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He looked down at the mummy's feet. This was alarming. A tiny pile of dust accumulating even as he watched, falling, it seemed, from the twisted right hand, on which the wrappings had been badly broken.

"Good Lord, Julie must send this over to the museum immediately," he whispered. And then he heard that sound again. Rustling? No, it was fainter. Yes, the thing must be properly taken care of. God only knew what the London damp was doing to it. But surely Samir knew this. And so did Hancock.

In Latin, he spoke to the mummy again. "I don't like the damp either, great King. It gives me pain. And that's why I'm going home now, to leave you to your worshippers."

He turned away, leaning heavily on his cane, to ease the ache in his hip. He glanced back only once. And the thing looked so robust. It was as if the Egyptian heat had not dried it out whatsoever.

Daisy looked at the tiny necklace as Henry clasped it at the back of her neck. Her dressing room was packed with flowers, bottles of red wine, champagne cooling in ice, and other offerings, but none from a man as handsome as Henry Stratford.

"Looks funny to me," she said, cocking her head to one side. Thin gold chain and a little trinket with paint on it, or that's what it looked like. "Wherever did you get it?"

"It's worth more than that trash you took off," Henry said, smiling. His speech was thick. He was drunk again. And that meant he would be mean, or very, very sweet. "Now come on, ducky, w

e're going to Flint's. I feel uncommonly lucky, and there's a hundred pounds burning a hole in my pocket. Get a move on."

"And you mean to say that loony cousin of yours is all alone in that house now with that bloomin' mummy case wide open right there in the parlour?"

"Who the hell cares?" He snatched up the white fox wrap he'd bought for her and put it over her shoulders, and pulled her out of the dressing room and towards the stage door.

Flint's was packed when they got there. She hated the smoke, and the sour smell of drink; but it was always fun to be with him here when he had money and he was excited; and he kissed her now on the cheek as he led her towards the roulette wheel.

"You know the rules. You stand on my left, and only on my left. That's always been lucky."

She nodded. Look at all the fine gentlemen in this room; and the women just loaded with jewels. And she with this silly thing around her neck. It made her anxious.

Julie jumped; what was that sound? She found herself vaguely embarrassed as she stood alone in the shadowy library.

There was no one else here, but she could have sworn she heard another person. Not a step, no. Just all the tiny little sounds of another in the room very near to her.

She looked at the mummy slumbering in its case. In the semi-darkness, it looked as if it were coated with a thin layer of ashes. And what a sombre, brooding expression it had. She really hadn't noticed before. It looked for all the world as if it were struggling with a bad dream. She could almost see a crease in the forehead.

Was she glad now that they had not replaced the lid? She wasn't certain. But it was too late. She had sworn not to touch these things herself; and she must get to bed; she was more weary than she'd ever been. Her father's old friends had stayed forever. And then the newspaper people had barged in. What brazen effrontery! The guards had finally forced them out, but not before they had taken a whole series of pictures of the mummy.

And now the clock was striking one. And there was no one here. So why was she trembling? She went quickly to the front door, and was about to throw the bolt when she remembered Henry. He was supposed to be her chaperon and her protector. Strange that he hadn't spoken a civil word to her since he'd come home. And he certainly had not been in his room upstairs. But nevertheless.... She left the door unbolted.

It was bitter cold as he stepped out into the deserted street. He slipped on his gloves quickly.

Shouldn't have slapped her, he thought. But she shouldn't have butted in, damn her. He knew what he was doing. He had doubled his money ten times! If only on that last throw! And then as he argued to sign a note, she'd butted in! "But you mustn't!"

Infuriating, the way they'd looked at him. He knew what he owed. He knew what he was doing. And Sharples there, that scum. As if he were afraid of Sharples.

It was Sharples who stepped out of the alleyway now in front of him. For a moment he wasn't entirely certain. It was so dark, with the fog rolling just above the ground, but then in the seam of light from the window above, he saw the man's pockmarked face.

"Get out of my way," he said.

"Another streak of bad luck, sir?" Sharples fell into step beside him. "And the little lady costing you money. She was always expensive, sir, even when she worked for me. And I'm a generous man, you know."

"Let me alone, you bloody fool." He stepped up the pace. The street lamp was out up ahead. And there wouldn't be a cab at this hour.

"Not without a little interest on account, sir."

Henry stopped. The Cleopatra coin. Would the imbecile realize what it was worth? Suddenly he felt the man's fingers digging into his arm.

"You dare!" He pulled away. Then slowly he removed the coin from his inside coat pocket, held it out in the dim light and raised his eyebrow as he looked at the man, who gathered it out of his palm immediately.

"Ah, now that's a beauty, sir. A real ar ... kay ... o ... logical beauty!" He turned the coin over, as if the inscriptions actually meant something to him. "You pinched it, didn't you, sir? From your uncle's treasure, am I right?"

"Take it or leave it!"