Some weeks had now elapsed since the death and burial of Sidney Bolton,
and the excitement had simmered down to a gentle speculation as to who
had killed him. This question was discussed in a half-hearted manner
round the winter fires of Gartley, but gradually people were ceasing to
interest themselves in a crime, the mystery of which would apparently
never be solved. Life went on in the village and at the Pyramids much
in the same way, save that the Professor attended along with Cockatoo to
his museum and did not engage another assistant.
Archie and Lucy were perfectly happy, as they looked forward to being
married in the spring, and Braddock showed no desire to interfere with
their engagement. They knew, of course, that he had called upon Sir
Frank, but were ignorant of what had taken place. Random himself called
at the Pyramids to congratulate Miss Kendal on her engagement, and
seemed so very pleased that she was going to marry the man of her
choice, that, woman-like, she grew rather annoyed. As the baronet had
been her lover, she thought that he should wear the willow for her
sake. But Random showed no disposition to do so, therefore Lucy shrewdly
guessed that his broken heart had been mended by another woman. The
Professor could have confirmed the truth of this from the hints which
Random had given him, but he said nothing about his interview with the
young man, nor did he mention that a Spanish gentleman from Peru was
seeking for the famous green mummy.
Considerably vexed that Random should be so cheerful, Lucy cast round to
learn the truth. She could scarcely ask the baronet himself, and Archie
professed himself unable to explain. Miss Kendal did not dream of
cross-examining Braddock, as it never entered her mind that the
dry-as-dust scientist would know anything. It then occurred to this
inquisitive young lady that Mrs. Jasher might be aware of Random's
secret, which made him so cheerful. Sir Frank was a great friend of
the plump widow, and frequently went to take afternoon tea at her small
house, which was situated no great distance from the Fort. In fact,
Mrs. Jasher entertained the officers largely, as she was hospitable
by nature, and liked to have presentable men about her for flirting
purposes. With good-looking youth she assumed the maternal air, and in
the role of a clever woman of the world professed to be the adviser of
one and all. In this way she became quite a favorite, and her little
parlor--she liked the old English word--was usually, well filled at the
hour of afternoon tea.
Twice already Lucy had called on Mrs. Jasher after the commotion caused
by the crime, as she wished to speak to her about the same; but on each
occasion the widow proved to be absent in London. However, the third
visit proved to be more lucky, for Mrs. Jasher was at home, and
expressed herself happy to see the girl.
“So good of you to come and see me in my little wooden hut,” said the
widow, kissing her guest.
And Mrs. Jasher's cottage really was a little wooden hut, being what was
left of an old-fashioned farmhouse, built before the stone age. It lay
on the verge of the marshes in an isolated position and was placed in
the middle of a square garden, protected from the winter floods by a low
stone wall solidly built, but of no great height. The road to the Fort
ran past the front part of the garden, but behind the marshes spread
towards the embankment, which cut off the view of the Thames. The
situation was not an ideal one, nor was the cottage, but money was
scarce with Mrs. Jasher, and she had obtained the whole place at a
surprisingly small rental. The house and grounds were dry enough in
summer, but decidedly damp in winter. Therefore, the widow went to a
flat in London, as a rule, for the season of fogs. But this winter she
had made up her mind--so she told Lucy--to remain in her own little
castle and brave the watery humors of the marshes.
“I can always keep fires burning in every room,” said Mrs. Jasher, when
she had removed her guest's hat and had settled her for a confidential
talk on the sofa. “And after all, my dear, there is no place like home.”
The room was small, and Mrs. Jasher was small, so she suited her
surroundings excellently. Also, the widow had the good taste to furnish
it sparsely, instead of crowding it with furniture; but what furniture
there was could not be improved upon. There were Chippendale chairs,
a Louis Quinze table, a Sheridan cabinet, and a satin-wood desk,
hand-painted, which was said to have been the property of the unhappy
Marie Antoinette. Oil-paintings adorned the rose-tinted walls, chiefly
landscapes, although one or two were portraits. Also, there were
water-colored pictures, framed and signed caricatures, many plates
of old china, and rice-paper adornments from Canton. The room was
essentially feminine, being filled with Indian stuffs, with silver
oddments, with flowers, and with other trifles. The walls, the carpet,
the hangings, and the upholstery of the arm-chairs were all of a rosy
hue, so that Mrs. Jasher looked as young as Dame Holda in the Venusberg.
