The Eye of Osiris

by R. Austin Freeman

  CHAPTER IX

  THE SPHINX OF LINCOLN'S INN

  At the age of twenty-six one cannot claim to have attained to theposition of a person of experience. Nevertheless, the knowledge ofhuman nature accumulated in that brief period sufficed to make me feelconfident that, at some time during the evening, I should receive avisit from Miss Oman. And circumstances justified my confidence; forthe clock yet stood at two minutes to seven when a premonitory tap atthe surgery door heralded her arrival.

  "I happened to be passing," she explained, and I forbore to smile atthe coincidence, "so I thought I might as well drop in and hear whatyou wanted to ask me about."

  She seated herself in the patients' chair and laying a bundle ofnewspapers on the table, glared at me expectantly.

  "Thank you, Miss Oman," said I. "It is very good of you to look in onme. I am ashamed to give you all this trouble about such a triflingmatter."

  She rapped her knuckles impatiently on the table.

  "Never mind about the trouble," she exclaimed tartly."What--is--it--that--you--want--to--_ask_--me about?"

  I stated my difficulties in respect of the supper-party, and, as Iproceeded, an expression of disgust and disappointment spread over hercountenance.

  "I don't see why you need have been so mysterious about it," she saidglumly.

  "I didn't mean to be mysterious; I was only anxious not to make a messof the affair. It's all very fine to assume a lofty scorn of thepleasures of the table, but there is great virtue in a really goodfeed, especially when low-living and high-thinking have been the orderof the day."

  "Coarsely put," said Miss Oman, "but perfectly true."

  "Very well. Now, if I leave the management to Mrs. Gummer, she willprobably provide a tepid Irish stew with flakes of congealed fat on it,and a plastic suet-pudding or something of that kind, and turn thehouse upside down in getting it ready. So I thought of having a coldspread and getting the things from outside. But I don't want it tolook as if I had been making enormous preparations."

  "They won't think the things came down from heaven," said Miss Oman.

  "No, I suppose they won't. But you know what I mean. Now, where doyou advise me to go for the raw materials of conviviality?"

  Miss Oman reflected. "You had better let me do your shopping andmanage the whole business," was her final verdict.

  This was precisely what I wanted, and I accepted thankfully, regardlessof the feelings of Mrs. Gummer. I handed her two pounds, and, aftersome protests at my extravagance, she bestowed them in her purse; aprocess that occupied time, since that receptacle, besides being a sortof miniature Record Office of frayed and time-stained bills, alreadybulged with a lading of draper's samples, ends of tape, a card of linenbuttons, another of hooks and eyes, a lump of beeswax, a rat-eatenstump of leadpencil, and other trifles that I have forgotten. As sheclosed the purse at the imminent risk of wrenching off its fasteningsshe looked at me severely and pursed her lips.

  "You're a very plausible young man," she remarked.

  "What makes you say that?" I asked.

  "Philandering about museums," she continued, "with handsome youngladies on the pretense of work. Work, indeed! Oh, I heard her tellingher father about it. She thinks you were perfectly enthralled by themummies and dried cats and chunks of stone and all the other trash.She doesn't know what humbugs men are."

  "Really, Miss Oman," I began.

  "Oh, don't talk to me!" she snapped. "I can see it all. You can'timpose upon me. I can see you staring into those glass cases, eggingher on to talk and listening open-mouthed and bulging-eyed and sittingat her feet--now, didn't you?"

  "I don't know about sitting at her feet," I said, "though it mighteasily have come to that with those infernal slippery floors; but I hada very jolly time, and I mean to go again if I can. Miss Bellingham isthe cleverest and most accomplished woman I have ever spoken to."

  This was a poser for Miss Oman, whose admiration and loyalty, I knew,were only equaled by my own. She would have liked to contradict me,but the thing was impossible. To cover her defeat she snatched up thebundle of newspapers and began to open them out.

  "What sort of stuff is 'hibernation'?" she demanded suddenly.

  "Hibernation!" I exclaimed.

  "Yes. They found a patch of it on a bone that was discovered in a pondat St. Mary Cray, and a similar patch on one that was found at someother place in Essex. Now, I want to know what 'hibernation' is."

  "You must mean 'eburnation,'" I said, after a moment's reflection.

  "The newspapers say 'hibernation,' and I suppose they know what theyare talking about. If you don't know what it is, don't be ashamed tosay so."

  "Well, then, I don't."

  "In that case you had better read the papers and find out," she said, alittle illogically. And then: "Are you fond of murders? I am,awfully."

  "What a shocking little ghoul you must be!" I exclaimed.

