The Green Mummy
search.”
“Well,” sighed Mrs. Jasher wearily, “I hope that all this trouble will
come to an end. That green mummy has proved most unlucky. Leave me now,
dear girls, as I feel somewhat tired.”
“Good-bye,” said Lucy, kissing her. “I hope that you will be better this
evening. Don't get up unless you feel quite able.”
“Oh, I shall take my ease in the drawing-room.”
“I thought you always called it the parlor,” laughed the girl.
“Ah,” Mrs. Jasher smiled, “you see I am practicing against the time
when I shall be mistress of the Pyramids, You can't call that large room
there a parlor,” and she laughed weakly.
Altogether, Mrs. Jasher impressed both Lucy and Donna Inez with the fact
that she was very weak and scarcely able, as she put it, to draw one leg
after the other. Both the girls would have been surprised to see what a
hearty meal Mrs. Jasher made that evening, when she was up and dressed.
Perhaps she felt that her strength needed keeping up, but she certainly
partook largely of the delicate dinner provided by Jane, who was a most
excellent cook.
After dinner, Mrs. Jasher lay on a pink couch in the pink parlor by a
splendid fire, for the night was cold and raw with a promise of rain.
The widow had a small table at her elbow, on which stood a cup of
coffee and a glass of liquor. The rose-colored curtains were drawn, the
rose-shaded lamps were lighted, and the whole interior of the cottage
looked very comfortable indeed. Mrs. Jasher, in a crocus-yellow tea-gown
trimmed with rich black lace, reclined on her couch like Cleopatra in
her barge. In the pink light she looked very well preserved, although
her face wore an anxious expression. This was due to the fact that the
mail had come in and the three letters brought by the postman had to do
with creditors. Mrs. Jasher was always trying to make both ends meet,
and had a hard struggle to keep her head above water. Certainly, since
she had inherited the money of her brother, the Pekin merchant, she need
not have looked so worried. But she did, and made no disguise of it,
seeing that she was quite alone.
After a time she went to her desk and took out a bundle of bills and
some other letters, also an account book and a bank book. Over these she
pored for quite an hour. The clock struck nine before she looked up from
this unpleasant task, and she found her financial position anything but
satisfactory. With a weary sigh she rose and stared at herself in the
mirror over the fireplace, frowning as she did so.
“Unless I can marry the Professor at once, I don't know what will happen
to me,” she mused gloomily. “I have managed very well so far, but things
are coming to a crisis. These devils,” she alluded to her creditors,
“will not keep off much longer, and then the crash will come. I shall
have to leave Gartley as poor as when I came, and there will be nothing
left but the old nightmare life of despair and horror. I am getting
older every day, and this is my last chance of getting married. I must
force the Professor to have a speedy marriage. I must! I must!” and
she began to pace the tiny room in a frenzy of terror and well-founded
alarm.
As she was trying to calm herself and succeeding very badly, Jane
entered the room with a card. It proved to be that of Sir Frank Random.
“It is rather a late hour for a visit,” said Mrs. Jasher to the servant.
“However, I feel so bored, that perhaps he will cheer me up. Ask him to
come in.”
When Jane left, she stood still for a moment or so, trying to think why
the young man had called at so untoward an hour. But when his footsteps
were heard approaching the door, she swept the books and the bills and
the letters into the desk and locked it quickly. When Random appeared at
the door, she was just leaving the desk to greet him, and no one would
have taken the smiling, plump, well-preserved woman for the creature who
lately had looked so haggard and careworn.
“I am glad to see you, Sir Frank,” said Mrs. Jasher, nodding in a
familiar manner. “Sit down in this very comfortable chair, and Jane
shall bring you some coffee and kummel.”
“No, thank you,” said Random in his usual stiff way, but very politely.
“I have just left the mess, where I had a good dinner.”
Mrs. Jasher nodded, and sank again on the couch, which was opposite the
chair which she had selected for her visitor.
“I see you are in mess kit,” she said gayly; “quite a glorified creature
to appear in my poor little parlor. Why are you not with Donna Inez? I
have heard all about your engagement from Lucy. She was here to-day with
Senorita De Gayangos.”
“So I believe,” said Random, still stiffly; “but you see I was anxious
to come and see you.”
“Ah!” said Mrs. Jasher equably, “you heard that I was ill. Yes; I have
been in bed ever since yesterday afternoon, until a couple of hours
ago. But I am now better. My dinner has done me good. Pass me that fan,
please. The fire is so hot.”
Sir Frank did as he was told, and she held the feather fan between her
face and the fire, while he stared at her, wondering what to say.
“Don't you find this atmosphere very stuffy?” he remarked at length. “It
would be a good thing to have the windows open.”
Mrs. Jasher shrieked.
“My dear boy, are you mad? I have a touch of the influenza, and an
open window would bring about my death. Why, this room is delightfully
comfortable.”
“There is such a strong perfume about it,” sniffed Random pointedly.
“I should think you knew that scent by this time, Sir Frank. I use no
other and never have done. Smell!” and she passed a flimsy handkerchief
of lace.
Random took the handkerchief and placed it to his nostrils. As he did so
a strange expression of triumph crept into his eyes.
“I think you told me once that it was a Chinese perfume,” he said,
returning the handkerchief.
