Pharos, The Egyptian: A Romance
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"I am looking for the Signor Angelotti," I said, by way of introducing myself, "whom I was told I should find among the public letter-writers at the Theatre San Carlo."
"Angelotti is my name," he answered, "and for many years I received my clients at the place you mention; but my cousin died, and though I would willingly have gone on writing my little letters – for I may tell you, Excellenza, that writing letters for other people is a pleasurable employment – business is business, however, and here was this shop to be attended to. So away went letter-writing, and now, as you see, I sell violins and mandolins, of which I can show you the very best assortment in all Naples."
As he said this he put his little sparrow-like head on one side and looked at me in such a comical fashion that I could scarcely refrain from laughing. I had no desire, however, to offend the little man, for I did not know how useful he might prove himself to me.
"Doubtless you miss your old employment," I said, "particularly as it seems to have afforded you so much interest. It was not in connection with your talents in that direction, however, that I have called upon you. I have come all the way from England to ask you a question."
On hearing this he nodded his head more vigorously than before.
"A great country," he answered with enthusiasm. "I have written many letters for my clients to relatives there. There is a place called Saffron Hill. Oh, Excellenza, you would scarcely believe what stories I could tell you about the letters I have written to people there. But I am interrupting you. I am an old man, and I have seen very many things, so it is only natural I should like to talk about them."
"Very natural, indeed," I answered; "but in this instance all I have come to ask of you is an address. I want you to find a person for me who left England a few days since."
"And came to Naples? A countryman, perhaps?"
"No, he is no countryman of mine, nor do I even know that he came to Naples; but I was told by some one in England, from whom I made inquiries, that if I came here and asked for one Angelotti, a public letter-writer, I should, in all probability, be able to learn his whereabouts."
As if convinced of the importance of the part he was to play in the affair, the old man laid his pen carefully down upon the table, and then stood before me with his hands placed together, finger-tip to finger-tip.
"If your Excellency would condescend to mention the individual's name," he said softly, "it is just possible I might be able to give him the information he seeks."
"The name of the person I want to find is Pharos," I replied. "He is sometimes called Pharos the Egyptian."
Had I stated that I was in search of the Author of all Evil, the placid Angelotti could scarcely have betrayed more surprise. He took a step from me and for a moment gazed at me in amazement. Then the expression gradually faded from his face, leaving it as devoid of emotion as before.
"Pharos?" he repeated. "For the moment it does not strike me that I know the individual."
I should have believed that he really had not the power to help me had I not noticed the look which had come into his face when I mentioned that fatal name.
"You do not know him?" I said. "Surely you must be making some mistake. Think again, Signor Angelotti. See, here is the card I spoke of. It has your name and address upon it, and it was given me by Sir George Legrath, the head of the Egyptian Museum in London, of whom I think you must at least have heard."
He shook his head after he had examined the card.
"It is my name, sure enough," he said, handing it back to me, "but I can not understand why you should have supposed that I know anything of the person you are seeking. However, if you will write your name and address upon the card, and will leave it with me, I will make inquiries, and, should I discover anything, will at once communicate with your Excellency. I can do no more."
I saw then that my suppositions were correct, and that the old fellow was not as ignorant as he desired me to believe. I accordingly wrote my name, with that of the hotel at which I was staying, at the top of the card, and handed it to him, and then, seeing that there was nothing further to be done, bade him good-morning, and left the shop. Fortunately, the road home was easier to find than I had expected it would be, and it was not very long before I was once more in the Piazza S. Ferdinando.
