He announces that the Khedive has been graciously
pleased to grant to his society the sole right to excavate the tombs
recently discovered by one of its agents in the Karnak region. Doctor
Athelstone left home quietly some weeks ago, and held back any
announcement of the discoveries, which promise to be very important,
while the negotiations, now brought to a happy conclusion, were
pending. He sails for New York on the Campania tomorrow.
"Do I go off half-cocked? Am I yellow? Is a pup yellow?" groaned
Simpkins, and he started off aimlessly toward the park, fighting his
Waterloo over again and counting up his losses. That foolish, foolish
letter! Why had he soiled his fingers by opening it! Of course, that
line which loomed so large and fine in his story, that pointed the
impressive finger of Fate at Crime, "_That thing that I have to do is
about done!_" referred to Doctor Athelstone's silly negotiations. The
letter must have been from him. Now, who could have known that a grown
man would indulge in such fool monkey-business as writing love-letters
in hieroglyphics to his own wife?... And that blame black mummy. Back to
darkest Africa for his! If any one ever said mummy to him there'd be
murder done, all right. Oh, for the happy ignorance of those days when
he knew nothing about Egypt except that it was the place from which the
cigarettes came!.
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