Mrs. Jasher nodded, well pleased.
“I get it from a friend of my late husband who is in the British Embassy
at Pekin. No one uses it but me.”
“But surely some other person uses it?”
“Not in England; and I do not know why you should say so. It is a
specialty of mine. Why,” she added playfully, “if you met me in the dark
you should know me, by this scent.”
“Can you swear that no one else has ever used this perfume?” asked
Random.
Mrs. Jasher lifted her penciled eyebrows.
“I do not know why you should ask me to swear,” she said quietly, “but
I assure you that I keep this perfume which comes from China to myself.
Not even Lucy Kendal has it, although she greatly desired some. We women
are selfish in some things, my dear man. It's a most delicious perfume.”
“Yes,” said Sir Frank, staring at her, “and very strong.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing. Only I should think that such a perfume would be good for the
cold you contracted by going to London last night.”
Mrs. Jasher turned suddenly pale under her rouge, and her hand clenched
the fan so tightly as to break the handle.
“I have not been to London for quite a month,” she faltered. “What a
strange remark!”
“A true one,” said the baronet, fumbling in the pocket of his jacket.
“You went to London last night by the seven o'clock train to post this,”
and he held out the anonymous letter.
The widow, now quite pale, and looking years older, sat up on the couch
with a painful effort, which suggested old age.
“I don't understand,” she said, trying to speak calmly. “I was not in
London, and I did not post any letter. If you came here to insult me--”
“There can be no insult in asking a few questions,” said Random,
throwing aside his stiffness and speaking decisively. “I received
this letter, which bears a London postmark, by the mid-day post. The
handwriting is disguised, and there is neither address nor signature nor
date. You manufactured your communication very cleverly, Mrs. Jasher,
but you forgot that the Chinese perfume might betray you.”
“The perfume! the perfume!” Mrs. Jasher gasped and saw in a moment how
the late conversation had led her to fall into a trap.
“The letter retains traces of the perfume you use,” went on the baronet
relentlessly. “I have a remarkably keen sense of smell, and, as scent is
a most powerful aid to memory, I speedily recollected that you used this
especial perfume. You told me a few moments ago that no one else
used it, and so you have proved the truth of my statement that this
letter”--he tapped it--“is written by you.”
“It's a lie--a mistake,” stuttered Mrs. Jasher, now at bay and looking
dangerous. Her society veneer was stripped off, and the adventuress pure
and simple came to the surface.
Indignant at the way in which she had deceived everyone, and having much
at stake, Random did not spare her.
“It is not a mistake,” he insisted; “neither is it a lie. When I became
aware that you must have written the letter, I drove at once to Jessum
to see if you had gone to London, as you had posted it there. I learned
from the station master and from a porter that you went to town by the
seven o'clock train and returned by the midnight.”
Mrs. Jasher leaped to her feet.
“They could not recognize me. I wore--” Then she stopped, confused at
having so plainly betrayed herself.
“You wore a veil. All the same, Mrs. Jasher, you are too well known
hereabouts for anyone to fail to recognize you. Besides, your remark
just now proves that I am right. You wrote this blackmailing letter, and
I demand an explanation.”
“I have none to give,” muttered the woman fiercely, and fighting every
inch.
“If you refuse to explain to me you shall to the police,” said Sir
Frank, rising and making for the door.
Mrs. Jasher flung herself forward and clung to him.
“For God's sake, don't!”
“Then you will explain? You will tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“Who murdered Sidney Bolton.”
“I do not know. I swear I do not know,” she cried feverishly.
“That is ridiculous,” said Random coldly. “You say in this letter that
you can hang me or save me. As you know that I am innocent, you must be
aware who is guilty.”
“It's all bluff. I know nothing,” said Mrs. Jasher, releasing his arm
and throwing herself on the couch. “I only wished to get money.”
“Five thousand pounds--eh? Rather a large order,” sneered Random,
replacing the letter in his pocket. “You would not ask that sum for
nothing: you must be aware of the truth. I suspected many people, Mrs.
Jasher, but never you.”
The woman rose and flung out her arms.
“No,” she said in a deep voice, and fighting like a rat in a corner. “I
tricked you all down here. Sir Frank, I will tell you the truth.”
“About the murder?”
“I know nothing of that. About myself.”
Random shrugged his shoulders.
“I'll hear about yourself first,” he said. “I can learn details
concerning the murder later. Go on.”
“I know nothing of the murder or of the theft of the emeralds--”
“Yet you hid the mummy in this house, and afterwards placed it in your
arbor to be found by the Professor, for some reason.”
“I know nothing about that either,” muttered Mrs. Jasher doggedly, and
with very white lips. “That letter you have traced to me is all bluff.”
“Then you admit having written it?”
“Yes,” she said sullenly. “You know too much, and it is useless for me
to deny the truth in the face of the evidence you bring against me. I
would fight though,” she added, raising her head like a snake its crest,
“if I was not sick and tired of fighting.”
“Fighting?”
“Yes, against trouble and worry and money difficulties and creditors.
Oh,” she struck her breast, “what do you know of life, you rich,
easy-going man? I have been in the depths, and not through my own fault.
I had a bad mother, a bad husband. I was dragged in the mire by those
who should have helped me to rise. I have starved for days; I have wept