  She stuck out her chin at me. "I'll trouble you," she said, "to be alittle more respectful in your language. Do you realize that I am oldenough to be your mother?"

  "Impossible!" I ejaculated.

  "Fact," said Miss Oman.

  "Well, anyhow," said I, "age is not the only qualification. Andbesides, you are too late for the billet. The vacancy's filled."

  Miss Oman slapped the papers down on the table and rose abruptly.

  "You had better read the papers and see if you can learn a littlesense," she said severely as she turned to go. "Oh, and don't forgetthe finger!" she added eagerly. "That is really thrilling."

  "The finger?" I repeated.

  "Yes. They found a hand with one missing. The police think it is animportant clue. I don't know what they mean; but you read the accountand tell me what you think."

  With this parting injunction she bustled out through the surgery, and Ifollowed to bid her a ceremonious adieu on the doorstep. I watched herlittle figure tripping with quick, bird-like steps down Fetter Lane,and was about to turn back into the surgery when my attention wasattracted by the evolutions of an elderly gentleman on the oppositeside of the street. He was a somewhat peculiar-looking man, tall,gaunt, and bony, and the way in which he carried his head suggested tothe medical mind a pronounced degree of near sight and a pair of "deep"spectacle glasses. Suddenly he espied me and crossed the road with hischin thrust forward and a pair of keen blue eyes directed at me throughthe centers of his spectacles.

  "I wonder if you can and will help me," said he, with a courteoussalute. "I wish to call on an acquaintance, and I have forgotten hisaddress. It is in some court, but the name of that court has escapedme for the moment. My friend's name is Bellingham. I suppose youdon't chance to know it? Doctors know a great many people, as a rule."

  "Do you mean Mr. Godfrey Bellingham?"

  "Ah! Then you do know him. I have not consulted the oracle in vain.He is a patient of yours, no doubt?"

  "A patient and a personal friend. His address is Forty-nine Nevill'sCourt."

  "Thank you, thank you. Oh, and as you are a friend, perhaps you caninform me as to the customs of the household. I am not expected, and Ido not wish to make an untimely visit. What are Mr. Bellingham'shabits as to his evening meal? Would this be a convenient time tocall?"

  "I generally make my evening visits a little later than this--say abouthalf-past eight; they have finished their meal by then."

  "Ah! Half-past eight, then? Then I suppose I had better take a walkuntil that time. I don't want to disturb them."

  "Would you care to come in and smoke a cigar until it is time to makeyour call? If you would, I could walk over with you and show you thehouse."

  "That is very kind of you," said my new acquaintance, with aninquisitive glance at me through his spectacles. "I think I shouldlike to sit down. It's a dull affair, mooning about the streets, andthere isn't time to go back to my chambers--in Lincoln's Inn."

  "I wonder," said I, as I ushered him into the room lately vacated byMiss Oman,
"if you happen to be Mr. Jellicoe."

  He turned his spectacles full on me with a keen, suspicious glance."What makes you think I am Mr. Jellicoe?" he asked.

  "Oh, only that you live in Lincoln's Inn."

  "Ha! I see. I live in Lincoln's Inn; Mr. Jellicoe lives in Lincoln'sInn; therefore I am Mr. Jellicoe. Ha! ha! Bad logic, but a correctconclusion. Yes, I am Mr. Jellicoe. What do you know about me?"

  "Mighty little, excepting that you were the late John Bellingham's manof business."

  "The '_late_ John Bellingham,' hey! How do you know he is the lateJohn Bellingham?"

  "As a matter of fact, I don't; only I rather understood that that wasyour own belief."

  "You understood! Now from whom did you 'understand' that? FromGodfrey Bellingham? H'm! And how did he know what I believe? I nevertold him. It is a very unsafe thing, my dear sir, to expound anotherman's beliefs."

  "Then you think that John Bellingham is alive?"

  "Do I? Who said so? I did not, you know."

  "But he must be either dead or alive."

  "There," said Mr. Jellicoe, "I am entirely with you. You have statedan undeniable truth."

  "It is not a very illuminating one, however," I replied, laughing.

  "Undeniable truths often are not," he retorted. "They are apt to beextremely general. In fact, I would affirm that the certainty of thetruth of a given proposition is directly proportional to itsgenerality."

  "I suppose that is so," said I.

  "Undoubtedly. Take an instance from your own profession. Given amillion normal human beings under twenty, and you can say withcertainty that a majority of them will die before reaching a certainage, that they will die in certain circumstances and of certaindiseases. Then take a single unit from that million, and what can youpredict concerning him? Nothing. He may die to-morrow; he may live tobe a couple of hundred. He may die of a cold in the head or a cutfinger, or from falling off the cross of St. Paul's. In a particularcase you can predict nothing."

