companion were ever coming back. Luckily, an incident occurred to serve my purpose. The chief attendant appeared at the head of the steps. 'Robins!' he called.
Robins ran briskly upstairs at his command, and then-in fifteen seconds my transformation was complete. Gone were the weedy grey beard and moustache-gone the seedy, black garments and the elastic-sided boots-gone the old opera-hat-and, behold, I was Constable Smith, attired in mummy wrappings!
An acrobatic spring, and the bundle of aged garments was wedged behind a tall statue, where nothing but a most minute search could reveal it. Down again, not a second to spare! Into the empty sarcophagus at the further end of the room; and, lastly, a hideous rubber mask slipped over the ruddy features of Constable Smith and attached behind the ears, my arms stiffened and my hands concealed in the wrappings, and I was a long-dead mummy-with a neat leather case hidden beneath my arched back!.Brisk work, I assure you; but one grows accustomed to it in time.
The story should have been listed as mystery/pulp, since it's largely a crime caper. Still it does a decent job of building up the first half, but the back doesn't deliver. While far from the worst I've read, it's on the low side of mediocre. I say this as someone who deeply loves horror and pulp style fiction, and is at least an FWB to mysteries.
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