220 
THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 
“ Well, I must make the best of a bad job/’ 
he exclaimed, with well - simulated cheerful- 
ness. “ But I must have a talk with you, 
doctor, before you go. I think you have made 
a mistake. Come, now, haven’t you ? ” 
Dr. Howe shook his head. 
Tm sorry, Mr. Hartway, but you 
demanded a veracious report, and I have 
given it/’ 
“ But it’s only your opinion,” said Hartway. 
“ Naturally. It is only my opinion.” 
Hartway laid the hammer and chisel on the 
table. lie noticed out of the corner of his 
eye that the other financiers were watching 
him closely. He could have hugged himself 
to see his plans working out so successfully. 
He knew what to expect later that night — 
casual inquiries about telegraph offices being 
open, or the sight of all his party in the 
smoking saloon writing instructions to their 
various agents, based on the fact of his early 
decease. Truly, Dr. Howe had played his 
part well. 
He picked up the jar. 
11 The unpleasant little bit of news we have 
received need not deter us from opening 
this,” he said, looking at the American 
millionaire. “ After I have opened it I shall 
do my best — and I hope we all shall — to 
forget Dr. Howe’s words.” 
“ Quite so,” said Vornheim, gruffly. 
<k I guess the doctor’s exaggerating,” 
observed the American, although his ex- 
pression of grim satisfaction did not bear out 
his remark. 
u Will you assist, Professor Madison ? ” 
asked Hart way. “ Do I strike here w ; th 
the chisel ? Ah, yes, thanks, I see — -just 
at the edge of the seal. It’s a pity to destroy 
that fine impression of the royal cobra.” 
He brought the hammer down smartly 
on the chisel, and the seal crumbled under the 
blow. Vornheim and Sherman leaned for- 
ward eagerly, but Spyer was too wrapped 
up in his calculations to take any interest 
in the opening of the jar. 
A moment later the chisel broke up the 
stopping in the mouth of the jar and Hartway 
laid down his tools. 
“ There ! ” he exclaimed. “ The jar is 
opened and nothing has happened.” 
He picked it up and inverted it. A little 
dust came out of the mouth, and fell in a heap 
on the tablecloth. 
“ Nothing inside it,” said Hartway. 
The others clustered round the jar, and 
poked at the dust with dessert knives. Hart- 
way took the opportunity of going round to 
Dr. Howe. 
“ Thanks,” he said, in a whisper. “ You’ve 
done it magnificently. They are all sure 
I’m going to die. If you’ll allow me, I’d like 
to add to that cheque before you go.” 
“It is already more than enough for my 
services,” said ilowe. “ I could not think 
of taking more.” 
Hartway nodded and winked and turned 
away. 
“ Now, Professor Madison, you see what 
your superstitions are worth ! ” he cried. 
“ The jar is open and I’m still alive. Plow 
do you account for that ? ” 
The old Egyptologist shrugged his shoulders 
and said nothing. 
“ Only a little dust inside it,” said Vorn- 
heim, disappointedly. “ I thought there 
would be a snake at least, or an evil genius 
that would come out in a cloud of smoke.” 
Hartway laughed shortly and patted him 
on the back. 
“ Poor Vornheim ! He thought I was going 
to drop down dead.” 
He returned to the table and picked up the 
jar again. 
“ Professor Madison must have read the 
inscription incorrectly,” he said, “ or else 
those old priests worked out the incantation 
in the wrong way. Now, doctor, you must 
have a little port before you go. And try 
a cigar.” 
Hartway reached across for the decanter. 
‘ I must take some too,” he added. “ That 
news of the doctor’s about my prospects of 
life makes it pardonable for a man to fly to 
a little stimulant. What do you think, 
Sherman ? ” 
“ You must not believe him,” he said, 
comfortably. “ You should never believe bad 
news till you have to.” 
“Not until I have to ! That will be a long 
time ” 
Hartway stopped suddenly, and caught at 
the edge of the table. His body was swaying 
slightly. They all started forward, but before 
they reached him he fell at full length 
on the carpet. They ran confusedly to him, 
and Dr. Howe tore off his collar and passed 
his hand under his shirt-front. The others 
stood in an anxious circle round him. 
A minute of silence passed. 
“ He’s dead 1 ” said Howe, at last. 
“ Dead ? ” 
“ Yes.” There was a long silence. The 
doctor rose and looked at the alabaster jar. 
“ Curious,” he said, quietly, “but it’s one of 
those things that we cannot definitely connect 
with the supernatural. You see, he was 
suffering from aneurism, and didn’t know it.” 
