What I did or what occurred within the next few seconds I am not prepared to state in detail.  I know I uttered a hoarse cry and threw myself back from those dreadful eyes which seemed to be advancing upon me.  The cry awakened Coates.  I heard the pad of his bare feet upon the floor as he leaped out of bed, and an instant later his door was opened and he came blundering out into the darkened passage.

“Hello, sir!” he cried, in a half-dazed voice.  “Here, Coates!” I replied, and my tones were far from normal.

Falling over a chair on his way, Coates came running into the study.  An impression I had of a flying shape, and the dimly seen square of the open window (for that side of the cottage lay in shadow) seemed momentarily to become blackened.

“Bring a light, Coates!” I cried.  “The lamp has gone out.”

“Matches on the table, sir,” said Coates.

Instantly I remembered that this was the case, that they lay in fact near to my hand.  I struck one, and in its flickering light looked about the room.  My visitor had gone—­palpably through the window, for certainly the front door had not been opened.

“She has gone, Coates!” I exclaimed.

And on this occasion it was Coates who repeated in an amazed voice: 

“She?”

But even as he spoke, my attention had become diverted.

I was staring at that portion of the table upon which Maspero’s book lay.  Beside it had stood the little Bubastis statuette ... but the statuette was there no longer!

CHAPTER IX

THE VELVET CURTAIN

“This gets me well out of my depth, Mr. Addison,” said Inspector Gatton.

We were standing in the garden at a point near to my open study window.  A small flower-bed intervened between the path and the high privet hedge.  It lay much in shade, and Coates had set tobacco plants there.  But the soil was softer here than elsewhere.

Clearly marked upon it were the imprints of little high-heeled shoes.

“It seems to take us back to the days of ‘Spring-heeled Jack,’” my friend continued; “which was before my time!  I don’t think that mystery was ever cleared up?”

“No,” I replied, meeting his questioning glance; “it never was, satisfactorily.  Therefore the analogy is an unfortunate one.  But as you say, it certainly looks as though my visitor had sprung across a six-foot hedge!”

“It’s absolutely mad,” said Gatton gloomily.  “Far from helping us, it only plunges us deeper in the mire.”

We returned to the study, and: 

“You will have seen the daily papers?” asked the Inspector.

I nodded.

“Practically all of them.  They give a hateful prominence to the name of Miss Merlin.”

“And to that of the new baronet—­Sir Eric,” said Gatton significantly.

I stared at him straightly.