Have You Been Reading About King Tut?
If so, You'll be Interested in
THE recent and lamentable death of Sir Richard Parmenter, F. R. G. S., is too fresh in the public's mind to warrant further reference, and were it not that I feel myself capable of throwing light upon the incidents contributing to the sudden and apparently unnecessary snuffing out of a valuable life, I should refrain from again alluding to it.
It is well known that the physicians at the time decided that valvular weakness of the heart must have been responsible for the death of the noted Egyptologist, but the statement of his own doctor that Sir Richard had never theretofore exhibited indications of such weakness, and that he was, to all appearances, in the best of health just prior to his death, caused considerable wonder.
I had thought to let the facts remain buried, but, for certain reasons, I shall reconsider my determination and tell what I know.
I shall always remember the night on which Sir Richard summoned me, as his counselor, to attend him at his apartments in the Albermarle. It was a night of storm, and the London streets were a mass of slime and slush, A beastly wind had sprung up, and as I left my chambers at the Temple it almost took me off my feet. Therefore, it was with no little satisfaction that I found a cheery log fire awaiting me in the library of my distinguished client's home, and the nip of brandy he provided was a life saver.
I noted, however, that for all his assumption of cheerfulness, something was preying upon his mind, and I determined to get at the root of the matter without delay:
"How can I serve you, Sir Richard?" I asked, briskly. "I see there is something troubling you."
"Is it as apparent as that?" he asked, trying to appear unconcerned: but his strong, homely features belied his effort at calmness.
Before I could reply, he went on:
"But never mind that: I want you to write my will—now."
"Mandrake"
By
ADAM HULL SHIRK
Will appear in the July
WEIRD TALES
It's a Strange Yarn of
Superstitious Fear
Don't Miss It!
"Your will?" My expression of surprise and incredulity was natural, for since I had been retained by him I had marked it as one of his few idiosyncrasies that he had never made his will. When I had mentioned to him the advisability of doing so, he had put it by with a whimsical remark about being superstitious.
"I am in earnest," he declared, "and it will be very simple—just a brief form, and I'll sign it with my man as witness."
"But why the haste?" I said. "Why not wait till I can have the document properly drawn up at my office tomorrow—"
"No; now!" he said, and there was such finality in his tone I had no choice.
My concern for my client, whom I really liked and respected immensely, prompted me to ask:
"You're not ill, Sir Richard?"
He shook his head, with the ghost of a smile on his rugged face.
"Physically—no. But—"
He paused, and after a moment he again urged me to proceed with the making of the will.
I drew up the document, which was a simple one, leaving the bulk of his large properties to his sister in Surrey, with numerous small bequests to friends and distant relatives, and a handsome sum and his private collection to the British Museum and the Imperial Museum of Egyptology. We had in his man, and the document was duly signed, after which he drew a long breath of relief and, with a return of something like his natural manner, passed me his cigar-case and leaned back in his chair, smoking comfortably.
"I've a story to tell you, Madden," he said between puffs, "and it's a queer yarn, too. You'll think—but never mind. Listen first, and say what you like afterward. Only—" he glanced about him with an apprehensive expression that fairly set my nerves atingle. "I hope we have time."
"Time for what?" I asked.
He relaxed again and smiled:
"It's all right," he declared. "I'm a bit nervous, I guess, but it's all right. Have another brandy."
We drank solemnly together. Then he settled back once more and I prepared to listen.
"Madden," said he, "perhaps you'll smile at what has seemed to me serious enough to warrant the steps I have just taken—making my will, I mean—but, however you look at it, I want you to know it's true—every word of it.
"My last trip to Egypt—from which I just returned a fortnight ago—was to have been my final one, anyway. I've made six trips out there in my life, and I've collected enough information to fill a dozen volumes, Also, I've contributed many fine specimens to the museum and corrected many misapprehensions concerning the interpretation of some of the
