I had never before penetrated thus far into the habitable portion of Moris Klaw’s establishment; the book-lined office hitherto had marked the limit of my explorations. But now, as more electric lights were switched on, I saw that we stood upon a wide landing panelled in massive black oak. Armoured figures stood sentinel-like against the walls, and several magnificent specimens of Chinese porcelain met my gaze. I might have thought myself in some old English baronial hall. Next we entered a big, rectangular room, which I wholly despair of describing. Apparently it was used as a study, a library, a laboratory, and a warehouse for all sorts of things, from marble Buddhas to innumerable pairs of boots. Also, there was in it a French stove; and upon a Persian coffee table stood a frying pan containing a cooked sausage solidified in its own fat. There was clear evidence, moreover, in the form of a rolled-up hammock, that the place served as a bedroom. Altogether there were four mummies in the apartment. One of these, partly unwrapped, lay amongst the litter on the floor--headless! “Mon Dieu!” cried Isis, clasping her hands; “it is uncanny, this!” She was evidently excited, for her French accent suddenly asserted itself to a marked degree. Moris Klaw, from somewhere amongst the rubbish at his feet, picked up the severed head of the mummy and stared at it intently. In the stillness I could hear the river noises very distinctly, and a sort of subterranean lapping and creaking which suggested that at high tide the cellars of the establishment became flooded. Moris Klaw dropped the head from his hands. It fell with a dull thud to the floor. From the lining of his hat he took out the inevitable scent spray and moistened his brow with verbena. “I need the cool brain, Mr. Searles,” he said. “I, the old cunning, the fox, the wily, am threatened with defeat. This slaughter of mummies it surpasses my experience. I am nonplussed; I am a stupid old fool. Let me think!” Isis was looking about her in a startled way. “It is horribly uncanny, Miss Klaw,” I said. “But the drugging of the man downstairs points to very human agency. Perhaps if we could revive him----” “He will not revive,” interrupted Moris Klaw, “for twelve hours at least. In his beer was enough opium to render unconscious the rhinoceros!” “Is there anything missing?” I asked. “Nothing,” rumbled Klaw. “He came for the mummy. Isis, will you prepare for us those cooling drinks that help the fevered mind, and from downstairs bring me the seventh volume of the ‘Books of the Temples.’” Isis Klaw immediately walked forward to the door. “And Isis, my child,” added her father, “remove the tall cage to the top end of the shop. Presently that William’s snores will awake the Borneo squirrel.”