There he bound her, wrapping her about with the
linen bandages, until she was quite helpless to move. The obsidian eyes
of the mummy seemed to follow him as he went about his task. Annoyed by
their steady regard, he threw a cloth over the face and sat down to wait
for the woman to come back to life.
Though her gown was torn and spotted with his blood, Mrs. Athelstone had
never looked more lovely. But Simpkins was quite unmoved by the sight of
her beauty. His infatuation for her, his personal interest in her even,
had puffed out in that moment when he had discovered in the mummied face
a likeness to Doctor Athelstone. He was regarding her now simply as
"material," and fixing in his mind each detail of her appearance, that
he might the more effectively describe her in his story. And what a
splendid one it was! The Blavatsky "spread," with the opportunity which
it afforded to ridicule two rather well-known women--that was good
stuff; the scandal which had unfolded as he worked--that was better
still; but this "mysterious murder," with its novel features--this was
the superlative of excellence in Yellow Journalism. "Talk about Teddy's
luck," thought the reporter; "how about the luck of Simp., old boy?"
He looked at his watch anxiously.