would
search every room. What if she had not locked her door securely, or if
they had some means of opening it? She was the living image of the dead
Nitocris. He did not dare to think of what might happen to her. Would
these new-found, strangely-given powers of his suffice to protect her?
If not, he would have but little use for them, since she was his nearest
and dearest on earth.

He pulled his stockings over the pants of his pyjamas and put on his
velvet working jacket, forgetting for the moment that, if these things
were true, it would be perfectly easy for him to make himself invisible
to beings in the ordinary world of three dimensions. Then he turned out
the light, opened the door very softly, and crept downstairs.

Yes, what he had seen was true. He heard the soft, shuffling patter of
stockinged feet along the landing, though he could see nothing in the
dark. A door opened gently. His sense of location told him that it was
the door of the spare bedroom next but one to the study. He felt his way
silently and softly along the wall, and as he did so his hand touched
the electric switch. Should he turn the light on and alarm the house?
Whoever was there had "broken and entered" after midnight, and was
therefore outside the law. No, he would not do that. If what he had
seen was true, the intruders believed that their mission was a sacred
one. No doubt the man was armed, and perhaps the woman also, and what
would a knife-stab mean to them on such a desperate quest?

As these thoughts ran at lightning speed through his mind, he saw a
faint glow inside the room. He crept forward and looked round the side
of the doorway. The man had a little electric lamp in his hand and was
flashing the slender rays all over the room. He drew his head back
quickly as he heard him say:

"There is nothing here, Anat. Come, let us try the next room. Neither
lock nor bolt nor even human life must stand in the way of our search
now that we have begun it!"

He heard them coming towards the door. Instinctively he shrank back, and
his heart stood still as he thought of what would happen if the man
chanced to turn the little ray of his lamp on him. Almost involuntarily
his thoughts went back to the promise of Queen Nitocris, and something
like a prayer that it might be kept rose to his lips.

They came out, and the man flashed the thin electric ray up and down the
passage. It wavered hither and thither, and at last fell directly on his
fa