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the bite of a snake to end her life。 The Roman guards had not prevented her suicide。 And so Octavian took possession of Egypt。 But Cleopatra he could not have。 Julie closed the book almost reverently。 She looked at the long row of alabaster jars。 Could these really be those very poisons？
She fell into a strange reverie as she gazed at the magnificent coffin。 A hundred like it she had seen here and in Cairo。 A hundred like it she had examined ever since she could remember。 Only this one contained a man who claimed to be immortal。 Who claimed to be entering not death when he was buried； but〃 a dream…filled sleep。〃
What was the secret of that slumber？ Of being awakened from it？ And the elixir！
〃Ramses the Damned；〃 she whispered。〃 Would you wake for me as you did for Cleopatra？ Would you wake for a new century of indescribable marvels even though your Queen is dead？〃
No answer but silence； and the large soft eyes of the golden King staring at her； graven hands folded over his chest。
〃That's robbery！〃 Henry said； barely able to contain his anger。〃 The thing's priceless。〃 He glared at the little man behind the desk in the back office of the coin shop。 Miserable little thief in his stuffy world of dirty glass cases and bits and pieces of money displayed as if they were jewels。
〃If it's genuine； yes；〃 the man answered slowly。〃 And if it's genuine； where did it e from？ A coin like this with a perfect image of Cleopatra？ That's what they will want to know； you see； where did it e from？ And you have not told me your name。〃
〃No； I haven't。〃 Exasperated； he snatched the coin back from the dealer； slipped it into his pocket and turned to go。 He stopped long enough to put on his gloves。 What did he have left？ Fifty pounds？ He was in a fury。 He let the door slam behind him as he walked into the biting wind。
The dealer sat quite still for a long moment。 He could still feel the coin that he had let slip literally from his hand。 Never in all these long years had he seen anything quite like it。 He knew it was genuine； and suddenly he felt the fool as never before in his life。
He should have bought it！ He should have taken the risk。 But he knew it was stolen； and not even for the Queen of the Nile could he bee a thief。
He rose from the desk； and passed through the dusty serge curtains that separated his shop from a tiny drawing room where he spent much of his time； even during business hours； quite alone。 His newspaper lay beside the wing chair where he'd left it。 He opened now to the headline：
STRATFORD MUMMY AND HIS CURSE E TO LONDON
The ink drawing beneath showed a slender young man disembarking from the P&O H。M。S。 Melpomine along with the mummy of the famed Ramses the Damned。 Henry Stratford； nephew of the dead archaeologist； said the caption。 Yes； that was the man who had just left his shop。 Had he stolen the coin from the tomb where his uncle died so suddenly？ And how many more like it had he taken？ The dealer was confused； relieved on the one hand； and full of regret on the other。 He stared at the telephone。
Noon。 The club dining room was quiet； the few scattered members eating their lunch alone on white…draped tables in silence。 Just the way Randolph liked it； a true retreat from the noisy streets outside； and the endless pressure and confusion of his office。
He was not happy when he saw his son standing in the door some fifty feet away。 Hasn't slept all night； more than likely。 Yet Henry was shaven； neatly dressed； Randolph gave him that much。 The little things were never out of Henry's control。 It was the great disaster with which he couldn't cope…that he had no real life any longer。 That he was a gambler and a drinker with no soul。
Randolph went back to his soup。
He didn't look up as his son took the chair opposite； and called to the waiter for a Scotch and water〃 at once。〃
〃I told you to stay at your cousin's last night；〃 Randolph said gloomily。 There was no point to this conversation。〃 I left the key for you。〃
〃I picked up the key； thank you。 And my cousin is no doubt doing quite well without me。 She has her mummy to keep her pany。〃
The waiter set down the glass and Henry drained it at once。
Randolph took another slow spoon of the hot soup。〃 Why the hell do you dine in a place like this？ It's been out of fashion for a decade。 It's positively funereal。〃
〃Keep your voice down。〃
〃Why should I？ All the members are deaf。〃
