“My dear fellow!” cried Coram, somewhat irritably, “what do you mean when you say that he made a hard fight? There could not possibly have been any one else in these rooms last night!” “Excuse me, sir!” said the inspector, “but there certainly was something going on here. Have you seen the glass case in the next room?” “Glass case?” muttered Coram, running his hand distractedly through his thick black hair. “No; what of a glass case?” “In here, sir,” explained the inspector, leading the way into the adjoining apartment. At his words, we all followed, and found that he referred to the glass front of a wall case containing statuettes and images of Egyptian deities. The centre pane of this was smashed into fragments, the broken glass strewing the floor and the shelves inside the case. “That looks like a struggle, sir, doesn’t it?” said the inspector. “Heaven help us! What does it mean?” groaned poor Coram. “Who could possibly have gained access to the building in the night, or, having done so, have quitted it again, when all the doors remained locked?” “That we must try and find out!” replied the inspector. “Meanwhile, here are his keys. They lay on the floor in a corner of the Greek Room.” Coram took them, mechanically. “Beale,” he said to the commissionaire, “see if any of the cases are unlocked.” The man proceeded to go around the rooms. He had progressed no farther than the Greek Room when he made a discovery. “Here’s the top of this unfastened, sir!” he suddenly cried, excitedly. We hurriedly joined him, to find that he stood before a marble pedestal surmounted by a thick glass case containing what Coram had frequently assured me was the gem of the collection--the Athenean Harp. It was alleged to be of very ancient Greek workmanship, and was constructed of fine gold inlaid with jewels. It represented two reclining female figures, their arms thrown above their heads, their hands meeting; and the strings, several of which were still intact, were of incredibly fine gold wire. The instrument was said to have belonged to a Temple of Pallas in an extremely remote age, and at the time it was brought to light much controversy had waged concerning its claims to authenticity, several connoisseurs proclaiming it the work of a famous goldsmith of mediæval Florence, and nothing but a clever forgery. However, Greek or Florentine, amazingly ancient or comparatively modern, it was a beautiful piece of workmanship and of very great intrinsic value, apart from its artistic worth and unique character. “I thought so!” said the plain-clothes man. “A clever museum thief!” Coram sighed wearily. “My good fellow,” he replied, “can you explain, by any earthly hypothesis, how a man could get into these apartments and leave them again during the night?” “Regarding that, sir,” remarked the detective, “there are a few questions I should like to ask you. In the first place, at what time does the Museum close?” “At six o’clock in the summer.”