y. I don't know whether you would call that
ancient or modern."

"Neither do I," said Mr. Jellicoe. "Antiquity and modernity are terms
that have no fixed connotation. They are purely relative and their
application in a particular instance has to be determined by a sort of
sliding scale. To a furniture collector, a Tudor chair or a Jacobean
chest is ancient; to an architect, their period is modern, whereas an
eleventh-century church is ancient; but to an Egyptologist, accustomed
to remains of a vast antiquity, both are products of modern periods
separated by an insignificant interval. And, I suppose," he added,
reflectively, "that to a geologist, the traces of the very earliest dawn
of human history appertain only to the recent period. Conceptions of
time, like all other conceptions, are relative."

"You appear to be a disciple of Herbert Spencer," I remarked.

"I am a disciple of Arthur Jellicoe, sir," he retorted. And I believed
him.

By the time we had reached the Museum he had become almost genial; and,
if less amusing in this frame, he was so much more instructive and
entertaining that I refrained from baiting him, and permitted him to
discuss his favourite topic unhindered, especially since my companion
listened with lively interest. Nor, when we entered the great hall, did
he relinquish possession of us, and we followed submissively, as he led
the way past the winged bulls of Nineveh and the great seated statues,
until we found ourselves, almost without the exercise of our volition,
in the upper room amidst the glaring mummy cases that had witnessed the
birth of my friendship with Ruth Bellingham.

"Before I leave you," said Mr. Jellicoe, "I should like to show you that
mummy that we were discussing the other evening; the one, you remember,
that my friend, John Bellingham, presented to the Museum a little time
before his disappearance. The point that I mentioned is only a trivial
one, but it may become of interest hereafter if any plausible
explanation should be forthcoming." He led us along the room until we
arrived at the case containing John Bellingham's gift, where he halted
and gazed in at the mummy with the affectionate reflectiveness of the
connoisseur.

"The bitumen coating was what we were discussing, Miss Bellingham,"
said he. "You have seen it, of course."

"Yes," she answered. "It is a dreadful disfigurement, isn't it?"

"Aesthetically it is to be deplored, but it adds a certain speculative
i