The smell of spices became more pronounced than ever, and for a moment the cloud of dust that came from them, as their fragments rolled out of the cabinet on to the table, prevented the spectators, who, all but Dorothy, were crowding up to the case, from seeing what it contained. Presently, however, a large whitish bundle became visible. Jeremy put in his hand, pulled it out, and laid it on the top of the box. It was heavy. But when he had done this he did not seem inclined to go any further in the matter. The bundle had, he considered, an uncanny look. At that moment an interruption took place, for Florence Ceswick entered through the open door. She had come up to see Dorothy, and was astonished to find such a gathering. “Why, what is it all about?” she asked. Somebody told her in as few words as possible, for everybody’s attention was concentrated on the bundle, which nobody seemed inclined to touch. “Well, why don’t you open it?” asked Florence. “I think that they are all afraid,” said Mr. Cardus, with a laugh. He was watching the various expressions on the faces with an amused air. “Well, I am not afraid, at any rate,” said Florence. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, the Gorgon’s head is about to be unveiled: look the other way, or you will all be turned to stone.” “This is getting delightfully ghastly,” said Eva to Ernest. “I know that it will be something horrid,” added Dorothy. Meanwhile Florence had drawn out a heavy pin of ancient make, with which the wrapping of the bundle was fastened, and begun to unwind a long piece of discoloured linen. At the very first turn another shower of spices fell out. As soon as these had been swept aside, Florence proceeded slowly with her task, and as she removed fold after fold of the linen, the bundle began to take shape and form, and the shape it took was that of a human head! Eva saw it, and drew closer to Ernest; Jeremy saw it, and felt inclined to bolt; Dorothy saw it, and knew that her presentiments as to the disagreeable nature of the contents of that unlucky case were coming true; Mr. Cardus saw it, and was more interested than ever. Only Florence and Hard-riding Atterleigh saw nothing. Another turn or two of the long winding-sheet, and it slipped suddenly away from whatever it enclosed. There was a moment’s dead silence as the company regarded the object thus left open to their gaze. Then one of the women gave a low cry of fear, and, actuated by some common impulse, they all turned and broke from the room in terror, and calling, “It is alive!” No, not all. Florence turned pale, but she stood there by the object, the winding-sheet in her hands; and old Atterleigh also remained staring at it, either paralysed or fascinated. It, too, seemed to stare at him from its point of vantage on the oak chest, in which it had rested for so many centuries.