gravely.

CHAPTER XIV

THE GOLDEN POMEGRANATES

"What was it that he cried out?" demanded Nayland Smith abruptly. "I
was in the sitting-room and it sounded to me like 'pomegranates'!"

We were bending over Lewison; for now, the wig removed, Lewison it
proved unmistakably to be, despite the puffy and pallid face.

"He said 'the golden pomegranates,'" I replied, and laughed harshly.
"They were words of delirium and cannot possibly have any bearing
upon the manner of his death."

"I disagree."

He strode out into the sitting-room.

Weymouth was below, supervising the removal of the unhappy prisoner,
and together Smith and I stood looking down at the brass box. Suddenly--

"I propose to attempt to open it," said my friend.

His words came as a complete surprise.

"For what reason?--and why have you so suddenly changed your mind?"

"For a reason which I hope will presently become evident," he said;
"and as to my change of mind, unless I am greatly mistaken, the wily
old Chinaman from whom I wrested this treasure was infinitely more
clever than I gave him credit for being!"

Through the open window came faintly to my ears the chiming of Big Ben.
The hour was a quarter to two. London's pulse was dimmed now, and
around about us that great city slept as soundly as it ever sleeps.
Other sounds came vaguely through the fog, and beside Nayland Smith
I sat and watched him at work upon the Tulun-Nur box.

Every knob of the intricate design he pushed, pulled and twisted; but
without result. The night wore on, and just before three o'clock
Inspector Weymouth knocked upon the door. I admitted him, and side by
side the two of us stood watching Smith patiently pursuing his task.

All conversation had ceased, when, just as the muted booming of
London's clocks reached my ears again and Weymouth pulled out his
watch, there came a faint click ... and I saw that Smith had raised
the lid of the coffer!

Weymouth and I sprang forward with one accord, and over Smith's
shoulders peered into the interior. There was a second lid of some
dull, black wood, apparently of great age, and fastened to it so as
to form knobs or handles was an exquisitely carved pair of _golden
pomegranates!_

"They are to raise the wooden lid, Mr. Smith!" cried Weymouth eagerly.

"Look! there is a hollow in each to accommodate the fingers!"

"Aren't you going to open it?" I demanded excitedly--"aren't you going
to open it?"

"Might I invite y