“Hold steady!” said the Inspector, standing at his elbow.

The dull metallic sound of hammer blows on steel echoed queerly around the well of the staircase.  Brisley and Gunn, standing very close together on the bottom step of the stair to the third floor, watched the police furtively.  Irvin and Gray found a common fascination in the door itself, and Seton, cheroot in mouth, looked from group to group with quiet interest.

“Right!” cried the Sergeant.

The blows ceased.

Firmly grasping the bar, Burton brought all his weight to bear upon it.  There was a dull, cracking sound and a sort of rasping.  The door moved slightly.

“There’s where it locks!” said the Inspector, directing the light of a lantern upon the crevice created.  “Three inches lower.  But it may be bolted as well.”

“We’ll soon get at the bolts,” replied Burton, the lust of destruction now strong upon him.

Wrenching the crowbar from its place he attacked the lower panel of the door, and amid a loud splintering and crashing created a hole big enough to allow of the passage of a hand and arm.

The Inspector reached in, groped about, and then uttered an exclamation of triumph.

“I’ve unfastened the bolt,” he said.  “If there isn’t another at the top you ought to be able to force the door now, Burton.”

The jimmy was thrust back into position, and: 

“Stand clear!” cried Burton.

Again he threw his weight upon the bar—­and again.

“Drive it further in!” said Monte Irvin; and snatching up the heavy hammer, he rained blows upon the steel butt.  “Now try.”

Burton exerted himself to the utmost.

“Take hold up here, someone!” he panted.  “Two of us can pull.”

Gray leapt forward, and the pair of them bent to the task.

There came a dull report of parting mechanism, more sounds of splintering wood . . . and the door rolled open!

A moment of tense silence, then: 

“Is anyone inside there?” cried the Inspector loudly.

Not a sound came from the dark interior.

“The lantern!” whispered Monte Irvin.

He stumbled into the room, from which a heavy smell of perfume swept out upon the landing.  Quentin Gray, snatching the lantern from the floor, where it had been replaced, was the next to enter.

“Look for the switch, and turn the lights on!” called the Inspector, following.

Even as he spoke, Gray had found the switch, and the apartment of
Kazmah became flooded with subdued light.

A glance showed it to be unoccupied.

Gray ran across to the mushrabiyeh cabinet and jerked the curtains aside.  There was no one in the cabinet.  It contained a chair and a table.  Upon the latter was a telephone and some papers and books.  “This way!” he cried, his voice high pitched and unnatural.

He burst through the doorway into the inner room which he had seen Mrs. Irvin enter.  The air was laden with the smell of frankincense.