"It is a curious story, Doctor--a very curious story. Part of it you
know--the middle part. I will tell it you from the beginning, and then
you will know as much as I do; for, as to the end, that is known to no
one. It is written, no doubt, in the book of destiny, but the page has
yet to be turned.

"The mischief began with my father's death. He was a country clergyman
of very moderate means, a widower with two children, my brother John and
me. He managed to send us both to Oxford, after which John went into the
Foreign Office and I was to have gone into the Church. But I suddenly
discovered that my views on religion had undergone a change that made
this impossible, and just about this time my father came into a quite
considerable property. Now, as it was his expressed intention to leave
the estate equally divided between my brother and me, there was no need
for me to take up any profession for a livelihood. Archaeology was
already the passion of my life, and I determined to devote myself
henceforth to my favourite study, in which, by the way, I was following
a family tendency; for my father was an enthusiastic student of ancient
Oriental history, and John was, as you know, an ardent Egyptologist.

"Then my father died quite suddenly, and left no will. He had intended
to have one drawn up, but had put it off until it was too late. And
since nearly all the property was in the form of real estate, my brother
inherited practically the whole of it. However, in deference to the
known wishes of my father, he made me an allowance of five hundred a
year, which was about a quarter of the annual income, I urged him to
assign me a lump sum, but he refused to do this. Instead, he instructed
his solicitor to pay me the allowance in quarterly instalments during
the rest of his life; and it was understood that, on his death, the