though that coat of bitumen on the back doesn't improve it. But Sebek-hotep must have been a fine-looking man."

      "The mask on the case is a portrait, I suppose?"

      "Yes; in fact, it is rather more. To some extent it is the actual face of the man himself. This mummy is enclosed in what is called a cartonnage, that is a case moulded on the figure. The cartonnage, was formed of a number of layers of linen or papyrus united by glue or cement, and when the case had been fitted to the mummy it was moulded to the body, so that the general form of the features and limbs was often apparent. After the cement was dry the case was covered with a thin layer of stucco and the face modelled more completely, and then the decorations and inscriptions were painted on. So that, you see, in a cartonnage, the body was sealed up like a nut in its shell, unlike the more ancient forms in which the mummy was merely rolled up and enclosed in a wooden coffin."

      At this moment there smote upon our ears a politely protesting voice announcing in sing-song tones that it was closing time; and simultaneously a desire for tea suggested the hospitable milk-shop. With leisurely dignity that ignored the official who shepherded us along the galleries, we made our way to the entrance, still immersed in conversation on matters sepulchral.

      It was rather earlier than our usual hour for leaving the Museum and, moreover, it was our last day—for the present. Wherefore we lingered over our tea to an extent that caused the milk-shop lady to view us with some disfavour, and when at length we started homeward, we took so many short cuts that six o'clock found us no nearer our destination than Lincoln's Inn Fields; whither we had journeyed by a slightly indirect route that traversed (among other places) Russell Square, Red Lion Square, with the quaint passage of the same name, Bedford Row, Jockey's Fields, Hand Court, and Great Turnstile.

      It was in the latter thoroughfare that our attention was attracted by a flaming poster outside a newsvendor's bearing the startling inscription:

      "MORE MEMENTOES OF MURDERED MAN."

      Miss Bellingham glanced at the poster and shuddered.

      "Horrible! Isn't it?" she said. "Have you read about them?"

      "I haven't been noticing the papers the last few, days," I replied.

      "No, of course you haven't. You've been slaving at those wretched notes. We don't very often see the papers, at least we don't take them in, but Miss Oman has kept us supplied during the last day or two. She is a perfect little ghoul; she delights in horrors of every kind, and the more horrible the better."

      "But," I asked, "what is it that they have found?"

      "Oh, they are the remains of some poor creature who seems to have been murdered and cut in pieces. It is dreadful. It made me shudder to read of it, for I couldn't help thinking of poor Uncle John, and, as for my father, he was really quite upset."

      "Are these the bones that were found in a watercress-bed at Sidcup?"

      "Yes. But they have found several more. The police have been most energetic. They seem to have been making a systematic search, and the result has been that they have discovered several portions of the body, scattered about in very widely separated places—Sidcup, Lee, St. Mary Cray; and yesterday it was reported that an arm had been found in one of the ponds called 'the Cuckoo Pits,' close to our old home."

      "What! in Essex?" I exclaimed.

      "Yes, in Epping Forest, quite near Woodford. Isn't it dreadful to think of it? They were probably hidden when we were living there. I think it was that that horrified my father so much. When he read it he was so upset that he gathered up the whole bundle of newspapers and tossed them out of the window; and they blew over the wall, and poor Miss Oman had to rush out and pursue them up the court."

      "Do you think he suspects that these remains may be those of your uncle?"

      "I think so, though he has said nothing to that effect, and, of course, I have not made any such suggestion to him. We always preserve the fiction between ourselves of believing that Uncle John is still alive."

      "But you don't think he is, do you?"

      "No, I am afraid I don't; and I feel pretty sure that my father doesn't think so either, but he doesn't like to admit it to me."

      "Do you happen to remember what bones have been found?"

      "No, I don't. I know that an arm was found in the Cuckoo Pits, and I think a thigh-bone was dredged up out of a pond near St. Mary Cray. But Miss Oman will be able to tell you all about it, if you are interested. She will be delighted to meet a kindred spirit," Miss Bellingham added, with a smile.

      "I don't know that I want to claim spiritual kinship with a ghoul," said I; "especially such a very sharp-tempered ghoul."

      "Oh, don't disparage her, Doctor Berkeley!" Miss Bellingham pleaded. "She isn't really bad-tempered; only a little prickly on the surface. I oughtn't to have called her a ghoul; she is just the sweetest, most affectionate, most unselfish little angelic human hedgehog that you could find if you travelled the wide world through. Do you know that she has been working her fingers to the bone making an old dress of mine presentable because she is so anxious that I shall look nice at your little supper-party."

      "You are sure to do that, in any case," I said; "but I withdraw my remark as to her temper unreservedly. And I really didn't mean it, you know; I have always liked the little lady."

      "That's right; and now won't you come in and have a few minutes' chat with my father? We are quite early, in spite of the short cuts."

      I assented readily, and the more so inasmuch as I wanted a few words with Miss Oman on the subject of catering and did not want to discuss it before my friends. Accordingly I went in and gossiped with Mr. Bellingham, chiefly about the work that we had done at the Museum, until it was time for me to return to the surgery.

      Having taken my leave, I walked down the stairs with reflective slowness and as much creaking of my boots as I could manage; with the result, hopefully anticipated, that as I approached the door of Miss Oman's room it opened and the lady's head protruded.

      "I'd change my cobbler if I were you," she said.

      I thought of the "angelic human hedgehog," and nearly sniggered in her face.

      "I am sure you would, Miss Oman, instantly; though, mind you, the poor fellow can't help his looks."

      "You are a very flippant young man," she said severely. Whereat I grinned, and she regarded me silently with a baleful glare. Suddenly I remembered my mission and became serious and sober.

      "Miss Oman," I said, "I very much want to take your advice on a matter of some importance—to me, at least." (That ought to fetch her, I thought.) The "advice fly"—strangely neglected by Izaak Walton—is guaranteed to kill in any weather. And it did fetch her. She rose in a flash and gorged it, cock's feathers, worsted body and all.

      "What is it about?" she asked eagerly. "But don't stand out there where everybody can hear but me. Come in and sit down."

      Now, I didn't want to discuss the matter here, and, besides, there was not time. I therefore assumed an air of mystery.

      "I can't, Miss Oman. I'm due at the surgery now. But if you should be passing and should have a few minutes to spare, I should be greatly obliged if you would look in. I really don't quite know how to act."

      "No, I expect not. Men very seldom do. But you're better than most,

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