"Stay away from here!" Rocks shouted. But she had already hung up. Desperately, he tried to call her back. There was no answer. She had already left. She was driving toward the museum, driving through a night in which death lurked.
Rocks groaned. He went back to the basement. There was nothing he could do. Nothing! The coffee pot was bubbling on its burner. He poured himself a cup of the scalding brew. It burned his throat but it cleared his head.
He went back to work. The language was out. He couldn't crack it. He didn't even have time to try to crack it any more. But there were Morton's notes. He hadn't studied them thoroughly. He had read only those portions of the notes that dealt with the language. He began to go over them again, starting with the section that dealt with the discovery of the box.
Jan. 10, 1940—Morton had written—Discovered today what is unquestionably the tomb of a Sumerian king. Located in a hillside. Cut out of solid rock. Landslide centuries ago had covered entrance. But even more important, in my opinion, than the tomb is the discovery of the strange metal box that we found in a niche at the back. We are unable to determine the metal of which the box is constructed. It is covered with mould but shows no sign of rust or corrosion, which is exceedingly unusual, for this tomb dates back into the past for at least six thousand years.
"Jan. 12, 1940. Box very heavy—must weigh more than a hundred pounds. Frankly, aside from its archeological interest, I am curious to know the contents of this box. There is a possibility of gold or gems. Guess I'm human after all, to be thinking about wealth. Am writing full details to the museum.
"Jan. 15, 1940. Unable to open box. Must have cunning combination lock. Also unable to decipher inscription on it. Don't know this form of writing. No record of it anywhere. This is exceedingly unusual. A completely forgotten language rediscovered."
Rocks Malone went through the notes, reading swiftly, searching, hoping for a clue. Outside in the night death was stalking. And there was a possibility that the clue to the death lay here, in the notes of the dead archeologist.
Penny came in. He went to meet her. She flew to his arms. "It's awful outside," she whispered. "Thousands of people must have heard the news broadcast. Half of them are trying to get to the theater where all those people were killed. The others are trying to get away. Oh, Rocks, have you discovered anything."
He shook his head. She looked again at his unshaven, haggard face, and said nothing.
He went back to the notes Morton had left. With Penny helping, he went through them, down to the last page. "It's no use," he groaned. "Morton didn't know anything about the thing that was in that damned box."