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 lodgment 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 patterns; and was mounted in 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.