Rocks told the detective what the archeologist had meant to him. Kennedy's eyes softened. "I'm sorry, Malone. We'll do everything we can to discover what happened, but frankly I don't know which way to turn. I've been talking on the phone to some of the men who are in charge of the museum. McCumber was one, Sharp was another. They're on their way over here." The detective hesitated. "Malone, maybe you can help us." "I'll do anything I can." "Good. When I talked to Mr. Sharp, he said, 'I knew something like this was going to happen. I knew it!' When I asked him what he meant he said something about a box that Morton had brought back with him from Asia." "Box?" The touch of an eerie chill raced down Rocks' spine. "Yes. There it is, sitting on the scale we use to weigh specimens." The lid was open. "He--he must have opened it this afternoon," Rocks said. He wondered what Morton had found in that box. Treasure--or something else? It was empty now, the lid back, the cunning combination lock visible. But what had been in the box they did not know, until Sharp got there and told his story. CHAPTER II Sharp, the business manager, was a prim-faced nervous individual. He had an eye tick. It was working overtime now. He spoke rapidly, the words running over each other. "Yes, yes, I'll tell you exactly what happened. It was horrible, terrible." He mopped his face. "Mr. Morton had just succeeded in opening this box when I entered." "How long had the box been here?" Kennedy interrupted. "I--ah--about three months have elapsed since Mr. Morton returned from his last expedition. He brought it back with him." "Three months to open it?" Kennedy said doubtfully. "Why didn't he use a torch on it?" "I think I can answer that," McCumber said. The old archeologist had arrived a few minutes after the business manager. He had received the news of the death of his associate calmly but it was obvious that he was deeply affected. He and Morton had been fellow workers for more than forty years. Now Morton was dead, and McCumber's sorrow was too deep for expression. It didn't show on his face. But when he entered the basement, he leaned rather heavily on his granddaughter's arm. Penny, who always drove his car for him, had driven him down. Now she stood, pale and silent, beside his chair. "There were several reasons why we didn't use a cutting torch," McCumber said. "Foremost was the fact that, whatever the contents of the box were, we did not wish to damage them. Secondly, we felt that in time we would discover the secret of opening it. And in the third place, force would have ruined the delicate hieroglyphics inscribed on it. We especially did not want to do that." The detective turned again to Sharp. "Will you tell us what was in the box, sir?"