The voices died away. A door banged somewhere.
Then Sheard all but cried out; for a hand was laid upon his arm.
"Ssh!" came Séverac Bablon's voice from the next mummy-case; and a creak told of the cabinet door swinging open. "This way!"
Sheard followed immediately, and was guided along the whole length of the room. A door was unlocked and re-locked behind them. Downstairs they passed, and along a narrow corridor lined with cases, as he could dimly see. Through another door they went, and came upon stone steps.
"Your boots!" said his companion, and put them into his hands.
Rapidly enough he fastened them. A faint creak was followed by a draught of cool air; and, being gently pushed forward, Sheard found himself outside the Museum and somewhere in the rear of the building. The place lay in deep shadow.
"Sss! Sss!" came in his ear. "Quiet!"
Whilst he all but held his breath, a policeman tramped past slowly outside the railings. As the sound of his solid tread died away, Séverac Bablon raised something to his lips and blew a long-sustained, minor note—shrill, eerie.
A motor-car appeared, as if by magic, stopped before them, and was backed right on to the pavement. The chauffeur, mounting on the roof, threw a short rope ladder across the railings.
"Up!" Sheard was directed, and, nothing loath, climbed over.