ort, for the
hinges had rusted, forced it back. Its removal revealed another case
covered with dust. This we extracted from the iron chest without any
difficulty, and removed the accumulated filth of years from it with a
clothes-brush.

It was, or appeared to be, of ebony, or some such close-grained black
wood, and was bound in every direction with flat bands of iron. Its
antiquity must have been extreme, for the dense heavy wood was in parts
actually commencing to crumble from age.

"Now for it," I said, inserting the second key.

Job and Leo bent forward in breathless silence. The key turned, and
I flung back the lid, and uttered an exclamation, and no wonder, for
inside the ebony case was a magnificent silver casket, about twelve
inches square by eight high. It appeared to be of Egyptian workmanship,
and the four legs were formed of Sphinxes, and the dome-shaped cover was
also surmounted by a Sphinx. The casket was of course much tarnished and
dinted with age, but otherwise in fairly sound condition.

I drew it out and set it on the table, and then, in the midst of the
most perfect silence, I inserted the strange-looking silver key, and
pressed this way and that until at last the lock yielded, and the casket
stood before us. It was filled to the brim with some brown shredded
material, more like vegetable fibre than paper, the nature of which I
have never been able to discover. This I carefully removed to the depth
of some three inches, when I came to a letter enclosed in an ordinary
modern-looking envelope, and addressed in the handwriting of my dead
friend Vincey.

"_To my son Leo, should he live to open this casket._"

I handed the letter to Leo, who glanced at the envelope, and then put it
down upon the table, making a motion to me to go on emptying the casket.

The next thing that I found was a parchment carefully rolled up. I
unrolled it, and seeing that it was also in Vincey's handwriting, and
headed, "Translation of the Uncial Greek Writing on the Potsherd," put
it down by the letter. Then followed another ancient roll of parchment,
that had become yellow and crinkled with the passage of years. This I
also unrolled. It was likewise a translation of the same Greek original,
but into black-letter Latin, which at the first glance from the style
and character appeared to me to date from somewhere about the beginning
of the sixteenth century. Immediately beneath this roll was something
hard and heavy, wrapp