Round the Fire Stories

My particular friend Ward Mortimer was one of the best men of his day ateverything connected with Oriental archæology. He had written largelyupon the subject, he had lived two years in a tomb at Thebes, while heexcavated in the Valley of the Kings, and finally he had created aconsiderable sensation by his exhumation of the alleged mummy ofCleopatra in the inner room of the Temple of Horus, at Philæ. With sucha record at the age of thirty-one, it was felt that a considerablecareer lay before him, and no one was surprised when he was elected tothe curatorship of the Belmore Street Museum, which carries with it thelectureship at the Oriental College, and an income which has sunk withthe fall in land, but which still remains at that ideal sum which islarge enough to encourage an investigator, but not so large as toenervate him.

There was only one reason which made Ward Mortimer’s position a littledifficult at the Belmore Street Museum, and that was the extremeeminence of the man whom he had to succeed. Professor Andreas was aprofound scholar and a man of European reputation. His lectures werefrequented by students from every part of the world, and his admirablemanagement of the collection intrusted to his care was a commonplace inall learned societies. There was, therefore, considerable surprise when,at the age of fifty-five, he suddenly resigned his position and retiredfrom those duties which had been both his livelihood and his pleasure.He and his daughter left the comfortable suite of rooms which had formedhis official residence in connection with the museum, and my friend,Mortimer, who was a bachelor, took up his quarters there.

On hearing of Mortimer’s appointment Professor Andreas had written him avery kindly and flattering congratulatory letter. I was actually presentat their first meeting, and I went with Mortimer round the museum whenthe Professor showed us the admirable collection which he had cherishedso long. The Professor’s beautiful daughter and a young man, CaptainWilson, who was, as I understood, soon to be her husband, accompanied usin our inspection. There were fifteen rooms, but the Babylonian, theSyrian, and the central hall, which contained the Jewish and Egyptiancollection, were the finest of all. Professor Andreas was a quiet, dry,elderly man, with a clean-shaven face and an impassive manner, but hisdark eyes sparkled and his features quickened into enthusiastic life ashe pointed out to us the rarity and the beauty of some of his specimens.His hand lingered so fondly over them, that one could read his pride inthem and the grief in his heart now that they were passing from his careinto that of another.

He had shown us in turn his mummies, his papyri, his rare scarabs, hisinscriptions, his Jewish relics, and his duplication of the famousseven-branched candlestick of the Temple, which was brought to Rome byTitus, and which is supposed by some to be lying at this instant in thebed of the Tiber. Then he approached a case which stood in the verycentre of the hall, and he looked down through the glass with reverencein his attitude and manner.

“This is no novelty to an expert like yourself, Mr. Mortimer,” said he;“but I daresay that your friend, Mr. Jackson, will be interested to seeit.”

Leaning over the case I saw an object, some five inches square, whichconsisted of twelve precious stones in a framework of gold, with goldenhooks at two of the corners. The stones were all varying in sort andcolour, but they were of the same size. Their shapes, arrangement, andgradation of tint made me think of a box of water-colour paints. Eachstone had some hieroglyphic scratched upon its surface.

“You have heard, Mr. Jackson, of the urim and thummim?”

I had heard the term, but my idea of its meaning was exceedingly vague.

“The urim and thummim was a name given to the jewelled plate which layupon the breast of the high priest of the Jews. They had a very specialfeeling of reverence for it—something of the feeling which an ancientRoman might have for the Sibylline books in the Capitol. There are, asyou see, twelve magnificent stones, inscribed with mystical characters.Counting from the left-hand top corner, the stones are carnelian,peridot, emerald, ruby, lapis lazuli, onyx, sapphire, agate, amethyst,topaz, beryl, and jasper.”

I was amazed at the variety and beauty of the stones.

“Has the breastplate any particular history?” I asked.

“It is of great age and of immense value,” said Professor Andreas.“Without being able to make an absolute assertion, we have many reasonsto think that it is possible that it may be the original urim andthummim of Solomon’s Temple. There is certainly nothing so fine in anycollection in Europe. My friend, Captain Wilson here, is a practicalauthority upon precious stones, and he would tell you how pure theseare.”

Captain Wilson, a man with a dark, hard, incisive face, was standingbeside his _fiancée_ at the other side of the case.

“Yes,” said he, curtly, “I have never seen finer stones.”

“And the gold-work is also worthy of attention. The ancients excelled in——”—he was apparently about to indicate the setting of the stones, whenCaptain Wilson interrupted him.

“You will see a finer example of their gold-work in this candlestick,”said he, turning to another table, and we all joined him in hisadmiration of its embossed stem and delicately ornamented branches.Altogether it was an interesting and a novel experience to have objectsof such rarity explained by so great an expert; and when, finally,Professor Andreas finished our inspection by formally handing over theprecious collection to the care of my friend, I could not help pityinghim and envying his successor whose life was to pass in so pleasant aduty. Within a week, Ward Mortimer was duly installed in his new set ofrooms, and had become the autocrat of the Belmore Street Museum.

About a fortnight afterwards my friend gave a small dinner tohalf-a-dozen bachelor friends to celebrate his promotion. When hisguests were departing he pulled my sleeve and signalled to me that hewished me to remain.

“You have only a few hundred yards to go,” said he—I was living inchambers in the Albany. “You may as well stay and have a quiet cigarwith me. I very much want your advice.”

I relapsed into an arm-chair and lit one of his excellent Matronas. Whenhe had returned from seeing the last of his guests out, he drew a letterfrom his dress-jacket and sat down opposite to me.

“This is an anonymous letter which I received this morning,” said he. “Iwant to read it to you and to have your advice.”

“You are very welcome to it for what it is worth.”

“This is how the note runs: ‘Sir,—I should strongly advise you to keep avery careful watch over the many valuable things which are committed toyour charge. I do not think that the present system of a single watchmanis sufficient. Be upon your guard, or an irreparable misfortune mayoccur.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes, that is all.”

“Well,” said I, “it is at least obvious that it was written by one ofthe limited number of people who are aware that you have only onewatchman at night.”

Ward Mortimer handed me the note, with a curious smile. “Have you an eyefor handwriting?” said he. “Now, look at this!” He put another letter infront of me. “Look at the _c_ in ‘congratulate’ and the _c_ in‘committed.’ Look at the capital _I_. Look at the trick of putting in adash instead of a stop!”

“They are undoubtedly from the same hand—with some attempt at disguisein the case of this first one.”

“The second,” said Ward Mortimer, “is the letter of congratulation whichwas written to me by Professor Andreas upon my obtaining myappointment.”

I stared at him in amazement. Then I turned over the letter in my hand,and there, sure enough, was “Martin Andreas” signed upon the other side.There could be no doubt, in the mind of any one who had the slightestknowledge of the science of graphology, that the Professor had writtenan anonymous letter, warning his successor against thieves. It wasinexplicable, but it was certain.

“Why should he do it?” I asked.