He picked up the heap of manuscript as he spoke, and selected some papers from the mass.
“There’s no collected story here,” he remarked; “simply a lot of memoranda scribbled on whatever he had at hand, old telegraph blanks, backs of envelopes, and the like. They bear upon a trip that Richard took to Egypt several years ago. The magic of the country seems to have captivated him. But there’s something more than the awakened interest of a tourist in them. They’re aflame with the ardor of a discoverer. He seems to have been right on the brink of some remarkable find—so remarkable, in fact, that he feared to commit it to paper lest it should get into hands for which it was not intended.”
“I remember now,” broke in Captain Sturdy, “that when he got back from that trip he seemed strangely excited. But I could never get much out of him about it. He’d talk about it in a general way, but whenever it came to details he’d change the subject. I gathered that he meant to go back the next year, but the war came and that put an end to his plans for the time.”
“He seemed to have spent most of his time among the tombs,” resumed the professor. “There is one he mentions that was fifty-two feet long, thirty-one feet wide, the sides of which were entirely covered with paintings, while the roof, twenty-four feet high, was adorned with a hundred squares of over a dozen different designs. There’s a diagram of it here.”
“What do you gather from that?” asked the captain.
“Nothing much in itself,” was the reply. “But at the end of the description are the words: ‘This is not the one. Must look further.’ And there are several other descriptions of tombs scattered through the papers, each with this little note of disappointment at the end. It seems clear to me that Richard was hunting eagerly for one particular tomb and desperately anxious to find it.”
“What for, do you suppose?” asked Don.
“What he wanted to find it for or what he expected to find in it I don’t know. It may have been gold or scarabs or alabaster vases or amulets or any of the thousand things that make some of those tombs veritable treasure houses. But whatever it was, his mind was centered on it. It may have become a sort of obsession. Then, when his head was hurt in that accident at the time of the shipwreck, that one overpowering desire to get back to Egypt may have come to the front and been too strong to be resisted.”
“Even if he did go there,” said Don, in perplexity, “it’s strange that nothing has been heard of him. He had to live somewhere, must have registered at some hotel. Yet all the consuls in the various cities have investigated and can find no traces of any one named Sturdy.”
“He may have used some other name,” suggested the professor. “It’s quite possible that he’d forgotten his own. Cases of amnesia are common enough, when a man forgets all his past history, even his name.”