  "That is perfectly true," said I. And then realizing that I had beenled away from the topic of John Bellingham, I ventured to return to it.

  "That was a very mysterious affair--the disappearance of JohnBellingham, I mean."

  "Why mysterious?" asked Mr. Jellicoe. "Men disappear from time totime, and when they reappear, the explanations that they give (whenthey give any) seem more or less adequate."

  "But the circumstances were surely rather mysterious."

  "What circumstances?" asked Mr. Jellicoe.

  "I mean the way in which he vanished from Mr. Hurst's house."

  "In what way did he vanish from it?"

  "Well, of course, I don't know."

  "Precisely. Neither do I. Therefore I can't say whether that way wasa mysterious one or not."

  "It is not even certain that he did leave it," I remarked, ratherrecklessly.

  "Exactly," said Mr. Jellicoe. "And if he did not, he is there still.And if he is there still, he has not disappeared--in the senseunderstood. And if he has not disappeared, there is no mystery."

  I laughed heartily, but Mr. Jellicoe preserved a wooden solemnity andcontinued to examine me through his spectacles (which I, in my turn,inspected and estimated at about minus five dioptres). There wassomething highly diverting about this grim lawyer, with his drycontentiousness and almost farcical caution. His ostentatious reserveencouraged me to ply him with fresh questions, the more indiscreet thebetter.

  "I suppose," said I, "that, under these circumstances, you would hardlyfavor Mr. Hurst's proposal to apply for permission to presume death?"

  "Under what circumstances?" he inquired.

  "I was referring to the doubt you have expressed as to whether JohnBellingham is, after all, really dead."

  "My dear sir," said he, "I fail to see your point. If it were certainthat the man was alive, it would be impossible to presume that he wasdead; and if it were certain that he was dead, presumption of deathwould still be impossible. You do not presume a certainty. Theuncertainty is of the essence of the transaction."

  "But," I persisted, "if you really believe that he may be alive, Ishould hardly have thought that you would take the responsibility ofpresuming his death and dispersing his property."

  "I don't," said Mr. Jellicoe. "I take no responsibility. I act inaccordance with the decision of the Court and have no choice in thematter."

  "But the Court may decide that he is dead and he may nevertheless bealive."

  "Not at all. If the Court decides that he is presumably dead, then heis presumably dead. As a mere irrelevant, physical circumstance hemay, it is true, be alive. But legally speaking, and for testamentarypurposes, he is dead. You fail to perceive the distinction, no doubt?"

  "I am afraid I do," I admitted.

  "Yes; the members of your profession usually do. That is what makesthem such bad witnesses in a court of law. The scientific outlook isradically different from the legal. The man of science relies on hisown knowledge and observation and judgment, and disregards testimony.A man comes to you and tells you he is blind in one eye. Do you accepthis statement? Not in the least. You proceed to test his eyesightwith some infernal apparatus of colored glasses, and you find that hecan see perfectly well with both eyes. Then you decide that he is notblind in one eye; that is to say, you reject his testimony in favor offacts of your own ascertaining."

  "But surely that is the rational method of coming to a conclusion?"

  "In science, no doubt. Not in law. A court of law must decideaccording to the evidence which is before it; and that evidence is ofthe nature of sworn testimony. If a witness is prepared to swear thatblack is white and no evidence to the contrary is offered, the evidencebefore the Court is that black is white, and the Court must decideaccordingly. The judge and the jury may think otherwise--they may evenhave private knowledge to the contrary--but they have to decideaccording to the evidence."

  "Do you mean to say that a judge would be justified in giving adecision which he knew to be contrary to the facts? Or that he mightsentence a man whom he knew to be innocent?"

  "Certainly. It has been done. There is a case of a judge whosentenced a man to death and allowed the execution to take place,notwithstanding that he--the judge--had actually seen the murdercommitted by another man. But that was carrying correctness ofprocedure to the verge of pedantry."

  "It was, with a vengeance," I agreed. "But to return to the case ofJohn Bellingham. Supposing that after the Court has decided that he isdead he should return alive? What then?"

  "Ah! It would then be his turn to make an application, and the Court,having fresh evidence laid before it, would probably decide that he wasalive."

  "And meantime his property would have been dispersed?"

  "Probably. But you will observe that the presumption of death wouldhave arisen out of his own proceedings. If a man acts in such a way asto create a belief that he is dead, he must put up with theconsequences."

