The bars replaced and the window apparently locked as before, Craig devoted his efforts to examining the packing cases in the basement.  As yet apparently nothing down there had been disturbed.  But while rummaging about, from an angle formed behind one of the cases he drew forth a cane, to all appearances an ordinary Malacca walking-stick.  He balanced it in his hand a moment, then shook his head.

“Too heavy for a Malacca,” he ruminated.  Then an idea seemed to occur to him.  He gave the handle a twist.  Sure enough, it came off, and as it did so a bright little light flashed up.

“Well, what do you think of that?” he exclaimed.  “For a scientific dark-lantern that is the neatest thing I have ever seen.  An electric light cane, with a little incandescent lamp and a battery hidden in it.  This grows interesting.  We must at last have found the cache of a real gentleman burglar such as Bertillon says exists only in books.  I wonder if he has anything else hidden back here.”

He reached down and pulled out a peculiar little instrument—­a single blue steel cylinder.  He fitted a hard rubber cap snugly into the palm of his hand, and with the first and middle fingers encircled the cylinder over a steel ring near the other end.

A loud report followed, and a vase, just unpacked, at the opposite end of the basement was shattered as if by an explosion.

“Phew!” exclaimed Kennedy.  “I didn’t mean to do that.  I knew the thing was loaded, but I had no idea the hair-spring ring at the end was so delicate as to shoot it off at a touch.  It’s one of those aristocratic little Apache pistols that one can carry in his vest pocket and hide in his hand.  Say, but that stung!  And back here is a little box of cartridges, too.”

We looked at each other in amazement at the chance find.  Apparently the vandal had planned a series of visits.

“Now, let me see,” resumed Kennedy.  “I suppose our very human but none the less mysterious intruder expected to use these again.  Well, let him try.  I’ll put them back here for the present.  I want to watch in the art-gallery to-night.”

I could not help wondering whether, after all, it might not be an inside job and the fixing of the window merely a blind.  Or was the vandal fascinated by the subtle influence of mysticism that so often seems to emanate from objects that have come down from the remote ages of the world?  I could not help asking myself whether the story that Miss White had told was absolutely true.  Had there been anything more than superstition in the girl’s evident fright?  She had seen something, I felt sure, for it was certain she was very much disturbed.  But what was it she had really seen?  So far all that Kennedy had found had proved that the reincarnation of the priestess Ka had been very material.  Perhaps the “reincarnation” had got in in the daytime and had spent the hours until night in the mummy-case.  It might well have been chosen as the safest and least suspicious hiding-place.