I was still thinking of the curious interview through which I had just passed when, as I crossed the road, I was suddenly recalled to the reality of the moment by a loud voice adjuring me, in scarcely complimentary terms, to get out of the way, unless I desired to be run over. I turned my head in time to see a handsome carriage, drawn by a pair of horses, coming swiftly toward me. With a spring I gained the pavement, and then turned to take stock of it. It was not, however, at the carriage I gazed, but at its occupant. For, lying back upon her cushions, and looking even more beautiful than when I had seen her last, was Pharos's companion, the Fräulein Valerie de Vocsqal. That she saw and recognised me was shown by the expression on her face and the way in which she threw up her right hand. I almost fancied I could hear the cry of amazement that escaped her lips. Then the carriage disappeared in the crowd of traffic and she was gone again. For some moments I stood on the pavement looking after her as if rooted to the spot. It was only when I had recovered myself sufficiently to resume my walk that I could put two and two together and understand what significance this meeting had for me. If she were in Naples, it was well-nigh certain that Pharos must be there too; and if he were there, then I hoped it would be in my power to find him and acquaint him with the determination I had arrived at concerning him. That he desired to avoid me I could well understand, and the very fact that his companion showed so much astonishment at seeing me seemed to point to the same conclusion. Poor blind worm that I was, I hugged this conceit to my heart, and the more I did so the more resolved I became in my own mind that, when I did meet him, I would show no mercy. Debating with myself in this fashion, I made my way along the Strada S. Carlo and so by a short cut to my hotel.
As I have already remarked, there is nothing drearier in the world than a foreign hotel out of the season. In this particular instance I seemed to have the entire building to myself. The long corridors were innocent of the step of a stranger foot, and when I sat down to lunch in the great dining-hall, I had not only the room, but the entire staff, or what was left of it, to wait upon me.
I had just finished my meal, and was wondering in what manner I could spend the afternoon, when a waiter approached and placed a note beside my plate. Had I never seen the writer, I should have been able to guess his profession by his penmanship. The caligraphy displayed upon the envelope was too perfect not to be professional, and, as I looked at it, it seemed to me I could see the queer, sparrow-like head of the writer bending over it and smell the odour of the dried herbs and the still drier violins hanging up in that quaint old shop to which I had paid a visit that morning. On the top was my name and address in my own writing, and below it the direction furnished me by Sir George Legrath. Seeing that there was nothing new on that side, I took it to the window, and, turning it over, read as follows:
"If Mr. Forrester desires to meet the person of whom he spoke this morning he should be in the Temple of Mercury at Pompeii this afternoon at four o'clock. Provided he brings no one with him, he will be permitted the interview he seeks."
There was no signature, and nothing but the penmanship to show from whom it emanated; that it was genuine, however, I did not for a moment doubt. I looked at my watch, and finding that as yet it was scarcely half past one, tried to make up my mind whether I should go by train or drive. The afternoon would be hot, I was very well aware, and so would a long drive in an open carriage be; but the train would be hotter still. Eventually I decided for the road, and immediately despatched a waiter in search of a conveyance. Of the carriage and horses there is nothing to be said, and save the view, which is always beautiful, but little in favour of the drive. It was a quarter to four when I alighted at the entrance to the ruins, and by that time I was covered from head to foot with a coating of that indescribable dust so peculiar to Naples.
Informing the cabman that I should return to the city by train, I paid the admission fee and, declining the services of a guide, entered the grounds, keeping my eyes wide open, as you may suppose, for the man I had come to meet. Entering the ruins proper by the Marine Gate, I made my way direct to the rendezvous named upon the card, and, surely, never in the history of that ancient place had a man passed along its streets on a stranger mission. I need not have hurried, however, for on reaching the Forum, whence a full view of the Temple can be obtained, I found that I had the place to myself. Having satisfied myself on this point, I sat down on a block of stone and collected my thoughts in preparation for the coming interview. Times out of number I consulted my watch; and when the hands pointed to four o'clock I felt as if the quarter of an hour I had spent there had in reality been an hour. It was a breathless afternoon; beyond the city the blue hills seemed to float and quiver in mid-air. A lark was trilling in the sky above me, and so still was it that the rumbling of a wagon on the white road half a mile or so away could be distinctly heard.
