That, then, is all which I have occasion to relate regarding the first of these mysterious outrages. I was quite unable to propound any theory covering the facts, to Pettigrew’s evident annoyance; he assured me that I was very stupid, and insisted upon opening a magnum of champagne. I then returned to my rooms, and since reflection upon the subject promised to be unprofitable, had dismissed it from my mind, when some time during the evening Inspector Grimsby rang me up from the Yard. “Hullo, Mr. Searles,” he said; “I hear you called on Mr. Pettigrew this morning?” I replied in the affirmative. “Did anything strike you?” “No; were you on the case?” “I wasn’t on the case then, but I’m on it now.” “How’s that?” “Well, there’s been another mummy beheaded in Sotheby’s auction rooms!” II I knew quite well what was expected of me. “Where are you speaking from?” I asked. “The auction rooms.” “I will meet you there in an hour,” I said, “and bring Moris Klaw if I can find him.” “Good,” replied Grimsby, with much satisfaction in his voice; “this case ought to be right in his line.” I chartered a taxi and proceeded without delay to the insalubrious neighbourhood of Wapping Old Stairs. At the head of the blind alley which harbours the Klaw emporium I directed the man to wait. The gloom was very feebly dispelled by a wavering gaslight in the shed-like front of the shop. River noises were about me. Somewhere a drunken man was singing. An old lady who looked like a pantomime dame was critically examining a mahogany chair with only half a back, which formed one of the exhibits displayed before the establishment. A dilapidated person whose nose chronically blushed for the excesses of its owner hovered about the prospective purchaser. This was William, whose exact position in the Klaw establishment I had never learned, but who apparently acted during his intervals of sobriety as a salesman. “Good evening,” I said. “Is Mr. Moris Klaw at home?” “He is, sir,” husked the derelict; “but he’s very busy, sir, I believe, sir.” “Tell him Mr. Searles has called.” “Yes, sir,” said William; and, turning to the dame: “Was you thinking of buyin’ that chair, mum, after you’ve quite done muckin’ it about?” He retired into the cavernous depths of the shop, and I followed him as far as the dimly seen counter. “Moris Klaw, Moris Klaw! The devil’s come for you!” Thus the invisible parrot hailed my entrance. Indescribable smells, zoo-like, with the fusty odour of old books and the unclassifiable perfume of half-rotten furniture, assailed my nostrils; and mingling with it was the distinct scent of reptile life. Scufflings and scratchings sounded continuously about me, punctuated with squeals. Then came the rumbling voice of Moris Klaw. “Ah, Mr. Searles--good evening, Mr. Searles! It is the Pettigrew mummy, is it not?”