  "Yes, that is reasonable enough," said I. And then, after a pause, Iasked: "Is there any immediate likelihood of proceedings of the kindbeing commenced?"

  "I understood from what you said just now that Mr. Hurst wascontemplating some action of the kind. No doubt you had yourinformation from a reliable quarter." This answer Mr. Jellicoedelivered without moving a muscle, regarding me with the fixity of aspectacled figurehead.

  I smiled feebly. The operation of pumping Mr. Jellicoe was rather likethe sport of boxing with a porcupine, being chiefly remarkable as ademonstration of the power of passive resistance. I determined,however, to make one more effort, rather, I think, for the pleasure ofwitnessing his defensive maneuvers than with the expectation of gettinganything out of him. I accordingly "opened out" on the subject of the"remains."

  "Have you been following these remarkable discoveries of human bonesthat have been appearing in the papers?" I asked.

  He looked at me stonily for some moments, and then replied:

 
; "Human bones are rather more within your province than mine, but, nowthat you mention it, I think I recall having read of some suchdiscoveries. They were disconnected bones, I believe."

  "Yes; evidently parts of a dismembered body."

  "So I should suppose. No, I have not followed the accounts. As we geton in life our interests tend to settle into grooves, and my groove ischiefly connected with conveyancing. These discoveries would be ofmore interest to a criminal lawyer."

  "I thought you might, perhaps, have connected them with thedisappearance of your client?"

  "Why should I? What could be the nature of the connection?"

  "Well," I said, "these are the bones of a man----"

  "Yes; and my client was a man with bones. That is a connection,certainly, though not a very specific or distinctive one. But perhapsyou had something more particular in your mind?"

  "I had," I replied. "The fact that some of the bones were actuallyfound on land belonging to your client seemed to me rather significant."

  "Did it, indeed?" said Mr. Jellicoe. He reflected for a few moments,gazing steadily at me the while, and then continued: "In that I amunable to follow you. It would have seemed to me that the finding ofhuman remains upon a certain piece of land might conceivably throw a_prima facie_ suspicion upon the owner or occupant of the land as beingthe person who deposited them. But the case that you suggest is theone case in which this would be impossible. A man cannot deposit hisown dismembered remains."

  "No, of course not. I was not suggesting that he deposited themhimself, but merely that the fact of their being deposited on his land,in a way, connected these remains with him."

  "Again," said Mr. Jellicoe, "I fail to follow you, unless you aresuggesting that it is customary for murderers who mutilate bodies to bepunctilious in depositing the dismembered remains upon land belongingto their victims. In which case I am skeptical as to your facts. I amnot aware of the existence of any such custom. Moreover, it appearsthat only a portion of the body was deposited on Mr. Bellingham's land,the remaining portions having been scattered broadcast over a widearea. How does that agree with your suggestion?"

  "It doesn't, of course," I admitted. "But there is another fact that Ithink you will admit to be more significant. The first remains thatwere discovered were found at Sidcup. Now, Sidcup is close to Eltham;and Eltham is the place where Mr. Bellingham was last seen alive."

  "And what is the significance of this? Why do you connect the remainswith one locality rather than the various other localities in whichother portions of the body were found?"

  "Well," I replied, rather graveled by this very pertinent question,"the appearances seem to suggest that the person who deposited theseremains started from the neighborhood of Eltham, where the missing manwas last seen."

  Mr. Jellicoe shook his head. "You appear," said he, "to be confusingthe order of deposition with the order of discovery. What evidence isthere that the remains found at Sidcup were deposited before thosefound elsewhere?"

  "I don't know that there is any," I admitted.

  "Then," said he, "I don't see how you support your suggestion that theperson started from the neighborhood of Eltham."

  On consideration, I had to admit that I had nothing to offer in supportof my theory; and having thus shot my last arrow in this very unequalcontest, I thought it time to change the subject.

  "I called in at the British Museum the other day," said I, "and had alook at Mr. Bellingham's last gift to the nation. The things are verywell shown in that central case."

  "Yes. I was very pleased with the position they have given to theexhibit, and so would my poor old friend have been. I wished, as Ilooked at the case, that he could have seen it. But perhaps he may,after all."

  "I am sure I hope he will," said I, with more sincerity, perhaps, thanthe lawyer gave me credit for. For the return of John Bellingham wouldmost effectually have cut the Gordian knot of my friend Godfrey'sdifficulties. "You are a good deal interested in Egyptology yourself,aren't you?" I added.

