"You heard my order!"
"Your order! Surely, doctor, since I am in my own—"
"Uncover what you have on the table. Or must I do so for you!"
Antony Ferrara placed his hand upon the end of the black robe which lay across the table.
"Be careful, Dr. Cairn," he said evenly. "You—are taking risks."
Dr. Cairn suddenly leapt, seized the shielding hand in a sure grip and twisted Ferrara's arm behind him. Then, with a second rapid movement, he snatched away the robe. A faint smell—a smell of corruption, of ancient rottenness—arose on the superheated air.
A square of faded linen lay on the table, figured with all but indecipherable Egyptian characters, and upon it, in rows which formed a definite geometrical design, were arranged a great number of little, black insects.
Dr. Cairn released the hand which he held, and Ferrara sat quite still, looking straight before him.
"Dermestes beetles! from the skull of a mummy! You filthy, obscene beast!"
Ferrara spoke, with a calm suddenly regained: