“The other events of that day, including the dropping of the scarab, I need not describe, as they are known to you. But I may fitly make a few remarks on the unfortunate tactical error into which I fell in respect of the bones. That error arose, as you have doubtless perceived, from the lawyer’s incurable habit of underestimating the scientific expert. I had no idea mere bones were capable of furnishing so much information to a man of science.
“The way in which the affair came about was this: the damaged mummy of Sebek-hotep, perishing gradually by exposure to the air, was not only an eyesore to me: it was a definite danger. It was the only remaining link between me and the disappearance. I resolved to be rid of it and cast about for some means of destroying it. And then, in an evil moment, the idea of utilizing it occurred to me.
“There was an undoubted danger that the Court might refuse to presume death after so short an interval; and if the permission should be postponed, the will might never be administered during my lifetime. Hence, if these bones of Sebek-hotep could be made to simulate the remains of the deceased testator, a definite good would be achieved. But I knew that the entire skeleton could never be mistaken for his. The deceased had broken his kneecaps and damaged his ankle, injuries which I assumed would leave some permanent trace. But if a judicious selection of the bones were deposited in a suitable place, together with some object clearly identifiable as appertaining to the deceased, it seemed to me that the difficulty would be met. I need not trouble you with details. The course which I adopted is known to you with the attendant circumstances, even the accidental detachment of the right hand—which broke off as I was packing the arm in my handbag. Erroneous as that course was, it would have been successful but for the unforeseen contingency of your being retained in the case.
“Thus, for nearly two years, I remained in complete security. From time to time I dropped in at the Museum to see if the deceased was keeping in good condition; and on those occasions I used to reflect with satisfaction on the gratifying circumstance—accidental though it was—that his wishes, as expressed (very imperfectly) in clause two, had been fully complied with, and that without prejudice to my interests.
“The awakening came on that evening when I saw you at the Temple gate talking with Doctor Berkeley. I suspected immediately that something was gone amiss and that it was too late to take any useful action. Since then, I have waited here in hourly expectation of this visit. And now the time has come. You have made the winning move and it remains only for me to pay my debts like an honest gambler.”
He paused and quietly lit his cigarette. Inspector Badger yawned and put away his notebook.
“Have you done, Mr. Jellicoe?” the inspector asked. “I want to carry out my contract to the letter, you know, though it’s getting devilish late.”
Mr. Jellicoe took his cigarette from his mouth and drank a glass of water.
“I forgot to ask,” he said, “whether you unrolled the mummy—if I may apply the term to the imperfectly treated remains of my deceased client.”
“I did not open the mummy-case,” replied Thorndyke.
“You did not!” exclaimed Mr. Jellicoe. “Then how did you verify your suspicions?”
“I took an X-ray photograph.”
“Ah! Indeed!” Mr. Jellicoe pondered for some moments. “Astonishing!” he murmured; “and most ingenious. The resources of science at the present day are truly wonderful.”
“Is there anything more that you want to say?” asked Badger; “because if you don’t, time’s up.”
“Anything more?” Mr. Jellicoe repeated slowly; “anything more? No—I—think—think—the time—is—up. Yes—the—the—time—”
He broke off and sat with a strange look fixed on Thorndyke.
His face had suddenly undergone a curious change. It looked shrunken and cadaverous and his lips had assumed a peculiar cherry-red color.
“Is anything the matter, Mr. Jellicoe?” Badger asked uneasily. “Are you not feeling well, sir?”
Mr. Jellicoe did not appear to have heard the question, for he returned no answer, but sat motionless, leaning back in his chair, with his hands spread out on the table and his strangely intent gaze bent on Thorndyke.
Suddenly his head dropped on his breast and his body seemed to collapse; and as with one accord we sprang to our feet, he slid forward off his chair and disappeared under the table.
“Good Lord! The man’s fainted!” exclaimed Badger. In a moment he was down on his hands and knees, trembling with excitement, groping under the table. He dragged the unconscious lawyer out into the light and knelt over him, staring into his face.
“What’s the matter with him, Doctor?” he asked, looking up at Thorndyke. “Is it apoplexy? Or is it a heart attack, think you?”
Thorndyke shook his head, though he stooped and put his fingers on the unconscious man’s wrist.
“Prussic acid or potassium cyanide is what the appearances suggest,” he replied.
“But can’t you do anything?” demanded the inspector.
Thorndyke dropped the arm, which fell limply to the floor.
“You can’t do much for a dead man,” he said.
“Dead! Then he has slipped through our fingers after all!”
“He has anticipated the sentence. That is all.” Thorndyke spoke in an even, impassive tone which struck me as rather strange, considering the suddenness of the tragedy, as did also the complete absence of surprise in his manner. He seemed to treat the occurrence as a perfectly natural one.
Not so Inspector Badger; who rose to his feet and stood with his hands thrust into his pockets scowling sullenly down at the dead lawyer.
“I was an infernal
