“Now we can look at it at our leisure,” said Thorndyke. After waiting a few seconds, he switched on one of the glow-lamps, and as the flood of light fell on the photograph, he added: “You see we haven’t quite lost the skeleton.”
“No.” Dr. Norbury put on a pair of spectacles and bent down over the tray; and at this moment I felt Ruth’s hand touch my arm, lightly at first, and then with a strong nervous grasp; and I could feel that her hand was trembling. I looked round at her anxiously and saw that she had turned deathly pale.
“Would you rather go out into the gallery?” I asked; for the room with its tightly shut windows was close and hot.
“No,” she replied quietly. “I will stay here. I am quite well.” But still she kept hold of my arm.
Thorndyke glanced at her keenly and then looked away as Dr. Norbury turned to ask him a question.
“Why is it, think you, that some of the teeth show so much whiter than others?”
“I think the whiteness of the shadows is due to the presence of metal,” Thorndyke replied.
“Do you mean that the teeth have metal fillings?” asked Dr. Norbury.
“Yes.”
“Really! This is very interesting. The use of gold stoppings—and artificial teeth, too—by the ancient Egyptians is well known, but we have no examples in this Museum. This mummy ought to be unrolled. Do you think all those teeth are filled with the same metal? They are not equally white.”
“No,” replied Thorndyke. “Those teeth that are perfectly white are undoubtedly filled with gold, but that grayish one is probably filled with tin.”
“Very interesting,” said Dr. Norbury. “Very interesting! And what do you make of that faint mark across the chest, near the top of the sternum?”
It was Ruth who answered his question.
“It is the Eye of Osiris!” she exclaimed in a hushed voice.
“Dear me!” exclaimed Dr. Norbury, “so it is. You are quite right. It is the Utchat—the Eye of Horus—or Osiris, if you prefer to call it so. That, I presume, will be a gilded device on some of the wrappings.”
“No; I should say it is a tattoo mark. It is too indefinite for a gilded device. And I should say further that the tattooing is done in vermilion, as carbon tattooing could cast no visible shadow.”
“I think you must be mistaken about that,” said Dr. Norbury, “but we shall see, if the Director allows us to unroll the mummy. By the way, those little objects in front of the knees are metallic, I suppose?”
“Yes, they are metallic. But they are not in front of the knees; they are in the knees. They are pieces of silver wire which have been used to repair fractured kneecaps.”
“Are you sure of that?” exclaimed Dr. Norbury, peering at the little white marks with ecstasy; “because if you are, and if these objects are what you say they are, the mummy of Sebek-hotep is an absolutely unique specimen.”
“I am quite certain of it,” said Thorndyke.
“Then,” said Dr. Norbury, “we have made a discovery, thanks to your inquiring spirit. Poor John Bellingham! He little knew what a treasure he was giving us! How I wish he could have known! How I wish he could have been here with us tonight!”
He paused once more to gaze in rapture at the photograph. And then Thorndyke, in his quiet, impassive way, said:
“John Bellingham is here, Doctor Norbury. This is John Bellingham.”
Dr. Norbury started back and stared at Thorndyke in speechless amazement.
“You don’t mean,” he exclaimed, after a long pause, “that this mummy is the body of John Bellingham!”
“I do indeed. There is no doubt of it.”
“But it is impossible! The mummy was here in the gallery a full three weeks before he disappeared.”
“Not so,” said Thorndyke. “John Bellingham was last seen alive by you and Mr. Jellicoe on the fourteenth of October, more than three weeks before the mummy left Queen Square. After that date he was never seen alive or dead by any person who knew him and could identify him.”
Dr. Norbury reflected a while in silence. Then, in a faint voice, he asked:
“How do you suggest that John Bellingham’s body came to be inside that cartonnage?”
“I think Mr. Jellicoe is the most likely person to be able to answer that question,” Thorndyke replied dryly.
There was another interval of silence, and then Dr. Norbury asked suddenly:
“But what do you suppose has become of Sebek-hotep? The real Sebek-hotep, I mean?”
“I take it,” said Thorndyke, “that the remains of Sebek-hotep, or at least a portion of them, are at present lying in the Woodford mortuary awaiting an adjourned inquest.”
As Thorndyke made this statement a flash of belated intelligence, mingled with self-contempt, fell on me. Now that the explanation was given, how obvious it was! And yet I, a competent anatomist and physiologist and actually a pupil of Thorndyke’s, had mistaken those ancient bones for the remains of a recent body!
Dr. Norbury considered the last statement for some time in evident perplexity. “It is all consistent enough, I must admit,” said he, at length, “and yet—are you quite sure there is no mistake? It seems so incredible.”
“There is no mistake, I assure you,” Thorndyke answered. “To convince you, I will give you the facts in detail. First, as to the teeth. I have seen John Bellingham’s dentist and obtained particulars from his casebook. There were in all five teeth that had been filled. The right upper wisdom tooth, the molar next to it, and the second lower molar on the left side, had all extensive gold fillings. You can see them all quite plainly in the skiagraph. The lower left lateral incisor had a very small gold filling, which you can see as a nearly circular white dot. In addition to these, a filling of tin amalgam had been inserted while the deceased was abroad, in the second left upper bicuspid, the rather gray
