hirt and trousers. The new-comer
leapt away in the wake of the mummy-man--who had vanished around the
corner by the smokeroom. Over his shoulder he cried back at me:

"The Bishop's stateroom! See that no one enters!"

I clutched at my head--which seemed to be fiery hot; I realized, in my
own person, the sensations of one who knows himself mad.

For the man who pursued the mummy was _Nayland Smith_!

* * * * *

I stood in the Bishop's stateroom, Nayland Smith, his gaunt face wet
with perspiration, beside me, handling certain odd-looking objects
which littered the place, and lay about amid the discarded garments of
the absent cleric.

"Pneumatic pads!" he snapped. "The man was a walking air-cushion!" He
gingerly fingered two strange rubber appliances. "For distending the
cheeks," he muttered, dropping them disgustedly on the floor. "His
hands and wrists betrayed him, Petrie. He wore his cuffs unusually
long but could not entirely hide his bony wrists. To have watched him,
whilst remaining myself unseen, was next to impossible; hence my
device of tossing a dummy overboard, calculated to float for less than
ten minutes! It actually floated nearly fifteen, as a matter of fact,
and I had some horrible moments!"

"Smith!" I said, "how could you submit me ...?"

He clapped his hands on my shoulders.

"My dear old chap--there was no other way, believe me. From that boat
I could see right into his stateroom, but, once in, I dare not leave
it--except late at night, stealthily! The second spotted me one night
and I thought the game was up, but evidently he didn't report it."

"But you might have confided...."

"Impossible! I'll admit I nearly fell to the temptation that first
night; for I could see into your room as well as into his!" He slapped
me boisterously on the back, but his grey eyes were suspiciously
moist. "Dear old Petrie! Thank God for our friends! But you'd be the
first to admit, old man, that you're a dead poor actor! Your portrayal
of grief for the loss of a valued chum would not have convinced a soul
on board!

"Therefore I made use of Stacey, whose callous attitude was less
remarkable. Gad, Petrie! I nearly bagged our man the first night! The
elaborate plan--Marconi message to get you out of the way, and so
forth--had miscarried, and he knew the port-hole trick would be
useless once we got into the open sea. He took a big chance. He
discarded his clerical guise and peep