“Here is a letter addressed to you, Mr. Cumberland,” said the secretary, “and unstamped. It must have been delivered by hand. It is marked ‘Private and Personal.’” Barry stretched apathetically across the table and took the envelope, upon which his name was neatly typed. It seemed to contain a quantity of correspondence and also some small, hard object. He tore it open listlessly. A large double sheet of some very thick, tough kind of writing paper was inside. And, as he pulled it from the envelope, a ring fell out upon the table. Barry’s heart seemed to miss a beat. What change had come over his face he could only guess by the secretary’s horrified expression. “Mr. Cumberland!” she cried--and stood up. But Barry motioned to her to sit down again. He was staring--staring--at the ring which he held in his hand. It was an oddly mounted and very perfect piece of lapis lazuli. He had bought it in the Rue de la Paix for Zalithea! Uttering a stifled moan, he dropped the ring, and, with wildly unsteady fingers, unfolded the thick sheets of paper. They were covered with Egyptian hieroglyphics! One glance he gave at the writing, and: “Quick! Quick!” he shouted. “Get my father!” He sprang from his chair and began to pace the room like a madman. His brain was working feverishly. The letter was from _her!_… The letter was from _her!_ Even if John Cumberland could decipher it, he could do so only very laboriously, perhaps inaccurately. “Mr. Cumberland is coming,” the secretary announced. “Call Danbazzar,” Barry directed. “He is out of town. Mr. John Cumberland received a note from him this morning saying he would be away for two or three weeks.” “Of course,” cried Barry. “I don’t know what I’m talking about!” He clutched his head, trying to think clearly. Horace Pain was abroad and not expected back for a long time. But Dr. Rittenburg had been home when they arrived. He had dined with them only two weeks ago at Danbazzar’s apartment and had had a private view of the contents of the tomb when these had reached New York through some mysterious channel controlled by their host. “Look up Dr. Rittenburg’s number,” he said. “Get him at all costs.” And the secretary was engaged with the directory when John Cumberland burst in. Barry could not speak. He merely pointed to the ring and letter--and went on walking up and down. “Good God!” John Cumberland’s voice shook emotionally. He was staring at the writing, pale-faced, incredulous. “It’s… from _her!_” Barry whispered. “She’s alive! She’s alive!” “Come down to the library, my boy,” said his father, regaining his own self-control in presence of the distracted Barry. “Wallis Budge can help us here. I fear my knowledge is not sufficient.” As they left the room: “Dr. Rittenburg has gone out,” the secretary reported, “but they have given me a number where they think I can find him.”