“Why!” I cried, “of course it is! Do you mean, Brearley, that you are going to conduct your experiment _now?_” “Exactly,” was the calm reply; “and I have asked you all--Mr. Moris Klaw in particular--in order that it may take place in the presence of competent witnesses!” Moris Klaw shook his massive head and pulled at his scanty, toneless beard in a very significant manner. All of us were vaguely startled, I think, and through my mind the idea flashed that the first of April was a date pathetically appropriate for such an undertaking. Frankly, I was beginning to entertain serious doubts regarding Brearley’s sanity. “I have given the servants a holiday,” said the latter. “They are at a theatre in town; so there is no possibility of the experiment being interrupted.” Something of his enthusiasm, unnatural though it seemed, strangely enough began to communicate itself to me. “Come upstairs,” he continued, “and I will explain what we all have to do.” Moris Klaw squirted verbena upon his brow. II “Doctor Fairbank!” Fairbank, startled by the touch on his arm, stopped. It was Ailsa Brearley who had dropped behind her brother and now stood confronting us. In the dense shadows of the corridor one could barely distinguish her figure, but a stray beam of light touched one side of her pure oval face and burnished her fair hair. She wanted help, guidance. I had read it in her eyes before. I was sorry that her sweet lips should have that pathetic little droop. “Doctor Fairbank! I have wanted to ask you all night--do you think he----” She could not speak the words, and stood biting her lips, with eyes averted. “Miss Brearley,” he replied, “I do, certainly, fear that your brother is liable to a nervous breakdown at any moment. He has applied his mind too closely to this inquiry, and has studiously surrounded himself with a morbid atmosphere.” Ailsa Brearley was now watching him, anxiously. “Should we allow him to go on with it?” “I fear any attempt to prevent him would prove most detrimental, in his present condition.” “But----” There was clearly something else which she wanted to say. “But, apart from that”--she suddenly turned to Moris Klaw, instinctively it almost seemed--“Mr. Klaw--is this--ceremony _right?_” He peered at her through his pince-nez. “In what way, my dear Miss Brearley--how right?” “Well--what I mean is--it amounts to idolatry, does it not?” I started. It was a point of view which had not, hitherto, occurred to me. “You probably understand the nature of the thing better than we do, Miss Brearley,” said Fairbank. “Do you mean that it involves worship of Isis?”