The Tracer of Lost Persons

  CHAPTER XX

  For a full minute the two men sat there without moving or speaking. Thenthe Tracer laid aside his pencil.

  "To sum up," he said, opening the palm of his left hand and placing theforefinger of his right across it, "the excavation made by the fallingpillar raised in triumph above the water garden of the deposed king,Meris, by his rival, was the subterranean house of Meris. The prostratefigure which crumbled to powder at your touch may have been the verypriest to whom this letter or papyrus was written. Perhaps the bearer ofthe scroll was a traitor and stabbed the priest as he was reading themissive. Who can tell how that priest died? He either died or betrayedhis trust, for he never aroused the little Samaris from her suspendedanimation. And the water garden fell into ruins and she slept; and theRuler of Upper and Lower Egypt raised his columns, lotus crowned, abovethe ruins; and she slept on. Then--_you_ came."

  Burke stared like one stupefied.

  "I do not know," said the Tracer gravely, "what balm there may be in asuspension of sensation, perhaps of vitality, to protect the human bodyfrom corruption after death. I do not know how soon suspended animationor the state of hypnotic coma, undisturbed, changes into death--whetherit comes gradually, imperceptibly freeing the soul; whether the soulhides there, asleep, until suddenly the flame of vitality isextinguished. I do not know how long she lay there with life in her."

  He leaned back and touched an electric bell, then, turning to Burke:

  "Speaking of pistol range," he said, "unstrap those weapons and passthem over, if you please."

  And the young man obeyed as in a trance.

  "Thank you. There are four men coming into this room. You will keep yourseat, if you please, Mr. Burke."

  After a moment the door opened noiselessly. Two men handcuffed togetherentered the room; two men, hands in their pockets, sauntered carelesslybehind the prisoners and leaned back against the closed door.

  "That short, red-haired, lame man with the cast in his eye--do yourecognize him?" asked the Tracer quietly.

  Burke, grasping the arms of his chair, had started to rise, fury fairlyblazing from his eyes; but, at the sound of the Tracer's calm, evenvoice, he sank back into his chair.

  "That is Joram Smiles? You recognize him?" continued Mr. Keen.

  Burke nodded.

  "_Ex_actly--alias Limpy, alias Red Jo, alias Big Stick Joram, aliasPinky; swindler, international confidence man, fence, burglar, gambler;convicted in 1887, and sent to Sing Sing for forgery; convicted in 1898,and sent to Auburn for swindling; arrested by my men on board the S. S._Scythian Queen_, at the cabled request of John T. Burke, Esquire, andheld to explain the nature of his luggage, which consisted of thecontents of an Egyptian vault or underground ruin, declared at thecustomhouse as a mummy, and passed as such."

  The quiet, monotonous voice of the Tracer halted, then, as he glanced atthe second prisoner, grew harder:

  "Emanuel Gandon, general international criminal, with over half ahundred aliases, arrested in company with Smiles and held until Mr.Burke's arrival."

  Turning to Burke, the Tracer continued: "Fortunately, the _ScythianQueen_ broke down off Brindisi. It gave us time to act on your cable;we found these men aboard when she was signaled off the Hook. I went outwith the pilot myself, Mr. Burke."

  Smiles shot a wicked look at Burke; Gandon scowled at the floor.

  "Now," said the Tracer pleasantly, meeting the venomous glare of Smiles,"I'll get you that warrant you have been demanding to have exhibited toyou. Here it is--charging you and your amiable friend Gandon withbreaking into and robbing the Metropolitan Museum of ancient Egyptiangold ornaments, in March, 1903, and taking them to France, where theywere sold to collectors. It seems that you found the business goodenough to go prowling about Egypt on a hunt for something to sell here.A great mistake, my friends--a very great mistake, because, after theMuseum has finished with you, the Egyptian Government desires toextradite you. And I rather suspect you'll have to go."

  He nodded to the two quiet men leaning against the door.

  "Come, Joram," said one of them pleasantly.

  But Smiles turned furiously on the Tracer. "You lie, you old gray rat!"he cried. "That ain't no mummy; that's a plain dead girl! And thereain't no extrydition for body snatchin', so I guess them niggers atCairo won't get us, after all!"

  "Perhaps," said the Tracer, looking at Burke, who had risen, pale andastounded. "Sit down, Mr. Burke! There is no need to question these men;no need to demand what they robbed you of. For," he added slowly, "whatthey took from the garden grotto of Sais, and from you, I have under myown protection."

  The Tracer rose, locked the door through which the prisoners and theirescorts had departed; then, turning gravely on Burke, he continued:

  "That panel, there, is a door. There is a room beyond--a room facing tothe south, bright with sunshine, flowers, soft rugs, and draperies ofthe East. _She_ is there--like a child asleep!"

  Burke reeled, steadying himself against the wall; the Tracer stared atspace, speaking very slowly:

  "Such death I have never before heard of. From the moment she came undermy protection I have dared to doubt--many things. And an hour ago youbrought me a papyrus scroll confirming my doubts. I doubt still--Heavenknows what! Who can say how long the flame of life may flicker withinsuspended animation? A week? A month? A year? Longer than that? Yes;the Hindoos have proved it. How long? The span of a normal life? Orlonger? Can the life flame burn indefinitely when the functions areabsolutely suspended--generation after generation, century aftercentury?"

  Burke, ghastly white, straightened up, quivering in every limb; theTracer, as pale as he, laid his hand on the secret panel.

  "If--if you dare say it--the phrase is this: '_O Ket Samaris,Nehes!_'--'O Little Samaris, awake!'"

  "I--dare. In Heaven's name, open that door!"

  Then, averting his head, the Tracer of Lost Persons swung open thepanel.

  A flood of sunshine flashed on Burke's face; he entered; and the paneleddoor closed behind him without a sound.

  Minute after minute passed; the Tracer stood as though turned to stone,gray head bent.

  Then he heard Burke's voice ring out unsteadily:

  "O Ket Samaris--Samaris! O Ket Samaris--_Nehes!_"

  And again: "Samaris! Samaris! O beloved, awake!"

  And once more: "_Nehes!_ O Samaris!"

  Silence, broken by a strange, sweet, drowsy plaint--like a childawakened at midnight by a dazzling light.

  "Samaris!"

  Then, through the stillness, a little laugh, and a softly tremulousvoice:

  "_Ari un aha, O Entuk sen!_"