"Don't be a fool," she retorted stormily; "what aroused you? Did you hear me call?" I was confounded. "Very good," I said, "I admit the hands at least, for the nonce, for truly I was half strangled. But what do you infer?" "Can human creatures make themselves invisible at will?" "My good Miss Ottley, no. But they can run away." "Do you want to see the shadow's face?" "Yes." "Then look on the lid of the sarcophagus and see its portrait in a gentle mood." "Ptahmes!" I cried. "Ay, Ptahmes," she said slowly. "We are haunted by his spirit." I sat down on the edge of the sarcophagus and lit a cigarette. "I am quite at a present loss to explain my throttling," I observed, "but that is the only mystery. I reject your shadow with the contempt that it deserves. What you saw was some wandering Arab who hopped in here without troubling to tread through the dust in the doorway and who departed in the same fashion. Pish! There, too, is the mystery of my throttling solved." "Perhaps," said she, "indeed I hope so." She was still trembling in spasms. "Are you minded for the experiment?" I asked. "What is it?" "I wish to drive this foolish fancy from your mind." I took out my revolver and showed it to her. "Spirits are said to love the dark best. Let us put out the lamp. It's their element. How, then, can we better tempt old Ptahmes from his tomb?" I wound up with a laugh. "I can promise him a warm reception." Miss Ottley shivered and grew if possible paler than before. But her pride was equal to the challenge. "Very well," she said. I drew up a stool near hers, put out the lamp and sat down. When my cigarette had burned out the darkness was blacker than the blackest ebony. "An idea runs in my head that spirits respond most surely to silent wooers," I murmured. "But I have no experience. Have you?" "N-no," said Miss Ottley. The poor girl was shivering with fear and too proud to admit it. I sought about for a pretext to comfort her and found one presently. "Don't they join hands at a séance?" I inquired. "I--I--t-think so," said Miss Ottley. "Well, then." Our hands encountered. Hers was pitifully cold. I enclosed it firmly in my left and held it on my knee. She sighed but ever so softly, trying to prevent my hearing it. Thereafter we were silent for very long, listening to the sick man's quiet breathing. No other sound was to be heard. But soon Miss Ottley's hand grew warm, and the fingers twined around mine. It felt a nice good little hand. It was very small, yet firm and silken-smooth, and it possessed a strange electric quality. It made mine tingle--a distinctly pleasurable sensation. I fell into a dreamy mood and I think I must have indulged in forty winks, when all of a sudden Miss Ottley's hand aroused me. Her fingers were gripping mine with the force of a vice. She was breathing hard. "What is it?" I whispered. "There is some--presence in the room," she gasped. "Don't you feel it?" [Illustration: The Living Mummy