een a fine-looking man."

"The mask on the case is a portrait, I suppose?"

"Yes; in fact, it is rather more. To some extent it is the actual face
of the man himself. This mummy is enclosed in what is called a
cartonnage, that is a case moulded on the figure. The cartonnage, was
formed of a number of layers of linen or papyrus united by glue or
cement, and when the case had been fitted to the mummy it was moulded to
the body, so that the general form of the features and limbs was often
apparent. After the cement was dry the case was covered with a thin
layer of stucco and the face modelled more completely, and then the
decorations and inscriptions were painted on. So that, you see, in a
cartonnage, the body was sealed up like a nut in its shell, unlike the
more ancient forms in which the mummy was merely rolled up and enclosed
in a wooden coffin."

At this moment there smote upon our ears a politely protesting voice
announcing in sing-song tones that it was closing time; and
simultaneously a desire for tea suggested the hospitable milk-shop. With
leisurely dignity that ignored the official who shepherded us along the
galleries, we made our way to the entrance, still immersed in
conversation on matters sepulchral.

It was rather earlier than our usual hour for leaving the Museum and,
moreover, it was our last day--for the present. Wherefore we lingered
over our tea to an extent that caused the milk-shop lady to view us with
some disfavour, and when at length we started homeward, we took so many
short cuts that six o'clock found us no nearer our destination than
Lincoln's Inn Fields; whither we had journeyed by a slightly indirect
route that traversed (among other places) Russell Square, Red Lion
Square, with the quaint passage of the same name, Bedford Row, Jockey's
Fields, Hand Court, and Great Turnstile.

It was in the latter thoroughfare that our attention was attracted by a
flaming poster outside a newsvendor's bearing the startling inscription:

"MORE MEMENTOES OF MURDERED MAN."

Miss Bellingham glanced at the poster and shuddered.

"Horrible! Isn't it?" she said. "Have you read about them?"

"I haven't been noticing the papers the last few, days," I replied.

"No, of course you haven't. You've been slaving at those wretched notes.
We don't very often see the papers, at least we don't take them in, but
Miss Oman has kept us supplied during the last day or two. She is a
perfect little ghoul; she delights i