She who sleeps A romance of New York and the Nile
“Valuable!” exclaimed Dr. Rittenburg, who stood near. “There is a
fortune in this room.”
Danbazzar cleared a space upon a large table and set out the papyrus.
“Now, gentlemen,” he said in his courtly manner, “let us get to the
business of the evening. I have given you, Dr. Rittenburg, and you,
Mr. Pain, an opportunity of examining and testing this piece of
writing. I await your opinion.”
“I have anticipated it,” said John Cumberland, in a voice that
betrayed suppressed excitement.
Horace Pain removed the cigar from between his teeth, cleared his
throat, and:
“I know Professor Rittenburg’s opinion,” he said, “and he knows mine.
The papyrus is undeniably genuine. It has points of resemblance to the
Turin Papyrus which I shall presently point out, as I have already
pointed them out to my friend Dr. Rittenburg. Respecting the claims of
its writer, or writers, I shall have nothing to say. This is outside
my province. As, I take it”--turning to John Cumberland--“it is
outside yours? I mean, your interest, like mine, is in the writing
itself, not in what it states.”
“Partly,” John Cumberland replied, glancing swiftly in Danbazzar’s
direction.
“Well,” Pain went on, in his dry, hard voice, “I mean to say that a
parallel is the medical papyrus in Berlin. No one would think of
making up a prescription from it. You agree with me,
Professor?”--turning in the direction of Professor Blackwell.
“I agree with you entirely,” was the reply. “It contains among other
things a prescription for a hair restorer which, I will guarantee,
would turn Paderewski bald in a fortnight.”
“Exactly,” Dr. Rittenburg agreed. “I look upon this business of the
sleeping Princess as a sort of religious ritual, Cumberland, similar
to the worship of the Apis Bull--only kept up for political reasons to
delude the people, and to preserve the immortal name of Seti.
Something of that kind.”
“Quite beside the point, gentlemen,” Danbazzar’s deep voice broke in.
“The fact that the papyrus is genuine and, in your opinion, dates from
the time of the Pharaoh mentioned in it is the thing of interest to
Mr. Cumberland and to myself.”
“Of this I am certain.”
Dr. Rittenburg nodded his round head vigorously.
“So am I,” Horace Pain admitted. “Of course, its publication will
create a profound sensation, and the museums of the world will outbid
one another to get it.”
“They will bid in vain,” Danbazzar replied. “Mr. John Cumberland has
acquired it.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Dr. Rittenburg. “But of course you will publish a
reproduction? Every student in the world is entitled to access to such
a discovery.”
John Cumberland smiled happily. No triumph that his business had
offered or could offer compared with the thrill of such a moment as
this.
“In due course,” he said, “but not yet.”
Whereupon a debate arose concerning certain papyri, with the mere
names of which Barry was unacquainted, and their points of resemblance
to this one. Much excellent old brandy aided the debate. The two
experts disagreed fiercely; but at a late hour, Dr. Rittenburg and
Horace Pain having departed quite reconciled:
“Now,” said John Cumberland, “with Danbazzar’s consent, I shall
discuss this matter with you, Blackwell. Your province is rather
physiological than archæological. We have had expert opinion on the
papyrus itself, and now we should like to have your opinion upon the
feasibility of the claims made in it.”
The silent Arab replenished the guests’ glasses, except the
Professor’s; for Blackwell, who was already lost in thought, waved him
aside. The distinguished scientist was a tall man, though not so tall
as Danbazzar, and built bonily. He was clean-shaven, with a long
strong nose; and from his high brow, hair which was beginning to go
gray was carelessly brushed back. His clothes would have fitted
someone else better than they fitted the Professor, and he wore a low
double collar with his dinner jacket, allowing free play to an
enormously developed Adam’s apple.
His eyes, behind the thick pebbles of his glasses, resembled two
interrogation marks.
“I never jump to conclusions,” he began, thoughtfully selecting a
cigar from a box which Danbazzar slid across the table in his
direction.
The box was an Ancient Egyptian curiosity, but Professor Blackwell had
not even noticed the fact: his thoughts were elsewhere.
“Life,” he went on, “considered in the abstract, is the one thing of
which Science knows nothing. Adolf Weisman maintained that duration of
life is dependent upon adaptation to external conditions. We may take
the case of what is sometimes termed ‘mummy wheat.’ Personally, I
cannot vouch for these stories.”
“_I_ can,” Danbazzar said gravely. “I myself have seen grains of wheat
taken from a tomb of the fourteenth dynasty cultivated.”
“Did they yield any crop?” the Professor inquired.
“No,” Danbazzar acknowledged. “They shot up a very tender green to a
height of six inches and then died.”
“Quite, quite,” murmured the Professor, “but the life principle was
present, you see--dormant, but present. There is the case of a toad
imprisoned in a rock cavity for several generations, vouched for by
persons of repute, and I once examined, in India, a fakir who claimed
the power to unhitch his spirit from his body. Under these conditions
he presented every appearance of death and existed without visible
wasting for a long period unsustained by food or drink of any kind.
The question really is whether the tissues could be preserved over so
long a period as this”--nodding toward the papyrus--“indicated.”
“If for three hundred years, why not for three thousand?” John
Cumberland demanded.
“Quite, quite,” the professor murmured; “but unfortunately this fact
rests upon what I may term ‘hearsay.’ The people who wrote it have
been dead for some little time, you must remember!”
There was a short silence, broken by Danbazzar.
