The Mummy

7. The Plain Speakers

7

The Plain Speakers

I was out most of the morning, but came in for lunch, as I was not inclined just then for chatter with men at my club. In consequence, I saw my letters by the midday post soon after they came, and one amused me a little. The envelope, over which I idled for a few seconds, was of thick rough paper, was rather long and narrow, and carried an interlaced monogram S.P.S. stamped in black.

Inside was a small sheet of rough-edged note-paper, and on that was printed the following:

“You are invited to join the Plain Speakers. A member will call this afternoon, to answer any reasonable questions you may wish to ask.”

What I took to be a punning crest or device was stamped in colours at the top of the paper. It was a skeleton, seated, and wearing robes, and a full-bottomed wig—presumably in fact a Plain Speaker.

Well, I didn’t see the necessity for forming a club or society of plain speakers. One speaks plainly or otherwise according to one’s taste, condition and habit, and possibly one’s income. More than one old friend had already accused me of speaking too plainly. People who formed a society for that purpose were likely, I thought, to be weak-kneed individuals. It seemed to me, too, that the invitation had not been sent by any intimate friend; for the envelope was scrupulously addressed with a great many letters after my name, representing my membership of many learned and quite unimportant societies. I judged that my address had been copied from a medical directory. I crumpled the card up and tossed it into my wastepaper basket. Later I forgot all about the thing, and went out.

There is a fashionable flower-shop at the corner where my street meets Piccadilly. I was on the opposite side, but I crossed as usual just there, liking to get a sight of whatever flowers there might be. I saw the first daffodils of the season in the window, and while I was looking at them, and wondering whether I wouldn’t tell the florist to send some across to my rooms, she took the whole lot out of the window, perhaps a dozen bunches, and showed them to a customer, a man. From the manner in which she presently set them aside, I inferred that he had bought the lot; and glaring at him discontentedly enough, for I had really

meant to take some, I found that this man was Maxwell.

He dictated some address to the girl, and then turning to the window as though to see what else might be there, he noticed me, and at once came out into the street.

“I was on my way to call, doctor,” he said.

“Why?” I asked, wishing to be sarcastic. “Do you feel worse?”

He made no answer to this, but invited me to go into the shop for a moment with him, unless I would prefer turning back to my rooms.

“I don’t meet patients professionally in florists’ shops,” I said, “but I don’t know that I care to turn back either—unless you mean to explain this morning’s visit.”

“If you’ll be reasonable for a moment,” he said, “and listen to me, I don’t think you’ll regret it. Come into the shop,” and I followed him.

Once inside, and in a quiet corner away from the counter, he faced me and spoke, holding out a small card.

“You got, or will get, an invitation to join a society called the Plain Speakers.”

I took the thing, the size of an ordinary visiting card, and saw that on it there was a little seated skeleton, in wig and robes. That and nothing else, except his name in pencil.

“I got it,” I said. “Will you join?”

“Do you think I need practice in plain speaking?” I asked him; and the man laughed good-temperedly enough. I had a good look at him before I answered his question.

He was a tall fellow, and very lean. He was naturally dark-complexioned, and made darker by exposure. One could see the line of demarcation caused probably by the collar of a military tunic. His black hair and moustache were close cut. His face in profile reminded me of some heads of Roman soldiers which I had seen on medallions; strong-jawed, hawk-nosed, spare. I shouldn’t suspect him of much imagination, and an admirable nervous system probably kept him good-tempered. On considering him in this way, however, I was surprised to remember that he had allowed me to call him a liar—or, at any rate, to say that I suspected him of being one. I decided that he would, perhaps, stand a good deal, if it helped him to get what he wanted.

“Well?” he said presently.

“Why should I join?” I asked. “What do you want me for? What should I get from it, in profit or pleasure?”

“I don’t think it will interest you much, but it’s a Step,” said he. “In the dark,” I pointed out. “Where does it lead?”

“I can’t tell you much that’s worth telling,” he said, “until you join. The society may amuse you, or it may not. My friend Perceval and I want you to join.” He stopped a moment, and looked at me steadily.

“You are interested in mummies, I fancy,” he said. “I believe you might learn something new—and perhaps teach us.”

“I hate mysteries. What on earth do you mean?” I grumbled.

“Mysteries are not in my line, and they’re not to my liking,” Maxwell said. “But a promise is a promise, even if it’s a d——d silly one. Join the Plain Speakers. Then Perceval and I can say more. That’s the only reason for asking you.”

“What do I get by it?” I persisted; and the fellow looked me over with most impudent minuteness before answering.

“Can’t tell,” he said at last. “Depends on the sort of man you are.”

“If you don’t know what sort of man I am you had better find out before you go further,” I said. “Come to me again, if you want to, when you do know. In the meantime, I shall be making more inquiries about you,” and I turned to go about my business. I was tired of this circumlocution, and two people had already bumped against me in entering the shop.

But Maxwell laid a hand on my arm, and an uncommonly strong hand I felt it to be. It was impossible to get away without making more fuss than I cared to make while the young person behind the counter kept an eye on us.

“Listen a minute!” he said, “and then go if you must. You ask me what you’ll get by doing what I want. You’ll get a fee or two sooner or later, I’m afraid; but I understand you’re not awfully keen about fees. Besides that you’ll get worry and anxiety, and you may have to take risks. However, of course they’re not in your line, and no one can blame you if you refuse them later.”

“Confound you!” I said, “do you think a man’s a coward if he doesn’t wear a uniform? Get on with your enumerations of the inducements held out by your blessed society!”

“That’s all, I think,” he said, looking at me closely. “A man of your age won’t be bothered like some of us, I suppose. Perhaps that’ll even keep you from being interested.”

“What the devil antediluvian age do you think I am?” I asked, “to be past bother and interests?” but he didn’t say.

“I believe, though,” he ended, “that you’d do as I ask, if you knew all about it.

I think if you refuse now, and get to know about it later, you’ll regret it as long as you live. That is, if you’re the sort of man we take you to be. I can’t tell you anything more unless you join.”

I was nettled at his suggestion concerning my age and possible dread of risks. “I’ll join, and be hanged to you,” I said.

“Say what you please, so long as you join,” he answered, smiling. “Come to the next meeting, for which you’ll get a card—and after that we can talk plainly.”

He gripped my hand very firmly, and went away without any more ado.

The next day I found another Plain Speaker envelope among my letters. Inside was a printed card, with the bewigged skeleton upon it:

“Your attendance is requested at the next meeting of the Plain Speakers, to be held at ——” Then followed the address of a great lady, and the time, 10 p.m.