‘Then I will tell you,’ said Carrel, standing up suddenly.  ’I fabricated the poems of Sappho,—­yes, the manuscript from which you are reaping so much credit’—­he took up the newspaper—­’from the morning press.  When I take to art criticism, as you kindly suggested a dishonest man might do, it will be of a livelier description than any to which you are usually accustomed.  Vain dupe, you think yourself impeccable.  Infallible ass, there is hardly a museum in Europe where my manuscripts are not carefully preserved for the greatest and rarest treasures by senile curators, too ignorant to know their errors or too vain to acknowledge them.  I fancied you clever; until now I do not know that I ever caught you out, though you may have bought many of my wares for all I know.  I find you, however, like the rest—­dull, pedantic, and Pecksniffian.  At Cambridge we were not taught pretty manners, but we knew enough not to give fellowships to pretentious charlatans like yourself.’

The room swam round Professor Lachsyrma, and the mummy behind the door grinned.  The plaster casts and the statues seemed to wave their mutilated limbs with the joy of demoniacal possession.  Dead things were startled into life.  Sick giddiness permeated his brain.  It was some horrible nightmare.  Yet his soul’s tempest was entirely subjective; outwardly his demeanour suffered no change.  His tormentor noted with astonishment and admiration his apparent self-control.  There was merely a slight falter in his speech.

’What proofs have you?  A blackmailer must have some token—­something on which to base a ridiculous libel.’

’A few minutes ago I handed you a spurious papyrus, which you tell me you recognise.  In the same lot of rubbish, purporting to come from the Fayyum, were the alleged poems of Sappho.  You swallowed the bait which has waited for you so long, and, if it is any consolation to you, I will admit that in the opinion of the profession, to continue my piscatorial simile, I have landed the largest salmon.’

’I am deeply sensible of the compliment, but I must point out to you, my friend, that your coming to tell me that a papyrus I happen to have purchased from one of your shady friends is counterfeit, does not necessarily prove it to be so.’

The Professor realised that he must act cautiously, and consider his position quietly.  Each word must be charged with suppressed meaning.  His eyes wandered over the room, resting now and again on the majestic, impassive smile of the mummy.  It seemed to restore his nerve.  He found himself unconsciously looking towards it over Carrel’s head each time he spoke.  While the blackmailer, seated once more, gazed up to his face with a defiant, insolent stare, swinging his chair backwards and forwards, unconcerned at the length of the interview, apparently careless of its issue.  The Professor brooded on the terrible chagrin, the wounded vanity of discovering himself the victim of an obviously long-contrived hoax.  At his asking for a proof, Carrel laughed.