Caption: A large-framed man, with snow-white hair cut close to his skull, French fashion. THE DREAM DETECTIVE By SAX ROHMER McKINLAY, STONE & MACKENZIE NEW YORK [COPYRIGHT] COPYRIGHT, 1925, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED CONTENTS FIRST EPISODE Case of the Tragedies in the Greek Room SECOND EPISODE Case of the Potsherd of Anubis THIRD EPISODE Case of the Crusader’s Ax FOURTH EPISODE Case of the Ivory Statue FIFTH EPISODE Case of the Blue Rajah SIXTH EPISODE Case of the Whispering Poplars SEVENTH EPISODE Case of the Chord in G EIGHTH EPISODE Case of the Headless Mummies NINTH EPISODE Case of the Haunting of Grange TENTH EPISODE Case of the Veil of Isis THE DREAM DETECTIVE FIRST EPISODE. CASE OF THE TRAGEDIES IN THE GREEK ROOM I When did Moris Klaw first appear in London? It is a question which I am asked sometimes and to which I reply, “To the best of my knowledge, shortly before the commencement of the strange happenings at the Menzies Museum.” What I know of him I have gathered from various sources; and in these papers, which represent an attempt to justify the methods of one frequently accused of being an insane theorist, I propose to recount all the facts which have come to my knowledge. In some few of the cases I was personally though slightly concerned; but regard me merely as the historian and on no account as the principal or even minor character in the story. My friendship with Martin Coram led, then, to my first meeting with Moris Klaw--a meeting which resulted in my becoming his biographer, inadequate though my information unfortunately remains. It was some three months after the appointment of Coram to the curatorship of the Menzies Museum that the first of a series of singular occurrences took place there. This occurrence befell one night in August, and the matter was brought to my ears by Coram himself on the following morning. I had, in fact, just taken my seat at the breakfast table, when he walked in unexpectedly and sank into an armchair. His dark, clean-shaven face looked more gaunt than usual and I saw, as he lighted the cigarette which I proffered, that his hand shook nervously. “There’s trouble at the Museum!” he said, abruptly. “I want you to run around.” I looked at him for a moment without replying, and, knowing the responsibility of his position, feared that he referred to a theft from the collection. “Something gone?” I asked. “No; worse!” was his reply. “What do you mean, Coram?” He threw the cigarette, unsmoked, into the hearth. “You know Conway?” he said; “Conway, the night attendant? Well--he’s dead!” I stood up from the table, my breakfast forgotten, and stared incredulously. “Do you mean that he died in the night?” I inquired. “Yes. Done for, poor devil!” “What! murdered?” “Without a doubt, Searles! He’s had his neck broken!”