Complete Works of Bram Stoker

by Bram Stoker

  ‘Or for a giantess!’ said Margaret.

  This sarcophagus stood near to one of the windows. It was in one respect different from all the other sarcophagi in the place. All the others in the house, of whatever material — granite, porphyry, ironstone, basalt, slate, or wood — were quite simple in form within. Some of them were plain of interior surface; others were engraved, in whole or part, with hieroglyphics. But each and all of them had no protuberances or uneven surface anywhere. They might have been used for baths; indeed, they resembled in many ways Roman baths of stone or marble which I had seen. Inside this, however, was a raised space, outlined like a human figure. I asked Margaret if she could explain it in any way. For answer she said:

  ‘Father never wished to speak about this. It attracted my attention from the first; but when I asked him about it he said: “I shall tell you all about it some day, little girl — if I live! But not yet! The story is not yet told, as I hope to tell it to you! Some day, perhaps soon, I shall know all; and then we shall go over it together. And a-mighty interesting story you will find it — from first to last!” Once afterward I said, rather lightly I am afraid: “Is that story of the sarcophagus told yet, Father?” He shook his head, and looked at me gravely as he said: “Not yet, little girl; but it will be — if I live — if I live!” His repeating that phrase about his living rather frightened me; I never ventured to ask him again.’

  Somehow this thrilled me. I could not exactly say how or why; but it seems like a gleam of light at last. There are, I think, moments when the mind accepts something as true; though it can account for neither the course of the thought, nor, if there be more than one thought, the connection between them. Hitherto we had been in such outer darkness regarding Mr. Trelawny, and the strange visitation which had fallen on him, that anything which afforded a clue, even of the faintest and most shadowy kind, had at the outset the enlightening satisfaction of a certainty. Here were two lights of our puzzle. The first that Mr. Trelawny associated with this particular curio a doubt of his own living. The second that lie had some purpose or expectation with regard to it, which he would not disclose, even to his daughter, till complete. Again it was to be borne in mind that this sarcophagus differed internally from all the others. What meant that odd raised place? I said nothing to Miss Trelawny, for I feared lest I should either frighten her or buoy her up with future hopes; but I made up my mind that I would take an early opportunity for further investigation.

  Close beside the sarcophagus was a low table of green stone with red veins in ft, like bloodstone. The feet were fashioned like the paws of a jackal, and round each leg was twined a full-throated snake wrought exquisitely in pure gold. On it rested a strange and very beautiful coffer or casket of stone of a peculiar shape. It was something like a small coffin, except that the longer sides, instead of being cut off square like the upper or level part were continued to a point. Thus it was an irregular septahedron, there being two planes on each of the two sides, one end and a top and bottom. The stone, of one piece of which it was wrought, was such as I had never seen before. At the base it was of a full green, the colour of emerald without, of course, its gleam. It was not by any means dull, however, either in colour or substance, and was of infinite hardness and fineness of texture. The surface was almost that of a jewel. The colour grew lighter as it rose, with gradation so fine as to be imperceptible, changing to a fine yellow almost of the colour of ‘mandarin’ china. It was quite unlike anything I had ever seen, and did not resemble any stone or gem that I knew. I took it to be some unique mother-stone, or matrix of some gem. It was wrought all over, except in a few spots, with fine hieroglyphics, exquisitely done and coloured with the same blue-green cement or pigment that appeared on the sarcophagus. In length it was about two feet and a half; in breadth about half this, and was nearly a foot high. The vacant spaces were irregularly distributed about the top running to the pointed end. These places seemed less opaque than the rest of the stone. I tried to lift up the lid so that I might see if they were translucent; but it was securely fixed. It fitted so exactly that the whole coffer seemed like a single piece of stone mysteriously hollowed from within. On the sides and edges were some odd-looking protuberances wrought just as finely as any other portion of the coffer which had been sculptured by manifest design in the cutting of the stone. They had queer-shaped holes or hollows, different in each; and, like the rest, were covered with the hieroglyphic figures, cut finely and filled in with the same blue-green cement.

