Do smoke if you wish. Mark is always trying to bring horrible things in jars into the house, and I am always telling him to take them back to the laboratory, so that’s enough friction for one household. But he is a dear good fellow.’
‘Yes, he is,’ agreed Phryne.
It was pleasant to sit in a room which was not scented with science, but she knew she could not remain long. Someone was doubtless dying to tell her something new about their beloved mummy. Phryne enjoyed her drink and her Sobranie and waited for the tray which a severe woman brought to the door of the laboratory, where there was a table. ‘And no further,’ she declared. ‘Not after them rats!’
‘Rats?’ asked Phryne when Mrs Bernstein had safely gone.
‘She went in once just as Mark dropped a cage in which he had a few white rats. They rather swarm, rats, especially when they are dropped. Apparently one ran over her foot. After that she won’t go near the laboratory.’
‘Thank you for the drink,’ said Phryne, picking up the tray and opening the door into science.
‘Do come again,’ said Mrs Treasure, seeming to mean it.
Phryne laid down the tray and announced, ‘Tea.’
‘We have made progress,’ Jane proclaimed, taking her glass of ginger ale.
‘We certainly have,’ beamed Dr Treasure. ‘We have been over the whole body and made a small incision to see what he is packed with. Most amazing, Phryne, you won’t believe this. Tea? Ah, yes, tea. Thank you.’
‘What won’t I believe?’ asked Phryne, cushioned against further shocks by a comfortable gin.
‘First, we have the bullet. It was still in the skull, jammed in under the jaw. It’s not a bullet, Phryne. It’s a ball. Like they used in the old days. And what’s more . . .’ Dr Treasure paused to sip and lost his place. Professor Ayers leapt into the gap.
‘We know when he was mummified.’
‘We do? How? Did you find a date of preservation? Or a canning date, like they put on tinned ham? This mummy made in 1921?’
Professor Ayers did not even acknowledge her attempt at wit.
‘Better. We found out what his abdomen was packed with.’
‘What?’ asked Phryne, feeling like the straight man in a comic crosstalk act. They were so pleased and so excited and they really needed her to be astonished and impressed.
‘Newspaper,’ said Jane triumphantly.
‘Newspaper?’ demanded Phryne, astonished as required. In fact, more astonished than was required. She really was surprised.
‘And we’ve got some which hasn’t been rendered entirely illegible by the body fluids. Here.’ Ayers presented a stained and crumpled piece of newsprint.
‘Part of a masthead. The something Mail ,’ read Phryne.
‘And here . . .’ Dr Treasure had regained the initiative as Ayers gulped his coffee. ‘The pièce de résistance.’
‘My God,’ said Phryne very quietly. ‘Gentlemen, you are amazing.’
On the strip of paper was clearly printed ‘July 27th 1857. Attempted Expulsion . . .’ While Phryne was still staring at it, Dr Treasure put down his cup and delivered his considered medical opinion.
‘This was a healthy young European man, under twenty-five, with dark hair and probably brown eyes. He was about five foot four and well built, the muscle adhesions on the bones are marked. He was left handed and had been doing hard physical work; there are callouses on his hands. He has a tattoo on his arm which came from a Chinese source, probably a port like Shanghai or Hong Kong. If I had to make a finding of death I’d have to say that there are no gross injuries, all the other bones appear to be intact and he died of homicidal or accidental violence due to a bullet to the head. Right between the eyes. At close quarters, as there is some gunpowder tattooing. After death, soon after, he was mummified in a manner which duplicated the Ancient Egyptian. From the stitches, which are surgical silk, I assume that the mummifier was a medical gentleman with a knowledge of the
‘Yes, he is,’ agreed Phryne.
It was pleasant to sit in a room which was not scented with science, but she knew she could not remain long. Someone was doubtless dying to tell her something new about their beloved mummy. Phryne enjoyed her drink and her Sobranie and waited for the tray which a severe woman brought to the door of the laboratory, where there was a table. ‘And no further,’ she declared. ‘Not after them rats!’
‘Rats?’ asked Phryne when Mrs Bernstein had safely gone.
‘She went in once just as Mark dropped a cage in which he had a few white rats. They rather swarm, rats, especially when they are dropped. Apparently one ran over her foot. After that she won’t go near the laboratory.’
‘Thank you for the drink,’ said Phryne, picking up the tray and opening the door into science.
‘Do come again,’ said Mrs Treasure, seeming to mean it.
Phryne laid down the tray and announced, ‘Tea.’
‘We have made progress,’ Jane proclaimed, taking her glass of ginger ale.
‘We certainly have,’ beamed Dr Treasure. ‘We have been over the whole body and made a small incision to see what he is packed with. Most amazing, Phryne, you won’t believe this. Tea? Ah, yes, tea. Thank you.’
‘What won’t I believe?’ asked Phryne, cushioned against further shocks by a comfortable gin.
‘First, we have the bullet. It was still in the skull, jammed in under the jaw. It’s not a bullet, Phryne. It’s a ball. Like they used in the old days. And what’s more . . .’ Dr Treasure paused to sip and lost his place. Professor Ayers leapt into the gap.
‘We know when he was mummified.’
‘We do? How? Did you find a date of preservation? Or a canning date, like they put on tinned ham? This mummy made in 1921?’
Professor Ayers did not even acknowledge her attempt at wit.
‘Better. We found out what his abdomen was packed with.’
‘What?’ asked Phryne, feeling like the straight man in a comic crosstalk act. They were so pleased and so excited and they really needed her to be astonished and impressed.
‘Newspaper,’ said Jane triumphantly.
‘Newspaper?’ demanded Phryne, astonished as required. In fact, more astonished than was required. She really was surprised.
‘And we’ve got some which hasn’t been rendered entirely illegible by the body fluids. Here.’ Ayers presented a stained and crumpled piece of newsprint.
‘Part of a masthead. The something Mail ,’ read Phryne.
‘And here . . .’ Dr Treasure had regained the initiative as Ayers gulped his coffee. ‘The pièce de résistance.’
‘My God,’ said Phryne very quietly. ‘Gentlemen, you are amazing.’
On the strip of paper was clearly printed ‘July 27th 1857. Attempted Expulsion . . .’ While Phryne was still staring at it, Dr Treasure put down his cup and delivered his considered medical opinion.
‘This was a healthy young European man, under twenty-five, with dark hair and probably brown eyes. He was about five foot four and well built, the muscle adhesions on the bones are marked. He was left handed and had been doing hard physical work; there are callouses on his hands. He has a tattoo on his arm which came from a Chinese source, probably a port like Shanghai or Hong Kong. If I had to make a finding of death I’d have to say that there are no gross injuries, all the other bones appear to be intact and he died of homicidal or accidental violence due to a bullet to the head. Right between the eyes. At close quarters, as there is some gunpowder tattooing. After death, soon after, he was mummified in a manner which duplicated the Ancient Egyptian. From the stitches, which are surgical silk, I assume that the mummifier was a medical gentleman with a knowledge of the
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