“The bitumen coating was what we were discussing, Miss Bellingham,” said he.  “You have seen it, of course.”

“Yes,” she answered.  “It is a dreadful disfigurement, isn’t it?”

“Aesthetically it is to be deplored, but it adds a certain speculative interest to the specimen.  You notice that the black coating leaves the principal decoration and the whole of the inscription untouched, which is precisely the part that one would expect to find covered up; whereas the feet and the back, which probably bore no writing, are quite thickly encrusted.  If you stoop down, you can see that the bitumen was daubed freely into the lacings of the back, where it served no purpose, so that even the strings are embedded.”  He stooped, as he spoke, and peered up inquisitively at the back of the mummy, where it was visible between the supports.

“Has Doctor Norbury any explanation to offer?” asked Miss Bellingham.

“None whatever,” replied Mr. Jellicoe.  “He finds it as great a mystery as I do.  But he thinks that we may get some suggestion from the Director when he comes back.  He is a very great authority, as you know, and a practical excavator of great experience too.  But I mustn’t stay here talking of these things, and keeping you from your pottery.  Perhaps I have stayed too long already.  If I have I ask your pardon, and I will now wish you a very good afternoon.”  With a sudden return to his customary wooden impassivity, he shook hands with us, bowed stiffly, and took himself off towards the curator’s office.

“What a strange man that is,” said Miss Bellingham, as Mr. Jellicoe disappeared through the doorway at the end of the room, “or perhaps I should say, a strange being, for I can hardly think of him as a man.  I have never met any other human creature at all like him.”

“He is certainly a queer old fogey,” I agreed.

“Yes, but there is something more than that.  He is so emotionless, so remote and aloof from all mundane concerns.  He moves among ordinary men and women, but as a mere presence, an unmoved spectator of their actions, quite dispassionate and impersonal.”

“Yes, he is astonishingly self-contained; in fact, he seems, as you say, to go to and fro among men, enveloped in a sort of infernal atmosphere of his own, like Marley’s ghost.  But he is lively and human enough as soon as the subject of Egyptian antiquities is broached.”

“Lively, but not human.  He is always, to me, quite unhuman.  Even when he is most interested, and even enthusiastic, he is a mere personification of knowledge.  Nature ought to have furnished him with an ibis’ head like Tahuti; then he would have looked his part.”

“He would have made a rare sensation in Lincoln’s Inn if she had,” said I; and we both laughed heartily at the imaginary picture of Tahuti Jellicoe, slender-beaked and top-hatted, going about his business in Lincoln’s Inn and the Law Courts.