  On the other side of the great sarcophagus stood another small table of alabaster, exquisitely chased with symbolic figures of gods and the signs of the zodiac. On this table stood a case of about a foot square composed of slabs of rock crystal set in a skeleton of bands of red gold, beautifully engraved with hieroglyphics, and coloured with a blue green, very much the tint of the figures on the sarcophagus and the coffer. The whole work was quite modern.

  But if the case was modern what it held was not. Within, on a cushion of cloth of gold as fine as silk, and with the peculiar softness of old gold, rested a mummy hand, so perfect that it startled one to see it. A woman’s hand, fine and long, with slim tapering fingers and nearly as perfect as when it was given to the embalmer thousands of years before. In the embalming it had lost nothing of its beautiful shape; even the wrist seemed to maintain its pliability as the gentle curve lay on the cushion. The skin was of a rich creamy or old ivory colour; a dusky fair skin which suggested heat, but heat in shadow. The great peculiarity of it, as a hand, was that it had in all seven fingers, there being two middle and two index fingers. The upper end of the wrist was jagged, as though it had been broken off, and was stained with a red-brown stain. On the cushion near the hand was a small scarab, exquisitely wrought of emerald.

  ‘That is another of Father’s mysteries. When I asked him about it he said that it was perhaps the most valuable thing he had, except one. When I asked him what that one was, he refused to tell me, and forbade me to ask him anything concerning it. “I will tell you,” he said, “all about it, too, in good time — if I live!” ‘

  ‘If I live!’ the phrase again. These three things grouped together, the Sarcophagus, the Coffer, and the Hand, seemed to make a trilogy of mystery indeed!

  At this time Miss Trelawny was sent for on some domestic matter. I looked at the other curios in the room; but they did not seem to have anything like the same charm for me, now that she was away. Later on in the day I was sent for to the boudoir where she was consulting with Mrs. Grant as to the lodgement of Mr. Corbeck. They were in doubt as to whether he should have a room close to Mr. Trelawny’s or quite away from it, and had thought it well to ask my advice on the subject. I came to the conclusion that he had better not be too near; for the first at all events, he could easily be moved closer if necessary. When Mrs. Grant had gone, I asked Miss Trelawny how it came that the furniture of this room, the boudoir in which we were, was so different from the other rooms of the house.

  ‘Father’s forethought!’ she answered. ‘When I first came, he thought, and rightly enough, that I might get frightened with so many records of death and the tomb everywhere. So he had this room and the little suite off it — that door opens into the sitting-room — where I slept last night, furnished with pretty things. You see, they are all beautiful. That cabinet belonged to the great Napoleon.’

  ‘There is nothing Egyptian in these rooms at all then?’ I asked, rather to show interest in what she had said than anything else, for the furnishing of the room was apparent. ‘What a lovely cabinet! May I look at it?’

  ‘Of course! with the greatest pleasure!’ she answered, with a smile. ‘Its finishing within and without, Father says, is absolutely complete.’ I stepped over and looked at it closely. It was made of tulip wood, inlaid in pattern; and was mounted 4n ormolu. I pulled open one of the drawers, a deep one where I could see the work to great advantage. As I pulled it, something rattled inside as though rolling; there was a tinkle as of metal on metal.

>   ‘Hullo!’ I said. ‘There is something in here. Perhaps I had better not open it.’

  ‘There is nothing that I know of’ she answered. ‘Some of the housemaids may have used it to put something by for the time and forgotten it. Open it by all means!’

  I pulled open the drawer; as I did so, both Miss Trelawny and I started back in amazement.

  There before our eyes lay a number of ancient Egyptian lamps, of various sizes and of strangely varied shapes.

  We leaned over them and looked closely. My own heart was beating like a trip-hammer; and I could see by the heaving of Margaret’s bosom that she was strangely excited.

