But her legs were literally going out from under her and things were going dim. No. Stop! She couldn’t faint with this thing staring at her.
This was the mummy come to life!
She backed into the Egyptian room, legs trembling; her body moist all over, her hands clawing at her lace peignoir.
It watched her as if genuinely curious as to what she meant to do. Then it wiped more of the bandages away from its neck and its shoulders and its chest. Its broad naked chest. She closed her eyes, and then opened them slowly. Still there, with those powerful arms, and the dust falling from its lustrous brown hair.
It took a step towards her. She backed away. It took another step. She backed up farther. In fact, she was backing up all the way across the library, and very suddenly she felt the centre table of the second drawing room behind her. She felt her hands touch the edge of the silver coffee tray.
With silent, even steps it came towards her—this thing, this beautiful man with the splendid body and the large gentle blue eyes.
Good Lord, are you losing your reason! Never mind that it’s handsome! It just tried to strangle Henry! Quickly she darted around the table, groping behind her with outstretched hands as she moved towards the front drawing room doors.
It stopped as it reached the table. It looked down at the silver coffeepot and the overturned cup. It picked up something off the tray. What was it? A wadded handkerchief. Had Henry left it there? Quite unmistakably it pointed to the spilt coffee, and then in a soft, resonant and distinctly masculine voice it spoke:
“Come and have a cup of coffee with me, Julie!” it said.
Perfect British accent! Familiar words! Julie felt a shock course through her. This was no invitation from the thing. Why, it was imitating Henry. Same precise intonation. That’s what Henry had said!
It held out the handkerchief, which it had opened. White powder, sparkling as if full of tiny crystals. It pointed to the distant row of alabaster jars. The top was missing from one of the jars! And again it spoke with the same flawless, crisp English accent:
“Drink your coffee, Uncle Lawrence.”
A groan escaped her lips. The meaning was unmistakable. She stood there staring, the words echoing in her head. Henry had poisoned her father and this creature had witnessed it. Henry had tried to poison her. With all her spirit she tried to deny it. She tried to find some reason that it could not be so. But she knew it was so. Just as surely as she knew this thing was alive and breathing and occupying space before her, and that it was the immortal Ramses come to life out of those decayed wrappings, standing before her in the drawing room with the sun at its back.
Her legs were going out from under her. No way to prevent it, and the darkness was rising. And as she felt herself slip downwards, she saw the tall figure dart forward, and she felt the strong arms catch her and lift her and hold her quite firmly, so that she felt almost safe.
She opened her eyes, and looked up into its face. No,
his
face. His beautiful face. She heard Rita scream from the hallway. And the darkness rose again.
“What the hell are you saying!” Randolph was not really fully awake. He struggled out of the tangle of covers, reaching for his crumpled silk robe at the foot of the bed. “You’re telling me you left your cousin there alone in that house with this thing!”
“I’m telling you it tried to kill me!” Henry roared like a madman. “That’s what I’m telling you! The damned thing got out of the coffin and tried to strangle me with its right hand!”
“Damn it, where are my slippers! She’s alone in that house, you fool!”
Barefoot, he ran into the hall and down the stairway, his robe ballooning behind him.
“Hurry, you imbecile!” he shouted to his son, who hesitated at the top of the steps.
She opened her eyes. She was sitting on the sofa, and Rita was clinging to her. Rita was hurting her. Rita was
This was the mummy come to life!
She backed into the Egyptian room, legs trembling; her body moist all over, her hands clawing at her lace peignoir.
It watched her as if genuinely curious as to what she meant to do. Then it wiped more of the bandages away from its neck and its shoulders and its chest. Its broad naked chest. She closed her eyes, and then opened them slowly. Still there, with those powerful arms, and the dust falling from its lustrous brown hair.
It took a step towards her. She backed away. It took another step. She backed up farther. In fact, she was backing up all the way across the library, and very suddenly she felt the centre table of the second drawing room behind her. She felt her hands touch the edge of the silver coffee tray.
With silent, even steps it came towards her—this thing, this beautiful man with the splendid body and the large gentle blue eyes.
Good Lord, are you losing your reason! Never mind that it’s handsome! It just tried to strangle Henry! Quickly she darted around the table, groping behind her with outstretched hands as she moved towards the front drawing room doors.
It stopped as it reached the table. It looked down at the silver coffeepot and the overturned cup. It picked up something off the tray. What was it? A wadded handkerchief. Had Henry left it there? Quite unmistakably it pointed to the spilt coffee, and then in a soft, resonant and distinctly masculine voice it spoke:
“Come and have a cup of coffee with me, Julie!” it said.
Perfect British accent! Familiar words! Julie felt a shock course through her. This was no invitation from the thing. Why, it was imitating Henry. Same precise intonation. That’s what Henry had said!
It held out the handkerchief, which it had opened. White powder, sparkling as if full of tiny crystals. It pointed to the distant row of alabaster jars. The top was missing from one of the jars! And again it spoke with the same flawless, crisp English accent:
“Drink your coffee, Uncle Lawrence.”
A groan escaped her lips. The meaning was unmistakable. She stood there staring, the words echoing in her head. Henry had poisoned her father and this creature had witnessed it. Henry had tried to poison her. With all her spirit she tried to deny it. She tried to find some reason that it could not be so. But she knew it was so. Just as surely as she knew this thing was alive and breathing and occupying space before her, and that it was the immortal Ramses come to life out of those decayed wrappings, standing before her in the drawing room with the sun at its back.
Her legs were going out from under her. No way to prevent it, and the darkness was rising. And as she felt herself slip downwards, she saw the tall figure dart forward, and she felt the strong arms catch her and lift her and hold her quite firmly, so that she felt almost safe.
She opened her eyes, and looked up into its face. No,
his
face. His beautiful face. She heard Rita scream from the hallway. And the darkness rose again.
“What the hell are you saying!” Randolph was not really fully awake. He struggled out of the tangle of covers, reaching for his crumpled silk robe at the foot of the bed. “You’re telling me you left your cousin there alone in that house with this thing!”
“I’m telling you it tried to kill me!” Henry roared like a madman. “That’s what I’m telling you! The damned thing got out of the coffin and tried to strangle me with its right hand!”
“Damn it, where are my slippers! She’s alone in that house, you fool!”
Barefoot, he ran into the hall and down the stairway, his robe ballooning behind him.
“Hurry, you imbecile!” he shouted to his son, who hesitated at the top of the steps.
She opened her eyes. She was sitting on the sofa, and Rita was clinging to her. Rita was hurting her. Rita was
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