Dr. Cairn slowly moved the candle, throwing the light along the floor, where it picked out strips of wood and broken cases, straw packing and kindred litter--until it impinged upon a brightly painted slab. Further, he moved it, and higher, and the end of a sarcophagus came into view. He drew a quick, hissing breath, and bending forward, directed the light into the interior of the ancient coffin. Then, he had need of all his iron nerve to choke down the cry that rose to his lips. "By God! _Look_!" whispered his son. Swathed in white wrappings, Antony Ferrara lay motionless before them. The seconds passed one by one, until a whole minute was told, and still the two remained inert and the cold light shone fully upon that ivory face. "Is he dead?" Robert Cairn spoke huskily, grasping his father's shoulder. "I think not," was the equally hoarse reply. "He is in the state of trance mentioned in--certain ancient writings; he is absorbing evil force from the sarcophagus of the Witch-Queen...."[A] [Footnote A: _Note_.--"It seems exceedingly probable that ... the mummy-case (sarcophagus), with its painted presentment of the living person, was the material basis for the preservation of the ... _Khu_ (magical powers) of a fully-equipped Adept." _Collectanea Hermetica_. Vol. VIII.] There was a faint rustling sound in the cellar, which seemed to grow louder and more insistent, but Dr. Cairn, apparently, did not notice it, for he turned to his son, and albeit the latter could see him but vaguely, he knew that his face was grimly set. "It seems like butchery," he said evenly, "but, in the interests of the world, we must not hesitate. A shot might attract attention. Give me your knife." For a moment, the other scarcely comprehended the full purport of the words. Mechanically he took out his knife, and opened the big blade. "Good heavens, sir," he gasped breathlessly, "it is _too_ awful!" "Awful I grant you," replied Dr. Cairn, "but a duty--a duty, boy, and one that we must not shirk. I, alone among living men, know whom, and _what_, lies there, and my conscience directs me in what I do. His end shall be that which he had planned for you. Give me the knife." He took the knife from his son's hand. With the light directed upon the still, ivory face, he stepped towards the sarcophagus. As he did so, something dropped from the roof, narrowly missed falling upon his outstretched hand, and with a soft, dull thud dropped upon the mud brick floor. Impelled by some intuition, he suddenly directed the light to the roof above. Then with a shrill cry which he was wholly unable to repress, Robert Cairn seized his father's arm and began to pull him back towards the stair. "Quick, sir!" he screamed shrilly, almost hysterically. "My God! my God! _be quick_!"