"Dear Bunker" [it began], "my own dear husband passed to his final rest last Thursday at 5 p.m. He was cheerful to the last and did not seem to suffer much. The funeral was on Saturday and was very beautiful and impressive. I did not notify you at the time as I was afraid the shock would affect you injuriously and that you might be tempted to make the long trip here to be with me. Now that you know it is all over, you can take it peacefully, as I am already doing. The life-insurance people were very nice about it and paid the claim promptly. I enclose the money which wipes out all but--" He opened the double sheet. There were many more of the closely written lines, but he read no farther, for a check was folded there. His trembling fingers pulled the ends apart and his astounded eyes rested on its ornate face. It was for ten thousand dollars. * * * * * At six minutes after eight the following evening the Countess Casanova, moved from her professional calm, hurriedly closed the sliding doors between the two rooms of her apartment and sprang to the telephone where she frantically demanded a number. The delay seemed interminable to her, but at last she began to speak. "That you, Ed? F'r God's sake, beat it over here quick. That boob las' night is back here an' _he's got it_. I dunno--but something _big_, I tell you. He's actin' like a crazy man. Listen here! He wants t' know can you _locate_ it--see it lyin' there underground. Why, the mummy; yes. M-u-m-m-i-e. Yes, sure! He's afraid mebbe they already dug him up an' got him in a musée somewheres, but if it's still there he wants it. Yes, sure thing, dontchu un'stand? _Wants_ it! How in--how can I tell? That's up to you. Git here! Sure--fifty-fifty!" Bean glanced up feverishly as the Countess reappeared. She was smoothing her hair and readjusting the set of the scarlet wrapper. Her own excitement was apparent. "It's all right. I think he'll come, but it was a close call. He was jes' packin' his grip f'r Wash'n'ton. Got a telegraph from the Pres'dent to-day t' come at once. Of course he'll miss a big fee. The Pres'dent don't care f'r money when it's a question of gittin' th' right advice--" "Oh, money!" murmured Bean, and waved a contemptuous hand. His manner was not lost upon his hearer. "Lots of money made in a hurry, these days," she suggested, "or got hold of some way--gits left to parties--thousand dollars, mebbe--two, three, four thousand?" Again he performed the pushing gesture, as if he were discommoded by money. He scarcely heard her voice. The Countess did not venture another effort to appraise his wealth. She fell silent, watching him. Bean gazed at a clean square on the wall-paper where a picture had once hung. Then the authoritative tread was again heard on the stairway, and again the Countess Casanova welcomed Professor Balthasar to her apartment. She expressed a polite regret for having annoyed him.