“Somebody is trying to get in to conceal something here,” muttered Kennedy, stifling his disappointment at not getting a closer view of the intruder.

“Then it was not a suicide,” I exclaimed.  “It was a murder!”

Craig shook his head sententiously.  Evidently he not prepared yet to talk.

With another look at the body in the broken casket he remarked:  “To-morrow I want to call on Mrs. Phelps and Doctor Forden, and, if it is possible to find him, Dana Phelps.  Meanwhile, Andrews, if you and Walter will stand guard here, there is an apparatus which I should like to get from my laboratory and set up here before it is too late.”

It was far past the witching hour of midnight, when graveyards proverbially yawn, before Craig returned in the car.  Nothing had happened in the meantime except those usual eery noises that one may hear in the country at night anywhere.  Our visitor of the early evening seemed to have been scared away for good.

Inside the mausoleum, Kennedy set up a peculiar machine which he attached to the electric-light circuit in the street by a long wire which he ran loosely over the ground.  Part of the apparatus consisted of an elongated box lined with lead, to which were several other attachments, the nature of which I did not understand, and a crank-handle.

“What’s that?” asked Andrews curiously, as Craig set up a screen between the apparatus and the body.

“This is a calcium-tungsten screen,” remarked Kennedy, adjusting now what I know to be a Crookes’ tube on the other side of the body itself, so that the order was:  the tube, the body, the screen, and the oblong box.  Without a further word we continued to watch him.

At last, the apparatus adjusted apparently to his satisfaction, he brought out a jar of thick white liquid and a bottle of powder.

“Buttermilk and a couple of ounces of bismuth sub-carbonate,” he remarked, as he mixed some in a glass, and with a pump forced it down the throat of the body, now lying so that the abdomen was almost flat against the screen.

He turned a switch and the peculiar bluish effulgence, which always appears when a Crookes’ tube is being used, burst forth, accompanied by the droning of his induction-coil and the welcome smell of ozone produced by the electrical discharge in the almost fetid air of the tomb.  Meanwhile, he was gradually turning the handle of the crank attached to the oblong box.  He seemed so engrossed in the delicateness of the operation that we did not question him, in fact did not move.  For Andrews, at least, it was enough to know that he had succeeded in enlisting Kennedy’s services.

Well along toward morning it was before Kennedy had concluded his tests, whatever they were, and had packed away his paraphernalia.

“I’m afraid it will take me two or three days to get at this evidence, even now,” he remarked, impatient at even the limitations science put on his activity.  We had started back for a quick run to the city and rest.  “But, anyhow, it will give us a chance to do some investigating along other lines.”