The Mummy

6. A Double Consultation

6

A Double Consultation

As a matter of fact, Perceval began with a careful apology for their intrusion, which I listened to without any comment.

When his apology, very formal—stilted, in fact—was at an end, I said, “Well, in any case I wanted to see you both. What do you want?”

Perceval explained that they had come to consult me about their condition. “Of which,” he said, “we have reason to think very seriously.”

They both looked remarkably fit, though as solemn as owls, and I began to wonder if they were playing some trick.

“My fee for each is a guinea,” I said, and each of them, without saying anything, produced two guineas, and put them on the table.

I asked them which wished to consult me first. “The other,” I said, “can stay here till I send in for him.”

But they both objected to this. They wished, they said, to consult me together.

I was inclined to say more, but decided that to give them their own way might explain things best.

“What have you to complain of?” I asked Maxwell, and poured out more coffee, while he considered. First he said that he wasn’t complaining—hoped he had more sense; but his story finally was that he suffered from nerves and palpitation of the heart. He thought his appetite bad, and was always expecting something to happen. What sort of things? Oh, horrid things. Anything horrid.

“Such as mummies, and sudden deaths!” I suggested, on the spur of the moment; but whatever the state of his nerves might be, Maxwell let that remark pass without even showing that he heard it; and after feeling his pulse, which was going quietly at sixty-five, and seeing his tongue, which was as clean as any healthy baby’s, I turned to Perceval. The latter complained in a high, level voice that he was restless and irritable, and always wanting to be alone.

“That’s why you brought your friend with you, I suppose?” I suggested. “When I’m alone I can’t bear myself,” he explained; “besides, Captain

Maxwell doesn’t count, doctor. We’re old friends and understand one another; don’t we, Max?” and Maxwell nodded, without troubling to say anything.

I overhauled Perceval in a general way, and then sitting back in my chair considered them both, while they watched me.

“Remember, we want your frank opinion,” Maxwell said at last, “and whatever it may be we’ll take it all right, and be grateful for it; won’t we, Percy?” . . . and this time it was Perceval who nodded without saying anything.

“Oh, if you want it, you shall have it,” I said. “You’ve paid me for it, and you’ve got to have it. How you’ll take it, and whether you’ll be grateful for it, is another matter, which doesn’t particularly concern me. My frank opinion is that there’s nothing the matter with either of you. Either you’re suffering from guilty consciences, which for the time I leave to yourselves, or else you’re trying to impose on me, which seems a waste of time. I’m inclined to think both of you liars, and clumsy liars. I trust you find my opinion satisfactory.”

To my surprise, they took this quietly, and merely sat looking at one another and seeming to consider. It is true that Perceval, who was much the fairer man, flushed a good deal; and Maxwell clenched his hand, which lay on the table before me.

For a minute or so I waited to hear what they would say, and they said nothing, till at last Maxwell turned to Perceval.

“Well, I suppose that will do?” he said.

“Altogether satisfactory, I think,” Perceval answered; and they both rose, bowed politely, muttered a word or two of thanks, and went away.

I never was more puzzled in my life. I was so puzzled that I decided to make no effort to keep them, and to say nothing more, until I had time to think things over alone. I sat and stared at the four guineas, still lying on the table, till some sound made me shift my gaze, and I found Mudge watching with his usual expressionless stare. When I gave him leave to speak, he said that Seymour was waiting to know whether I wanted to see him, and I told him to send that melancholy individual in.

He came, looking very much upset, and I told him to sit down near me.

“I’m going to ask you several questions,” I said, “but you will understand that I have no authority to make you answer them. You must please yourself. But if you answer fully and honestly you may save trouble. Will you do so?” and I watched him while he considered the matter, which he did for a while, biting his nails.

He was certainly unhappy, and looked as if he had not slept.

“Why haven’t you shaved?” I asked sharply, and the man jumped in his chair, raising a startled hand to a blue chin with a hurried apology. I accused him of drink and excessive cigarette-smoking, but he denied my charges and sat still gloomily biting his nails.

“Well, will you answer my questions?” I asked again.

“I’d like to hear ’em first,” said Seymour rather superfluously, but I understood what he meant.

“You heard where I was going two nights ago?” “Yes, sir.”

“You know the place?” “Yes, sir.”

“You were surprised?”

That man’s renewed attack upon his nails set my teeth on edge before he replied. Then he said he didn’t know.

“You looked it at any rate. Both surprised and frightened,” I said. “Did you guess what was wrong?”

“I was afraid something was wrong,” Seymour allowed. “Do you know what was wrong?”

“I know now, sir. I didn’t then, of course. But yesterday I made inquiries at Berkeley Square—at the town house, sir.”

“Did your master know this young Mr. d’Aurelle?” “Yes, sir.”

“Did Captain Maxwell and Mr. Perceval know him?”

Seymour sat gnawing his nails with indecision for some seconds.

“They may have met,” he said at last. “I don’t say that they did or they didn’t.

It’s not my business, anyway.”

“And you think it isn’t mine?” I suggested. “Would you be interested to hear that there was a mummy at Dene Place? Or did you hear that too at Berkeley Square?”

But at this point Seymour turned a paler yellow than ever, and rising unsteadily said I must excuse him, but he didn’t feel well. He was staggering towards the door when I jumped up, got hold of him, and forced him down upon the sofa, otherwise he would have fallen. It cost me a good glass of excellent cherry-brandy (the first stimulant I laid hands on) before he reached his normal shade of yellow again.

I had for the time to stop my questions, and before night, when I had meant to continue them if possible, something happened which made me decide to leave him alone for the time.