"Hulloa, Guy! I thought you had gone up to town?"
"No. I had a wire which put off my appointment until Thursday, so I've
come over for a cup of tea." Then she introduced the young fellow to me
as Guy Nicholson.
He seated himself in one of the long cane deckchairs, and as Asta handed
him some tea the pair began to chat about a tennis tournament which was
to be held at a neighbouring house. Presently he turned to me, and we
had a long conversation. He had the distinct bearing of a gentleman,
smart, spruce, and upright, his handsome smiling face bronzed by the
sun, while he seemed brimming over with good-humour.
From the first I instinctively liked him. Shaw explained that the young
fellow was a near neighbour, whose father, an ironmaster in the North,
had died a couple of years ago, leaving him a handsome fortune.
"He's always about with Asta," he added confidently in a low voice.
"And I have suspicion that she has grown very fond of him."
As I glanced across at the pair I saw how well suited they were to each
other. She looked the personification of all that is lovely. Her cool
muslin blouse and grey skirt fell to her young form prettily; her dark
wavy hair shadowed the great brown eyes now that she had removed her
motor-bonnet, making them seem to hold in their depths a vague knowledge
that should never come to the ken of man, save perhaps at that moment
when love would drag from them their slumbering secrets.
But that was only one of Asta's moods, and almost before I had taken
notice of it she was laughing merrily with her companion as she handed
him the cake.
I saw that her eyes did not flinch from the steady gaze of those others,
but I knew that there was a certain quick thumping beneath the pretty
blouse that made her realise she was not quite so adamant as she had
believed.
She believed that her secret was her own. It did not matter about her
heart. No one could see, and so no one knew.
When we had finished tea the pair rose and strolled away together
through the rosery, towards the flower-garden ablaze with bright
blossoms. And as they passed beneath the arches of crimson ramblers and
were lost to sight, my host exclaimed, with a sigh and a sad smile--
"Ah! How delightful it would be to find oneself young again--young
again like you, Mr Kemball!"
I laughed, and we lit cigarettes and began to chat. I confess that the
mystery surrounding this man who had so openly admitted to me that he
was an adventurer as well as a county magistrate greatly attracted me.
I found myself fascinated by the whole unusual circumstances. One
curious fact I had noted was that while Asta was aware of Arnold's death
she had never told the man whom she knew as father. What motive had she
in concealing the truth? Again, it seemed very evident that the young
man Nicholson little dreamed that Mr Harvey Shaw was anything else than
the wealthy idler which he pretended to be. And surely Asta had not
undeceived him.
As together we strolled about the beautiful well-kept grounds, and as he
showed me his motor garage, wherein stood four cars of various types,
his electric lighting plant and electric pumps for the water supply, I
tried to obtain from him some further information regarding the man
Arnold.
But to all my ingenious inquiries he remained dumb.
Therefore I turned my attention to Asta, and discovered that he had
adopted her when she was left alone a little child of eight.
"My life, Mr Kemball, has been very full of change and variety.
Sometimes for months I have been compelled to live in strict seclusion--
sometimes in places hardly civilised. I spent a year in the mountains
of Northern Albania, for instance, living with one of the mountain
tribes; and on another occasion necessity compelled me to live for eight
months in an obscure village in Corfu. But through it all little Asta
has been my companion--ah, yes!--and how often she has cheered my
lonely, solitary life!"
I saw that, whatever might be this man's character, he was devoted to
her. While she, on her part, had shown herself to be ever watchful of
his interests.
"Then she really is quite a cosmopolitan!" I exclaimed.
"Certainly. She speaks three languages perfectly. Few girls of her age
have, like her, seen life in all its various phases, from that of the
peasant hut to life here in an English home. But," he added, "when
Arnold spoke to you in confidence did he tell you nothing?"
"Of what?" I asked.
"Nothing concerning his past?"
"Nothing."
"He did not mention me--eh?" asked my companion.
"Only to urge me to carry that letter to you at Totnes."
"And he gave you nothing else? I understood you to say that he treated
you with a certain amount of confidence," and he looked me narrowly in
the face.
"He gave me two objects," I replied. "A small golden figure of the
Egyptian god Osiris--a very ancient relic--and a curious and much
corroded cylinder of bronze."
"Great Heavens! The bronze cylinder!" he gasped, starting and standing
before me open-mouthed. His face was blanched at mention of it.
"Yes."
"He gave you that, eh?" he cried in distinct alarm. "And you accepted
the trust--you were fool enough to do that?"
"Of course I did. Why?"
