There came one day a very wise Egyptian--one whom I know as a Freemason--and he gave a valuable scarab, mounted in a gold ring, to Major Lynch. There was no doubt that the wise man valued it, and there is no doubt that he left an impression on Major Lynch. It is a talisman and a protection to the owner, but it has deadly powers. Nothing can harm the owner so long as he has it in his possession, and the owner can shrivel up an enemy by merely pointing at him and muttering incantations--just as the Northern Territory natives in Australia can _will_ an enemy to die by pointing a bone at him. Major Lynch lost no time in putting the scarab to the test. There was a very troublesome native who used to bother him several times a day about things that don't matter, and the day after the wise Egyptian had made his presentation the major pointed at the native and muttered a powerful Australian incantation. Since then the native has not been seen. A dragoman wanted to sell me some scarabs. "You like fine scarab?" "No scab here," said I, "all good Unionists." "Not scab. Scarab--good scarab." "Oh!" "Beautiful scarab. Very precious." "Ah!" "I buy them for English officer; beautiful scarab. Now he go to Suez Canal. I sell cheap." "Very cheap?" "Yes, very cheap. Sell now, lose plenty money, sir." "How much?" "Five pounds." "Ah! Is it really worth five _piastres_?" "Piastres! Ach! No, no, no! Five _pounds_!" "Five pounds a dozen!" "No, no, no! Five pounds for one beautiful scarab." "Ha ha!" "Not ha! ha! It is three thousand years old! Time of Rameses II." "Too old. Got any nice _new_ ones?" "No, no. Not _new_. Old--very valuable--three thousand years!" "Too old. Show me a new one." "You no understand. Very old, very valuable, out of tombs in pyramid." "Any more there?" "No more--all gone." "Oh, well I oughtn't to take them from you." "Yes, you take. I sell you for five pounds." "Not me." "Yes, you. _Four_ pounds!" "Try again." "Three pounds ten." "Once more." "Two pounds ten. Finish." "No business; _Imshi_." Then the old man went away, muttering angrily in his beard because I would not pay three golden sovereigns for a little stone that looked like a petrified beetle. Even if it had been genuine--even if it _was_ three thousand years old--I would have thought it a shame for him to take the money. But the reputation these "gyppies" have for faking antiquities and curios made me sceptical. In the Cairo Museum are genuine thousand-year-old relics from the tombs and pyramids, and the natives copy them and sell the replicas as the genuine article.