"My dear Mr. Forrester, allow me to wish you a very good afternoon; I need scarcely say how delighted I am to meet you!" said a voice behind me; and, turning, I found myself face to face with Pharos.
CHAPTER VI
Anxious as I had been to see him, and eagerly as I had sought his presence, now that Pharos stood before me I was as frightened of him as I had been on the night I had first set eyes on him at the foot of Cleopatra's Needle. I stood looking at his queer, ungainly figure for some seconds, trying to make up my mind how I should enter upon what I had to say to him. That he was aware of my embarrassment I could see, and from the way his lips curled I guessed that he was deriving considerable satisfaction from it. His face was as crafty and his eyes as wicked as ever I had seen them; but I noticed that on this occasion he leaned more heavily upon his stick than usual.
"I presume it is to my kind friend Sir George Legrath that I am indebted for the pleasure of this interview," he said, after the short pause that followed his introductory speech; "for I need not flatter myself you will believe me when I say that I was fully aware, even before I met you in Lady Medenham's house the other day, that we should be talking together in this Temple within a week."
The palpable absurdity of this speech gave me just the opportunity for which I was waiting.
"Monsieur Pharos," I said, with as much sternness as I could manage to throw into my voice, "successful as you have hitherto been in deceiving me, it is not the least use your attempting to do so on the present occasion. I am quite willing to state that it was my friend Sir George Legrath who put me in the way of communicating with you. I called upon him on Tuesday morning and obtained your address from him."
He nodded his head.
"You will pardon me, I hope, if I seat myself," he said. "It seems that this interview is likely to be a protracted one, and as I am no longer young I doubt if I can go through it standing."
With this apology he seated himself on a block of stone at the foot of one of the graceful columns which in bygone days had supported the entrance to the Temple, and, resting his chin on his hands, which again leaned on the carved handle of his stick, he turned to me and in a mocking voice said: "This air of mystery is no doubt very appropriate, my friend; but since you have taken such trouble to find me, perhaps you will be good enough to furnish me with your reason?"
I scratched in the dust with the point of my stick before I replied. Prepared as I was with what I had to say to him, and justified as I felt in pursuing the course I had determined to adopt, for the first time since I had arrived in Naples a doubt as to the probability, or even the sanity, of my case entered my head.
"I can quite understand your embarrassment, my dear Mr. Forrester," he said, with a little laugh, when he saw that I did not begin. "I am afraid you have formed a totally wrong impression of me. By some mischance a train of circumstances has arisen which has filled your mind with suspicion of me. As a result, instead of classing me among your warmest and most admiring friends, as I had hoped you would do, you distrust me and have nothing but unpleasant thoughts in your mind concerning me. Pray let me hear the charges you bring against me, and I feel sure – nay, I am certain – I shall be able to refute them. The matter of what occurred at Cleopatra's Needle has already been disposed of, and I do not think we need refer to it again. What else have you to urge?"
His voice had entirely changed. It had lost its old sharpness, and was softer, more musical, and infinitely more agreeable than I had ever known it before. He rose from his seat and moved a step toward me. Placing his hand upon my arm, and looking me full and fair in the face, he said:
"Mr. Forrester, I am an old man – how old you can have no idea – and it is too late in my life for me to begin making enemies. Fate, in one of her cruel moments, has cursed me with an unpleasing exterior. Nay, do not pretend that you think otherwise, for I know it to be true. Those whom I would fain conciliate are offended by it. You, however, I should have thought would have seen below the surface. Why should we quarrel? To quote your own Shakespeare, 'I would be friends with you and have your love.' I am rich, I have influence, I have seen a great deal of the world, and have studied mankind as few others have done. If, therefore, we joined forces, what is there we might not do together?"
Incredible as it may seem after all I had suffered on his account, such was the influence he exerted over me that I now began to find myself wishing it were not necessary for me to say the things I had come to say. But I had no intention of allowing him to suppose I could be moved as easily as he seemed to imagine.
