The Lost Million

by William Le Queux

every one of its possessors occurred tome. I recollected the ancient hieroglyphics upon the scraps of browncrinkled papyri, and their translation. But surely the apparition ofthe Hand could have no connection with what had been written long ago,before our Christian era?

  "Did you actually feel the cold touch of the Hand?" I asked her ineagerness.

  "Yes. It awakened me, just as it awakened you."

  "And there was no one else in the house but the persons you named. Imean you are positive that you were not a victim of any practical joke,Miss Seymour?" I asked.

  "Quite certain. The door of my room was locked and bolted. It was atthe head of the stairs. There were four rooms on that floor, but onlymine was occupied."

  "The window? If I recollect aright, most of the houses on the Esplanadeat Scarborough have balconies," I remarked.

  "Mine had a balcony, it is true, but both windows were securelyfastened. I recollected latching them before retiring, as is my habit."

  "Then nobody could possibly have entered there!"

  "Nobody. Yet I have a distinct recollection of having been touched by,and having actually seen, the hand being withdrawn from my pillow. Irushed out of the room and alarmed the house. In a few moments everyone came out of their rooms, but when I told my story they laughed at mein ridicule, and Louise took me back to bed, declaring that I must havehad a bad dream. But I could sleep there no longer, and returned homenext day. I did not tell Dad, because I knew that he would only pokefun at me."

  For some moments I did not speak. Surely ours was a strangeconversation in that busy modern thoroughfare, amid the cafe idlersseated out in the roadway, and the lounging groups enjoying the cool airfrom the river after the heat and burden of the day.

  Strange it was--very strange--that almost the same inexplicablecircumstances had occurred to her as to me.

  Had I been superstitious I certainly should have been inclined to thebelief that the uncanny hand--which was so material that it had left itsimprint upon my flesh--was actually some evil foreboding connected withthe bronze cylinder--the Thing which the papyri decreed shall not speakuntil the Day of Awakening. Was not the curse of the Wolf-god placedupon any one who sought knowledge of the contents of that cylinder,which had been placed for security in the tomb of the Great Merenptah,King of Kings? Even contact with the human hand was forbidden underpain of the wrath of the Sun-god, and of Osiris the Eternal.

  As I walked there I recalled the quaint decipher of those ancienthieroglyphics.

  Yes, the incident was the most weird and inexplicable that had everhappened to me. The whole problem indeed defied solution.

  I had not attempted to open the cylinder, nor to seek knowledge of whatwas contained therein. It still reposed in the safe in the library atUpton End, together with that old newspaper, the threatening letter, andthe translation of the papyri.

  We wandered along the quay, Asta appearing unusually pale and pensive.

  "I wonder you did not recount your strange experience to your father," Iexclaimed presently.

  "It happened in the house of a friend, and not at home. Therefore Iresolved to say nothing. Indeed I had grown to believe that, after all,it must have been mere imagination--until you described what happened toyou last night. That has caused me to; think--it has convinced me thatwhat I saw was material and real."

  "It's a mystery, Miss Seymour," I said; "one which we must bothendeavour to elucidate. Let us say nothing--not even to your father.We will keep our own counsel and watch."

  When we returned to the hotel we found Shaw awaiting us. Asta, beingfatigued, retired to her room, and afterwards he and I strolled down toone of those big cafes in the Place Bellecour. A string band wasplaying a waltz, and hundreds of people were sitting out upon thepavement drinking their _bock_ or _mazagran_.

  Darkness had fallen, and with it the air became fresher--welcome indeedafter those long hours on the white, dusty road of the Bourgogne. Myhost, in the ease of straw hat and grey flannel suit, still wore hisdark glasses, and as we sat together at one of the tin tables near thekerb a man and a woman at the adjacent table rose and left, so that wewere comparatively alone and in the shadow.

  After we had been chatting merrily--for he seemed in the best of spiritsand full of admiration of the way in which the French roads were kept--he removed his spectacles and wiped them.

