ock inside and slammed the door behind him, a piece of
carelessness over which the officers were greatly exercised; for he had
not confided to them that he had started off in a hurry. In the end,
they sent the door crashing in with their shoulders and preceded
Simpkins--and he was scrupulously polite about this--into the
ante-chamber.

There an incandescent lamp over the youth's desk gave them light and
Simpkins momentary relief. The men used hard language when they found
the second door in the same condition as the first, but Simpkins took
their rating meekly. They tried their shoulders again, but the oak was
stout and long withstood their assaults. When at last it yielded it gave
way suddenly, and they all tumbled pell-mell into the hall. Simpkins
jumped up with incredible agility, and was back in the lighted
ante-chamber before the others had struggled to their feet. Suddenly
they stopped swearing. They looked around them. Then they, too, stepped
back into the ante-chamber.

"Ain't there any way of lighting this place?" asked one of them rather
sullenly.

"Nothing but three incandescents over the desks," answered Simpkins.

"Use your lantern then, Tom; come on now, young feller, and show us
where this woman is," he said roughly, and he pushed Simpkins through
the door.

As the officers followed him, he fell back between them and linked
his arms through theirs. And silently they advanced on the altar, a
grotesque and rather unsteady trio, the bull's eyes on either side
flashing ahead into the darkness.

"The lamp's still burning," whispered Simpkins. They were far enough
into the hall now to see the glow from it in the corner. "Flash your
lights around those pillars, boys. There, over there!"

The bull's eyes jumped about searching her out. "There! now! Hold
still!" cried Simpkins as they focused on the chair.

The black mummy lay as he had left it, the cloth still on the face, but
the chair was empty. Straight to the veil the reporter ran, and pulled
the cord. Light broke from above, and beat down on an altar heaped with
dying roses and the statue of a woman, smiling. And at her feet there
crouched a great black cat, that arched its back and snarled at
Simpkins.

Beyond, the lights were still burning in Mrs. Athelstone's apartment,
but there was no one in the rooms. Some opened drawers in the bureau and
the absence of her toilet articles from the table told of preparations
for a hasty flight.

They did