"Ah! You would not have done so had you but known the terrible evil
which must now threaten you," he said in a low, hoarse voice, his manner
changing to one of great alarm. He seemed agitated and nervous.
"I don't quite follow you," I said, much puzzled at his manner.
"You are, of course, in ignorance, Mr Kemball. But by the acceptance
of that executorship--by the holding in your possession of that cylinder
you are a doomed man."
"Doomed? How?" I asked, with an incredulous smile.
"I tell you this quite openly and frankly, because you have already
proved yourself my friend," he said, his face now entirely transformed.
We were standing together at the edge of the square croquet lawn, once
the bowling-green, where the great old box-trees were clipped into
fantastic shapes, while at the end was the long stone terrace with the
open park beyond.
"I think you told me that he made you a present in banknotes?" Shaw
went on. "Ah! Melvill Arnold knew only too well what dire unhappiness
and misfortune, what deadly peril, possession of that cylinder must
entail. He therefore made you that payment by way of a little
recompense. Did he instruct you what to do with the thing," he
inquired.
"On a certain day I am to hand it over to a person who will come to me
and ask for it."
"To hand it over without question?"
"Yes, without question."
Shaw was silent for some moments. His brows were knit, and he was
thinking deeply, his arms folded as he stood.
"Well," he exclaimed suddenly, at last, "I never dreamed that he had
entrusted the cylinder to you. You, of course, still hold it in your
possession?"
"Yes."
"Then, if I were you, I should be very anxious for the arrival of the
appointed day when you are to be relieved of its heavy responsibility.
The history of that metal tube is a record of ruin, disaster, and death,
for misfortune in one form or another always overtakes its possessor.
Its story is surely the weirdest and most terrible that could be
related. I knew that Arnold was in Egypt, but I never dreamed that he
would dare at last to take the cylinder from its hiding-place and convey
it here--to England!"
I recollected how my friend had just before his death declared that its
contents would amaze the world, and I made quick inquiry concerning it.
"What it contains I do not know," he replied. "Only Arnold himself
knows, and he has unfortunately carried his secret to the grave. It was
found, I believe, in the tomb of King Merenptah, the Pharaoh under whom
the exodus of the Israelites took place some twelve hundred years before
the Christian era. Arnold himself discovered it at Abydos, but on
opening it, dreaded to allow the thing to see the light of day, and in
order to preserve its influence from mankind, he again buried it in a
certain spot known only to himself; but, no doubt, somewhere near the
great Temple of Amon-Ra, at Karnak."
"Why did he wish to preserve his discovery from mankind?" I asked, much
interested.
"How can I tell? After his discovery he returned post-haste to England,
an entirely changed man. He would never reveal to me, his most intimate
friend, what the cylinder actually contained, save that he admitted to
me that he held it in awe--and that if he allowed it to go forth to the
world it would have caused the greatest sensation in our modern
civilisation, that the world would stand still in amazement."
"What could he have meant by that?"
"Ah!" replied my companion, "I cannot tell. All I know is, that
together with the cylinder he discovered some ancient papyri recounting
the terrible fate which would befall its possessors, and warning any one
against handling, possessing, or opening it."
"A favourite method of the ancients to prevent the rifling of their
tombs," I remarked with a laugh.
"But in this case Arnold, who was a great archaeologist, and could
decipher the hieroglyphics no doubt, investigated the weird contents of
the cylinder and satisfied himself that they were such that no mortal
eye should gaze upon without bewilderment. Those were the very words he
used in describing them to me."
"And did anything terrible happen to him as a result?" I asked.
"From the moment of that investigation misfortune dogged his footsteps
always. His friends died one by one, and he himself was smitten by that
infection of the heart, which, as you know, has terminated fatally."
"How long ago is it since he made this discovery in King Merenptah's
tomb?" I asked.
"About four years," was Shaw's reply, and I saw that he was trembling
with excitement. "And from that day until the day of his death poor
Melvill Arnold was, alas! never the same man. What he found within the
Thing, as he used to call it, made such a terrible impression upon him
that he, bold and fearless and defiant as he used to be, became suddenly
weak, timid, and nervous, lest the secret contained in the cylinder
should be revealed. That message of the hieroglyphics, whatever it was,
haunted him night and day, and he often declared to me that, in
consequence of his foolish disobedience of the injunction contained in
the papyri, he had become a doomed man,--doomed, Mr Kemball!" he added,
in a low, strange voice, looking straight and earnestly into my
lace--"doomed, as I fear, alas! that you too are now doomed!"