He therefore failed in advance when he set out to persuade Random into renewing his suit.
As the fiery little man afterwards expressed himself, “I might as well have talked to a mollusc,” for Random politely declined to be used as an instrument to forward the Professor’s ambition at the cost of Miss Kendal’s unhappiness.
The interview took place in Sir Frank’s quarters at the Fort on the day after Hervey had called to propose a search for the corpse.
And it was during this interview that Braddock learned something which both startled and annoyed him.
Random, at three o’clock, had just changed into mufti, when the Professor was announced by his servant.
Braddock, determined to give his host no chance of denying himself, followed close on the man’s heels, and was in the room almost before Sir Frank had read the card.
It was a bare room, sparsely furnished, according to the War Office’s idea of comfort, and although the baronet had added a few more civilized necessities, it still looked somewhat dismal. Braddock, who liked comfort, shook hands carelessly with his host and cast a disapproving eye on his surroundings.
“Dog kennel! dog kennel!” grumbled the polite Professor. “Bare desolation like a damned dungeon.
You might as well live in the Sahara.”
“It would certainly be warmer,” replied Random, who knew the scientist’s snappy ways very well. “Take a chair, sir!”
“Hard as bricks, confound it! Hand me over a cushion.
There, that’s better!
No, I never drink between meals, thank you.
Smoke?
Hang it, Random, you should know by this time that I dislike making a chimney of my throat!
There! there! don’t fuss.
Take a seat and listen to what I have to say.
It’s important.
Poke the fire, please: it’s cold.”
Random placidly did as he was told, and then lighted a cigar, as he sat down quietly.
“I am sorry to hear of your trouble, sir.’”
“Trouble! trouble!
What particular trouble?”
“The death of your assistant.”
“Oh yes.
Silly young ass to get killed.
Lost my mummy, too: there’s trouble if you like.”
“The green mummy.” Random looked into the fire, “Yes.
I have heard of the green mummy.”
“I should think you have,” snapped Braddock, warming his plump hands. “Every penny-a-liner has been talking about it.
When did you return?”
“On the same day that that steamer with the mummy on board arrived,” was Random’s odd reply.
The Professor stared suspiciously.
“I don’t see why you should date your movements by my mummy,” he retorted.
“Well, I had a reason in doing so.”
“What reason?”
“The mummy—”
“What about it?—do you know where it is?” Braddock started to his feet, and looked eagerly at the calm face of his host.
“No, I wish I did. How much did you pay for it, Professor?”
“What’s that to you?” snapped the other, resuming his seat.
“Nothing at all.
But it is a great deal to Don Pedro de Gayangos.”
“And who the deuce is he?
Some Spanish Egyptologist?”
“I don’t think he is an Egyptologist, sir.”
“He must be, if he wants my mummy.”
“You forget, Professor, that the green mummy comes from Peru.”
“Who denied that it did, sir?
You are illogical—infernally so.” The little man rose and straddled on the hearth-rug, with his back to the fire and his hands under his coat-tails. “Now, sir,” he said, glaring at the young man like a school-master—“what the deuce are you talking about?
Out with it: no evasion.”