Randolph sat back in the chair。 He gave a small nod to the waiter； who moved in to take the soup plate。〃 It's my club and I like it；〃 he said dully。 Meaningless。 All conversation with his son was meaningless。 He would weep if he thought of it。 He would weep if he lingered too long on the fact that Henry's hands trembled； that his face was pale and drawn； and that his eyes fixed on nothing…eyes of an addict； a drunk。
〃Bring the bottle；〃 Henry said to the waiter； without looking up。 And to his father；〃 I'm down to twenty pounds。〃
〃I can't advance you anything！〃 Randolph said wearily。〃 As long as she's in control； the situation is very simply desperate。 You don't understand。〃
〃You're lying to me。 I know she signed papers yesterday。 。。。〃
〃You've drawn a year's salary in advance。〃
〃Father； I must have another hundred。 。。。〃
〃If she examines the books herself； I may have to confess everything； and ask for another chance。〃
It filled him with surprising relief merely to say it。 Perhaps it was what he wanted。 He gazed at his son from a great remove suddenly。 Yes； he should tell his niece everything； and ask for her 。 ； 。 what？ Her help。
Henry was sneering。
〃Throwing ourselves on her mercy。 Oh； that's lovely。〃
Randolph looked away； across the long vista of white…draped tables。 Only one stooped grey…haired figure remained now； dining alone； in a far corner。 The elderly Viscount Stephenson… one of the old landed gentry who still had the bank account to support his vast estates。 Well； dine in peace； my friend； Randolph thought wearily。
〃What else can we do！〃 he said softly now to his son。〃 You might e to work tomorrow。 At least make an appearance。 。。。〃
Was his son listening； his son who had been miserable for as long as Randolph could remember； his son who had no future； no ambitions； no plans； no dreams？
It broke his heart suddenly； the thought of it…the long years since his son had been anything but desperate； and furtive； and
bitter as well。 It broke his heart to see his son's eyes darting anxiously over the simple objects of the table…the heavy silver； the napkin which he had not yet unfolded。 The glass and the bottle of Scotch。
〃All right； I'll give you some on account；〃 he said。 What would another hundred pounds matter？ And this was his only son。 His only son。
A sombre yet undeniably exciting occasion。 When Elliott arrived； the Stratford house was crowded to overflowing。 He had always loved this house； with its unmonly large rooms； and its dramatic central stairway。
So much dark wood； so many towering bookshelves； and yet it had a cheerful atmosphere with the wicked abundance of electric light and the never…ending stretches of gilded wallpaper。 But he missed Lawrence sharply as he stood in the front hall。 He felt Lawrence here； and all the wasted moments of their friendship came back to torment him。 And the long…ago love affair that haunted him still。
Well； he had known it would happen。 But there was nowhere else on earth that he wanted to be tonight； except in Lawrence's house for the first official showing of Ramses the Damned； Lawrence's discovery。 He made a light dismissive gesture to fend off those who immediately came towards him； and bowing his head he pushed his way gently through strangers and old friends until he reached the Egyptian room。 The pain in his legs was bad tonight； because of the damp； as he always said。 But luckily he wouldn't have to stand long。 And he had a new walking stick that he rather liked； a fancy affair with a silver handle。
〃Thank you； Oscar；〃 he said with the usual smile as he took his first glass of white wine。
〃Not a moment too soon； old boy；〃 Randolph said to him wearily。〃 They're going to unveil the ghastly thing now。 Might as well e along。〃
Elliot nodded。 Randolph looked dreadful； no doubt about it。 He'd had the wind knocked out of him by Lawrence's death。 But he was doing his best here； it was obvious。
They moved together into the front ranks…and for the first time； Elliott laid eyes upon the startlingly beautiful coffin of the mummy。'
The innocent； childlike expression of the golden mask charmed him。 Then his eyes moved to the bands of writing that girded the lower portion of the figure。 Latin and Greek words written as if they were Egyptian hieroglyphs！
But he was distracted as Hancock of the British Museum called for quiet； tapping a spoon loudly on a crystal glass。 Beside Hancock stood Alex； with his arm around Julie； who looked exquisite in her black mourning； her hair drawn severely back from her pale face； revealing to all the world that her featur