"Before there can be any talk of friendship or even of association between us, Monsieur Pharos," I said, "it will be necessary for me to have a complete understanding with you. If I have wronged you, as I sincerely hope I have done, I will endeavour to make amends for it. Are you aware that on the night of Lady Medenham's 'at home' a diabolical murder was committed at the old curiosity shop at the corner of the street adjoining that in which my studio is situated?"
"One could hardly read the English papers without being aware of it," he answered gravely; "but I scarcely see in what way that affects me."
Here he stopped and gazed at me for a moment in silence as if he were anxious to read what was passing in my mind. Then he began again:
"Surely you do not mean to tell me, Mr. Forrester, that your dislike to me is so great as to induce you to believe that I was the perpetrator of that ghastly deed?"
"Since you are aware that a murder was committed," I said, without appearing to notice his interruption, "perhaps you also know that the deed was supposed to have been done between the hours of midnight and one o'clock. You may also have read that an individual was seen leaving the house by the back entrance almost on the stroke of one, and that he was believed to have taken refuge in my studio."
"Now that you recall the circumstance, I confess I did see something of the sort in the paper," he answered; "and I remember reading also that you informed the inspector of police, who called upon you to make inquiries, that to the best of your knowledge no such man had entered your house. What then?"
"Well, Monsieur Pharos, it was a few moments after the hour mentioned that you made your appearance before me, breathing heavily as though you had been running. Upon my questioning you, you offered the paltry excuse that you had been for a walk after Lady Medenham's 'at home,' and that you had missed your way and come quite by chance to my studio."
"As I shall prove to your satisfaction when you have finished, that was exactly what happened."
"But you have not heard all," I replied. "While in my rooms you became desirous of possessing the mummy of the Egyptian magician, Ptahmes. You expressed a wish that I should present it to you, and, when I declined to do so, you hypnotised me and took it without either my leave or my license – a very questionable proceeding if viewed in the light of the friendship you profess to entertain for me. How the law of the land would regard it doubtless you know as well as I do."
As I said this I watched his face closely, but if I hoped to find any expression of shame there I was destined to be disappointed.
"My dear Forrester," he said, "it is very plain indeed that you have developed an intense dislike to me. Otherwise you would scarcely be so ready to believe evil of me. How will you feel when I convince you that all the ill you think of me is undeserved? Answer me that!"
"If only you can do so," I cried, clutching eagerly at the hope he held out. "If you can prove that I have wronged you, I will only too gladly make you any amends in my power You can not imagine what these last few days have been to me. I have perjured myself to save you. I have risked my good name, I have – "
"And I thank you," he answered. "I don't think you will find me ungrateful. But before I accept your services I must prove to you that I am not as bad as you think me. Let us for a moment consider the matter. We will deal with the case of the mummy first, that being, as you will allow, of the least importance as far as you, individually, are concerned. Before I unburden myself, however, I must make you understand the disadvantage I am labouring under. To place my meaning more clearly before you, it would be necessary for me to make an assertion which I have the best of reasons for knowing you would not believe. Perhaps I made a mistake on that particular evening to which we are referring, when I induced you to believe that it was by accident I visited your studio. I am prepared now to confess that it was not so. I was aware that you had that mummy in your possession. I had known it for some considerable time, but I had not been able to get in touch with you. That night an opportunity offered, and I seized it with avidity. I could not wait until the next day, but called upon you within a few hours of meeting you at Lady Medenham's 'at home.' I endeavoured to induce you to part with the mummy, but in vain. My entreaties would not move you. I exerted all my eloquence, argued and pleaded as I have seldom, if ever, done to a man before. Then, seeing that it was useless, I put into force a power of which I am possessed, and determined that, come what might, you should do as I desired. I do not deny that in so doing I was to blame, but I think, if the magnitude of the temptation were brought home to you, you would understand how difficult it would be not to fall. Let me make my meaning clearer to you if possible."
