anner.themummy-第31部分

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　Then　he　went　back　into　the　library　and　studied　the　long　row　of　alabaster　jars　under　the　mirror。　All　appeared　unharmed。　No　cracks　anywhere。　Nothing　missing。　And　there　was　his　little　burner；　all　ready　for　him；　and　the　empty　glass　vials。　All　he　needed　was　a　little　oil。　Or　one　of　these　candles；　burnt　down　now　to　a　convenient　stub。
　
　Moving　aside　his　scrolls　rather　carelessly；　he　set　up　the　little　burner　properly。　He　slipped　the　candle　into　place；　and　blew　out　the　flame。
　
　Then　he　studied　the　jars　again。　His　hand　chose　before　his　mind　chose。　And　when　he　studied　the　crushed　white　powder　he　knew　that　his　hand　had　been　right。
　
　Oh；　if　only　Henry　Stratford　had　dipped　his　spoon　into　this　instead　of　the　other！　What　a　great　shock　he　would　have　had。　His　uncle；　a　roaring　lion；　might　have　torn　off　his　head。
　
　It　occurred　to　him　suddenly　that　though　the　poisons　might　have　frightened　the　people　of　his　time；　they　would　be　no　deterrent　to　the　scientists　of　his　age。　A　person　with　a　spark　of　belief　could　easily　have　taken　all　these　jars　out　of　here；　fed　their　contents　slowly　to　animal　victims；　until　he　discovered　the　elixir。　It　would　be　simple　enough。
　
　As　it　stood　now；　of　course；　only　Samir　Ibrahaim　and　Julie　Stratford　knew　of　the　elixir。　And　they　would　never　divulge　the　secret　to　anyone。　But　Lawrence　Stratford　had　partially　translated　the　story。　And　his　notebook　was　lying　about　somewhere…　Ramses　had　been　unable　to　find　it…for　anyone　to　read。　Then　of　course　there　were　the　scrolls。
　
　Whatever　the　case；　this　situation　could　not　continue　forever。　He　must　carry　the　elixir　on　his　person。　And　of　course　there　was　always　the　chance　that　the　batch　had　lost　its　potency。　Two　thousand　years　almost；　the　powder　had　lain　in　the　jar。
　
　In　that　time；　wine　would　have　turned　to　vinegar；　or　some　utterly　undrinkable　fluid。　Flour　would　have　turned　into　something　no　more　edible　than　sand。
　
　His　hand　trembled　now　as　he　poured　all　of　the　coarse　granules　into　the　metal　dish　of　the　burner。　He　tapped　the　jar　to　make　sure　that　not　so　much　as　a　speck　remained。　Then　he　mixed　it　in　the　dish　gently　with　his　finger；　and　added　a　liberal　amount　of　water　from　the　glass。
　
　Now　he　relighted　the　candle。　As　it　bubbled；　he　gathered　the　glass　vials　and　laid　them　out…the　ones　that　had　been　on　display　here　on　the　table；　and　two　others　that　had　remained　concealed　or　overlooked　in　an　ebony　box。
　
　Four　large　vials　with　silver　caps。
　
　Within　seconds　the　change　had　taken　place。　The　raw　ingredients；　already　quite　potent　in　their　own　right；　had　been　changed　into　a　bubbling　liquid；　full　of　vague　phosphorescent　light。　How　ominous　it　looked；　like　something　that　might　bum　the　skin　off　the　mouth　of　anyone　who　tried　to　drink　it！　But　it　did　not　do　that。　It　had　not　done　it　when　eons　ago；　he　had　drunk　down　the　full　cup　without　hesitation；　ready　to　suffer　to　be　immortal！　There　had　been　no　pain　at　all。　He　smiled。　No　pain　at　all。
　
　Carefully　he　lifted　the　dish。　He　poured　the　steaming　elixir　into　one　vial　after　another　until　all　four　glass　containers　were　full。　Then　he　waited　until　the　dish　was　cooled　and　he　licked　it　clean；　for　that　was　the　only　safe　thing　to　do。　Then　he　capped　the
　
　vials。　And　he　took　the　candle　and　made　the　wax　drip　around　these　caps　to　seal　them；　all　save　one。
　
