The gentleman had put on his spectacles again and was looking at Cyril through them. He now said: “Bless me!” more than once, adding, “Who told you all this?” “I can’t tell you,” said Cyril. “I’m very sorry, but I can’t.” Some faint memory of a far-off childhood must have come to the learned gentleman just then, for he smiled. “I see,” he said. “It is some sort of game that you are engaged in? Of course! Yes! Well, I will certainly promise. Yet I wonder how you heard of the names of power?” “We can’t tell you that either,” said Cyril; and Anthea said, “Here is our charm,” and held it out. With politeness, but without interest, the gentleman took it. But after the first glance all his body suddenly stiffened, as a pointer’s does when he sees a partridge. “Excuse me,” he said in quite a changed voice, and carried the charm to the window. He looked at it; he turned it over. He fixed his spy-glass in his eye and looked again. No one said anything. Only Robert made a shuffling noise with his feet till Anthea nudged him to shut up. At last the learned gentleman drew a long breath. “Where did you find this?” he asked. “We didn’t find it. We bought it at a shop. Jacob Absalom the name is—not far from Charing Cross,” said Cyril. “We gave seven-and-sixpence for it,” added Jane. “It is not for sale, I suppose? You do not wish to part with it? I ought to tell you that it is extremely valuable—extraordinarily valuable, I may say.” “Yes,” said Cyril, “we know that, so of course we want to keep it.” “Keep it carefully, then,” said the gentleman impressively; “and if ever you should wish to part with it, may I ask you to give me the refusal of it?” “The refusal?” “I mean, do not sell it to anyone else until you have given me the opportunity of buying it.” “All right,” said Cyril, “we won’t. But we don’t want to sell it. We want to make it do things.” “I suppose you can play at that as well as at anything else,” said the gentleman; “but I’m afraid the days of magic are over.” “They aren’t _really_,” said Anthea earnestly. “You’d see they aren’t if I could tell you about our last summer holidays. Only I mustn’t. Thank you very much. And can you read the name?” “Yes, I can read it.” “Will you tell it us?” “The name,” said the gentleman, “is Ur Hekau Setcheh.” “Ur Hekau Setcheh,” repeated Cyril. “Thanks awfully. I do hope we haven’t taken up too much of your time.” “Not at all,” said the gentleman. “And do let me entreat you to be very, very careful of that most valuable specimen.” They said “Thank you” in all the different polite ways they could think of, and filed out of the door and down the stairs. Anthea was last. Half-way down to the first landing she turned and ran up again. The door was still open, and the learned gentleman and the mummy-case were standing opposite to each other, and both looked as though they had stood like that for years. The gentleman started when Anthea put her hand on his arm.