II

Smith was seated in the sanctum of the distinguished Director-General
of Antiquities at the new Cairo Museum. It was a very interesting room.
Books piled upon the floor; objects from tombs awaiting examination,
lying here and there; a hoard of Ptolemaic silver coins, just dug up at
Alexandria, standing on a table in the pot that had hidden them for two
thousand years; in the corner the mummy of a royal child, aged six or
seven, not long ago discovered, with some inscription scrawled upon
the wrappings (brought here to be deciphered by the Master), and the
withered lotus-bloom, love's last offering, thrust beneath one of the
pink retaining bands.

"A touching object," thought Smith to himself. "Really, they might have
left the dear little girl in peace."

Smith had a tender heart, but even as he reflected he became aware
that some of the jewellery hidden in an inner pocket of his waistcoat
(designed for bank-notes) was fretting his skin. He had a tender
conscience also.

Just then the Director, a French savant, bustled in, alert, vigorous,
full of interest.

"Ah, my dear Mr. Smith!" he said, in his excellent English. "I am indeed
glad to see you back again, especially as I understand that you are come
rejoicing and bringing your sheaves with you. They tell me you have been
extraordinarily successful. What do you say is the name of this queen
whose tomb you have found--Ma-Mee? A very unusual name. How do you
get the extra vowel? Is it for euphony, eh? Did I not know how good a