  Whilst we looked, afraid to touch and almost afraid to think, there was a ring at the front door; immediately afterwards Mr. Corbeck, followed by Sergeant Daw, came into the hall. The door of the boudoir was open, and when they saw us Mr. Corbeck came running in, followed more slowly by the Detective. There was a sort of chastened joy in his face and manner as he said impulsively:

  ‘Rejoice with me, my dear Miss Trelawny, my luggage has come and all my things are intact!’ Then his face fell as he added, ‘Except the lamps. The lamps that were worth all the rest a thousand times....’ He stopped, struck by the strange pallor of her face. Then his eyes, following her look and mine, lit on the cluster of lamps in the drawer. He gave a sort of cry of surprise and joy as he bent over and touched them:

  ‘My lamps! My lamps! Then they are safe — safe — safe!... But how, in the name of God — of all the Gods — did they come here?’

  We all stood silent. The Detective made a deep sound of intaking breath. I looked at him, and as he caught my glance he turned his eyes on Miss Trelawny whose back was toward him.

  There was in them the same look of suspicion which had been there when he had spoken to me of her being the first to find her father on the occasions of the attack.

  Chapter IX. The Need of Knowledge

  MR CORBECK SEEMED TO GO ALMOST OFF HIS HEAD AT the recovery of the lamps. He took them up one by one and looked them all over tenderly, as though they were things that he loved. In his delight and excitement he breathed so hard that it seemed almost like a cat purring. Sergeant Daw said quietly, his voice breaking the silence like a discord in a melody:

  ‘Are you quite sure those lamps are the ones you had, and that were stolen?’

  His answer was in an indignant tone: ‘Sure! Of course I’m sure. There isn’t another set of lamps like these in the world!’

  ‘So far as you know!’ The Detective’s words were smooth enough, but his manner was so exasperating that I was sure he had some motive in it; so I waited in silence. He went on:

  ‘Of course there may be some in the British Museum; or Mr. Trelawny may have had these already. There’s nothing new under the sun, you know, Mr. Corbeck; not even in Egypt. These may be the originals, and yours may have been the copies. Are there any points by which you can identify these as yours?’

  Mr. Corbeck was really angry by this time. He forgot his reserve; and in his indignation poured forth a torrent of almost incoherent, but enlightening, broken sentences:

  ‘Identify! Copies of them! British Museum! Rot! Perhaps they keep a set in Scotland Yard for teaching idiot policemen Egyptology! Do I know them? When I have carried them about my body, in the desert, for three months; and lay awake night after night to watch them! When I have looked them over with a magnifying-glass, hour after hour, till my eyes ached; till every tiny blotch, and chip, and dinge became as familiar to me as his chart to a captain; as familiar as they doubtless have been all the time to every thick-headed area-prowler within the bounds of mortality. See here, young man, look at these!’ He ranged the lamps in a row on the top of the cabinet. ‘Did you ever see a set of lamps of these shapes — of any one of these shapes? Look at these dominant figures on them! Did you ever see so complete a set — even in Scotland Yard; even in Bow Street? Look! one on each, the seven forms of Hathor. Look at that figure of the Ka, of a Princess of the Two Egypts, standing between Ra and Osiris in the Boat of the Dead, with the Eye of Sleep, supported on legs, bending before her; and Harmochis rising in the north. Will you find that, in the British Museum — or Bow Street? Or perhaps your studies in the Gizeh Museum, or the Fitzwilliam, or Paris, or Leyden, or Berlin, have shown you that the episode is common in hieroglyphics; and that this is only a copy. Perhaps you can tell me what that figure of Ptah-Seker-Ausar holding the Tet wrapped in the Sceptre of Papyrus means? Did you ever see it before; even in the British Museum, or Gizeh, or Scotland Yard?

  He broke off suddenly; and then went on in quite a different way:

  ‘Look here! it seems to me that the thick-headed idiot is myself! I beg your pardon, old fellow, for my rudeness. I quite lost my temper at the suggestion that I do not know these lamps. You don’t mind, do you?’ The Detective answered heartily:

  ‘Lord, sir, not I. I like to see folks angry when I am dealing with them, whether they are on my side or the other. It is when people are angry that you learn the truth from them. I keep cool; that is my trade! Do you know, you have told me more about those lamps in the past two minutes than when you filled me up with details of how to identify them.’

