A BODY IN PAWN.

    ’Gin a body meet a body!’ ­BURNS.

Though Leonora’s faith in the magician had been a good deal shaken by his failures in his black art, she admitted that, as a clairvoyant, he might be more inspired.  We therefore went, as he had directed us, to the neighbourhood of Clare Market, where he had prophesied that we should find a Temple adorned with the Three Balls of Gold, which the Lombards bore with them from their far Aryan home in Frangipani.  Nor did this part of the prophecy fail to coincide with the document on the mummy case.  Through the thick and choking darkness which has made ’The Lights of London’ a proverb, we beheld the glittering of three aureate orbs.  And now, how to win our way, without pass-word or, indeed, pass-book, into this home of mystery?

Here, in these immemorial recesses, the natives had long been wont to bury, as we learned, their oldest objects of interest and value.  There, when we pushed our way within the swinging portal, lay around us, in vast and solemn pyramids of portable property, the silent and touching monuments of human existence.  The busy life of a nation lay sleeping here!  Here, for example, stood that ancestral instrument for the reckoning of winged Time, which in the native language is styled a ‘Grandfather’s Clock.’  Hard by lay the pipe, fashioned of the ’foam of perilous seas in fairy lands forlorn,’ the pipe on which, perchance, some swain had discoursed sweet music near the shady heights of High Holborn.  The cradle of infancy, the gamp of decrepitude, the tricycle of fleeting youth, the paraffin lamp which had lighted bridal gaiety, the flask which had held the foaming malt, ­all were gathered here, and the dust lay deep on all of them!

I was about to make some appropriate moral remarks, when I heard Leonora (whose command of tongues is simply marvellous) address an attendant priestess in the local dialect.

‘Here, miss,’ said she, ’’ow much can yer let us ’ave on this ’ere ticker?’ (producing her watch).

The priestess, whose clear-cut features and two lovely black eyes betrayed a mixture of Semitic blood, was examining the ’turnip’ ­as she called the watch ­when Leonora, saying ‘Mum’s the word,’ rather violently called my attention (with her elbow) to a strange parcel lying apart from the rest.

It was a long bundle, as long as a man, and was swathed in cerements of white Egyptian tissue.

’’Tis you! ‘tis you!’ I sneezed rapturously, recognising the object of our search, the very mummy which, two thousand years ago, Theodolite had prepared with her own fair but cruel hands.

There, beyond the shadow of doubt, lay all that was mortal of the unlucky Jambres!  On the tissue which wrapped the bundle I distinctly recognised the stencilled mark corresponding to Leonora’s scarab, a duck, the egg of a duck, and an umbrella.

‘How much,’ said I to the priestess of the temple, ’could you afford to let me have that old bundle of rags for?’

‘That old bundle of rags?’ said the woman, ’Take it, dear lady, take it and keep it (if you can), and the blessing of Abraham be on your head!’

So anxious was she to part with the mummy that we could hardly get her to accept a merely nominal price.  To give plausibility to the purchase, we said we wanted the rags for a paper-mill.  Joyously did Leonora and I call a passing chariot, and, with the mummy between us, we drove to our abode.  I was surprised on the way by receiving a pettish push from Leonora’s foot.

‘Don’t tread on my toes,’ she said, though I had not even stirred.  I told her as much, and we were getting a little animated when my bonnet was twitched off and thrown out into the darkness.

‘Leonora,’ I said severely, ‘these manners are unworthy of a lady!’

‘I declare, my dear Polly,’ she replied, ‘that I never even moved!’ and as she was obviously in earnest I had to accept her word.

When we reached home, after a series of petty but provoking accidents, we first locked up the mummy very carefully in the spare bedroom.  To-morrow would be time enough, we said, to consult the wizard as to our next movement.  We ordered a repast of the native viands (which included, I remember, a small but savoury fish, the Blo-ta), and sought our couches, in better spirits than usual.

      Not a bit, you wait and you’ll see. ­ED.

Next morning, long before Leonora was awake, the young but intelligent Slavi (so the common people call housemaids) crept into my chamber with a death-white face.

‘Omum,’ she said (it is a term of courtesy), ’wot a night we’ve been having?’

‘Why, what is the matter, Jemimaran?’ I asked, for that was her melodious native name.

’There’s something in the spare room, mum, a-carrying on horful.  The bell ringing all night, and the Thing screaming and walking up and down as restless!  I’m a-going to give warning, mum,’ she added confidentially.

‘Why, you’ve given it,’ I said, to reassure her.  ’Forewarned is forearmed.’

’Four-legged It do run sometimes, like a beast, mum, wailing terrible.  Up and down, up and down It goes, and always ringing the bell, and crying high for a brandy-and-soda, mum, like a creature tormented.’

      Neither Hyde nor Hidol, you’re so nervous.  Do wait till the
      end. ­ED.

      Wish it was come! ­PUBLISHER.

‘Well,’ I asked, though every hair upon my head stood erect with horror (adding greatly to the peculiarity of my appearance), ’well, did you take It what It asked for?’

’Yes, mum; for very fear I dared not refuse.  And when I had handed it in by a chink in the open door, first there was a sound like drinking, then an awful cry, “Potash again!” and then a heavy soft thud, as if you had knocked over a bolster stuffed with lead, mum.’

Through the brown glimmer of dawn (it was about ten A.M.) I hurried to Leonora’s chamber.  She was dressed, and came out.  ’What do you advise?’ I asked.

‘Send for Mr. Urmson, the eminent lawyer, at once,’ said she, ’he is used to this kind of thing.  Nothing like taking Counsel’s opinion.  But first let me knock the door open!’ She applied her magnificent white shoulder to the door, which flew into splinters.

There was not a trace of the mummy, but there, in a deprecatory attitude, stood the philosopher Asher!