eir chief.

At a sign from him, they placed the package on the ground and drew out
from one of the niches the case which it contained.

"You may approach, gentlemen," said M. Le Mesge.

He motioned the three Tuareg to withdraw several paces.

"You asked me, not long since, for some proof of the Egyptian
influence on this country," said M. Le Mesge. "What do you say to that
case, to begin with?"

As he spoke, he pointed to the case that the servants had deposited
upon the ground after they took it from its niche.

Morhange uttered a thick cry.

We had before us one of those cases designed for the preservation of
mummies. The same shiny wood, the same bright decorations, the only
difference being that here Tifinar writing replaced the hieroglyphics.
The form, narrow at the base, broader above, ought to have been enough
to enlighten us.

I have already said that the lower half of this large case was
closed, giving the whole structure the appearance of a rectangular
wooden shoe.

M. Le Mesge knelt and fastened on the lower part of the case, a square
of white cardboard, a large label, that he had picked up from his
desk, a few minutes before, on leaving the library.

"You may read," he said simply, but still in the same low tone.

I knelt also, for the light of the great candelabra was scarcely
sufficient to read the label where, none the less, I recognized the
Professor's handwriting.

It bore these few words, in a large round hand:

"Number 53. Major Sir Archibald Russell. Born at Richmond, July 5,
1860. Died at Ahaggar, December 3, 1896."

I leapt to my feet.

"Major Russell!" I exclaimed.

"Not so loud, not so loud," said M. Le Mesge. "No one speaks out loud
here."

"The Major Russell," I repeated, obeying his injunction as if in spite
of myself, "who left Khartoum last year, to explore Sokoto?"

"The same," replied the Professor.

"And ... where is Major Russell?"

"He is there," replied M. Le Mesge.

The Professor made a gesture. The Tuareg approached.

A poignant silence reigned in the mysterious hall, broken only by the
fresh splashing of the fountain.

The three Negroes were occupied in undoing the package that they had
put down near the painted case. Weighed down with wordless horror,
Morhange and I stood watching.

Soon, a rigid form, a human form, appeared. A red gleam played over
it. We had before us, stretched out upon the ground, a statue of pale
bronze, wrapped in a kind of wh