The old fellow turned to me, and I noticed that he snarled and showed
his teeth like an ill-tempered cur as he spoke. "This drunken fool has brought me here," he said. "I told him to drive
to Chenies Street, and he brings me to this infernal place. I won't pay
him a farthing, and I meant to have given him a handsome sum. I am going
to call for the police and give him in charge." At this threat the cabman seemed to take alarm. He glanced round as if
to make sure that no policeman was in sight and drove off grumbling
loudly, and Mr. Headley grinned, savagely with satisfaction at having
saved his fare, and put back one and sixpence into his pocket, the
"handsome sum" the cabman had lost. "My dear sir," I said, "I am afraid this piece of stupidity has annoyed
you a great deal. It is a long way to Chenies Street, and you will have
some difficulty in finding the place unless you know London pretty
well." "I know it very little," he replied. "I never come up except on
important business, and I've never been to Chenies Street in my life." "Really? I should be happy to show you the way. I have been for a
stroll, and it will not at all inconvenience me to take you to your
destination." "I want to go to Professor Memys, at number 15. It's most annoying to
me. I'm short-sighted, and I can never make out the numbers on the
doors." "This way if you please," I said, and we set out. I did not find Mr. Headley an agreeable man; indeed, he grumbled the
whole way. He informed me of his name, and I took care to say, "The
well-known antiquary?" and thenceforth I was compelled to listen to the
history of his complicated squabbles with publishers, who had treated
him, as he said, disgracefully. The man was a chapter in the
Irritability of Authors. He told me that he had been on the point of
making the fortune of several firms, but had been compelled to abandon
the design owing to their rank ingratitude. Besides these ancient
histories of wrong and the more recent misadventure of the cabman, he
had another grievous complaint to make. As he came along in the train,
he had been sharpening a pencil, and the sudden jolt of the engine as it
drew up at a station had driven the penknife against his face,
inflicting a small triangular wound just on the cheek-bone, which he
showed me. He denounced the railway company, and heaped imprecations on
the head of the driver, and talked of claiming damages. Thus he grumbled
all the way, not noticing in the least where he was going, and so
inamiable did his conduct appear to me that I began to enjoy the trick I
was playing on him. Nevertheless my heart beat a little faster as we turned into the street
where Lipsius was waiting. A thousand accidents, I thought, might
happen. Some chance might bring one of Headley's friends to meet us;
perhaps, though he knew not Chenies Street, he might know the street
where I was taking him; in spite of his short-sight he might possibly
make out the number, or in a sudden fit of suspicion he might make an
inquiry of the policeman at the corner. Thus every step upon the
pavement, as we drew nearer to the goal, was to me a pang and a terror,
and every approaching passenger carried a certain threat of danger. I
gulped down my excitement with an effort, and made shift to say pretty
quietly:--

"No. 15, I think you said? That is the third house from this. If you
will allow me, I will leave you now; I have been delayed a little, and
my way lies on the other side of Tottenham Court Road." He snarled out some kind of thanks, and I turned my back and walked
swiftly in the opposite direction. A minute or two later, I looked round
and saw Mr. Headley standing on the doorstep, and then the door opened
and he went in. For my part I gave a sigh of relief, and hastened to get
away from the neighborhood and endeavored to enjoy myself in merry
company. The whole of the next day I kept away from Lipsius. I felt anxious, but
I did not know what had happened or what was happening, and a reasonable
regard for my own safety told me that I should do well to remain quietly
at home. My curiosity, however, to learn the end of the odd drama in
which I had played a part stung me to the quick, and late in the evening
I made up my mind to go and see how events had turned out. Lipsius
nodded when I came in, and asked me if I could give him five minutes'
talk. We went into his room, and he began to walk up and down, and I sat
waiting for him to speak. "My dear Mr. Walters," he said at length, "I congratulate you warmly. Your work was done in the most thorough and artistic manner. You will go
far. Look." He went to his escritoire and pressed a secret spring, and a drawer flew
out, and he laid something on the table. It was a gold coin, and I took
it up and examined it eagerly, and read the legend about the figure of
the faun. "Victoria," I said, smiling. "Yes, it was a great capture, which we owe to you. I had great
difficulty in persuading Mr. Headley that a little mistake had been
made; that was how I put it. He was very disagreeable, and indeed
ungentlemanly about it; didn't he strike you as a very cross old man?" I held the coin, admiring the choice and rare design, clear cut as if
from the mint; and I thought the fine gold glowed and burned like a
lamp. "And what finally became of Mr. Headley?" I said at last. Lipsius smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "What on earth does it matter?" he said. "He might be here, or there, or
anywhere; but what possible consequence could it be? Besides, your
question rather surprises me. You are an intelligent man, Mr. Walters. Just think it over, and I'm sure you won't repeat the question." "My dear sir," I said, "I hardly think you are treating me fairly. You
have paid me some handsome compliments on my share in the capture, and I
naturally wish to know how the matter ended. From what I saw of Mr.
Headley, I should think you must have had some difficulty with him." He gave me no answer for the moment, but began again to walk up and down
the room, apparently absorbed in thought. "Well," he said at last, "I suppose there is something in what you say. We are certainly indebted to you. I have said, that I have a high
opinion of your intelligence, Mr. Walters. Just look here, will you." He opened a door communicating with another room and pointed. There was a great box lying on the floor; a queer coffin-shaped thing. I
looked at it and saw it was a mummy case like those in the British
Museum, vividly painted in the brilliant Egyptian colors, with I knew
not what proclamation of dignity or hopes of life immortal. The mummy,
swathed about in the robes of death, was lying within, and the face had
been uncovered. "You are going to send this away?" I said, forgetting the question I had
put. "Yes; I have an order from a local museum. Look a little more closely,
Mr. Walters." Puzzled by his manner, I peered into the face, while he held up the
lamp.