"Within the year, P. lost his life by the explosion of a fowling piece without visible cause; G. disappeared while bathing in the Nile in the vicinity of a crocodile pool, and Q., after a period of captivity among hostile Arabs, died of a snake bite. Mr. X. alone survived, and arrived in Cairo broken in health, only to learn that the greater part of his fortune had been lost through the knavery of an agent. Truly, the priestess of Amen Ra had signified her displeasure in a most convincing manner."
"Who the deuce was she?" demanded Dunbarton.
"Why, the mummy, as I should have told you."
"But you didn't," remarked the painter. "And why do you suppose she was displeased?"
"Because," the other replied, with conviction, "she had been accustomed in life to veneration, worship, love, and naturally she did not like to have her coffin knocked about from place to place."
"I see," Dunbarton admitted gravely, but with the suspicion of a yawn suppressed. "What became of the coffin?"
"It had been shipped meanwhile to Germantown as a gift to the aunt of the last owner, a lady of so far unblemished reputation, who almost immediately acquired the cocaine habit."
"What? Cocaine in the sixties?" cried the painter captiously.
"Perhaps it may have been opium," Morewood admitted. "At all events she took to something pernicious, lost everything she had, and finally sold the precious relic to a Mrs. Meiswinkle, of Tuckahoe, who gave it a conspicuous place in her baronial hall."