The Black Box. E. Phillips Oppenheim

which crouched still huddled up in its corner, its eyes half-closed, rolling a little from side to side.

      “Look at me,” he ordered.

      The creature obeyed. Once more its frame seemed to grow more virile and natural.

      “You need sleep no longer,” Quest said. “Wake up and be yourself.”

      The effect of his words was instantaneous. Almost as he spoke, the creature crouched for a spring. There was wild hatred in its close-set eyes, the snarl of something fiend-like in its contorted mouth. Quest slipped quickly through the door.

      “Any one may have that for a pet!” he remarked grimly. “Come, Lenora, there’s a word or two to be said to the Professor. There’s something here will need a little explanation.”

      He lit a cigar as they struggled back along the path. Presently they reached the untidy-looking avenue, and a few minutes later arrived at the house. Quest looked around him in something like bewilderment.

      “Say, fancy keeping a big place like this, all overgrown and like a wilderness!” he exclaimed. “If the Professor can’t afford a few gardeners, why doesn’t he take a comfortable flat down town.”

      “I think it’s a horrible place,” Lenora agreed. “I hope I never come here again.”

      “Pretty well obsessed, these scientific men get,” Quest muttered. “I suppose this is the front door.”

      They passed under the portico and knocked. There was no reply. Quest searched in vain for a bell. They walked round the piazza. There were no signs of any human life. The windows were curtainless and displayed vistas of rooms practically devoid of furniture. They came back to the front door. Quest tried the handle and found it open. They passed into the hall.

      “Hospitable sort of place, any way,” he remarked. “We’ll go in and wait, Lenora.”

      They found their way to the study, which seemed to be the only habitable room. Lenora glanced around at its strange contents with an expression almost of awe.

      “Fancy a man living in a muddle like this!” she exclaimed. “Not a picture, scarcely a carpet, uncomfortable chairs—nothing but bones and skeletons and mummies and dried-up animals. A man with tastes like this, Mr. Quest, must have a very different outlook upon life from ordinary human beings.”

      Quest nodded.

      “He generally has,” he admitted. “Here comes our host, any way.”

      A small motor-car passed the window, driven by Craig. The Professor descended. A moment or two later he entered the room. He gazed from Quest to Lenora at first in blank surprise. Then he held out his hands.

      “You have good news for me, my friends!” he exclaimed. “I am sure of it. How unfortunate that I was not at home to receive you! Tell me—don’t keep me in suspense, if you please—you have discovered my skeleton?”

      “We have found the skeleton,” Quest announced.

      For a single moment the new-comer stood as though turned to stone. There was a silence which was not without its curious dramatic significance. Then a light broke across the Professor’s face. He gave a great gulp of relief.

      “My skeleton!” he murmured. “Mr. Quest, I knew it. You are the greatest man alive. Now tell me quickly—I want to know everything, but this first of all.—Where did you find the skeleton? Who was the thief?”

      “We found the skeleton, Professor,” Quest replied, “within a hundred yards of this house.”

      The Professor’s mouth was wide open. He looked like a bewildered child. It was several seconds before he spoke.

      “Within a hundred yards of this house? Then it wasn’t stolen by one of my rivals?”

      “I should say not,” Quest admitted.

      “Where? Where exactly did you find it?” the other insisted.

      Quest was standing very still, his manner more reserved even than usual, his eyes studying the Professor, weighing every spoken word.

      “I found it in a hut,” he said, “hidden in a piano box. I found there, also, a creature—a human being, I must call him—in a state of captivity.”

      “Hidden in a piano box?” the Professor repeated wonderingly. “Why, you mean in Hartoo’s sleeping box, then?”

      “If Mr. Hartoo is the gentleman who tried to club me, you are right,” Quest admitted. “Mr. Ashleigh, before we go any further I must ask you for an explanation as to the presence of that person in your grounds!”

      The Professor hesitated for a moment. Then he slowly crossed the room, opened the drawer of a small escritoire, and drew out a letter.

      “You have heard of Sir William Raysmore, the President of the Royal Society?” he asked.

      Quest nodded.

      “This letter is from him,” the Professor continued. “You had better read it.”

      The criminologist read it aloud. Lenora looked over his shoulder:—

      “To Professor Edgar Ashleigh, New York.

      “My dear Professor,

      “Your communication gratifies and amazes me. I can say no more. It fell to your lot to discover the skeleton of the anthropoid, a marvellous thing, in its way, and needing only its corollary to form the greatest discovery since the dark ages. Now you tell me that in the person of Hartoo, the last of the Inyamo Race of South America, you have found that corollary. You have supplied the missing link. You are in a position to give to the world a definite and logical explanation of the evolution of man. Let me give you one word of warning, Professor, before I write you at greater length on this matter. Anthropologists are afflicted more, even, than any other race of scientific men, with jealousy. Guard your secret well, lest the honour of this discovery should be stolen from you.

      “William Raysmore.”