The Lost Million

by William Le Queux

placed upon them," helaughed.

  Then Mr Arnold had evidently not revealed to the Professor theexistence of the cylinder. Why? Because he had already again hidden itin fear.

  "We have many records of objects concealed, but most of the thingsreferred to in the papyri have disappeared ages ago," added the greatEgyptologist, who, taking me along the gallery, showed me the mummy ofthe great Pharaoh Merenptah himself, in whose tomb the fragments ofpapyri were found.

  The Professor was extremely kind, and lent me his decipher to copy them.After finding that I could obtain nothing further concerning the manArnold, and that he was not known as an Egyptologist, I thanked him andleft without telling him of the existence of the cylinder.

  That same night, I returned to Upton End with intention to show GuyNicholson the curious record when he visited me on Sunday.

  Next morning--which was Saturday--I opened my newspaper, which, asusual, I found on the library table after breakfast, when my eyes fellupon a heading which caused my heart to stand still.

  The printed words danced before my bewildered eyes. For a second Istood like a mail in a dream. I held my breath and eagerly read thehalf a dozen lines of brief announcement--a report which caused me toclap my hand to my fevered brow, and to involuntarily ejaculate thewords--

  "My God! It can't be true--_it can't be true_!"

  CHAPTER ELEVEN.

  A SENSATION IN THE COUNTY.

  The paragraph I read was truly a startling one, brief, but amazing.

  Apparently few details had arrived in London, for it read thus--

  "Mr Guy Nicholson, son of the late Mr Nathaniel Nicholson, thewell-known ironmaster of Sheffield, and for twenty-five years Member forSouth Cheshire, was yesterday morning found dead under somewhatremarkable circumstances. It appears that he entertained some guests atdinner at his house, Titmarsh Court, near Corby, Northamptonshire, andthe last of his friends to depart left about midnight. About twoo'clock in the morning a friend who was staying in the house, and whoseroom was directly over the library, was awakened by a man's piercingshrieks, as though of horror. He listened, and heard a loud thumpingsound below. Then all was quiet. It being the first time he had been aguest there, he did not alarm the household, but after lying awake forover an hour dropped off to sleep again. In the morning, however, themaid who went to clean the library found the door locked on the outside,as usual, but, on entering, was horrified to discover her master lyingupon the carpet, he had been dead some hours. Considerable mysteryattaches to the affair, which has created a great sensation in theneighbourhood, where the young man was well-known and highly popular."

  What could actually have happened!

  I read and re-read that paragraph. Then I rang up Stokes, my chauffeur,on the telephone, and we were soon tearing along the Northampton Road.

  Within a couple of hours we turned into the big lodge-gates of TitmarshCourt, which I found was a fine old place, upon which huge sums musthave been spent by Guy's father in the way of improvements. It was asplendid specimen of the old, moated manor-house, situated inwell-timbered grounds and approached by a long shady avenue ofchestnuts, which met overhead.

  A young man-servant opened the door, and was inclined to beuncommunicative, until suddenly I caught sight of Shaw's grey carstanding against the garage, and inquired for him.

  In a few moments he came forward, sedate and grave, and somewhatsurprised, I think, at my presence there.

  "This is really a most terrible thing, my dear Kemball," he exclaimed,his face pale. "I only knew of it late last night. The police anddoctors seem to have kept the affair secret as long as they could."

  "I saw it in the paper, and came over at once," I said. "What is youropinion?" I asked eagerly. "Is foul play suspected?"

  "I really don't know," was his vague answer, as he stood in the wide,old-fashioned hall. "It's a terrible thing, however. Poor Asta! she isovercome with grief, poor girl."

  "Ah yes?" I sighed. "She was very fond of him; I realised that theother day."

  Together we walked into a handsomely furnished sitting-room--themorning-room I supposed it to be--and there I was introduced to a fussyelderly man in tweeds named Redwood, the local doctor from Corby. Hewas a bluff, red-faced, clean-shaven man, a good type of the fox-huntingdoctor of the grass-country.

