ght of his eyes, big Neddy
crouched down, reached out his hand, and took up Mr. Saffron's scepter.
With a look of half-scared amazement he held it up for his companion's
inspection. Mike eyed it uneasily, but his thoughts were getting back to
business. He stole softly off to the door, with intent to see whether it
was locked; he stooped down to examine it and perceived that it was not.
It would be well, then, to barricade it, and he turned round to look for
some heavy bit of furniture suitable for his purpose, something that
would delay the entrance of an intruder and give them notice of the
interruption.

As he turned, his body suddenly stiffened; only his trained instinct
prevented him from crying out. There was an occupant of the room--there,
in the great chair between the tall candlesticks on the dais. An old man
sat--half lay--there; asleep, it seemed; his eyes were shut. The color of
his face struck Gentleman Mike as being peculiar. But everything in that
place was peculiar; like a great tomb--a blooming mausoleum--the whole
place was. Though he had the reputation of being an _esprit fort_, Mike
felt uncomfortable. Cold and clammy too, the beastly place was!

Still--business is business. Letting the matter of the unlocked door wait
for the moment, he began to steal catlike across the floor towards the
dais. He had to investigate; also he really ought to put out those
candles; it was utterly unprofessional to leave them alight. But he could
not conquer a feeling that the place would seem still more peculiar when
they were put out.

Big Neddy's eyes had not followed his comrade to the door; they had been
held by the queer hole and its queer contents--by the gleaming gold that
strewed its floor, by the mock symbol of majesty which he had lifted from
it and still held in his hand, by the oddly suggestive shape and
dimensions of the hole itself. But now he raised his eyes from these
things and looked across at Mike, mutely asking what he thought of
matters. He saw Mike stealing across the floor, looking very, very hard
at--something.

Mute as Neddy's inquiry was, Mike seemed somehow aware of it. He raised
his hand, as though to enjoin silence, and then pointed it in front of
him, raised to the level of his head. Neddy turned round to look in the
direction indicated. He saw the throne and its silent occupant--the
waxen-faced old man who sat there, seeming to preside over the scene,
whose head was turned towards him,