HUMMEL. [Aside, without rising] That's the jewelry thief, I think.... [To the COLONEL] If you bring in the Mummy, our gathering will be complete.
COLONEL. [Going to the door of the Hyacinth Room] Polly!
MUMMY. [Enters] Currrrr!
COLONEL. How about the young people?
HUMMEL. No, not the young people! They must be spared.
The company is seated in a circle, no one saying a word for a while.
COLONEL. Shall we order the tea now?
HUMMEL. What's the use? No one cares for tea, and I can't see the need of pretending. [Pause.
COLONEL. Shall we make conversation?
HUMMEL. [Speaking slowly and with frequent pauses.] Talk of the weather, which we know all about? Ask one another's state of health, which we know just as well? I prefer silence. Then thoughts become audible, and we can see the past. Silence can hide nothing—but words can. I read the other day that the differentiation of languages had its origin in the desire among savage peoples to keep their tribal secrets hidden from outsiders. This means that every language is a code, and he who finds the universal key can understand every language in the world—which does not prevent the secret from becoming revealed without any key at times, and especially when the fact of paternity is to be proved—but, of course, legal proof is a different matter. Two false witnesses suffice to prove, anything on which they agree, but you don't bring any witnesses along on the kind of expedition I have in mind. Nature herself has planted in man a sense of modesty, which tends to hide that which should be hidden. But we slip into situations unawares, and now and then a favourable chance will reveal the most cherished secret, stripping the impostor of his mask, and exposing the villain....