Andrew hesitated, feeling the lips of a velvet trap close slowly upon them both in the narrow darkness. Then he made up his mind. Better face Cæsar in his study than chance what might be in the upper corridor. His mind stuck on the thought that the house had orders not to disturb the Doctor when he wished quiet and that there was deadening in the walls of the high-ceiled chamber. His hand slid to the butt of his pistol--he had never killed a man--what was it like when you killed a man? He saw Cæsar sprawled in front of the fire with blood on his neck--a little flame stole out shyly from a log and licked at the yellow turban. He shivered. Fool, he was wasting time. "We'll risk it," he said hoarsely, and went sneaking down the stairs again. At their foot, he paused. The Minorcan girl was on the step behind him--he could hear the flutter of her breath. Beyond, in the study, was another sound--Dr. Gentian's voice, plainer now. At first Andrew thought some one else must have come into the room--the Doctor's tones were the tones of a man talking intimately to a familiar friend. He put his eye to a crack in the door. He could see little, but no other form than the Doctor's crossed the range of his vision. Then he realized that though the Doctor's voice questioned and affirmed and at times even pleaded, as if the friend he addressed were a superior in rank, there was never any reply. The voice went on and on. "I saw Baron Funck in London," it said. "He took me into a room full of silver candlesticks and swore he would show me a secret, but the only secret he showed me was a juggler's trick. Then there was Hauptzehn in Dresden--he had Lully's book but he did not have the key. The Rose-Cross is nothing--they pretend to make diamonds but they do not know the writing on the wall of the tabernacle or the tears of the Golden King. In India I have seen the man climb the rope and the flower rise from the dust and go back again--I have seen the basket thrust through with swords--but I wish more than that. Am I not an Initiate? Have I not heard the goat cry in the dark and scattered the herb in the fire? I cannot seek elsewhere again--I have grown too old." The voice had a note of chant, now. "There is something buried at the roots of the mountains--why can I not put my hand on it? Bacon had the knowledge they say--am I so much less wise? I will not fool myself with crystals and black wafers--these things are folly, but there is something left--something beyond the speculum--behind the glass. I will give my soul for it, I tell you--I will give my soul for it." Now the tones were those of a merchant driving a canny bargain. "I can give you a thousand souls. You are foolish not to bargain with me. Come out of the fire, Baphomet--Baphomet--Baphomet--" the voice reached a shriek of supplication, "Come out of the fire, Baphomet, and buy my souls!"