  "Well, Mr Shaw," he exclaimed briskly, "Doctor Petherbridge, fromNorthampton, and myself have made a post-mortem, and we have come to theconclusion that death was due to natural causes--inflammation of thebrain. We have made most minute examination, but can discover no tracewhatever of foul play."

  "Nor of suicide--by poison, for instance?" asked Shaw, leaning with hisback against the table, while the sun shone brightly across the paleblue carpet.

  "Certainly not. We have had that in mind, but fail to find any tracewhatsoever, though Petherbridge is taking the contents of the stomachinto. Northampton for analysis, in order to thoroughly satisfyourselves. Our conclusions are, however, that probably while seated inhis armchair in the library reading his paper, as was his habit beforegoing to bed, he was suddenly attacked, shrieked with pain, and quicklycollapsed. Such fatal seizures are by no means uncommon."

  "But, doctor, the papers say that a noise of hammering was heard," Iremarked.

  "Captain Cardew, who heard the shriek, is not actually certain about thehammering, it seems," replied Shaw. "The poor fellow was in the best ofspirits and quite well when Asta and I left him about a quarter-pasteleven. We dined here with some people named Sweetman, the Vanes fromOundle, and Mr Justice Michelmore, who is staying with them. The judgewas talking with him on the steps when we left."

  "Nobody who partook of the dinner felt any unusual symptoms, or onemight suspect ptomaine poisoning," remarked the doctor from Northampton,a short, grey-headed little man, who had at that moment entered theroom. "My distinct opinion is that, though the affair appears mostmysterious, yet it is due to perfectly natural causes."

  "And I suppose that is the evidence you will give before the Coronerto-morrow, eh?" Shaw asked.

  "Precisely. I shall have a searching analysis of the stomach, ofcourse. Indeed, I'm just off to Northampton for that purpose. But I donot anticipate finding anything. Young Nicholson was not the kind offellow to take his own life."

  "No," I said; "he certainly did not strike me as having any tendenciestowards suicide. Yet, from what the papers say, the affair is mostmysterious."

  "Oh, the papers!" laughed Shaw, derisively. "They're alwayssensational. A good story means hundreds of pounds to them. But," headded, "I must be off, Kemball. I was just going when you came. I haveto be on the Bench this morning at twelve."

  "Please express my most sincere condolence with Miss Seymour," I said."You and I will meet again soon, no doubt."

  "My dear fellow, just come over whenever you like. Better ring me onthe 'phone to see if we are at home, for we're often out in the car thisfine weather."

  And, taking my hand, the man who in his dual life was a countymagistrate, and was about to sit and administer justice from the Bench,gripped my hand and went out, followed by the Northampton doctor, who amoment later I saw with two large glass jam-jars in his hand. Yetalmost directly after I heard a low, peculiar whistle emanating from anadjoining room. Shaw was whistling to himself--even though the housewas a house of mourning!

  Left alone with Doctor Redwood I began to question him, explaining thatI was a friend of the man now dead.

  "Well," he said, "I can't tell you very much, Mr Kemball. CaptainCardew, who was Nicholson's guest, is in the library. At least I lefthim there a little time ago; let's go and find him."

  So he conducted me along a well-carpeted corridor where the doors, Inoticed, were of polished mahogany, and opening one, I found myself in along, low, old-fashioned room, lined with brown-backed books from thefloor to the panelled ceiling. At the table a tall, fair-haired,military-looking young man was seated writing letters.

  I introduced myself, whereupon he
rose, and expressed his readiness toanswer any questions, as I was poor Guy's friend, the doctor, havingsome matters to attend to with his colleague, leaving us alone. When hehad gone I closed the door. Then, turning to the dead man's guest, Isaid in a low voice--"I wonder, Captain Cardew, if I might speak to youin absolute confidence?"

  "Certainly," he said; "we are mutual friends of poor Guy's."

  "Well," I exclaimed; "first, will you tell me, frankly, your privateopinion of this terrible affair? Has there been foul play?"

  I saw that he hesitated.

  "Well," he replied, "there are certain curious circumstances which nodoubt point to such a conclusion, although I understand that the