"The golden pomegranates!" he shrieked, and a slight froth appeared on his blanched lips. "The golden pomegranates!"
He laughed madly, and fell back inert.
"He's dead!" whispered Weymouth; "he's dead!"
Hard upon his words came a cry from Smith:
"Quick! Petrie!—Weymouth!"
CHAPTER XIII
THE ROOM BELOW
I ran into the sitting-room, to discover Nayland Smith craning out of the now widely opened window. The blind had been drawn up, I did not know by whom; and, leaning out beside my friend, I was in time to perceive some bright object moving down the gray stone wall. Almost instantly it disappeared from sight in the yellow banks below.
Smith leapt around in a whirl of excitement.
"Come in, Petrie!" he cried, seizing my arm. "You remain here,
Weymouth; don't leave these rooms whatever happens!"