“Even there, in the open desert, it seemed as if there could be enchantments!

“In my surprise, as I bent over him, I opened my right hand, which up to now I had held shut with the feeling, instinctive even in sleep, of keeping safe that which it held.  As I did so, the Star Jewel held there fell out and struck the dead man on the mouth.  Mirabile dictu there came forth at once from the dead mouth a great gush of blood, in which the red jewel was for the moment lost.  I turned the dead man over to look for it, and found that he lay with his right hand bent under him as though he had fallen on it; and in it he held a great knife, keen of point and edge, such as Arabs carry at the belt.  It may have been that he was about to murder me when vengeance came on him, whether from man or God, or the Gods of Old, I know not.  Suffice it, that when I found my Ruby Jewel, which shone up as a living star from the mess of blood wherein it lay, I paused not, but fled from the place.  I journeyed on alone through the hot desert, till, by God’s grace, I came upon an Arab tribe camping by a well, who gave me salt.  With them I rested till they had set me on my way.

“I know not what became of the mummy hand, or of those who had it.  What strife, or suspicion, or disaster, or greed went with it I know not; but some such cause there must have been, since those who had it fled with it.  It doubtless is used as a charm of potence by some desert tribe.

“At the earliest opportunity I made examination of the Star Ruby, as I wished to try to understand what was graven on it.  The symbols—­whose meaning, however, I could not understand—­were as follows . . .”

Twice, whilst I had been reading this engrossing narrative, I had thought that I had seen across the page streaks of shade, which the weirdness of the subject had made to seem like the shadow of a hand.  On the first of these occasions I found that the illusion came from the fringe of green silk around the lamp; but on the second I had looked up, and my eyes had lit on the mummy hand across the room on which the starlight was falling under the edge of the blind.  It was of little wonder that I had connected it with such a narrative; for if my eyes told me truly, here, in this room with me, was the very hand of which the traveller Van Huyn had written.  I looked over at the bed; and it comforted me to think that the Nurse still sat there, calm and wakeful.  At such a time, with such surrounds, during such a narrative, it was well to have assurance of the presence of some living person.

I sat looking at the book on the table before me; and so many strange thoughts crowded on me that my mind began to whirl.  It was almost as if the light on the white fingers in front of me was beginning to have some hypnotic effect.  All at once, all thoughts seemed to stop; and for an instant the world and time stood still.

There lay a real hand across the book!  What was there to so overcome me, as was the case?  I knew the hand that I saw on the book—­and loved it.  Margaret Trelawny’s hand was a joy to me to see—­to touch; and yet at that moment, coming after other marvellous things, it had a strangely moving effect on me.  It was but momentary, however, and had passed even before her voice had reached me.