The Curse of the Mummy's Tomb Page #4

- Of course.

Ls it from the tomb?

No, of course not, John.

Do you think my father would take...

It can't be from the tomb.

Both the stone and the hieroglyphics are

at least 2,000 years older than that.

These are early old kingdom.

Really? How would you know that?

My interest in your work

is not entirely an amateur one,

but my studies were of an

earlier period than the Egyptian.

Here, see for yourself.

I'm sorry. I can't agree with that.

I still believe it could be

from the tomb.

Let me assure you, mr bray,

it is old kingdom.

Nobody could be as certain as you are,

mr beauchamp,

without extensive examination.

Then why don't you reserve judgement

until you have made an extensive examination?

Very well.

With your permission, Annette,

i will.

There's only one person I know who

has reference books for this period,

and that is sir giles.

I'd like him to see this now.

No, he won't be in bed yet.

If you'll both forgive me,

I'll start straight away.

Jessop will get you a hansom.

Well, my dear, another Brandy?

If money is to be the yardstick

by which the value of education

is to be assessed,

then I fear for the future.

Let's make the redoubtable mr king

headmaster at eton and be done with it.

Within six months he'd

turn the playing fields

into a miniature coney island,

with each boy a barker

on a percentage share of the profit.

Well, at least their arithmetic

would have to be good

if only to make sure

of getting their fair share.

Now, let me see...

Whoever heard of an egyptologist

who wasn't allowed into Egypt?

There's no court of appeal, you know.

What page did you say?

That damned hashmi!

I didn't hear him tell

the authorities that it was king

who was reponsible

for removing the relics.

Yes, sir giles. What page?

Oh, sorry, um...

- Somewhere in the 300s, I think..

- Thank you.

What do you make of it?

Well, I'm not quite certain,

but I think it's...

Oh! You clumsy, drunken oaf!

I see I've now lost your respect, too.

You are undoubtedly better

left alone to your studies.

-L'm sorry, sir giles...

- Good night, John.

I wonder. Could it be?

This is not a joking matter, mr king.

I would have thought the sum of

120,000 English pounds

would have wiped the smile

even from your face.

It's chicken feed.

You seriously expect me

to pack up this whole

kit and caboodle and ship it back?

My government will gladly

accept the responsibility

of the transportation charges.

That's more chicken feed.

My show is advertised

clear across the United States.

Now, you don't want me

to disappoint all those

middle western people, do you?

You know what a circus means to them?

An outing for the whole family.

A day to remember.

It's obvious to me that you're

a very difficult man to deal with.

Who, me?

For the last time I beg of you

to accept my government's offer.

Then, the consequences of

the actions you contemplate

must rest upon your own head.

Well, then, let the

consequences commence!

Hiya, beautiful! How do I look?

You'll put ra to shame.

Gee, I'm sorry John

can't be here. How is he?

He's still at sir giles's. The doctor

wouldn't let him be moved.

A nice kid. Now, who'd

want to do a thing like that?

We won't know that until he can tell us.

And he hasn't fully regained

consciousness yet.

Well, let's hope it'll be soon.

- Beauchamp.

- King.

I see you have all the

important press here.

And their friends. They all show up

when they know it's free.

Well, if you'll excuse me,

i have a show to put on.

Hello. How are you?

How are you?

Distinguished guests, ladies

and gentlemen of the press.

This is an historic moment.

Today we will open the

3,000-year-old coffin

of ra-antef,

royal prince of Egypt.

But, first of all,

I want you to absorb

some of the atmosphere,

much as it must have been

to those intrepid explorers

led my my great and good friend,

sir giles dalrymple,

your premier archaeologist.

Our story starts almost

18 months ago to this very day,

when he led the expedition,

including myself,

into the valley of kings.

A leading member of our team

was professor Eugene Dubois,

from the Paris museum of egyptology,

who unfortunately lost his life at the

hands of the superstitious natives

only shortly before

our work was completed.

With him is John bray,

a brilliant young egyptologist

from Cambridge university.

The youngest and by far the prettiest

member of our team was Annette Dubois,

a breath of parisienne charm that did much

to help cool the hot winds of the desert.

In addition to being decorative,

she was an able personal assistant

to her father, the late professor.

The guiding light of the

expedition was, of course...

No! Not him!

Myself.

After a short period of relaxation

there followed ten months of

intensive searching and excavation,

until the discovery of

one small stone step,

overlooked by both searchers and

plunderers for countless generations,

led us to believe that

we had found a royal burial tomb.

Final feverish excavations

allowed us, six clays later,

to be standing on the threshold.

Below us were the first great doors,

those massive portals to the past.

Anubis, the patron of embalming

and guardian of the tomb, stood before us.

As we entered, the dust of

lost centuries filled the air.

It was not a thin dust,

but a heavy dust,

feeling almost as though it contained

the textures and sounds

of a vanished civilisation.

It clung to our clothes

and cloyed in our nostrils,

as if in a last desperate

attempt to stop us proceeding.

And then, before us,

appeared the two statue

guardians to the inner tomb.

Here, modern man was confronted with

the relics of his ancient Egyptian brothers.

Among them were the wardrobe and

personal belongings of the royal prince,

statues of his gods, funeral furniture,

weapons, food.

In fact, everything he would need

to help and protect him

on his journey over

the dark waters of death,

and into eternity.

Bubastis stood watching over all,

his gaze undimmed.

Then, finally, before us stood the

magnificently ornate sarcophagus

bearing upon it the moulded likeness

of the body it contained therein.

And now, before the great,

historic moment,

I must take you into

my confidence and warn you.

There is a curse.

Which says that all persons present

at the opening of a pharaoh's coffin

and who gaze at the face

of the mummy therein,

shall die,

struck down by the

wrath of the Egyptian gods!

So...

Any of you of a nervous disposition,

who wish to leave now

may do so.

You have been warned!

Ladies and gentlemen,

for the very first time,

and before your very eyes,

I will cut the royal seal.

Alexander king is very proud

to present to you

the mummy

of the royal prince ra-antef.

Great Scott!

I can only ask you again, mr king:

Who would want to steal a mummy?

Who knows? A competitor!

Somebody who wants to ruin me.

You have enemies, mr king?

Of course I've got enemies.

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