"Five pieces of gold, Uromi. Do you covet them?" "I would not cross the threshold of that room for ten times five." "You have a chicken's heart, Uromi." "And you a miser's gizzard." The Arab uttered a sardonic laugh. "Get to your woman's work!" he sneered. "And clear those things away! You had better tell Natamkin to serve the lady in her room!" "And you--oh, great Lord!" growled the Nubian, with elephantine sarcasm. The Arab, however, did not trouble himself to answer. With a mien of princely dignity he stalked in silence to the door and vanished. I said to myself, "There, without doubt, goes the man who, in the nick of time, released me from my bonds. He is my friend." The reflection gave me substantial satisfaction, for much against my will I had hitherto been compelled to ascribe my salvation to a supernatural agency. But now all was changed. Without doubt the Arab had been secretly watching over me, and when the time came he turned out the lights, rushed into the laboratory and unfastened my straps. Afterwards, he had adroitly managed to escape before Belleville could turn on the lights again. No doubt, too, this Arab was the man of my dream, who had bargained with me to kill Belleville when I got free, to destroy the mummy of Ptahmes, the Priest of Amen-Ra--and his papyri and steles. Why he should have driven such a bargain I could not fathom. And why, moreover, he should have taken the trouble to impersonate the mummy and pretend he could not speak, I was also at a loss to understand. Suddenly I remembered that the animated mummy of my dream had conversed with me in the tongue of Ancient Egypt per medium of a slate and had seemed not to understand modern Arabic. Also, his left hand had been removed--and this Arab enjoyed the undiminished use of his. My head whirled at the contemplation of these essential contradictions. Were they one and the same man or not? Was it possible that Belleville's Arab servant could be a professor of the language of Sesostris? And I recollected, too, how closely I had scrutinised the ghostly mummy's face and realised its utter deadness. The mystery, after all, was not to be as easily solved as my first warm flush of fancy had conceived. Realising this, I put it out of mind and arose to address myself to the practical affair that lay before me. The Nubian was in the act of quitting the room, laden with a heavy tray of dishes. I followed him out into the corridor and leisurely made back to the laboratory. I met nobody en route, but once inside the blind passage, which opened on my old prison chamber, I became aware that something had gone wrong. The air was heavy with the mysterious scent of the sarcophagus. Moreover, the door of the laboratory which I had been careful to shut close was now ajar. Instinctively, I slipped the key I had just used on the outer door, into my mouth and hurried softly up the passage. There a bewildering surprise awaited me. The laboratory