  "Greatly interested," replied Mr. Jellicoe, with more animation than Ihad thought possible in his wooden face. "It is a fascinating subject,the study of this venerable civilization, extending back to thechildhood of the human race, preserved for ever for our instruction inits own unchanging monuments like a fly in a block of amber.Everything connected with Egypt is full of an impressive solemnity. Afeeling of permanence, of stability, defying time and change, pervadesit. The place, the people, and the monuments alike breathe ofeternity."

  I was mightily surprised at this rhetorical outburst on the part ofthis dry, taciturn lawyer. But I liked him the better for the touch ofenthusiasm that made him human, and determined to keep him astride ofhis hobby.

  "Yet," said I, "the people must have changed in the course ofcenturies."

  "Yes, that is so. The people who fought against Cambyses were not therace who marched into Egypt five thousand years before--the dynasticpeople whose portraits we see on the early monuments. In those fiftycenturies the blood of Hyksos and Syrians and Ethiopians and Hittites,and who can say how many more races, must have mingled with that of theold Egyptians. But still the national life went on without a break;the old culture leavened the new peoples, and the immigrant strangersended by becoming Egyptians. It is a wonderful phenomenon. Lookingback on it from our own time, it seems more like a geological periodthan the life history of a single nation. Are you at all interested inthe subject?"

  "Yes, decidedly, though I am completely ignorant of it. The fact isthat my interest is of quite recent growth. It is only of late that Ihave been sensible of the glamor of things Egyptian."

  "Since you made Miss Bellingham's acquaintance, perhaps?" suggested Mr.Jellicoe, himself as unchanging in aspect as an Egyptian effigy.

  I suppose I must have reddened--I certainly resented the remark--for hecontinued in the same even tone: "I made the suggestion because I knowthat she takes an intelligent interest in the subject and is, in fact,quite well informed on it."

  "Yes; she seems to know a great deal about the antiquities of Egypt,and I may as well admit that your surmise was correct. It was she whoshowed me her uncle's collection."

  "So I had supposed," said Mr. Jellicoe. "And a very instructivecollection it is, in a popular sense; very suitable for exhibition in apublic museum, though there is nothing in it of unusual interest to theexpert. The tomb furniture is excellent of its kind and the cartonnagecase of the mummy is well made and rather finely decorated."

  "Yes, I thought it quite handsome. But can you explain to me why,after taking all that trouble to decorate it, they should havedisfigured it with those great smears of bitumen?"

  "Ah!" said Mr. Jellicoe, "that is quite an interesting question. It isnot unusual to find mummy cases smeared with bitumen; there is a mummyof a priestess in the next gallery which is completely coated withbitumen except the gilded face. Now, this bitumen was put on for apurpose--for the purpose of obliterating the inscriptions and thusconcealing the identity of the deceased from the robbers anddesecrators of tombs. And there is the oddity of this mummy ofSebek-hotep. Evidently there was an intention of obliterating theinscriptions. The whole of the back is covered thickly with bitumen,and so are the feet. Then the workers seem to have changed their mindsand left the inscriptions and decoration untouched. Why they intendedto cover it, and why, having commenced, they left it partially coveredonly, is a mystery. The mummy was found in its original tomb and quiteundisturbed, so far as tomb-robbers are concerned. Poor Bellingham wasgreatly puzzled as to what the explanation could be."

  "Speaking of bitumen," said I, "reminds me of a question that hasoccurred to me. You know that this substance has been used a good dealby modern painters and that it has a very dangerous peculiarity; I meanits tendency to liquefy, without any obvious reason, long after it hasdried."

  "Yes, I know. Isn't there some story about a picture of Reynolds's inwhich bitumen had been used? A portrait of a lady, I
think. Thebitumen softened, and one of the lady's eyes slipped down on to hercheek; and they had to hang the portrait upside down and keep it warmuntil the eye slipped back again into its place. But what was yourquestion?"

  "I was wondering whether the bitumen used by the Egyptian artists hasever been known to soften after this great lapse of time."

  "Yes, I think it has. I have heard of instances in which the bitumencoatings have softened under certain circumstances and become quite'tacky.' But, bless my soul! here am I gossiping with you and wastingyour time, and it is nearly a quarter to nine!"

  My guest rose hastily, and I, with many apologies for having detainedhim, proceeded to fulfil my promise to guide him to his destination.As we sallied forth together the glamour of Egypt faded by degrees, andwhen he shook my hand stiffly at the gate of the Bellinghams' house,all his vivacity and enthusiasm had vanished, leaving the taciturnlawyer, dry, uncommunicative, and not a little suspicious.