The Mummy

3. A Night Summons

3

A Night Summons

For a fortnight after the inquest my life in my flat over the grocer’s shop was as monotonous as usual.

I had seen nothing during that fortnight of my fellow-witnesses, Maxwell and Perceval; but I heard something of them from my patient Seymour, the dead man’s servant. He came to me complaining of sleeplessness and palpitation. Not yet having found another place, and his late master’s things being still in the Albany, Seymour slept there. More correctly, to use the old expression, he “lay” there, for he slept little. When he did, he was apt to dream, so he told me, of being forced to enter his master’s bedroom, knowing what he would find on the floor.

I prescribed for him upon very unorthodox lines, and spoke of his master’s friends. Maxwell, I had learnt from the Army List, was a Sapper and had the

D.S.O. Seymour told me he was a “talented officer” and a “great traveller.” Seymour himself, by the way, is thin, melancholy, clean-shaven, lantern-jawed, dignified in speech and movement, with a tremendous liking for elegant language.

He was obviously sorry for me because I didn’t know Perceval’s lineage. “Cousin, sir, to the Earl of Moy and Merricourt, and heir. A gentleman, sir, if I may say so, with a great deal more in him than meets the heye. A very delusive gentleman.”

I was talking to Seymour and Mudge one evening when my bell rang, and Mudge answered it.

“Bearer waiting reply, sir,” said he, and stood to attention, while I read the note he gave me. There was a crest on the paper, an eagle displayed, motto Ad Solem, and an address, “Dene Court, Sussex, S.O.” “Doctor Armiston is urgently requested to meet Doctor Thorne in consultation at Dene Court to-night. The car will wait for him, and will be at his disposal for returning in the morning.”

It was then about half-past eleven.

I knew nothing of Dene Court, or who lived there, and I am not accustomed to such messages. However, I told Mudge to put a change of clothes into a bag for me, and as Seymour helped him I was ready in a few minutes, and down in the street, where an electric-brougham stood with a chauffeur in livery.

“Back before lunch to-morrow, I suppose,” said I. “Good night, both of you,” and as the car started I nodded to Seymour, who was standing on the kerb.

It might have been the electric light, but his face looked perfectly ghastly.