Fergus Hume - The Green Mummy

“Not here?” said Lucy, more and more surprised at the unaccountable absence of Braddock’s assistant. “Where is he, then?”

“I don’t know. I wish I did; I’d have him arrested for neglecting to watch over this case. As it is, when he comes back I’ll dismiss him from my employment. He can go back to his infernal laundry work along with his old witch of a mother.”

“But why hasn’t Bolton come back, sir?” asked Hope sharply.

Braddock struck a furious blow at the head of the chisel which he had inserted into the case.

“I want to know that. He brought the case to the Sailor’s Rest, and should have come on with it this morning. Instead of doing so, he tells the landlord – a most unreliable man – to send it on. And my precious mummy – the mummy that has cost nine hundred pounds,” cried Braddock, working furiously, and battering the chisel as though it were Bolton’s head, “is left to be stolen by any scientific thief that comes along.” While the Professor, assisted by Cockatoo, loosened the lid of the packing case, a mild voice was heard at the door. Lucy turned, as did Archie, to see Widow Anne curtseying on the threshold of the door.

Braddock himself took no notice of her entrance, being occupied with his task, and even while doing it swore scientifically under his breath. He was furious against Bolton for neglect of duty, and Hope rather sympathized with him. It was a serious matter to have left a valuable object like the green mummy to the rough care of laborers.

“I beg your pardon, my lady,” whimpered Widow Anne, who looked more lean and rusty and dismal than ever; “but has my Sid come? I saw the cart and the coffin. Where’s my boy?”

“Coffin! coffin!” bellowed Braddock angrily between thunder blows. “What do you mean by calling this case a coffin?”

“Well, it do hold one of them camphorated corps, sir,” said Mrs. Bolton with another curtsey. “My boy Sid told me as much, afore he went to them furren parts.”

“Have you seen him since he returned?” questioned Lucy, while Braddock and Cockatoo strained at the lid, now nearly off.

“Why, I ain’t set eyes on him,” moaned the widow dismally, “and summat tells me as I never will.”

“Don’t talk rubbish, woman,” said Archie tartly, for he did not wish Lucy to be upset again by this ancient ghoul.

“Woman indeed, sir. I’d have you know, – oh!” the widow jumped and quavered as the lid of the packing case fell on the floor with a bang. “Oh lor, sir, the start you did give me!”

But Braddock had no eyes for her, and no ears for anyone. He pulled lustily at the straw packing, and soon the floor was littered with rubbish. But no green case appeared, and no mummy. Suddenly Widow Anne shrieked again.

“There’s my Sid – dead – oh, my son, dead! dead!”

She spoke truly. The body of Sidney Bolton was before them.

After that one cry of agony from Widow Anne, there was silence for quite one minute. The terrible contents of the packing case startled and terrified all present. Faint and white, Lucy clung to the arm of her lover to keep herself from sinking to the ground, as Mrs. Bolton had done. Archie stared at the grotesque rigidity of the body, as though he had been changed into stone, while Professor Braddock stared likewise, scarcely able to credit the evidence of his eyes. Only the Kanaka was unmoved and squatted on his hams, indifferently surveying the living and the dead. As a savage he could not be expected to have the nerves of civilized man.

Braddock, who had dropped chisel and hammer in the first movement of surprise, was the quickest to recover his powers of speech. The sole question he asked, revealed the marvelous egotism of a scientist, nominated by one idea. “Where is the mummy of Inca Caxas?” he murmured with a bewildered air.

Widow Anne, groveling on the floor, pulled her gray locks into wild confusion, and uttered a cry of mingled rage and grief. “He asks that? he asks that?” she cried, stammering and choking, “when he has murdered my poor boy Sid.”

“What’s that?” demanded Braddock sharply, and recovering from a veritable stupor, which the disappearance of the mummy and the sight of his dead assistant had thrown him into. “Kill your son: how could I kill your son? What advantage would it have been to me had I killed your son?”

“God knows! God knows!” sobbed the old woman, “but you – ”

“Mrs. Bolton, you are raving,” said Hope hastily, and strove to raise her from the floor. “Let Miss Kendal take you away. And you go, Lucy: this sight is too terrible for your eyes.”

Lucy, inarticulate with nervous fear, nodded and tottered towards the door of the museum; but Widow Anne refused to be lifted to her feet.

“My boy is dead,” she wailed; “my boy Sid is a corp as I saw him in my dream. In the coffin, too, cut to pieces – ”

“Rubbish! rubbish!” interrupted Braddock, peering into the depths of the packing case. “I can see no wound.”

Mrs. Bolton leaped to her feet with an agility surprising in so aged a woman. “Let me find the wound,” she screamed, throwing herself forward.

Hope caught her back and forced her towards the door. “No! The body must not be disturbed until the police see it,” he said firmly.

“The police – ah, yes, the police,” remarked Braddock quickly, “we must send for the police to Pierside and tell them my mummy has been stolen.”

“That my boy has been murdered,” screeched Widow Anne, waving her skinny arms, and striving to break from Archie. “You wicked old devil to kill my darling Sid. If he hadn’t gone to them furren parts he wouldn’t be a corp now. But I’ll have the lawr: you’ll be hanged, you – you – ”

Braddock lost his patience under this torrent of unjust accusations and rushed towards Mrs. Bolton, dragging Cockatoo by the arm. In less time than it takes to tell, he had swept both Archie and the widow out into the hall, where Lucy was trembling, and Cockatoo, by his master’s order, was locking the door.

“Not a thing shall be touched until the police come. Hope, you are, a witness that I have not meddled with the dead: you were present when I opened the packing case: you have seen that a useless body has been substituted for a valuable mummy. And yet this old witch dares – dares – ” Braddock stamped and grew incoherent from sheer rage.

Archie soothed him, leaving go of Widow Anne’s arm to do so. “Hush! hush!” said the young man quietly, “the poor woman does not know what she is saying. I’ll go for the police and – ”

“No,” interrupted the Professor sharply; “Cockatoo can go for the inspector of Pierside. I shall call in the village constable. Meanwhile you keep the key of the museum,” he dropped it into Hope’s breast-pocket, “so that you and the police may be sure the body has not been touched. Widow Anne, go home,” he turned angrily on the old creature, who was now trembling after her burst of rage, “and don’t dare to come here again until you ask pardon for what you have said.”

“I want to be near my poor boy’s corp,” wailed Widow Anne, “and I’m very sorry, Perfesser. I didn’t mean to – ”

“But you have, you witch. Go away!” and he stamped.

But by this time Lucy had recovered her self-possession, which had been sorely shaken by the sight of the dead. “Leave her to me,” she observed, taking Mrs. Bolton’s arm, and leading her towards the stairs. “I shall take her to my room and give her some brandy. Father, you must make some allowance for her natural grief, and – ”

Braddock stamped again. “Take her away! take her away!” he cried testily, “and keep her out of my sight. Is it not enough to have lost an invaluable assistant, and a costly mummy of infinite historical and archaeological value, without my being accused of – of – oh!” The Professor choked with rage and shook his hand in the air.