“But I believe, my friend,” said Rev. Isaac Tombstone, “that exceptions to the law are made, in cases of physicians going on missions of mercy.” “How can anyone say that such is the case now?” asked Señor Martinez. “Not I, for one,” replied Don Arellano. “Nor I,” added the preacher. “One cab is certainly chasing the other now. We must prevent it; such doings are not lawful. We must prevent it. We must prevent it,” cried Señor Martinez, rising to his feet and calling loudly to the motorman. If he heard the cries of “Stop, Stop,” he paid no attention. The cab fairly flew through the streets, and before anyone was aware of the fact, they had arrived at the cemetery gate just behind the cab the motorman had been trying to overtake. Rev. Isaac Tombstone was not less surprised than his companions to see the other cab stop at the Motuble tomb. The three men alighted first, however. Mr. Martinez unlocked the tomb and they entered, leaving the door wide open. The tomb was in the form of an octagon at the base, the diameter being twenty feet; from the center of the base to the highest point of dome measured one hundred feet. The interior was of highly polished marble, in which were set large mirrors. The small coffin in which rested the body of Catalina Martinet stood in the center of the tomb on two marble pillars. A silence fell upon the three as they read in bright gold letters on the casket, “Catalina Martinet, age sixteen. Died of a broken heart.” “By the gods, I will have revenge upon the man who caused her illegal birth to be, and her untimely death to come. Marriet Motuble. Her Friend through all eternity.” “She is dead, but lives,” solemnly said Reverend Tombstone. “She is dead, but lives.” “Impossible,” angrily replied Don Arellano. “Impossible.” Without making any reply the Reverend Tombstone stepped to the large casket recently placed in the tomb, and said, looking in the glass face plate: “The classic features of Marriet Motuble! She whom I knew in a life long since past lies before me.” “Don Arellano,” cried Señor Martinez, “we have been deceived. This man is a believer in that accursed ‘Memory Fluid.’ The sooner we get away, from this tomb, back to the city, the better for us.” They each glanced nervously at the waxen face before them, and without further comment started hastily to leave the tomb. Rev. Isaac Tombstone made no sign that he heard them, but stood by the head of the metallic coffin, his eyes riveted upon the face he there saw. As his two companions left the tomb, three men dressed as doctors of medicine entered, and stood with uncovered heads around the coffin. The cab in which the Reverend Tombstone and party had arrived stood in front of the door of the tomb. At the moment the two men were stepping into it three policemen stepped forward, as the song of a bird rent the air, clapped iron bands around their wrists, and said: “You are prisoners of law. Make no disturbance or you will be roughly dealt with.”