"Nothing but three incandescents over the desks," answered Simpkins.
"Use your lantern then, Tom; come on now, young feller, and show us
where this woman is," he said roughly, and he pushed Simpkins through
the door.
As the officers followed him, he fell back between them and linked
his arms through theirs. And silently they advanced on the altar, a
grotesque and rather unsteady trio, the bull's eyes on either side
flashing ahead into the darkness.
"The lamp's still burning," whispered Simpkins. They were far enough
into the hall now to see the glow from it in the corner. "Flash your
lights around those pillars, boys. There, over there!"
The bull's eyes jumped about searching her out. "There! now! Hold
still!" cried Simpkins as they focused on the chair.
The black mummy lay as he had left it, the cloth still on the face, but
the chair was empty. Straight to the veil the reporter ran, and pulled
the cord. Light broke from above, and beat down on an altar heaped with
dying roses and the statue of a woman, smiling. And at her feet there
crouched a great black cat, that arched its back and snarled at
Simpkins.
Beyond, the lights were still burning in Mrs. Athelstone's apartment,
but there was no one in the rooms. Some opened drawers in the bureau and
the absence of her toilet articles from the table told of preparations
for a hasty flight.
Pages:
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62