"Thou tellest curious things, holy man," replied Ramses; "let me now tell thee something. One night in Pi-Bast my own shade appeared to me. That shade was just like me, and even dressed like me. Soon, however, I convinced myself that it was no shade. It was a living man, a certain Lykon, the vile murderer of my son. He began his offences by frightening the Phoenician woman Kama. I appointed a reward for seizing him but our police not only did not seize the man, they even permitted him to seize that same Kama and to slay a harmless infant.
"Today I hear that they have captured Kama, but I know nothing of Lykon. Of course he is living in freedom, in good health, cheerful and rich through stolen treasures; may be making ready for new crimes even."
"So many persons are pursuing that criminal that he must be taken at last," said Mentezufis. "And if he falls into our hands Egypt will pay him for the sufferings which he has caused the heir to her throne. Believe me, lord, Thou mayst forgive all his crimes in advance, for the punishment will be in accord with their greatness."
"I should prefer to have him in my own hands," said the prince. "It is always dangerous to have such a 'shade' while one is living." [It is curious that the theory of shades, on which very likely the uncommon care of the Egyptians for the dead was built, has revived in our times in Europe. Adolf d'Assier explains it minutely in a pamphlet "Essai sur l'humanite posthume et le spiritisme, par un positiviste." ]
Not greatly pleased by this end of his explanation, the holy Mentezufis took leave of the viceroy. After the priest had gone, Tutmosis entered.
"The Greeks are raising the pile for their chief," said he, "and a number of Libyan women have agreed to wail at the funeral ceremony."
"We shall be present," answered Ramses. "Dost Thou know that my son is killed? such a little child. When I carried him he laughed and held out his little hands to me. What wickedness may be in the human heart is beyond comprehension. If that vile Lykon had attempted my life I could understand, even forgive him. But to slay a little child."
"But have they told thee of Sarah's devotion?" inquired Tutmosis.
"She was, as I think, the most faithful of women, and I did not treat her justly. But how is it," cried the prince, striking his fist on the table, "that they have not seized that wretch Lykon to this moment? The Phoenicians swore to me, and I promised a reward to the chief of police. There must be some secret in this matter."
Tutmosis approached the prince, and whispered,