contemplated suicide, or that he feared sudden death. His whole demeanor
was cheerful, and he expressed himself exceedingly glad to be in England
once more.

At eleven on the ensuing morning, a persistent knocking and a subsequent
opening of the door of Bolton's bedroom proved that he was not in the
room, although the tumbled condition of the bed-clothes proved that he
had taken some rest. No one in the hotel thought anything of Bolton's
absence, since he had hinted at an early departure, although the
chamber-maid considered it strange that no one had seen him leave the
hotel. The landlord obeyed Bolton's instructions and sent the case, in
charge of a trustworthy man, to Brefort across the river. There a lorry
was procured, and the case was taken to Gartley, where it arrived at
three in the afternoon. It was then that Professor Braddock, in opening
the case, discovered the body of his ill-fated assistant, rigid in
death, and with a red window cord tightly bound round the throat of the
corpse. At once, said the newspapers, the Professor sent for the police,
and later insisted that the smartest Scotland Yard detectives should
come down to elucidate the mystery. At present both police and
detectives were engaged in searching for a needle in a haystack, and so
far had met with no success.

Such was the tale set forth in the local and London and provincial
journals. Widely as it was discussed, and many as were the theories
offered, no one could fathom the mystery. But all agreed that the
failure of the police to find a clue was inexplicable. It was difficult
enough to understand how the assassin could have murdered Bolton and
opened the packing case, and removed the mummy to replace it by the body
of his victim in a house filled with at least half a dozen people; but
it was yet more difficult to guess how the criminal had escaped with so
noticeable an object as the mummy, bandaged with emerald-hued woollen
stuff woven from the hair of Peruvian llamas. If the culprit was one who
thieved and murdered for gain, he could scarcely sell the mummy without
being arrested, since all England was ringing with the news of its
disappearance; if a scientist, impelled to robbery by an archaeological
mania, he could not possibly keep possession of the mummy without
someone learning that he possessed it. Meanwhile the thief and his
plunder had vanished as completely as if the earth had swallowed both.
Great was the wonder at the cleverness