the dream to pass--" It was plain enough. He knew now
the inner meaning of that engraving he had bought, in which Napoleon
stood in rapt meditation before the Sphinx. They had all--King, Emperor,
Bean--been dreamers that brought their dreams to pass. He mused long,
staring down at the case; a queerly shaped thing, fashioned to follow
the lines of the human form. From the neck the shoulders rounded
gracefully. They might have been cut to give the wearer the appearance
of perfect physical development; at least they seemed to fit him neatly.

It occurred to Bean that the case should not lie prone. It suggested
death where death was not. He pulled out more excelsior until he could
raise the case. It was surprisingly light and he leaned it upright
against the wall. He now tried to pretend that everything was over. He
gathered boards, excelsior and the crate and piled them in the
kitchenette, which they approximately filled.

But inevitably he was brought back. He stood with hands upon the cover
of the upreared case, drew a long shivering breath and gently lifted it
off. His eyes were upon the swathed figure within, then slowly they
crept up the yellowed linen and came to rest upon the bared face.

He had tried feebly to prefigure this face, but never had his visioning
approached the actual in its majestic, still beauty. The brow was nobly
broad, the nose straight and purposeful, the chin bold yet delicate. The
grimness of the mouth was relieved by a faint lift of the upper lip,
perhaps an echo of the smile with which he greeted death. There was a
gleam of teeth from under the lip. The eyes had closed peacefully; the
lids lay light upon their secrets as if they might flutter and open
again. On cheek and chin was a discernible growth of dark beard; the
hair above the brow was black and abundant. It was a kingly face, a face
of command, though benign. It was all too easy to believe that a crown
had become it well. And there had been no weakening at the end, no
sunken cheeks nor hollowed temples. The lines were full. The general
colour was of rich red mahogany.

He ran a tremulous hand over the face, smoothed the thick hair, fingered
the firm lips that almost smiled. Under the swathing of linen he could
see where the hands were folded on the breast. Low down on the right jaw
was unmistakably a mole, a thing that had strangely survived on Bean's
own face. Again he ran a hand over the features, then a corroborating
hand over h