　Three　of　the　vials；　he　placed　in　the　pocket　of　his　robe。　The　fourth　vial；　the　one　which　he　had　failed　to　seal；　he　carried　with　him　into　the　conservatory。　He　stood　there　in　the　darkness；　holding　it；　peering　at　the　ferns　and　vines　that　crowded　the　room。
　
　The　glass　walls　were　losing　their　dark　opacity。　He　could　still　see　his　own　reflection　clearly；　a　tall　figure　in　a　wine…dark　garment；　with　a　warm　room　behind　him…but　the　pale　objects　of　the　outside　world　were　ing　visible　too。
　
　He　approached　the　potted　fern　nearest　him；　a　thing　of　great　airy　dark…green　fronds。　He　poured　a　bit　of　the　elixir　into　the　moist　soil。　Then　he　turned　to　the　bougainvillea；　whose　fragile　red　blossoms　were　few　and　far　between　amid　the　dark　foliage。　He　poured　many　droplets　of　the　elixir　into　this　pot　as　well。
　
　There　was　a　faint　stirring；　a　crackling　sound。　To　use　any　more　would　be　madness。　Yet　he　moved　from　pot　to　pot；　pouring　but　a　few　drops　in　each。　Finally　half　the　vial　remained。　And　he　had　done　enough　harm；　had　he　not？　If　the　magic　no　longer　worked；　he　would　know　within　a　few　moments。　He　looked　to　the　glass　ceiling。　The　first　blush　of　the　sun　was　there。　The　god　Ra　sending　the　first　warm　rays。
　
　The　leaves　of　the　ferns　rustled；　lengthened；　tender　shoots　unfurled。　The　bougainvillea　swelled　and　trembled　on　its　trellis；　tiny　tendrils　shooting　up　along　the　wrought…iron　grillwork；　little　blossoms　opening　suddenly；　blood　red　as　wounds。　The　entire　glass　room　was　alive　with　accelerated　growth。　He　closed　his　eyes；　listening　to　that　sound。　A　dark　deep　shudder　passed　through　him。
　
　How　could　he　have　ever　believed　that　the　elixir　had　lost　its　effectiveness？　It　was　as　strong　as　ever　it　had　been。　One　powerful　draught　had　rendered　him　immortal　forever。　Why　did　he　think　the　substance　itself；　once　created；　would　be　any　less　immortal　than　he？
　
　He　put　the　vial　in　his　pocket。　He　unlatched　the　rear　door　of　the　house　and　went　out　into　the　murky　wet　dawn。
　
　The　pain　in　Henry's　head　was　so　bad　he　could　not　even　see　the　two　detectives　clearly。　He　had　been　dreaming　of　that　thing；　that　mummy；　when　they　awakened　him。　In　cold　terror；　he　had　taken　his　gun；　cocked　it；　slipped　it　into　his　pocket　and　gone　to　the　door。　Now　if　they　meant　to　search　him　。。。
　
　〃Everyone　knew　Tommy　Sharpies！〃　　he　said；　fury　masking　his　fear。〃　Everyone　owed　him　money。　For　this　you　wake　me　at　the　crack　of　dawn？〃
　
　He　squinted　stupidly　at　the　one　called　Gallon；　who　now　held　up　that　damned　Cleopatra　coin！　How　the　hell　could　he　have　been　so　stupid？　To　go　off　and　leave　that　coin　in　Sharples's　pocket。　But　for　the　love　of　hell；　he　had　not　planned　to　cut　down　Sharpies！　How　could　he　be　expected　to　think　of　things　like　this！
　
　〃Ever　see　this　before；　sir？〃
　
　Be　calm。　There　is　not　a　scintilla　of　evidence　to　connect　you　to　anything。　Let　indignation　serve　you　as　well　as　it　always　has。
　
　〃Why；　that's　from　my　uncle's　collection。　The　Ramses　collection。　How　did　you　get　it？　It　ought　to　be　under　lock　and　key。〃
　
　〃The　question　is；〃　　said　the　one　called　Trent；〃　how　did　Mr。　Sharpies　get　it？　And　what　was　he　doing　with　it　on　his　person　when　he　was　killed？〃
　
　Henry　ran　his　hands　back　through　his　hair。　If　only　the　pain　would　stop。　If　only　he　could　excuse　himself　for　a　minute；　get　a　good　stiff　drink　and　have　some　time　to　think。
　
　〃Reginald　Ramsey！〃　　he　said；　looking　Trent　in　the　eye。〃　That's　the　fellow's　name；　wasn't　it？　That　Egyptologist！　The　one　staying　with　my　cousin。　Good　God；　what's　going　on　in　that　house！〃
