All the way home and during their evening meal and afterwards, Professor Young poked fun at Betty. She took it good-naturedly, and laughed to see her father in such fine humor. Professor Young was a widower, and Betty was housekeeper in their flat; though a maid did the cooking for them and cleaned the rooms, the young woman planned the meals and saw to it that everything was homelike for them. After a pleasant evening together, reading, and discussing the new additions to the collection, they went to bed. Betty Young slept fitfully. She was harassed by dreams, dreams of huge eyes that came closer and closer to her, that at last seemed to engulf her. She awakened finally from a nap, and started up in her bed. The sun was up, but the clock on the bureau said it was only seven o'clock, too early to arise for the day's work. But then the sound of the telephone bell ringing in the hall caused her to get up and don her slippers and dressing gown and hurry out into the living room. * * * * * Before she reached the phone, however, she heard her father's voice answering. "Hello.... Yes, speaking. Good morning, Smythe." Smythe was the janitor of the museum. Betty, standing behind her father, wondered what he could want that he should phone so early in the morning. Her father's next words sent a thrill of fright through her heart. "My God! I--I can't believe it!" cried Young. "Is he dead?" There was a pause; Betty caught the sound of the excited Smythe's tones through the receiver. "Who--who is it?" she whispered, clasping her parent's arm. "I'll be right down, yes." Young hung up, turned to his daughter. His face was sad, heavily lined with shadows of sorrow. "Dear, there's been a tragedy at the museum during the night. Poor Rooney has been murdered--at least so they believe--and Smythe, who found him, wants me to come down and see if anything has been stolen. I must go at once. The body is in our laboratory." "Rooney? Ah, poor fellow." The girl wept a little, but braced herself to assist her father. "I'm going with you," she said. "No, no. You'd better remain here: you can come along later," said Young. "I don't like to have you see such sights, dear. It wouldn't be good for you." "I'll be all right. I promise you I will." She insisted and he was forced to let her accompany him to the museum. They hailed a cab and were soon at the door. The elevator took them to the top floor, and swiftly they passed along the corridors and came to the portal which led into the rooms where the amber blocks were. * * * * * Smythe greeted them, a worried look on his seamed face. "I've sent for an ambulance, Professor," he said.