climbed to his feet again. He went to the desk and poured himself a glass of wine from the decanter. He refilled Randolph's glass, and then retreated to his chair again.
Randolph watched all this but appeared to attach no significance to it whatsoever. He rested his elbows on the desk before him, and ran his heavy wrinkled fingers through his gray hair as he stared at the heap of papers.
'If memory serves me right,' Elliott said, 'Brutus fell on his sword. Mark Antony later tried the same trick, and made a mess of it. He then climbed a rope to Cleopatra's bedchamber. And there managed somehow to kill himself again, or to die finally. She chose the poison of a snake. But yes, to answer your question, Romans did from time to time slit their wrists, that's true. But will you allow me to observe that no amount of money is worth a man's life. And you must stop thinking of this.'
Randolph smiled. Elliott tasted the wine. Very good. The Stratfords always drank good wine. Day in and day out, they drank vintages that others saved for momentous occasions.
'Is that so?' Randolph said. 'No amount of money. And where am I going to get the amount of money I need to prevent my niece from understanding the full extent of my perfidy?'
The Earl shook his head. 'If you take your life, she will undoubtedly find out everything.'
'Yes, and I shall not be there to answer her questions.'
'A small point, and not worth the price of your remaining years. You're talking nonsense.'
'Am I? She isn't going to marry Alex. You know she isn't. And she wouldn't turn her back on Stratford Shipping even if she did. There's nothing standing between me and the final disaster. ''
'Oh, yes, there is.'
'And what is that?'
'Give it a few days and see if I'm not right. Your niece has herself a new distraction. Her guest from Cairo, Mr. Reginald Ramsey. Alex is miserable about it, of course, but Alex will recover. And this Reginald Ramsey may very well sweep Julie away from Stratford Shipping as well as from my son. And your problems may find a very simple solution. She may forgive you everything.'
'I saw that fellow!' Randolph said. 'Saw him this morning when Henry made that asinine scene. You don't mean to tell me . . .'
'I have a hunch, as Americans say. Julie and this man . . .'
'Henry ought to be in that house!'
'Forget it. What you're saying doesn't matter.'
'Well, you sound downright cheerful about this! I should have thought you'd be more upset than I am.'
'It's unimportant.'
'Since when?'
'Since I began to think, really think, about what our lives consist of. Old age and death await us all. And we cannot face that simple truth, so we look for endless distractions.'
'Good God, Elliott! You're not talking to Lawrence, you're talking to Randolph. I wish I could share your grand perspective. At the moment I'd sell my soul for one hundred thousand pounds. And so would a lot of other men.'
'I wouldn't,' Elliott said. 'And I don't have one hundred thousand pounds and I never will. If I had it, I'd give it to you.'
'You would?'
'Yes, I believe so. But let me take this conversation in another direction. Julie may not wish to be questioned about her friend Mr. Ramsey. She may want some time alone, some real independence. And you might find everything in your hands again.'
'You mean this?'
'Yes, and now I'm going home. I'm tired, Randolph. Don't slit your wrists. Drink all you want, but don't do anything so dreadful to all of us. Tomorrow night, come to my house for dinner. I've invited Julie and this mysterious man. Don't fail me. And when it's all over, perhaps we'll have a better idea as to where things stand. You may get everything you want. And I may have the solution to a mystery. Can I count on you for tomorrow night?'
'Dinner, tomorrow night?' Randolph said. 'You came here at one in the morning to ask me this?''
Elliott laughed. He set down the glass and stood up.
'No,' he said. 'I came to save your life. Believe me, it's not worth it, one hundred thousand pounds. Just being alive . . . not being in pain ... but then why try to explain?'
'Yes, don't put yourself out.'
'Good night, my friend. Don't forget. Tomorrow night. I'll see myself to the door. Now go to bed like a good man, will you?'
* * *
With an electric torch, Samir had led Ramses rapidly through the entire collection. Whatever the King felt, the King did not confess. He studied each large object-mummy, sarcophagus, statue-in turn, barely observing the multitude of tiny relics that filled cases galore.
Their footsteps echoed carelessly on the stone floor. The lone guard, long used to Samir's nocturnal wanderings, left them alone.
'In Egypt are the real treasures,' Samir said. 'The bodies of the Kings. This is but a fraction of what has been saved from pillage and from time.'
Ramses had paused. He was examining a Ptolemaic mummy case, one of those curious hybrid creations which consisted of an Egyptian coffin with a realistic Greek face painted upon it, rather than the stylized mask of earlier centuries. This was the coffin of a woman.
'Egypt,' Ramses whispered. 'Suddenly I cannot see the present for the past. I can't embrace this age until I have said my farewells to those years completely.'
Samir found himself shivering in the dark. The sweet sadness gave way to fear again, a deep silent terror of this unnatural thing which he knew now to be true. There could be no error.
The King turned his back on the Egyptian rooms. 'Lead me out, my friend,' he said. 'I am lost in this maze. I do not like the concept of a museum.''
Samir walked quickly at his side, the beam shining on the floor directly before them.
'Sire, if you desire to go to Egypt, do it now. That is my advice to you, though I know you do not ask it. Take Julie Stratford if you will. But leave England.'
'Why do you say this?'
'The authorities know that coins have been stolen from the collection! They want to reclaim the mummy of Ramses the Great. There is much talk and suspicion.'
Samir could see the menace hi Ramses' face. 'The accursed Henry Stratford,' he said under his breath, quickening his pace ever so slightly. ' 'He poisoned his uncle, a man of learning and wisdom. His own flesh and blood. And stole from mat man a golden coin as the body lay dying.'
Samir stopped. The shock was more than he could bear. Instantly he knew it was true. He had known when he saw the body of his friend that something was terribly wrong. It had not been a natural death. But he had believed Henry Stratford a coward. Slowly he caught his breath. He looked at the tall shadowy figure standing beside him.
'You tried to tell me this earlier tonight,' he whispered. 'I didn't want to believe it.'
'I saw it, my beloved servant,' the King said. 'With my own eyes. Just as I saw you come to the body of your friend Lawrence and begin to weep. These things were mixed with my waking dreams; but I remember them most clearly.''
'Ah, but this cannot go unavenged.' Samir was trembling.
Ramses placed a hand on his shoulder. They proceeded slowly.
'And this Henry Stratford knows my secret,' Ramses said. ' 'The tale he told was true. For when he tried by the same means to take the life of his cousin, I came out of the coffin to prevent it. Oh, if only I had had my full strength, I would have finished it, there and then. I should have embalmed him myself and wrapped him up and put him in the painted coffin for all the world to see as Ramses.'
Samir smiled bitterly. 'A just reward,' he said under his breath. He felt the tears on his face, but there was none of the relief that tears should bring. 'And what will you do now, sire?'
