"You--you," he said in a hesitating manner--"you are not a member of that infernal society?"
"What society?" asked Darrel, pretending ignorance to learn the more.
"The Society of the Blue Mummy."
"Set your mind at rest, Blake. I know nothing about the society."
The strain on Roderick's nerves relaxed, and he fell back on his chair with an exhausted look. "Have you any brandy?" he murmured faintly; "the sight of that devilish idol has given me a turn."
Still greatly amazed by Roderick's speech and manner, Darrel hastened to the side-board and brought thence a small glass of cognac. On drinking this the courage of Blake revived; the blood came back to his cheeks, the strength to his limbs; and he sat up briskly, with an apology for his momentary weakness.
"But you put the fear of God into me, my dear fellow," said he with a shudder; "indeed you did. I thought I was done for."
"How do you mean--done for?"
"Well I fancied that you produced that Blue Mummy as a sign of my death."
"Oh, is it usually a sign of death."