　
　〃Mr。　Ramsey？〃
　
　〃You　have　questioned　him；　haven't　you？　Where　did　he　e　from；　that　man？〃　　His　face　coloured　as　the　two　men　stared　at　him　in　silence。〃　Do　I　have　to　do　your　job　for　you？　Where　the　devil　did　the　bastard　e　from？　And　what's　he　doing　with　all　that　treasure　in　my　cousin's　house？〃
　
　For　an　hour　Ramses　walked。　The　morning　was　cold　and　dreary。　The　great　imposing　houses　of　Mayfair　gave　way　to　the　dingy　tenements　of　the　poor。　He　roamed　narrow　unpaved　streets；　like　the　alleyways　of　an　ancient　city…Jericho；　or　Rome。　Tracks　of　the　horse　carts　here；　and　the　reek　of　damp　manure。
　
　Now　and　then　some　poor　passerby　would　stare　at　him。　Surely　he　should　not　be　dressed　in　this　long　satin　robe。　But　that　did　not　matter。　He　was　Ramses　the　Wanderer　again。　Ramses　the　Damned　only　passing　through　this　time。　The　elixir　still　had　its　potency。　And　the　science　of　this　time　was　no　more　ready　for　it　than　the　science　of　any　other。
　
　Look　at　this　suffering；　these　beggars　sleeping　in　the　alleyway。
　
　Smell　the　filth　of　that　house；　as　if　the　door　is　a　mouth　that　spews　its　foul　breath　while　gasping　for　clean　air。
　
　A　beggar　man　approached　him。〃　Spare　a　sixpence；　sir；　I　haven't　eaten　in　two　days。　Please；　sir。〃
　
　Ramses　walked　on　by；　his　slippers　damp　and　dirty　from　the　puddles　in　which　he　had　stepped。
　
　And　now　es　a　young　woman；　look　at　her；　listen　to　the　cough　rattling　deep　from　her　chest。
　
　〃Want　to　have　a　good　time；　sir？　I　have　a　nice　warm　room；　sir。〃
　
　Oh；　yes；　he　did　want　her　services；　so　very　much　that　he　could　feel　himself　hardening　immediately。　And　the　fever　made　her　all　the　more　fetching；　she　thrust　out　her　small　bosom　gracefully　as　she　forced　a　smile　despite　her　pain。
　
　〃Not　now；　my　fair　one；〃　　he　whispered。
　
　It　seemed　the　street；　if　it　was　in　fact　a　street；　had　carried　him　into　a　great　wilderness　of　ruins。　Burnt…out　buildings　reeking　of　the　smoke；　with　windows　empty　of　drapery　or　glass。
　
　Even　here　the　poor　camped　in　alcoves　and　shallow　doorways。　A　baby　cried　desperately。　The　song　of　the　hungry。
　
　He　walked　on。　He　could　hear　the　city　ing　alive　around　him；　not　the　human　voices；　those　he'd　heard　all　along。　It　was　the　machines　which　awoke　now　as　the　dirty　grey　sky　grew　brighter　and　became　almost　silver　overhead。　From　somewhere　very　far　away；　he　heard　a　deep…throated　train　whistle。　He　stopped。　He　could　feel　the　dull　vibration　of　the　great　iron　monster　even　here　through　the　damp　earth。　What　a　beguiling　rhythm　it　had；　those　wheels　rolling　on　and　on　over　the　iron　tracks。
　
　Suddenly　a　spasm　of　shrill　noise　threw　him　into　a　panic。　He　turned　in　time　to　see　an　open　motor　car　hurtling　towards　him；　a　young　man　bouncing　on　the　high　seat。　He　fell　back　against　the　stone　wall　behind　him　as　the　thing　rattled　and　bumped　over　the　ruts　in　the　mud。
　
　He　was　shaken；　angry。　A　rare　moment　in　which　he　felt　helpless；　exposed。
　
　Dazed；　he　realized　he　was　looking　at　a　grey　dove　lying　dead　in　the　street。　One　of　those　fat　dull　grey　birds　which　he　saw　everywhere　in　London；　nesting　on　the　windowsills　and　on　the　rooftops；　this　one　had　been　struck　by　the　motor　car；　and　part　of　its　wing　had　been　crushed　under　the　wheels。
　
　The　wind　stirred　it　now；　giving　it　a　false　semblance　of　life。
　
　Suddenly　a　memory；　one　of　the　oldest　and　most　vivid；　caught　him　off　guard；　ripping　him　from　the　present；　cruelly；　and　planting　him　squarely　in　another　time　and　place。