  Mr. Corbeck grunted; he was not pleased at having given himself away. All at once he turned to me and said in his natural way:

  ‘Now tell me how you got them back?’ I was so surprised that I said without thinking:

  We didn’t get them back!’ The traveller laughed openly.

  “What on earth do you mean?’ he asked. ‘You didn’t get them back! Why, there they are before your eyes! We found you looking at them when we came in.’ By this time I had recovered my surprise and had my wits about me.

  ‘Why, that’s just it,’ I said, ‘We had only come across them, by accident, that very moment!’

  Mr. Corbeck drew back and looked hard at Miss Trelawny and myself; turning his eyes from one to the other as he asked:

  ‘Do you mean to tell me that no one brought them here; that you found them in that drawer? That, so to speak, no one at all brought them back?’

  ‘I suppose someone must have brought them here; they couldn’t have come of their own accord. But who it was, or when, or how, neither of us knows. We shall have to make enquiry, and see if any of the servants know anything of it.’

  We all stood silent for several seconds. It seemed a long time. The first to speak was the Detective, who said in an unconscious way:

  ‘Well, I’m damned! I beg your pardon, miss!’ Then his mouth shut like a steel trap.

  We called up the servants, one by one, and asked them if they knew anything of some articles placed in a drawer in the. boudoir; but none of them could throw any light on the circumstances. We did not tell them what the articles were; or let them see them.

  Mr. Corbeck packed the lamps in cotton wool, and placed them in a tin box. This, I may mention incidentally, was then brought up to the detectives’ room, where one of the men stood guard over them with a revolver the whole night. Next day we got a small safe into the house, and placed them in it. There were two different keys. One of them I kept myself; the other I placed in my drawer in the Safe Deposit vault. We were all determined that the lamps should not be lost again.

  About an hour after we had found the lamps, Doctor Winchester arrived. He had a large parcel: with him, which, when unwrapped, proved to be the mummy of a cat. With Miss Trelawny’s permission he placed this in the boudoir; and Silvio was brought close to it. To the surprise of us all, however, except perhaps Doctor Winchester, he did not manifest the least annoyance; he took no notice of it whatever. He stood on the table close beside it, purring loudly. Then, following out his plan, the Doctor brought him into Mr. Trelawny’s room, we all following. Doctor Winchester was excited; Miss Trelawny anxious. I was more than interested myself, for I began to have a glimmering of the Doctor’s idea. The Detective was calmly and coldly superior: but Mr. Corbeck, who was an enthusiast, was full of eager curiosity.

&n
bsp; The moment Doctor Winchester got into the room, Silvio began to mew and wriggle; and, jumping out of his arms, ran over to the cat mummy and began to scratch angrily at it. Miss Trelawny had some difficulty in taking him away; but soon as he was out of the room he became quiet. When she came back there was a clamour of comments:

  ‘I thought so!’ from the Doctor.

  ‘What can it mean?’ from Miss Trelawny.

  ‘That’s a very strange thing!’ from Mr. Corbeck

  ‘Odd! but it doesn’t prove anything!’ from the Detective.

  ‘I suspend my judgement!’ from myself, thinking it advisable to say something.

  Then by common consent we dropped the theme — for the present.

  In my room that evening I was making some notes of what had happened, when there came a low tap on the door. In obedience to my summons Sergeant Daw came in, carefully closing the door behind him.

  ‘Well, Sergeant,’ said I, ‘sit down. What is it?’

  ‘I wanted to speak to you, sir, about those lamps.’ I nodded and waited: he went on: ‘You know that that room where they were found opens directly into the room where Miss Trelawny slept last night?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘During the night a window somewhere in that part of the house was opened, and shut again. I heard it, and took a look round; but I could see no sign of anything.’

  ‘Yes, I know that!’ I said; ‘I heard a window moved myself’

  ‘Does nothing strike you as strange about it, sir?’

  ‘Strange!’ I said, ‘strange! why it’s all the most bewildering, maddening thing I have ever encountered. It is all so strange that one seems to wonder; and simply waits for what will happen next. But what do you mean by strange?’ The Detective paused, as if choosing his words to begin; and then said deliberately: