Presently, I removed my lips from hers and examined her rapt and hypnotized face. Enough. Firmly, I detached her. Her eyes opened. They were glazed. “We must stop, Valerie,” I said sternly. Our consciences, our honor.”
“Honor,” she repeated wildly.
“Lovely child,” I whispered. “If I don’t go from you this minute—”
“What, Holloway, what might happen—?”
“Don’t torture me,” I said hoarsely. Then, through the teeth, passionately, “I swear, Valerie, one day I shall lose control of myself—”
It was a promise that assured me of her continued backing. Rather neat of me, I thought. I had no trouble, for a time, after that. Mr. Pummerly remained suppressed. He said nothing about the mummy incident, in fact spoke to me not at all during the rare times that we met. I did note a somewhat malign glare, a barely audible rumbling in his throat.
Thomma, the time of the Moon, was drawing nearer. According to my astronomical tables, the moment when the dead might rise would come at two-forty-seven A.M. on that night. And still I did not know the secret of the Sixth Condition. I drove myself frantically, delving into the ancient hieroglyphics, working every possible moment.
It was a near thing. It was the day before Thomma that, at last, from a scrap of Third Dynasty recordings by an obscure priest the knowledge blazed at me.
The Sixth Condition.
It shocked me. It stunned me.
I read the incredible thing over an over again. No mistake. Could I steel myself to this? Did I dare?
That day was also the day the butler and the cook gave notice. Altogether, a disturbing day.
Mr. Pummerly’s voice was raised so loud that morning that I could hardly avoid overhearing his quarrel with Mrs. Pummerly. “Damn him!” Pummerly was roaring. “Now he’s driving the servants away! Invaluable man, Weed. Don t blame him for refusing to work in the same house with mummies! But it’s the cook I mind most! We’ll never find another one like her. Her fried chicken— If you don’t get rid of Dutt today, I’ll throw him out my self!”
Mrs. Pummerly’s reply was too low-pitched for the words to come through, but the tone was firm, determined. I could tell that she was holding the line. Good girl.
“Refuse, do you!” Pummerly roared. “Why so attached to him, hey? Don’t think I haven’t wondered about this before.” His voice went suspicious, grating. “What’s going on between you two, anyhow?”
Again he had taken the wrong tack. Mrs. Pummerly’s reaction was immediate and explosive. Her voice rose sharply in an offended torrent, all the more vehement I knew for her illicit desires. It went on and on, ever more edged, until his attempts to break in grew weaker and further apart and finally died altogether. “All right,” I heard him say morosely, suppressed, when she finally paused. “Sorry I said anything. All right, all right, let’s not talk about Dutt anymore.”
I silently applauded Valerie.
But the thing that mostly haunted me that last day was the Sixth Condition. The ghastly thing had to be done, but could I do it? To give up my experiment now was unthinkable. It was a chance for me to prove myself, yes, but more than that it was a chance to know. To know. To penetrate an everlasting secret of life and death, to learn if immortality existed... But to comply with the Sixth Condition was to enter into horror, to risk all, life itself... And still — was my goal not worth any risk? And yet — was it in me to do this thing? I had never been a saint, but this—? Could I?
In this manner I wearily agonized all day, but when night had come and deepened, I still could not tell what I would do. Mechanically, I made ready for the experiment so that all might be in order if I complied with the Sixth Condition. From among my instruments, I chose a suitable one and secreted it adroitly on my person.
I complied with the Condition of the Hawk, laying the mummified birds upon the breasts of my long-dead Egyptians.
The room was tranquil. I had bedded the mummies most comfortably in their caskets. The Condition of Repose was met.
Wines and food on the table fulfilled the Condition of Sustenance.
Outside, above the small dark clouds that now and then floated by, silver-rimmed, rode the bright full moon but a few hours from its appointment, slowly, inevitably, bringing the Condition of the Moon.
The Condition of Love — the serenity of Sethomana and Tolatha was that of love, of content in each other. Who could doubt that these two had loved, indeed still loved? It seemed to me that there hovered in the room now an intangible essence, an ectoplasm of love that defied the ages.
All ready. Almost midnight. Now, could I—?
A key turned in the lock and my door was flung open.
Startled, I saw Mr. Pummerly swaying in the doorway. He bared his teeth, strode in, slammed the door.
“You louse,” he said.
I saw that he had been drinking. All day, no doubt, while he brooded about me. He was in a foggy, ugly state. “Goin’ have pleasure,” Mr. Pummerly stated heavily, “of punchin’ you right in snoot. Then throw you the hell out.” He began to stalk me. “All right,” he was growling, “invade my house, all right. Bring in mummies, all right. Chase my customers, scare my butler, fool with my wife, all right. But when you lose me bes’ cook ever had, s’too much...” He launched a wide swing at me.
Immobile with surprise, I was hit. I went down. I sprang up in furious reflex, my body awakening to violence. While a remote cell in my brain thanked Mr. Pummerly for making it easy for me to meet the Sixth Condition, I drew the instrument I carried, the knife, and stabbed him to the heart.
He died rapidly.
No stopping now.
I left the room, locked the door behind me, softly padded through the dark halls and chambers of the huge, sleeping house, up to the bedrooms. I did not worry about the servants, their quarters were remote and they must have retired. I entered Valerie Pummerly’s bedroom.
I approached silently, cautiously — but she woke.
The moon filtered full upon me through the window curtains. “Valerie,” I whispered tenderly.
She could come to only one conclusion. “Holloway,” she breathed happily. “At last.” She sat up, and the covers fell away revealing her buxom beauty straining within the flimsy nightgown. I felt regret, but not temptation, no, never temptation with the image of my dear wife, Freda, in my soul. I went into Valerie’s open arms, feeling the softness of her flesh, the agreeable sleaziness of her gown, and with regret still — regret because she was comely and had been good to me — once more I drew my knife.
It entered her heart as she clutched at me. She coughed once. Her arms fell away. She dropped back.
Stealthily I carried her body through the silent house to my experimental room. Locked the door. Laid her out on the rug, next to the mummy of Tolatha. Then I laid out the body of Mr. Pummerly alongside the mummy of Sethomana.
Done. I had met the Sixth Condition — the Condition of Sacrifice. As required, I had provided the bodies of a mated couple, stabbed through the heart on the day of Thomma.
Now, if it was to be, these ancient dead would rise in little over an hour. I had only to wait. I sat with my eyes fixed on the mummies as the moon drew ever closer to Thomma.
How can I confess what happened next? What vindication, when the experiment meant so much? Yes, my body and mind were exhausted from long labors, perhaps it was natural that in reposing — but there can be no excuse.
I fell asleep.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock... this time the sound that woke me, the only sound in that silent room, coming from the wall clock. The time was three twenty-six.
I had slept through the critical moment.
In the midst of my dismay and anger at my weakness, I realized something.