A very pretty room and a very charming hostess, was the verdict of the
young gentlemen from the Fort, who came here to flirt when they were not
serving their country.
Mrs. Jasher in a tea-rose tea-gown for afternoon tea--she always liked
to be in keeping--rang for that beverage dear to the feminine heart, and
lighted a rose-shaded lamp. When a glow as of dawn spread through the
dainty room, she settled Lucy on the sofa near the fire, and drew up an
arm-chair on the other side of the hearth-rug. Outside it was cold and
foggy, but the rose-hued curtains shut out all that was disagreeable in
the weather, and in the absence of male society, the two women talked
more or less confidentially. Lucy did not dislike Mrs. Jasher, even
though she fancied that the lively widow was planning to become the
mistress of the Pyramids.
“Well, my dear girl,” said Mrs. Jasher, shading her face from the fire
with a large fan, “and how is your dear father after his late terrible
experiences?”
“He is perfectly well, and rather cross,” replied Lucy, smiling.
“Cross?”
“Of course. He has lost that wretched mummy.”
“And poor Sidney Bolton.”
“Oh, I don't think he cares for poor Sidney's death beyond the fact
that he misses his services. But the mummy cost nine hundred pounds, and
father is much annoyed, especially as Peruvian mummies are somewhat hard
to obtain. You see, Mrs. Jasher, father wishes to see the difference
between the Peruvian and Egyptian modes of embalming.”
“Ugh! How gruesome!” Mrs. Jasher shuddered. “But has anything been
discovered likely to show who killed this poor lad?”
“No, the whole thing is a mystery.”
Mrs. Jasher looked into the fire over the top of the fan.
“I have read the papers,” she said slowly, “and have gathered what I
could from what the reporters explained. But I intend to call on the
Professor and hear all that evidence which did not get into the papers.”
“I think that everything has been made public. The police have no clue
to the murderer. Why do you want to know?”
Mrs. Jasher made a movement of surprise.
“Why, I am the Professor's friend, of course, my dear, and naturally I
want to help him to solve this mystery.”
“There is no chance, so far as I can see, of it ever being solved,” said
Lucy. “It's very sweet of you, of course, but were I you I should not
talk about it to my father.”
“Why?” asked Mrs. Jasher quickly.
“Because he thinks of nothing else, and both Archie and I are trying to
get him off the subject. The mummy is lost and poor Sidney is buried.
There is no more to be said.”
“Still, if a reward was offered--”
“My father is too poor to offer a reward, and the Government will not do
so. And as people will not work without money, why--” Lucy completed her
sentence with a shrug.
“I might offer a reward if the dear Professor will let me,” said the
widow unexpectedly.
“You! But I thought that you were poor, as we are.”
“I was, and I am not very rich now. All the same, I have come in for
some thousands of pounds.”
“I congratulate you. A legacy?”
“Yes. You remember how I told you about my brother who was a Pekin
merchant. He is dead.”
“Oh, I am so sorry.”
“My dear, what is the use of being sorry. I never cry over spilt milk,
or assume a virtue which I have not. My brother and I were almost
strangers, as we lived apart for so many years. However, he came home to
die at Brighton, and a few weeks ago--just after this murder took place,
in fact--I was summoned to his death-bed. He lingered on until last week
and died in my arms. He left me nearly all his money, so I will be able
to help the Professor.”
“I don't see why you should,” said Lucy, wondering why Mrs. Jasher did
not wear mourning for the dead.
“Oh yes, you do see,” remarked the widow, raising her eyes and rubbing
her plump hands together. “I want to marry your father.”
Lucy did not express astonishment, as she had understood this for a long
time.
