Unknown by Braven

still provided illumination in
the room. Following Holmes's lead, I went towards the back
stairs. My friend carefully left the door ajar and we progressed up
the steps, making a bit more noise than necessary in doing so.
    Before we reached the
landing, Holmes had one of my arms in his steely grasp and his lips
were close to my ear.
    "Get your hand gun,
old fellow, and tiptoe back down this way. Position yourself by the
door and watch that box like a hawk. There's something in there,
Watson, something alive. I'll duck round by the front stairs to
the entrance door, which is not locked. When you spot it
opening, you'll know I'm in place and we'll have whatever is in
that Trojan horse bottled up."
    Like a dark shadow
Holmes was gone, and my heart was pounding as I made all speed to
secure the Webley from my bedroom and inch my way back down the
stairs to my station. Somehow the thought of a great Anaconda snake
slithering out of the strange box kept coming to my mind and I was in
a bit of a blue funk when I took position by the half-opened door and
peered into our sitting room.
    The box with its cover
was plainly visible in the dancing light of the fireplace. I reasoned
that the afghan was a device of Holmes's in case there was a
peephole through which a human eye could have observed us. The
thought of something human helped my nervous state until I began to
wonder what form of mankind could be secreted in such a small area.
    It was then I noted that
our front door was silently opening. Its well-oiled hinges made no
protest, for which I was grateful, and then its movement ceased. Now
for the waiting.
    Whatever had entered our
quarters in such an outr é manner must
have been patient, for at least a half hour went by and my bones were
aching, desirous of a change of position, which I was able to effect
silently several times. Then there was a stir, and the afghan began
to rise and then slide down, revealing the golden box. The entire top
was rising, and I immediately realized that the bolts had been to
create an illusion and that the top was actually secured from the
inside. There was a lengthy pause, and then I could dimly discern two
small, dark hands that lifted the top of the box. A figure rose from
the interior and gently placed the lid on the floor. It was with
difficulty that I suppressed an exclamation.
    The black hair of this
almost doll-like figure hung in two braids down the back of an
oversized head that seemed wizened and not young at all as its size
at first had suggested. He hopped out of the golden box agilely,
landing silently with bare feet on our carpet. A flicker of the
firelight revealed broad lips that were skinned back exposing
small teeth, filed to a point. There was such an evil menace about
the face that I shuddered. It looked like a coconut shell with
features painted on it in the manner of primitive art among the
aborigines of the South Pacific. But the filed teeth were shockingly
real and lent a death's-head quality to this bizarre apparition. A
loincloth and a child's-size rough shirt was its costume.
    Standing on the floor,
it seemed no more than four feet in height. Small eyes, which were
flicked with yellow, searched the room, and I was careful to remain
frozen at my vantage point. Finally the figure moved, or rather
glided with the grace of a wild animal, and I was reminded of the
quick but fluid motion of a weasel. The creature gave scant attention
to the furnishings, once convinced that the room was empty, but
surprised me by crossing to the bay window and, after some effort,
succeeded in opening it. I could not fathom what this strange form of
humanity was up to and was further bemused when it returned to the
center of the room, peering at the bookshelf with a nervous glance.
Then it clambered onto the chair to survey the desk top and evidently
found the object of its search. The ornamental dagger that Cruthers
had brought with him was plainly visible, and a tiny hand scooped it
up. I thought