e light, those who were intently watching his actions
saw that there was a small circle of Roman figures, with a hand like
that of a small clock, which he pushed round with the end of the key,
till it was at the letter V. This done, he bent over the chest, and
repeated the action twice upon the top.

Then, as he stepped out, a sharp sound was heard, and a key-hole was
laid bare once more. In this he placed the key, turned it, and the
steel chest seemed to split open from end to end, dividing in equal
parts, which slowly turned over on massive hinges, leaving the centre--a
space large enough to hold the coffin--wide open.

"Mr Capel," said the old lawyer, stepping aside, "the next duty is
yours. There lie the bank notes and the case of precious stones. I
give them over to your care."

Paul Capel hesitated for a moment, glanced at his companions, then back
at the opening leading to the Colonel's room, where Katrine and Lydia
were watching.

The young man's heart beat heavily as he took the candle, and, stooping
down, entered the iron chamber to take from its hiding place his
enormous fortune.

It was but a step, and he had only to stretch out his hand to pick up
the two cases, but--

The steel chest held nothing.

_The treasure was not there_.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

THE END OF THE INSTRUCTIONS.

Paul Capel did not realise his position. "Is there some mistake, Mr
Girtle?"

"Mistake?"

"There is nothing here!"

"Nothing there?"

"Nothing! See for yourself."

The old man stepped in, searched, and came out with drops of sweat upon
his yellow forehead.

"Well?" exclaimed Capel, excitedly, as the old man stared in a dazed
way.

"It is gone!" said the old lawyer, in a hoarse voice, and his hands
trembling violently.

"Well, Mr Girtle," said Capel, at last, in a voice that he vainly
strove to make firm; "what have you to say?"

"To say?" said the old lawyer, hastily.

"Oh, it is all a cock and bull story," cried Artis. "There never was
any treasure."

"Silence, sir," cried the old lawyer recovering himself. "How can you
speak like that in the presence of the dead?"

"Bah!" cried Artis. "Presence of the dead, indeed! Presence of a
mummy. Would you have me pull a long face as I went through the British
Museum?"

"I would have you behave--"

"You look here," cried Artis, sharply. "You are executor, and this
treasure, if there was one, lay in your charge. It's nothing to me. If
it wer