  As he did so he laughed across at me, saying in a low voice--

  "It's a nuisance to be compelled to wear these--but I suppose I mustexercise caution. One has always to bear the punishment of one'sindiscretion."

  "Why?"

  He smiled grimly, but remained silent.

  Even though he had admitted that he was not what he represented himselfto be; even though I knew that he was an adventurer, and even though thedead man Arnold had urged me not to trust him implicitly, yet I somehowcould not help liking him. He was always so full of quiet humour, andhis small eyes twinkled merrily when those quaint remarks and causticcriticisms fell from his lips.

  "I thought that the danger which existed that evening in Totnes hadpassed," I remarked.

  "Only temporarily, I fear. Thanks to your generous aid, Kemball, I wasable to slip through their fingers, as I have done on previousoccasions. But I fear that the meshes of the net may one day be woven atrifle too closely. I shouldn't really care very much if it were notfor Asta. You know how devoted I am to her," he added, leaning his armsupon! the small table and bending towards me as he spoke.

  "And if any little contretemps did happen to you?" I asked.

  "Asta would, alas! be left alone," he said in a low, hoarse voice."Poor girl! I--I fear she would find a great change in hercircumstances."

  It was upon the tip of my tongue to acknowledges to him how madly Iloved her, and of my intention of asking her to be my wife, yet somehowI hesitated, fearing, I think, lest he might scorn such a proposition,for I remembered how, after all, she was his sole companion, and thatwithout her he would be lonely and helpless. She was the one brightspot in his soured life, he had declared to me more than once. Thoughscarcely yet out of her teens, she directed the large household atLydford with all the genius and economy of an experienced housewife.Yes! hers had been a strange career--the adopted daughter of a man whowas so often compelled to go into hiding in strange guises and instrange places.

  "Let us hope nothing will happen," I said cheerfully. "Why should it?"

  His face broadened into a meaning grin, and he readjusted his hideousround spectacles and lit a fresh cigar.

  "Really, Mr Shaw," I said, "your dark forebodings and your strangedeclarations puzzle me. True, I have endeavoured to serve yourinterests, and I regard you as a friend, heedless of what I cannot helpsuspecting. Yet you are never open and frank with me concerning onething--your friendship with Melvill Arnold."

  He started at mention of the name--a fact which caused me to ponder.

  "I hardly follow you."

  "Well," I said. "Shortly before leaving England I received a visit froma certain Mrs Olliffe--a lady living near Bath. I believe you knowher?"

  "Yes!" he gasped, grasping the edge of the table and half rising fromhis seat. "Then she has seen you!" he cried. "What did she tell you?"

  "Several things," I replied. "She alleges that you were not Arnold'sfriend--but his fiercest enemy."

  "She has told you that!" he cried bitterly. "And what else has thatwoman said against me?"

  "Nothing much."

  "Come," he exclaimed boldly. "Tell me, Kemball, man to man, all thatwoman has said."

  I saw that his manner had changed, his small eyes were flashing withfire, while upon his pale cheeks showed two scarlet patches.

  Through my brain surged recollections of the woman's allegations, but,seeing him in such anger, I did not desire to irritate him further,therefore I declared that whatever the lady had said was in no wayderogatory to him.

  "You are not telling me the truth, Kemball," he declared, lookingstraight into my eyes.
"I know her too well. She has lied to you aboutme."

  "Probably," was my reply. "I happen by a curious chance to know thecharacter of the lady, and it is hardly such as would inspire me withconfidence."

  "You know her then!" he exclaimed, staring at me hard.

  "I know that at one time she passed as Lady Lettice Lancaster, and wassentenced to penal servitude as an adventuress."

  "Who told you that? How do you know that?" he asked quickly.

  "It is surely common knowledge," was my reply. "Therefore pleasedismiss from your mind that anything she might say to your detrimentwould impair our friendship."

  "Ah yes!" he cried suddenly, taking my hand and wringing it warmly. "Iknow, Kemball, that