His face was tense; his eyes glossed with the splendour of the thought. So the eyes of Christopher Columbus might have burnt as he sighted, through the spray, the low, grey cloud of land upon his bow. “All this story of mechanical devices,” Talham went on rapidly. “These rivers of quicksilver which run for ever by some complexity of machinery--it is all true. There may be little or no treasure; but that device lies hidden as surely as the bones of the architects are upon the floor of the chasm.” He rose, and paced the room with short, quick, nervous steps. “But suppose when you opened the tomb you found nothing?” asked Tillizinni. “Suppose the device was non-existent and the quicksilver rivers had disappeared, and there was nothing but the store of treasure?” Talham thought for a while. “I should take the treasure,” he said impressively, “and afterwards I should close the tomb reverently and come away.” Tillizinni laughed. It was a long, rich, chuckling laugh of pure enjoyment, which not even the reproachful eye of the other could suppress. “I like you,” said Tillizinni; “and if I do not consider it my duty to hamper you, I shall find a pleasure in helping you in your search.” Ten minutes later, the two men were dozing in their chairs, proof enough of the ease which comes with friendship. It was not until ten o’clock, with the bright, winter’s sunlight flooding the room, that Tillizinni awoke with a sense of refreshment. The big lamp upon the table still burnt, and he extinguished it. His eyes fell upon Talham still fast asleep. His legs outstretched, his hands thrust into trouser pockets, and his chin on his breast. Tillizinni moved across the room noiselessly, and looked out into the terrace below. There were two tradesmen’s carts delivering goods at a neighbouring club. He closed the French windows of the room and returned to Talham, and dropped his hand upon the other’s shoulder. Talham was awake instantly. “Anything wrong?” he asked, as he saw the other’s face. Tillizinni shook his head. “That we are both alive is evidence that nothing is wrong,” he said. “Look at the mantelpiece!” Talham raised his eyes. On the shelf above the fireplace, between two Tanagra statuettes, was a small, square, black box, as large as a small tea-caddy, and not unlike one in its appearance. Dependent from the case, hung a length of fuse some eight inches long, and the end was burnt black. “Ashes in the fireplace--obviously fuse,” said Tillizinni, kneeling down. “What made it stop burning, I wonder?” He examined the little rope minutely, using a reading-glass. “That’s blood!” He pointed with his finger to a stain near the burnt end. “The man who placed this here had blood on his hands--probably cut himself in making the entrance. Now, where?”