"It would, perhaps, be as well," I answered, with a touch of sarcasm, "for at present I am far from being convinced."
"You have been informed already by our mutual friend Sir George Legrath that I am of Egyptian descent. Perhaps you do not understand that, while the ancient families of your country are proud of being able to trace their pedigrees back to the time of the Norman Conquest, a beggarly eight hundred years or thereabouts, I, Pharos, can trace mine, with scarcely a break, back to the nineteenth dynasty of Egyptian history, a period of over three thousand years. It was that very Ptahmes, the man whose mummy your father stole from its ancient resting-place, who was the founder of our house. For some strange reason, what I can not tell, I have always entertained the belief that my existence upon this earth, and such success as I shall meet with, depend upon my finding that mummy and returning it to the tomb from which sacrilegious hands had taken it. At first this was only a mere desire; since then it has become a fixed determination, which has grown in strength and intensity until it has become more than a determination, a craving in which the happiness of my whole existence is involved. For many years, with a feverish longing which I can not expect or hope to make you understand, I searched Europe from end to end, visiting all the great museums and private collections of Egyptian antiquities, but without success. Then, quite by chance and in a most circuitous fashion, I discovered that it was your father who had found it, and that at his death it had passed on to you. I visited England immediately, obtained an introduction to you, and the rest you know."
"And where is the mummy now?" I inquired.
"In Naples," he replied. "To-morrow I start with it for Egypt, to return it to the place whence your father took it."
"But allow me to remark that it is not your property, Monsieur Pharos," I replied; "and even taking into consideration the circumstances you relate, you must see yourself that you have no right to act as you propose doing."
"And pray by what right did your father rifle the dead man's tomb?" said Pharos quietly. "And since you are such a stickler for what is equitable, perhaps you will show me his justification for carrying away the body from the country in which it had been laid to rest and conveying it to England to be stared at in the light of a curiosity. No, Mr. Forrester, your argument is a poor one, and I should combat it to the last. I am prepared, however, to make a bargain with you."
"And what is that bargain?" I inquired.
"It is as follows," he replied. "Our interest in the dead man shall be equal. Since it was your father who stole the mummy from its resting-place, let it be the descendant of the dead Ptahmes who restores it. As you will yourself see, and as I think you must in common honesty admit, what I am doing in this matter can in no way advance my own personal interests. If I have taken from you a possession which you valued so highly, set your own figure upon it, and double what you ask I will pay. Can I say anything fairer?"
I did not know what answer to make. If the man were what he said, the veritable descendant of the king's magician, then it was only natural he should be willing to sacrifice anything to obtain possession of the body of his three-thousand-years-old ancestor. On my part the sentiment was undoubtedly a much weaker one. The mummy had been left me, among other items of his collection, by my father, and, when that has been said, my interest in the matter lapsed. There was, however, a weightier issue to be decided before I could do him the favour he asked.
"So much for the mummy incident," I said. "What you have to do now is to clear yourself of the more serious suspicion that exists against you. I refer to the murder of the curiosity dealer."
"But surely, Mr. Forrester," he said, "you can not be serious when you say you believe I had anything to do with that dreadful affair?"
"You know very well what I do and what I do not believe," I answered. "I await your reply."
"Since you press me for it, I will give it," he continued. "But remember this, if I have to convince you of my innocence, your only chance will be gone, for I shall never feel the same toward you again."
As he said this the old fierce light came into his eyes, and for a moment he looked as dangerous as on that evening in the studio.
"I repeat, I ask you to convince me," I said as firmly as my voice could speak.
"Then I will do so," he replied, and dived his hand into his coat pocket. When he produced it again it held a crumpled copy of a newspaper. He smoothed it out upon his knee and handed it to me.
"If you will look at the third column from the left, you will see a heading entitled 'The mysterious murder in Bonwell Street.' Pray read it."
I took the paper and read as follows: