The whole cavern, he declared, was
filled with cats; black as Erebus with flaming yellow eyes. I shooed
them away and after some trouble calmed the poor old man. But it
was going to be a bad case, that was plain. Luckily the cave temple
was, comparatively speaking, cool. I spent the evening disinfecting
every cranny, and quietly dispersing the suspicious dust of vanished
centuries. When I had finished it smelt carbolically wholesome and was
as clean as a London hospital, even to the ceiling. Miss Ottley sat
all the while by her father's cot, and occasionally sneezed to relieve
her feelings. I had very little sympathy for her distress. I said to
her, "You will take first watch, I'll sleep in the pylon. Call me at
midnight." Then I placed my watch on the edge of the sarcophagus and
went out. She said nothing. I woke at dawn. She was sitting like a
statue beside her father's bedside. Her face was grey. Sir Robert was
asleep, but breathing stertorously. I beckoned her out to the pylon. "See here, Miss Ottley," I said, in a cold rage, "I'm not going to beat
about the bush with you. I told you to call me at midnight. Kindly
explain your disobedience." "I am not your servant to obey your orders," she retorted icily. "No," said I, "you prefer to serve your own prickly pride to behaving
sensibly. But let me tell you this--your father's life depends on
careful nursing. And that is impossible unless we apportion the work
properly between us. You'll be fit for nothing today, and my task will
be doubled in consequence. A little more of such folly and you'll
break down altogether. You are strung up to more than concert pitch. As for me--I am not a machine, and though I am prepared to do my best
out of mere humanity, I don't pretend to do the impossible. Nor shall
I answer for your father's life if you force me to nurse two patients
single-handed." She looked me straight in the eye. "Very well, sir, I shall henceforth
rigidly obey you." "You must," I said and strode into the open. When I had prepared
breakfast, she did not want to eat. But I had only to frown and she
succumbed. Afterwards I made her lie down, and she slept through Sir
Robert's groaning. It was a hideous day. The patient grew steadily
worse, and so great was his strength, despite his diminutive size, that
our struggles wore me out at last and I was obliged to strap him down. By nightfall he was a maniac, and his yells could be heard, I make no
doubt, a mile around. And the worst of it was that my stock of bromide
was gone. I had to dose him with morphia. But I had not to speak to
Miss Ottley again. She woke me out of a delicious sleep at a quarter to
the hour. She was quite composed, but as pale as a sheet. "My father is going to die, I think," she whispered. I went in and looked at him. He was straining like a tiger at his
bonds. "Not to-night, at any rate," I observed. "He has the strength of
six. You go straight to bed!" She went off as meek as any lamb, and I began to talk to Sir Robert. Our conversation was somewhat entertaining. He was Ixion chained to the
wheel. I was Sisyphus with a day off duty. We commiserated one another
on our penalties, and bitterly assailed King Pluto's unsympathetic
government. Finally we conspired to dethrone him and give the crown of
Hades to Proserpine, whose putatively tender heart might be reckoned
on occasionally to mitigate the anguish of our punishment. He fell
into a fitful doze at last with his hand in mine, but he soon awoke,
and with a yell announced the return of the imaginary plague of cats. On the whole, the night was worse than the day. And morning was no
blessing. Sir Robert had shed five and forty years. He was once again
at college, and if his unwilling confessions are to be relied upon, and
his language, he must have been a precious handful for his masters. But
now he steadily lost strength, and the flame of fever ate him up before
our eyes. As the shadows lengthened into afternoon I began to look for
the crisis. Chapter III

Two Lies


Sleep was not to be dreamed of that night for either of us well people. I had thought of a plan. Leaving Miss Ottley to watch the unconscious
but ceaselessly babbling patient, I scoured out the sarcophagus, and
then built an enormous fire before the pylon. Over this I hung the
Arab's cauldron. By nightfall I had the sarcophagus nigh abrim with
hot water. It formed a huge but most admirable bath. It was a heroic
experiment to make; but the dark angel was in the cavern and I had
little chance left. Kill or cure. It seemed a toss of the coin either
way, for Sir Robert was dying fast. After the bath he slipped into a
state of blank insensibility. Miss Ottley thought him asleep, and she
took heart to hope. I did not deceive her. For four hours I waited,
my finger continually on his pulse. It grew continually weaker. I
administered nitro-glycerine every half hour, but at length even that
spur failed. "Miss Ottley," said I, "you must prepare for the worst." She showed me a face of more than mortal courage. Pride is not always
amiss in characters like hers. "I have felt it all along," she said
quietly. "Will he regain his senses?" "Yes. At least I think he will--before the end." "Is there no hope?" "None--unless he can be miraculously aroused. Pardon me--is he very
much attached to you?" "No--his heart and soul are wrapped up in his work. He died, to all
intents and purposes, the hour he was shot. His terrible disappointment
had deprived him of his best support." "The robbery, you mean?" "No--the knowledge of his failure. He made certain of finding the body
of Ptahmes." "Ah!" said I--and gave myself to thought. When I looked up next Miss
Ottley was gazing at her father with a marble countenance, but tears
were streaming from her eyes. "You love him," I whispered. "More than all the world," she answered simply. Her voice rang as true
and unbroken as the chiming of a bell. I began in spite of myself to
admire Miss Ottley. Ten minutes passed; minutes of hideously oppressive silence. Then,
without warning, Sir Robert's eyelids flickered and opened. There was
the light of reason in them. I bent over him and his glance encountered
mine. I pressed his hand and said in brisk, cheerful tones, "You must
hurry up and get well, Sir Robert, or I shall not be able to restrain
my curiosity. This Ptahmes of yours is the most extraordinary mummy I
have ever seen; and I am simply dying to take him from his shroud." The dim eyes of the dying man actually glowed. His fingers clutched at
my wrist, and with a superhuman effort he gasped forth, "No--No." "Be easy," I returned, "I'll not touch him till you are well. But you
must hurry. Remember we are of a trade, you and I." He smiled and very slowly his eyes closed. His breathing was absolutely
imperceptible; but his pulse, though faint, was regular. I made sure
and then put down his hand. "He is dead," said Miss Ottley, and her voice thrilled me to the core. "No," said I, "he is sleeping like a babe.