“How can we tell if the cylinder is non-existent? Probably it was rifled from the royal tomb a thousand years ago and broken open by sacrilegious persons who were unable to decipher these writings, and who cared nothing for the curse of the ten plagues placed upon them,” he laughed.
Then Mr Arnold had evidently not revealed to the Professor the existence of the cylinder. Why? Because he had already again hidden it in fear.
“We have many records of objects concealed, but most of the things referred to in the papyri have disappeared ages ago,” added the great Egyptologist, who, taking me along the gallery, showed me the mummy of the great Pharaoh Merenptah himself, in whose tomb the fragments of papyri were found.
The Professor was extremely kind, and lent me his decipher to copy them. After finding that I could obtain nothing further concerning the man Arnold, and that he was not known as an Egyptologist, I thanked him and left without telling him of the existence of the cylinder.
That same night, I returned to Upton End with intention to show Guy Nicholson the curious record when he visited me on Sunday.
Next morning—which was Saturday—I opened my newspaper, which, as usual, I found on the library table after breakfast, when my eyes fell upon a heading which caused my heart to stand still.
The printed words danced before my bewildered eyes. For a second I stood like a mail in a dream. I held my breath and eagerly read the half a dozen lines of brief announcement—a report which caused me to clap my hand to my fevered brow, and to involuntarily ejaculate the words—
“My God! It can’t be true—it can’t be true!”