I little suspected that I had actually witnessed the commencement of one of the most amazing mysteries which ever cried out for the presence of Moris Klaw. II Some few minutes subsequent to retiring--or so it seemed to me; a longer time actually had elapsed--I was aroused by the ringing of my telephone bell. I scrambled sleepily out of bed and ran to the instrument. Coram was the caller. And now, fully awake, I listened with an ever-growing wonder to his account of that which had prompted him to ring me up. Briefly, it amounted to this: some mysterious incident, particulars of which he omitted, had aroused Paxton from his sleep. Seeking the cause of the disturbance, the artist had unlocked the studio door and gone out into the garden. He was absent but a moment and never out of earshot of the door; yet, upon his return, _the statue of Nicris had vanished!_ “I have not hesitated to ’phone through to Wapping,” concluded Coram, “and get a special messenger sent to Moris Klaw. You see, the matter is urgent. If the statue cannot be recovered, its loss may spell ruin for Paxton. He had heard me speak of Moris Klaw and of the wonders he worked in the Greek Room mysteries, and, accordingly, called me up. I knew, if Klaw came, you would be anxious to be present.” “Certainly,” I replied, “I wouldn’t miss one of his inquiries for anything. Shall I meet you at Paxton’s?” “Yes.” I lost little time in dressing. From Coram’s brief account, the mystery appeared to be truly a dark one. Would Moris Klaw respond to this midnight appeal? There was little chance of a big fee, for Paxton was not a rich man; but in justice to the remarkable person whom it is my privilege to present to you in these papers, I must add that monetary considerations seemingly found no place in Klaw’s philosophy. He acted, I believe, from sheer love of the work; and this affair, with its bizarre details--the ancient girdle of the dancing girl--the fear of the model, who had declared that the statue moved--was such, I thought, as must appeal to him. Ten minutes later I was at Paxton’s house. He and Coram were in the hall, and Coram admitted me. “Do you mean,” he asked of Paxton, pursuing a conversation which my advent had interrupted, “that the statue melted into the empty air?” “The double doors opening on to the street were securely locked and barred; that of the garden was also locked; I was in the garden and not ten yards from the studio,” was Paxton’s reply. “Nevertheless, Nicris had vanished, leaving no trace behind!” Incredible though the story appeared, its confirmation was to be found in the speaker’s face. I was horrified to see how haggard he looked. “It will ruin me!” he said, and reiterated the statement again and again. “But, my dear fellow,” I cried, “surely you have not given up hope of recovering the statue? After all, such a robbery as this can scarcely have been perpetrated without leaving some clue behind.”