“I guessed as much.”
“And what do you say?”
Miss Kendal shrugged her shoulders.
“If my step-father,” she emphasized the word--“if my step-father
consents, why should I mind? I am going to marry Archie, and no doubt
the Professor will be lonely.”
“Then you do not disapprove of me as a mother.”
“My dear Mrs. Jasher,” said Lucy, coldly, “there is no relationship
between me and my step-father beyond the fact that he married my
mother. Therefore you can never be my mother. Were I stopping on at the
Pyramids, that question might arise, but as I become Mrs. Hope in six
months, we can be friends--nothing more.”
“I am quite content with that,” said Mrs. Jasher in a businesslike way.
“After all, I am no sentimentalist. But I am glad that you do not mind
my marrying the Professor, as I don't want you to prevent the match, my
dear.”
Lucy laughed.
“I assure you that I have no influence with my father, Mrs. Jasher. He
will marry you if he thinks fit and without consulting me. But,” added
the girl with emphasis, “I do not see what you gain in becoming Mrs.
Braddock.”
“I may become Lady Braddock,” said the widow, dryly. Then, in answer to
the open astonishment on Lucy's face, she hastened to remark: “Do you
mean to say that you don't know your father is heir to a baronetcy?”
“Oh, I know that,” rejoined Miss Kendal. “The Professor's brother, Sir
Donald Braddock, is an old man and unmarried. If he dies without heirs,
as it seems likely, the Professor will certainly take the title.”
“Well, then, there you are!” cried Mrs. Jasher, in her liveliest tone.
“I want to give my legacy for the title and preside over a scientific
salon in London.”
“I understand. But you will never get my father to live in London.”
“Wait until I marry him,” said the little woman shrewdly. “I'll make a
man of him. I know, of course, that mummies and sepulchral ornaments and
those sort of horrid things are dull, but the Professor will become Sir
Julian Braddock, and that is enough for me. I don't love him, of course,
as love between two elderly people is absurd, but I shall make him a
good wife, and with my money he can take his proper position in the
scientific world, which he doesn't occupy at present. I would rather he
had been artistic, as science is so dull. However, I am getting on in
years and wish to have some amusement before I die, so I must take what
I can get. What do you say?”
“I am quite agreeable, as, when I leave, someone must look after my
father, else he will be shamefully robbed by everyone in household
matters. We are good friends, so why not you as well as another.”
“You are a dear girl,” said Mrs. Jasher with a sigh of relief, and
kissed Lucy fondly. “I am sure we shall get on excellently.”
“At a distance. The artistic world doesn't touch on the scientific, you
know. And you forget, Mrs. Jasher, that my father wishes to go to Egypt
to explore this mysterious tomb.”
Mrs. Jasher nodded.
“Yes, I promised, when I came in for my brother's money, to help the
Professor to fit out his expedition. But it seems to me that the money
will be better spent in offering a reward so that the mummy can be
found.”
“Well,” said Lucy, laughing, “you can give the Professor his choice.”
“Before marriage, not after. He needs to be managed, like all men.”
“You will not find him easy to manage,” said Lucy dryly. “He is a very
obstinate man, and quite feminine in his persistency.”
“H'm! I recognize that he is a difficult character, and between you and
me dear, I should not marry him but for the title. It sounds rather like
an adventuress talking in this way, but, after all, if he makes me Lady
Braddock I can give him enough money to let him realize his desire of
getting the mummy back. It's six of one and half a dozen of the other.
And I'll be good to him: you need not fear.”
“I am quite sure that, good or bad, the Professor will have his own way.
It is not his happiness I am thinking of so much as yours.”
“Really. Here is the tea. Put the table near the fire, Jane, between
Miss Kendal and myself. Thank you. The muffins on the fender. Thank you.
No, there is nothing more. Close the door when you go out.”
The tea equippage having been arranged, Mrs. Jasher poured out a cup
of Souchong, and handed it to her guest, resuming the subject of her
proposed marriage meanwhile.
