Mr. Pummerly, himself, did not seem altogether delighted with my presence. He was a thick, rednecked man with small cobalt eyes which glowered at me suspiciously. With the resignation, however, of a man who had apparently fought many losing battles with his wife’s cultural and social aspirations, he made no overt objections. He seemed seldom about, anyhow.
Keeping Valerie at bay was something of a problem. I could not afford to lose her interest either, so that while on the one hand I seemed to glow with ardor and affection, on the other I put her off with lofty platonic sentiments whenever she managed to find me alone and away from my work. After a time, she acquired a rather frantic and predatory expression. I might, of course, have taken the easy way, but when I thought of my dear wife, Freda... No. Still, it was becoming difficult.
But it was my work that mattered. At last I could get at it. I immediately wired funds to my agents in Egypt, instructing them to procure and ship to me the mummies I needed for the experiment. I was glad that it would not be necessary for me to rely only upon making mummies from whatever cadavers I might acquire. Thee old, authentic article was best.
While I waited for the mummies to arrive, I spent most of my time searching through my innumerable copies of ancient hieroglyphics, seeking the sixth condition that still eluded me. It was slow work, and as time passed without results I began to fear that the proper condition of the moon might pass before I found it. This would mean I would have to wait another year, and I certainly could not expect to maintain my Pummerly set-up that long.
Of the five condition I already knew, the condition of the Moon was the most fleeting. The Bai would only enter its mummy, the Egyptians believed, when the moon was in the position of Thomma. To as moderns, this is the moon’s yearly position of maximum displacement from the orbital mean; I had no trouble in ascertaining the date. I had only a few weeks.
The other conditions could be fulfilled. The condition of the Hawk meant that the mummy of a hawk must be present during an attempt to bring life to the long-dead. This is the reason that mummified hawks are found in Egyptian tombs. My agents were sending me several.
The condition of Love meant that success would be more certain if the attempt was made with two mummies who had been lovers in life. My agents were sending me the remains of Sethomana, a prince of Egypt during the second dynasty, and his consort, Tolatha, a couple whom, the records showed, had been always together during life holding each other dear. There were certain love poems in hieroglyphics.
The condition of Sustenance meant that wines and tempting foods must be on hand. No difficulty there.
The condition of Repose meant that tranquility and ease must surround the bodies. It would be best to lay them out on a cushiony surface.
Mrs. Pummerly was not yet aware that the mummies were on the way to her home. I judged it best to get them in before explaining to her that they were essential to my researches.
Still, the time went by and still, the sixth condition eluded me. Not even a clue could I uncover; I was certain only that it existed.
There were periods, late at night when my eyes smouldered exhausted in my head and the ache of weariness laid hold of me, that I knew discouragement and even despair. Were my colleagues right about me, after all? Was I a shallow trifler, an empty vehicle fit only to play at science and charm the ladies, a dabbler in nonsense? Was I pursuing this improbable chimera with no better basis than hope? What had I ever accomplished in my chosen field up to now? What discoveries, what unearthings, what travels, what hardships, what brilliant analyses, what papers, what books written? None.
It was the thought of my dear wife, Freda, waiting patiently for me at home that saved me then. Ah, Freda, Freda, you who always believed in me, who burst upon me when I was no more than a trifler and became a star to steady me. Freda, it was for you I had to do this and for you to prove one truth so that others might believe in me too and I might believe in myself.
Yes, come what may, I had to follow this awful experiment to its very end.
The Pummerlys were not home the day the mummies arrived. I was thankful for that. I had the truckmen put the massive wooden shipping cases into the room set aside for my researches. When they had gone, I asked the butler, Weed, to assist me in dismantling the cases. He was quite willing; his curiosity as to the contents was obvious. I saw no point in further concealment. I was sure there were duplicates of the key to the room and, in any case, the household would soon know.
They had not shipped the cumbersome sarcophagus, of which there was no need, but as we ripped the wood slats away, the caskets themselves appeared, painted, carved, wonderfully wrought. “Easy now, Weed,” I said absently, hearing his pry bar clatter to the floor. Absorbed, I lifted a lid and exposed the mummy of Sethomana, prince of Egypt.
He had been preserved in pitch, so his face was black, but wonderfully life-like. The teeth were gleaming white in a smile, the hair was fair and silky about the black ears. He had been wrapped in fine amber-yellow linen.
As for Tolatha, she was dainty yet with full, sensuous lips formed as though to say some sweet word.
Wonderful specimens. I was well pleased.
“Mummies, sir?” said Weed, his voice not entirely steady.
“Mummies,” I said.
He stared at me without expression. Presently, one side of his face twitched. He turned and walked away jerkily, back stiff.
I had hoped to see Mrs. Pummerly that evening about my mummies, but she was staying with some friends for the night. I did not care to see Mr. Pummerly at all, so I retired early to my bedroom near my research room.
How was I to know that Mr. Pummerly would arrive late with a visitor?
The first I knew about it was when their voices reached me from the hall. “Hits me sometimes,” the man with Pummerly was saying. “Queasy stomach, you know. Usually, a stiffish drink fixes me up.”
“Got just the thing,” Pummerly’s voice said. “Prime old stuff. Had it locked in a cabinet in this room for years.” With horror, I heard Pummerly unlocking the door to my research room.
“Just a small snort,” the visitor’s voice said. “Then we can discuss our business, old man. Glad to place my orders with old-line stable people like you. Some of the people in these other outfits are nothing but eccentrics.”
I heard the click of the light-switch. I heard feet crossing the floor. I remembered that the coffin lids were up.
There was then a small period of silence. A strangled gasp. A sick grunt. The visitor — “Mummies, Pummerly? You keep mummies?”
Incoherent sounds from Pummerly.
“Sick,” the visitor’s voice moaned. “My stomach. Got to get home...” Footsteps hurried away.
I only overheard a small snatch of the conversation between Mr. and Mrs. Pummerly the next day, although Pummerly was speaking rather loud. “That character,” Pummerly was grating, “has got to go!”
I felt that he had taken the wrong tack, fortunately. Mrs. Pummerly did not take kindly to orders and criticism of her judgment.
Still, she appeared on the grim side at our interview. “Why, Holloway,” she asked, “have you brought mummies into my home?”
I launched my persuasive explanation as to why I needed mummies for my studies of Egyptian mores. Had it been the evening before, it would have gone well. But now, after the incident, her grimness was not abating. Knowing the nature of the eternal female, I understood that partly behind it was pique at my resistance of her charms. I was afraid she might put me out, halting the experiment.
We were alone. There was only one thing to do. I made use of one of my qualities of voice, a seamless caress that absorbed her as within a pastel sea, I sent her a look of moody desire across a long diagonal, I touched the crook of her arm.