Mr. Jellicoe took his cigarette from his mouth and drank a glass of water.

“I forgot to ask,” he said, “whether you unrolled the mummy—­if I may apply the term to the imperfectly treated remains of my deceased client.”

“I did not open the mummy-case,” replied Thorndyke.

“You did not!” exclaimed Mr. Jellicoe.  “Then how did you verify your suspicions?”

“I took an X-ray photograph.”

“Ah!  Indeed!” Mr. Jellicoe pondered for some moments.  “Astonishing!” he murmured; “and most ingenious.  The resources of science at the present day are truly wonderful.”

“Is there anything more that you want to say?” asked Badger; “because, if you don’t, time’s up.”

“Anything more?” Mr. Jellicoe repeated slowly; “anything more?  No—­I—­think—­think—­the time—­is—­up.  Yes—­the—­the time—­”

He broke off and sat with a strange look fixed on Thorndyke.

His face had suddenly undergone a curious change.  It looked shrunken and cadaverous and his lips had assumed a peculiar cherry-red colour.

“Is anything the matter, Mr. Jellicoe?” Badger asked uneasily.  “Are you not feeling well, sir?”

Mr. Jellicoe did not appear to have heard the question, for he returned no answer, but sat motionless, leaning back in his chair, with his hands spread out on the table and his strangely intent gaze bent on Thorndyke.

Suddenly his head dropped on his breast and his body seemed to collapse; and as with one accord we sprang to our feet, he slid forward off his chair and disappeared under the table.

“Good Lord!  The man’s fainted!” exclaimed Badger.

In a moment he was down on his hands and knees, trembling with excitement, groping under the table.  He dragged the unconscious lawyer out into the light and knelt over him, staring into his face.

“What’s the matter with him, Doctor?” he asked, looking up at Thorndyke.  “Is it apoplexy?  Or is it a heart attack, think you?”

Thorndyke shook his head, though he stooped and put his fingers on the unconscious man’s wrist.  “Prussic acid or potassium cyanide is what the appearances suggest,” he replied.

“But can’t you do anything?” demanded the inspector.

Thorndyke dropped the arm, which fell limply to the floor.

“You can’t do much for a dead man,” he said.

“Dead!  Then he has slipped through our fingers after all!”

“He has anticipated the sentence.  That is all.”  Thorndyke spoke in an even, impassive tone which struck me as rather strange, considering the suddenness of the tragedy, as did also the complete absence of surprise in his manner.  He seemed to treat the occurrence as a perfectly natural one.

Not so Inspector Badger; who rose to his feet and stood with his hands thrust into his pockets scowling sullenly down at the dead lawyer.

“I was an infernal fool to agree to his blasted conditions,” he growled savagely.