“I don't see why you should be anxious about me, dear. I am quite
able to look after myself. And the Professor seems to be kind-hearted
enough.”
“Oh, he is kind-hearted when he gets his own way. Give him his hobby and
he will never bother you. But he won't live in London, and he will not
consent to this salon you wish to institute.”
“Why not? It means fame to him. I shall gather round me all the
scientists of London and make my house a centre of interest. The
Professor can stop in his laboratory if he likes. As his wife, I can
do all that is necessary. Well, my dear”--Mrs. Jasher took a cup of
tea--“we need not talk the subject threadbare. You do not disapprove of
my marriage with your step-father, so you can leave the rest to me. If
you can give me a hint of how to proceed to bring about this marriage,
of course I am not above taking it.”
Lucy glanced at the tea-gown.
“As you will have to tell the Professor that your brother is dead to
account for possessing the money,” she said pointedly, “I should advise
you to go into mourning. Professor Braddock will be shocked otherwise.”
“Dear me, what a tender heart he must have!” said Mrs. Jasher
flippantly. “My brother was very little to me, poor man, so he cannot
be anything to the Professor. However, I shall adopt your advice, and,
after all, black suits me very well. There”--she swept her hands across
the tea-table--“that is settled. Now about yourself?”
“Archie and I marry in the springtime.”
“And your other admirer, who has come back?”
“Sir Frank Random?” said Lucy, coloring.
“Of course. He called to see me a day or so ago, and seems less
broken-hearted than he should be.”
Lucy nodded and colored still deeper.
“I suppose some other woman has consoled him.”
“Of course. Catch a modern man wearing the willow for any girl, however
dear. Are you angry?”
“Oh no, no.”
“Oh yes, yes, I think,” said the widow, laughing, “else you are no
woman, my dear. I know I should be angry to see a man get over his
rejection so rapidly.”
“Who is she?” asked Lucy abruptly.
“Donna Inez de Gayangos.”
“A Spaniard?”
“I believe so--a colonial Spaniard, at least--from Lima. Her father, Don
Pedro de Gayangos, met Sir Frank in Genoa by chance.”
“Well?” demanded Lucy impatiently.
Mrs. Jasher shrugged her plump shoulders.
“Well, my dear, can't you put two and two together. Of course Sir Frank
fell in love with this dark-hued angel.”
“Dark-hued! and I am light-haired. What a compliment!”
“Perhaps Sir Frank wanted a change. He played on white and lost, and
therefore stakes his money on black to win. That's the result of having
been at Monte Carlo. Besides, this young lady is rich, I understand, and
Sir Frank--so he told me--lost much more money at Monte Carlo than he
could afford. Well, you don't look pleased.”
Lucy roused herself from a fit of abstraction.
“Oh yes, I am pleased, of course. I suppose, as any woman would, I felt
rather hurt for the moment in being forgotten so soon. But, after all,
I can't blame Sir Frank for consoling himself. If I am married first,
he shall dance at my wedding: if he is married first, I shall dance at
his.”
“And you shall both dance at mine,” said Mrs. Jasher. “Why, there is
quite an epidemic of matrimony. Well, Donna Inez arrives here with her
father in a day, or so. They stop at the Warrior Inn, I believe.”
“That horrid place?”
“Oh, it is clean and respectable. Besides, Sir Frank can hardly ask
them to stop in the Fort, and I have no room in this bandbox of mine.
However, the two of them--Donna Inez and Frank, I mean--can come here
and flirt; so can you and Archie if you like.”
“I fear four people in this room would not do,” laughed Lucy, rising to
take her leave. “Well, I hope Sir Frank will marry this lady and that
you will become Mrs. Braddock. Only one thing I should like to know.”
“And that is?”
“Why was the mummy stolen. It was not valuable save to a scientist.”
“By that argument a scientist must be the murderer and thief,” said Mrs.
Jasher. “However, we shall see. Meanwhile, live every moment of love's
golden hours: they never return.”
“That is good advice; I shall take it and my leave,” said Lucy, and
departed in a very happy frame of mind.