Over his shoulder he cried back at me:
"The Bishop's stateroom! See that no one enters!"
I clutched at my head--which seemed to be fiery hot; I realized, in my
own person, the sensations of one who knows himself mad.
For the man who pursued the mummy was _Nayland Smith_!
* * * * *
I stood in the Bishop's stateroom, Nayland Smith, his gaunt face wet
with perspiration, beside me, handling certain odd-looking objects
which littered the place, and lay about amid the discarded garments of
the absent cleric.
"Pneumatic pads!" he snapped. "The man was a walking air-cushion!" He
gingerly fingered two strange rubber appliances. "For distending the
cheeks," he muttered, dropping them disgustedly on the floor. "His
hands and wrists betrayed him, Petrie. He wore his cuffs unusually
long but could not entirely hide his bony wrists. To have watched him,
whilst remaining myself unseen, was next to impossible; hence my
device of tossing a dummy overboard, calculated to float for less than
ten minutes! It actually floated nearly fifteen, as a matter of fact,
and I had some horrible moments!"
"Smith!" I said, "how could you submit me ...?"
He clapped his hands on my shoulders.
"My dear old chap--there was no other way, believe me. From that boat
I could see right into his stateroom, but, once in, I dare not leave
it--except late at night, stealthily! The second spotted me one night
and I thought the game was up, but evidently he didn't report it.
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