The words were almost driven down my throat by the dog, who, without a yelp of warning, hurled himself at Miss Barrison and alighted on my chest, fore paws around my neck.
I cast him scornfully from me, but he scrambled back, digging like a mole to get under us.
"The transparent creatures!" whispered Miss Barrison. "Look! See that pie move!"
I sprang to my feet just as the professor, jamming on his spectacles, leaned forward and slammed the cage door.
"I've got one!" he shouted, frantically. "There's one in the cage! Turn on that hose!"
"Wait a second," said Miss Barrison, calmly, uncorking the bottle and pouring a pearly stream of rosium oxide into the tank. "Quick! It's fizzing! Screw on the top!"
In a second I had screwed the top fast, seized the hose, and directed a hissing cloud of vapor through the cage bars.
For a moment nothing was heard save the whistling rush of the perfumed spray escaping; a delicious odor of roses filled the air. Then, slowly, there in the sunshine, a misty something grew in the cage—a glistening, pearl-tinted phantom, imperceptibly taking shape in space—vague at first as a shred of lake vapor, then lengthening, rounding into flowing form, clearer, clearer.
"The Sphyx!" gasped the professor. "In the name of Heaven, play that hose!"
As he spoke the treacherous hose burst. A showery pillar of rose-colored vapor enveloped everything. Through the thickening fog for one brief instant a human form appeared like magic—a woman's form, flawless, exquisite as a statue, pure as marble. Then the swimming vapor buried it, cage, pies, and all.