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asily have taken all these jars out of here； fed their contents slowly to animal victims； until he discovered the elixir。 It would be simple enough。
As it stood now； of course； only Samir Ibrahaim and Julie Stratford knew of the elixir。 And they would never divulge the secret to anyone。 But Lawrence Stratford had partially translated the story。 And his notebook was lying about somewhere… Ramses had been unable to find it…for anyone to read。 Then of course there were the scrolls。
Whatever the case； this situation could not continue forever。 He must carry the elixir on his person。 And of course there was always the chance that the batch had lost its potency。 Two thousand years almost； the powder had lain in the jar。
In that time； wine would have turned to vinegar； or some utterly undrinkable fluid。 Flour would have turned into something no more edible than sand。
His hand trembled now as he poured all of the coarse granules into the metal dish of the burner。 He tapped the jar to make sure that not so much as a speck remained。 Then he mixed it in the dish gently with his finger； and added a liberal amount of water from the glass。
Now he relighted the candle。 As it bubbled； he gathered the glass vials and laid them out…the ones that had been on display here on the table； and two others that had remained concealed or overlooked in an ebony box。
Four large vials with silver caps。
Within seconds the change had taken place。 The raw ingredients； already quite potent in their own right； had been changed into a bubbling liquid； full of vague phosphorescent light。 How ominous it looked； like something that might bum the skin off the mouth of anyone who tried to drink it！ But it did not do that。 It had not done it when eons ago； he had drunk down the full cup without hesitation； ready to suffer to be immortal！ There had been no pain at all。 He smiled。 No pain at all。
Carefully he lifted the dish。 He poured the steaming elixir into one vial after another until all four glass containers were full。 Then he waited until the dish was cooled and he licked it clean； for that was the only safe thing to do。 Then he capped the
vials。 And he took the candle and made the wax drip around these caps to seal them； all save one。
Three of the vials； he placed in the pocket of his robe。 The fourth vial； the one which he had failed to seal； he carried with him into the conservatory。 He stood there in the darkness； holding it； peering at the ferns and vines that crowded the room。
The glass walls were losing their dark opacity。 He could still see his own reflection clearly； a tall figure in a wine…dark garment； with a warm room behind him…but the pale objects of the outside world were ing visible too。
He approached the potted fern nearest him； a thing of great airy dark…green fronds。 He poured a bit of the elixir into the moist soil。 Then he turned to the bougainvillea； whose fragile red blossoms were few and far between amid the dark foliage。 He poured many droplets of the elixir into this pot as well。
There was a faint stirring； a crackling sound。 To use any more would be madness。 Yet he moved from pot to pot； pouring but a few drops in each。 Finally half the vial remained。 And he had done enough harm； had he not？ If the magic no longer worked； he would know within a few moments。 He looked to the glass ceiling。 The first blush of the sun was there。 The god Ra sending the first warm rays。
The leaves of the ferns rustled； lengthened； tender shoots unfurled。 The bougainvillea swelled and trembled on its trellis； tiny tendrils shooting up along the wrought…iron grillwork； little blossoms opening suddenly； blood red as wounds。 The entire glass room was alive with accelerated growth。 He closed his eyes； listening to that sound。 A dark deep shudder passed through him。
How could he have ever believed that the elixir had lost its effectiveness？ It was as strong as ever it had been。 One powerful draught had rendered him immortal forever。 Why did he think the substance itself； once created； would be any less immortal than he？
He put the vial in his pocket。 He unlatched the rear door of the house and went out into the murky wet dawn。
The pain in Henry's head was so bad he could not even see the two detectives clearly。 He had been dreaming of that thing； that mummy； when they awakened him。 In cold terror； he had taken his gun； cocked it； slipped it into his pocket and gone to the door。 Now if they meant to search him 。。。
〃Everyone knew Tommy Sharpies！〃 he said； fury masking his fear。〃 Everyone owed him money。 For this you wake me at the crack of dawn？〃
He squinted stupidly at the one called Gallon； who now held up that damned Cleopatra coin！ How the hell could he have been so stupid？ To go off and leave that coin in Sharples's pocket。 But for the love of hell； he had not planned to cut down Sharpies！ How could he be expected to think of things like this！
〃Ever see this before； sir？〃
Be calm。 There is not a scintilla of evidence to connect you to anything。 Let indignation serve you as well as it always has。
〃Why； that's from my uncle's collection。 The Ramses collection。 How did you get it？ It ought to be under lock and key。〃
〃The question is；〃 said the one called Trent；〃 how did Mr。 Sharpies get it？ And what was he doing with it on his person when he was killed？〃
Henry ran his hands back through his hair。 If only the pain would stop。 If only he could excuse himself for a minute； get a good stiff drink and have some time to think。
〃Reginald Ramsey！〃 he said； looking Trent in the eye。〃 That's the fellow's name； wasn't it？ That Egyptologist！ The one staying with my cousin。 Good God； what's going on in that house！〃
〃Mr。 Ramsey？〃
〃You have questioned him； haven't you？ Where did he e from； that man？〃 His face coloured as the two men stared at him in silence。〃 Do I have to do your job for you？ Where the devil did the bastard e from？ And what's he doing with all that treasure in my cousin's house？〃
For an hour Ramses walked。 The morning was cold and dreary。 The great imposing houses of Mayfair gave way to the dingy tenements of the poor。 He roamed narrow unpaved streets； like the alleyways of an ancient city…Jericho； or Rome。 Tracks of the horse carts here； and the reek of damp manure。
Now and then some poor passerby would stare at him。 Surely he should not be dressed in this long satin robe。 But that did not matter。 He was Ramses the Wanderer again。 Ramses the Damned only passing through this time。 The elixir still had its potency。 And the science of this time was no more ready for it than the science of any other。
Look at this suffering； these beggars sleeping in the alleyway。
Smell the filth of that house； as if the door is a mouth that spews its foul breath while gasping for clean air。
A beggar man approached him。〃 Spare a sixpence； sir； I haven't eaten in two days。 Please； sir。〃
Ramses walked on by； his slippers damp and dirty from the puddles in which he had stepped。
And now es a young woman； look at her； listen to the cough rattling deep fr