Part 10 (1/2)
It was a proud moment for me when, in response to my interrogative ”Yes?” my companion said ”That is all” and closed the book. We had extracted the pith and marrow of six considerable volumes in two hours and a half.
”You have been better than your word,” she said. ”It would have taken me two full days of really hard work to make the notes that you have written down since we commenced. I don't know how to thank you.”
”There's no need to. I've enjoyed myself and polished up my shorthand.
What is the next thing? We shall want some books for to-morrow, shan't we?”
”Yes. I have made out a list, so if you will come with me to the catalogue desk I will look out the numbers and ask you to write the tickets.”
The selection of a fresh batch of authorities occupied us for another quarter of an hour, and then, having handed in the volumes that we had squeezed dry, we took our way out of the reading-room.
”Which way shall we go?” she asked as we pa.s.sed out of the gate, where stood a ma.s.sive policeman, like the guardian angel at the gate of Paradise (only, thank Heaven! he bore no flaming sword forbidding reentry).
”We are going,” I replied, ”to Museum Street, where is a milkshop in which one can get an excellent cup of tea.”
She looked as if she would have demurred, but eventually followed obediently, and we were soon seated side by side at a little marble-topped table, retracing the ground that we had covered in the afternoon's work and discussing various points of interest over a joint teapot.
”Have you been doing this sort of work long?” I asked as she handed me my second cup of tea.
”Professionally,” she answered, ”only about two years; since we broke up our home, in fact. But long before that I used to come to the Museum with my Uncle John--the one who disappeared, you know, in that dreadfully mysterious way--and help him to look up references. We were quite good friends, he and I.”
”I suppose he was a very learned man?” I suggested.
”Yes, in a certain way; in the way of the better-cla.s.s collector he was very learned indeed. He knew the contents of every museum in the world, in so far as they were connected with Egyptian antiquities, and had studied them specimen by specimen. Consequently, as Egyptology is largely a museum science, he was a learned Egyptologist. But his real interest was in things rather than events. Of course, he knew a great deal--a very great deal--about Egyptian history, but still he was, before all, a collector.”
”And what will happen to his collection if he is really dead?”
”The greater part of it goes to the British Museum by his will, and the remainder he has left to his solicitor, Mr. Jellicoe.”
”To Mr. Jellicoe! Why, what will Mr. Jellicoe do with Egyptian antiquities?”
”Oh, he is an Egyptologist, too, and quite an enthusiast. He has a really fine collection of scarabs and other small objects such as it is possible to keep in a private house. I have always thought that it was his enthusiasm for everything Egyptian that brought him and my uncle together on terms of such intimacy; though I believe he is an excellent lawyer, and he is certainly a very discreet, cautious man.”
”Is he? I shouldn't have thought so, judging by your uncle's will.”
”Oh, but that was not Mr. Jellicoe's fault. He a.s.sures us that he entreated my uncle to let him draw up a fresh doc.u.ment with more reasonable provisions. But he says Uncle John was immovable; and he really _was_ a rather obstinate man. Mr. Jellicoe repudiates any responsibility in the matter. He washes his hands of the whole affair, and says that it is the will of a lunatic. And so it is. I was glancing through it only a night or two ago, and really I cannot conceive how a sane man could have written such nonsense.”
”You have a copy, then?” I asked eagerly, remembering Thornd.y.k.e's parting instructions.
”Yes. Would you like to see it? I know my father has told you about it, and it is worth reading as a curiosity of perverseness.”
”I should very much like to show it to my friend, Doctor Thornd.y.k.e,” I replied. ”He said that he would be interested to read it and learn the exact provisions; and it might be well to let him, and hear what he has to say about it.”
”I see no objection,” she rejoined; ”but you know what my father is: his horror, I mean, of what he calls 'cadging for advice gratis.'”
”Oh, but he need have no scruples on that score. Doctor Thornd.y.k.e wants to see the will because the case interests him. He is an enthusiast, you know, and he put the request as a personal favour to himself.”
”That is very nice and delicate of him, and I will explain the position to my father. If he is willing for Doctor Thornd.y.k.e to see the copy, I will send or bring it over this evening. Have we finished?”
I regretfully admitted that we had, and, when I had paid the modest reckoning, we sallied forth, turning back with one accord into Great Russell Street to avoid the noise and bustle of the larger thoroughfare.