Fergus Hume - The Green Mummy

“Me, you bet. Hiram Hervey, citizen of the U.S.A. Nantucket neighborhood for home life. And see, don’t you get m’hair riz, or I’ll scalp.”

“You can’t scalp me,” chuckled Braddock, passing his hand over a very bald head. “See here, what do you want?”

“Name a price and I’ll float round to get back your verdant corpse.”

“I thought you were going to the South Seas?”

“In three months, pearl-fishing. Lots of time, I reckon, to run this old circus I want you to finance.”

“Have you any suspicions?”

“No, ‘sept I don’t believe in that window business.”

“What do you mean?” Braddock sat upright.

“Well,” drawled the Yankee, “y’see, I interviewed the gal as told that perticler lie in court.”

“Eliza Flight. Was it a lie she told?”

“Well, not exactly. The window was snibbed, but that was done after the chap who sent your pal to Kingdom Come had got out.”

“Do you mean to say that the window was locked from the outside?” asked Braddock, and then, when Hervey nodded, he exclaimed “Impossible!”

“Narry an impossibility, you bet. The chap who engineered the circus was all-fired smart. The snib was an old one, and he yanked a piece of string round it, and passed the string through the crack between the upper and lower sash of the window. When outside he pulled, and the snib slid into place. But he left the string on the ground outside. I picked it up nex’ day and guessed the racket he’d been on. I tried the same business and brought off the deal.”

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