eyes.
Then he fell. He had fainted.
Mac carried him to a divan in the drawing room. They found out a little about him from the things he had on him.
His name was George Snead. He was Washington manager for a big rug and carpet company, dealing largely in imports from the Orient. His home address was a club, which proved that he was a bachelor.
These things, Snead’s possessions told for him. The man, himself, told nothing. He continued to lie in a coma on the divan.
There was a new man taking Casey’s place at the museum that night.
He was younger than Casey, and had never been a cop. But he was a good man, nevertheless. He was burly, broad-shouldered, experienced as a night watchman and had plenty of courage. That went without saying. It took courage to take over the post of a man murdered on that post.
The man was unaware of Casey’s aversion to the Egyptian room. He knew nothing of the nature of the murder. Casey had been killed in the main museum rotunda, a long way from the Egyptian wing.
Therefore, when the new man came to the Egyptian room, and felt a chill go down his backbone, that could not be laid to imagination springing out of what had happened to Casey. It was something inherent in the place itself; in the very air.
The new watchman looked around, standing on the threshold of the great chamber. He looked at the cold, cruel faces of the great statues soaring up near the gloomy stone ceiling. As impersonal as the stars, staring straight ahead. He shivered a little.
He looked around at the tiers of mummy cases, each with its withered kernel that had been a man. He gazed at the great stone sarcophagi from which the cases had been taken.
And the new man suddenly didn’t like his job at all. But he had a wife and kids and needed the dough.
He went through the doorway, and became aware that there was a sort of second doorway.
More than statues had been brought here. Four huge pillars had also come from the Upper Nile. Temple pillars, from a massive entrance. Over the pillars, solid, immense slabs, also from the temple, were laid to form a lintel.
The watchman went under the stone slabs as fast as possible. Pillars and lintel had just been assembled like kids’ blocks, with finely cut stones piled on each other without cement. The surfaces were so close-fitting that cement wasn’t needed; nevertheless, the man got the panicky feeling that maybe those tons of rock would fall on him if he were not careful.
He literally jumped under the slabs, twenty-five feet above his head, and hurried to the time-box in this room, to punch his watchman’s clock.
Casey had always traced his steps to pass the mummy of Taros’ son last, because the thing gave him the creeps. The new man didn’t know anything about an old duck named Taros, or that he had had a son, at all. So he passed the mummy case first, on his way to the box under the elbow of one of the statues.
That is, he started to pass the case. But when he got abreast of it, he stopped, and gulped.
There wasn’t anything in that case.
The cabinet was empty of either mummy case or mummy! Through the glass lid you could see only empty blackness.
The watchman hadn’t the faintest idea who would want to steal a mess of ancient bones wrapped in moldering linen bands. But he did know that the mummy was probably of great value. It had been stolen his first night on the job.
He leaped for the phone, to get the police. Then he stopped. It would mean the loss of his job, if he reported such a theft. First, he’d see if by any wild chance the mummy was still around.
He tore from room to room of the vast hulk of the museum. No mummy! He went at last to the great main door, unlocked it, and went out to the grounds. A mummy is neither small nor easy to handle. He might surprise whoever was making away with their grisly burden.
Behind him, in the gloom, the faithful replica of an old Egyptan temple came alive!
CHAPTER VIII
Temple Rites
In through the great
Then he fell. He had fainted.
Mac carried him to a divan in the drawing room. They found out a little about him from the things he had on him.
His name was George Snead. He was Washington manager for a big rug and carpet company, dealing largely in imports from the Orient. His home address was a club, which proved that he was a bachelor.
These things, Snead’s possessions told for him. The man, himself, told nothing. He continued to lie in a coma on the divan.
There was a new man taking Casey’s place at the museum that night.
He was younger than Casey, and had never been a cop. But he was a good man, nevertheless. He was burly, broad-shouldered, experienced as a night watchman and had plenty of courage. That went without saying. It took courage to take over the post of a man murdered on that post.
The man was unaware of Casey’s aversion to the Egyptian room. He knew nothing of the nature of the murder. Casey had been killed in the main museum rotunda, a long way from the Egyptian wing.
Therefore, when the new man came to the Egyptian room, and felt a chill go down his backbone, that could not be laid to imagination springing out of what had happened to Casey. It was something inherent in the place itself; in the very air.
The new watchman looked around, standing on the threshold of the great chamber. He looked at the cold, cruel faces of the great statues soaring up near the gloomy stone ceiling. As impersonal as the stars, staring straight ahead. He shivered a little.
He looked around at the tiers of mummy cases, each with its withered kernel that had been a man. He gazed at the great stone sarcophagi from which the cases had been taken.
And the new man suddenly didn’t like his job at all. But he had a wife and kids and needed the dough.
He went through the doorway, and became aware that there was a sort of second doorway.
More than statues had been brought here. Four huge pillars had also come from the Upper Nile. Temple pillars, from a massive entrance. Over the pillars, solid, immense slabs, also from the temple, were laid to form a lintel.
The watchman went under the stone slabs as fast as possible. Pillars and lintel had just been assembled like kids’ blocks, with finely cut stones piled on each other without cement. The surfaces were so close-fitting that cement wasn’t needed; nevertheless, the man got the panicky feeling that maybe those tons of rock would fall on him if he were not careful.
He literally jumped under the slabs, twenty-five feet above his head, and hurried to the time-box in this room, to punch his watchman’s clock.
Casey had always traced his steps to pass the mummy of Taros’ son last, because the thing gave him the creeps. The new man didn’t know anything about an old duck named Taros, or that he had had a son, at all. So he passed the mummy case first, on his way to the box under the elbow of one of the statues.
That is, he started to pass the case. But when he got abreast of it, he stopped, and gulped.
There wasn’t anything in that case.
The cabinet was empty of either mummy case or mummy! Through the glass lid you could see only empty blackness.
The watchman hadn’t the faintest idea who would want to steal a mess of ancient bones wrapped in moldering linen bands. But he did know that the mummy was probably of great value. It had been stolen his first night on the job.
He leaped for the phone, to get the police. Then he stopped. It would mean the loss of his job, if he reported such a theft. First, he’d see if by any wild chance the mummy was still around.
He tore from room to room of the vast hulk of the museum. No mummy! He went at last to the great main door, unlocked it, and went out to the grounds. A mummy is neither small nor easy to handle. He might surprise whoever was making away with their grisly burden.
Behind him, in the gloom, the faithful replica of an old Egyptan temple came alive!
CHAPTER VIII
Temple Rites
In through the great
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