would have it, and by one of
those coincidences which are much more common than is suspected, he saw
the Gartley doctor walking briskly past.

"Hi!" shouted the Professor, who was purple in the face and perspiring
profusely. "Hi, there, Dr. Robinson! I want you. Come! come! hurry, man,
hurry!" he ended in a testy rage, and the doctor, knowing Braddock's
eccentricities, advanced with a smile. He was a slim, dark, young
medical practitioner with an amiable countenance, which argued of no
mighty intelligence.

"Well, Professor," he remarked quietly, "do you want me to attend you
for apoplexy? Take your time, my dear sir--take your time." He patted
the scientist on the shoulder to soothe his clamorous rage. "You are
already purple in the face. Don't let your blood rush to your head."

"Robinson, you're a--a--a fool!" shouted Braddock, glaring at the suave
looks of the doctor. "I am in perfect health, damn you, sir."

"Then Miss Kendal--?"

"She is quite well also. But Bolton--?"

"Oh!" Robinson looked interested. "Has he returned with your mummy?"

"Mummy," bellowed Braddock, stamping like an insane Cupid--"the mummy
hasn't arrived."

"Really, Professor, you surprise me," said the doctor mildly.

"I'll surprise you more," growled Braddock, dragging Robinson into the
garden and up the steps.

"Gently! gently! my dear sir," said the doctor, who really began to
think that much learning had made the Professor mad. "Didn't Bolton--?"

"Bolton is dead, you fool."

"Dead!" The doctor nearly tumbled backward down the steps.

"Murdered. At least I think he is murdered. At all events he arrived
here to-day in the packing case, which should have contained my green
mummy. Come in and examine the body at once. No," Braddock pushed back
the doctor just as fiercely as he had dragged him forward, "wait until
the constable comes. I want him to see the body first, and to observe
that nothing has been touched. I have sent for the Pierside inspector to
come. There will be all sorts of trouble," cried Braddock despairingly,
"and my work--most important work--will be delayed, just because this
silly young ass Sidney Bolton chose to be murdered," and the Professor
stormed up and down the hall, shaking impotent arms in the air.

"Good heavens!" stammered Robinson, who was young in years and somewhat
new to his profession, "you--you must be mistaken."

"Mistaken! mistaken!" shouted Braddock with another glare. "Come and see
that