“See, genteelmen!—Mummy! Mummy!”
The eyeglass came up as calmly, as deliberately as ever.
“Ah,—Ferguson—what did I understand you to say the gentleman’s name was?”
“Name?—he got no name! Mummy!—’Gyptian mummy!”
“Yes, yes. Born here?”
“No! ’Gyptian mummy!”
“Ah, just so. Frenchman, I presume?”
“No!—Not Frenchman, not Roman!—born in Egypta!”
“Born in Egypta. Never heard of Egypta before. Foreign locality, likely. Mummy—mummy. How calm he is—how self-possessed. Is, ah—is he dead?”
“Oh, SACRE BLEU, been dead three thousan’ year!”