The Perfume of Egypt | Page 3

this mysterious aroma -- faint, but quite
unmistakable -- that greeted my nostrils in my own chambers in
London on that memorable night, it will be seen that I had good reason
to be surprised. What could it mean? Was it anyhow possible that the
smell could have lingered in some article of clothing? Obviously not,
for had it done so I must certainly have discovered the fact in much less

time than the fourteen or fifteen months that had elapsed. Then whence
could it come? For I was well convinced that nothing in the least like it
could be obtained in England. The problem appeared so difficult that
when I could no longer perceive the odour I was half inclined to doubt
whether after all it, might not have been a hallucination; and I turned to
my work again, resolved to throw it entirely off my mind.
I worked out the knotty sentence to my satisfaction, and had written
perhaps a page more, when quite suddenly and without warning I felt
again, more strongly than ever, that unpleasant consciousness of some
other presence in the room; but this time, before I could turn to look, I
felt -- distinctly felt -- a soft breath or puff of wind on the back of my
neck, and heard a faint sigh. I sprang from my chair with an inarticulate
cry, and looked wildly round the room, but there was nothing unusual
to be seen -- no trace remained of my mysterious visitant. No trace, did
I say? Even in the moment that passed while I was regaining my
self-possession there stole again upon my astonished sense that strange
subtle perfume of ancient eastern magic!
It would be folly to deny that I was seriously startled. I rushed to the
door and tried it -- shook it vigorously; but it was locked, exactly as I
had left it. I turned to the bedroom; there was no one there. I then
searched both the rooms thoroughly looking under bed, sofas, and
tables, and opening every cupboard or box large enough to hold even a
cat; still there was nothing. I was completely puzzled. I sat down and
tried to think the matter out, but the more I thought the less could I see
my way to any rational solution of these occurrences.
At length I decided to shake off their influence for the time, and
postpone all consideration of them until the morning. I tried to resume
my work, but I was out of tune for writing -- my mind had been too
much disturbed. The haunting consciousness of another presence would
not leave me; that soft sad sigh seemed yet sounding in my ears, and its
unutterable sorrow provoked a feeling of sympathetic depression. After
a few unavailing efforts I gave up the attempt to write, threw myself
into an arm-chair by the fire, and began to read instead.
Though simple enough, I believe, in most of my habits, I am rather a

Sybarite about my reading; for that purpose I always use the most
comfortable arm-chair that money can procure, with that most blessed
of inventions, the "Literary Machine," to hold my book at exactly the
right angle, shade the light from my face and concentrate it on the page,
and give me a desk always ready to my hand if I wish to make notes.
In this luxurious manner, then, I settled myself down on this occasion,
choosing as my book Montaigne's Essays, in the hope that their
cleverness and marvellous flexibility of style might supply just the
mental tonic that I felt I needed. Ignore them as I might, however, I had
still as I read two under-currents of consciousness -- one of that
ever-haunting presence, and the other of occasional faint waftings of
the perfume of Egypt.
I suppose I had been reading for about half an hour when a stronger
whiff than ever greeted my nostrils, and at the same time a slight rustle
caused me to raise my eyes from my book. Judge of my astonishment
when I saw, not five yards from me, seated at the table from which I
had so lately risen, and apparently engaged in writing, the figure of a
man! Even as I looked at him the pen fell from his hand, he rose from
the chair, threw upon me a glance which seemed to express bitter
disappointment and heart-rending appeal, and -- vanished!
Too much stupefied even to rise, I sat staring at the spot where he had
stood, and rubbed my eyes mechanically, as though to clear away the
last relics of some horrible dream. Great as the shock had been, I was
surprised to find, as soon as I was able to analyse my sensations, that
they were distinctly those