“Have you ever seen the mummy of Seti the First?” he demanded in his
deep, impressive tone.
“Yes.” Professor Blackwell looked up slowly. “Curiously enough, I was
thinking about him. He, of course, dates from somewhere about the same
period as Princess Zalithea, and the preservation in this case is
remarkable. But the system of mummifying employed on Seti could not be
employed on a living person. It is very interesting, though--very
interesting. A German physiologist whom I met in Berlin recently--I
forget his name, but he was a knowledgeable man--was anxious to
attempt some experiment of the kind, in a small way, upon a hypnotized
subject. The difficulty, of course, was to find the subject.”
“Naturally!” said Barry, laughing.
The Professor glanced aside at him over his spectacles. And then:
“I pointed out to my German acquaintance,” he went on, “that normal
processes of decay would proceed under these conditions quite
inevitably. And if there is anything in the extraordinary claims made
in this papyrus, I can only assume that some formula must have been
invented to check these processes. Of course, it is frightfully
empirical. One dare not raise such a thing seriously before modern
science. It would spell ruin.”
“Nevertheless,” said Danbazzar, “you are right--there _was_ such a
formula.”
“Ah!” exclaimed John Cumberland, “if only we could recover it.”
“I _have_ recovered it,” Danbazzar replied calmly.
“What!”
“I acquired it at the same time that I acquired this other papyrus. It
is locked in that safe over there.”
“That settles it,” said Cumberland, standing up. “My other plans are
made. What do you estimate it would cost, Danbazzar, to finance the
expedition?”
“Two hundred thousand dollars,” was the prompt reply.
“Be ready in a fortnight,” said Cumberland. “I must start then or
postpone the journey till next season.”
CHAPTER IX.
EGYPT BOUND
“Some people are so indecently lucky,” Jim Sakers protested. “It has
been my ambition from childhood to visit the interior of the Sphinx.”
“You poor nut!” said Barry. “The Sphinx is solid. You mean the
interior of the Pyramid!”
“Not so hasty,” Jim rebuked him, “not so hasty, my friend. My
ambitions are not the ambitions of an ordinary man. Any fool can visit
the interior of the Pyramid if he’s lucky enough to get to Egypt.
Nothing so commonplace as that appeals to me. I said, and I repeat,
that it has always been my ambition to visit the interior of the
Sphinx. I hope I make myself clear.”
“You expose fresh views of your ghastly ignorance at every turn,”
Barry said. “If you can think clearly for two minutes, concentrate on
what I’m going to say. Everybody seems to think that I need a
vacation, and Dad has decided to pay a visit to Egypt and to spend the
beginning of winter there.”
“Lucky, lucky man,” Jim murmured.
“He is keen for me to go with him,” Barry went on; “and as I have
never been out of America yet, the idea rather appeals----”
“Rather appeals!” Jim echoed. “Oh! the blasé youth of this
generation! I should cheer for an hour without stopping if my honoured
parent could be induced to get out of touch with Wall Street for a
week-end!”
“In brief,” Barry pursued patiently, “the idea that I am trying to
drive into your thick skull is this: I am going to Egypt, and I am
going next week.”
“This is dreadful,” Jim declared. “Think of the broken hearts in New
York. Besides, what about the Princess?”
“It is about the Princess,” Barry returned, “that I want to speak to
you. Several people, yourself included, have tried to convince me that
I’m suffering from a delusion where this girl is concerned. But I am
just as certain as ever that I have seen her, definitely twice,
possibly three times. What I want to ask you is this: Once in a while,
when you are in that neighbourhood, see if you can find anything out.”
“You mean,” Jim suggested, “drop in on Mr. Brown and say that I have
called about the electric light, or the installment due on the Ford,
or something of that kind?”
“Something of that kind,” Barry agreed. “Do it your own way--but just
keep a sharp lookout. And if you should pick up any information, send
me a cable. I can’t give you the route. When we get to some place up
the Nile where we are going to camp, I shall have to let you know.”
“Consider it done,” said Jim. “And now, _I_ have a request to make.
Bring me back a large bottle filled with the sand of the unchanging
desert. By sprinkling this in my bathroom and walking about in bare
feet, I shall be able to imagine that I am a son of the mysterious
East. Ho, there! Fatima, my dark-eyed ship of the desert!”
“The expression ‘ship of the desert,’” Barry interrupted, “usually
refers to a camel!”
“I am talking about a camel,” Jim assured him. “The affection of the
Arab for his camel is an historical fact.”
“You are thinking about his horse!”
“I am not thinking about his horse!” Jim cried. “The Arab I am talking
about _has_ no horse, he has a camel.”
And now: “What’s the row?” demanded a deep voice.
Aunt Micky intruded, carrying a large hatbox.
“Hello! Micky!” Barry exclaimed. “Been shopping again?”
“Yes,” was the reply; “it has just arrived. The best that Dobbs could
do for me.”
Opening the box, she produced a sun helmet of dazzling white,
decorated with a puggaree band in silver, violet, and maroon.
“Great shakes!” Jim exclaimed. “Is this for Barry?”
“It is,” Aunt Micky returned firmly. “It is most important that he
should not expose his skull to the rays of the sun. John always wears
a helmet in the East.”
“I know he does,” Barry admitted ruefully, contemplating this
“creation,” “but the one he wears is a decent sort of putty shade--and
without ribbons. However! Is it the right size?”
He tried it on.
“Really smart people,” Jim commented, “wear a feather--a small, neat