CHAPTER II

Sharp, the business manager, was a prim-faced nervous individual. He had an eye tick. It was working overtime now. He spoke rapidly, the words running over each other.

"Yes, yes, I'll tell you exactly what happened. It was horrible, terrible." He mopped his face. "Mr. Morton had just succeeded in opening this box when I entered."

"How long had the box been here?" Kennedy interrupted.

"I--ah--about three months have elapsed since Mr. Morton returned from his last expedition. He brought it back with him."

"Three months to open it?" Kennedy said doubtfully. "Why didn't he use a torch on it?"

"I think I can answer that," McCumber said. The old archeologist had arrived a few minutes after the business manager. He had received the news of the death of his associate calmly but it was obvious that he was deeply affected. He and Morton had been fellow workers for more than forty years. Now Morton was dead, and McCumber's sorrow was too deep for expression. It didn't show on his face. But when he entered the basement, he leaned rather heavily on his granddaughter's arm. Penny, who always drove his car for him, had driven him down. Now she stood, pale and silent, beside his chair.

"There were several reasons why we didn't use a cutting torch," McCumber said. "Foremost was the fact that, whatever the contents of the box were, we did not wish to damage them. Secondly, we felt that in time we would discover the secret of opening it. And in the third place, force would have ruined the delicate hieroglyphics inscribed on it. We especially did not want to do that."

The detective turned again to Sharp. "Will you tell us what was in the box, sir?"

The business manager moistened his lips. A hush fell over the group. The officer in uniform twisted uneasily. The two detectives tried to show nothing, but then forced expressions showed the fear that gnawed at them. Kennedy's black eyes were lances of apprehension.

Rocks Malone moved across the room and stood beside Penny, a gesture purely protective. His mind was in a turmoil as he waited for Sharp to speak. Was there a connection between that box and Morton's death? What kind of a connection? His eyes strayed toward it. Under the lights he could see the hieroglyphics delicately carved on it.

What was the message that the unknown writer had tried to convey with those wavy lines? Had he cut a warning sign, a--Hands Off--Danger--symbol to warn against opening it? Had--But Sharp was speaking.

"I had come down to the basement to discuss with Mr. Morton certain items in the budget for his next expedition. He had just opened the box. He said, 'Oh, I say, Sharp, come here, will you? I want you to tell me what you see in this box.'

"To be frank, I was curious about the contents myself. I, and I imagine everyone connected with the museum, had been of the opinion that perhaps the box contained treasure, possibly jewels, which in the present state of our finances, would be of great help to us."

Sharp hesitated, seeking words. From the night came the rattle of a street car and the clang of the motor-man's bell. The blower fan rustled as it pushed air into the basement. On the mummy case the alarm clock--set to remind Morton when it was time to quit work and go home--ticked noisily.

"What was in it?" Kennedy husked.

Sharp took a deep breath. "At first, I saw nothing, and the immediate impression I gained was that it was empty. Then, as I bent over to peer into the box, I caught a glimpse of its contents."

Everyone in the room leaned forward as Sharp hesitated. He said,

"I don't know what that thing in the box was. I can't ever hazard a guess. But a beam of light leaped at me from the box, and the light originated at a spot that was several inches above the bottom. In other words, _it came from nothingness_.

"As I straightened up, the light vanished. Morton said, 'Did you see that damned thing?' I asked him what it was. He didn't know but he seemed puzzled and perturbed and he asked me to look again.

"Then I began to see more clearly. There was something in the box, _something that was almost invisible_."

"Invisible?" Kennedy breathed huskily.

"Yes. Almost invisible. From certain positions we could see the contents of the receptacle--a smoky, misty mass. That's the only way I can describe it. A smoky mass. It was unreal, and just trying to look at it strained the eyes."

"What happened then?" Kennedy said.

"Morton thrust his hand into the box. _And his hand disappeared!_"

"What!"

"His fingers, up to the knuckles, simply disappeared. No, they weren't cut off. The effect was similar to thrusting the hand into a basin of murky water. Morton instantly jerked his hand out, and it was uninjured, except that the fingers were stained a faint red. The point is--there was something in the box that was almost invisible, and an object thrust into it was rendered invisible, too.

"Morton was tremendously puzzled. I can't recall his exact words, but he seemed to be of the opinion that the contents of the box were extra-dimensional."

"Extra-dimensional?" Kennedy interrogated.

"Something like that," Sharp admitted. "Oh I know it sounds utterly fantastic. I was of the opinion that Morton did not know what he was talking about, but later events showed me that I was wrong."

"What happened next?" the detective queried.

"This happened," Sharp answered. The man was trembling. The handkerchief with which he tried to mop his face fluttered in an unsteady hand.

"_Either something came out of that box, or something came through that box and escaped into the basement!_"

Sharp's eyes went over the room, jerking from object to object like a man who suspects the presence of an incredible enemy and is warily watching for that enemy to strike.

The action sent cold chills up Rocks Malone's back. Something had come out of that box. It might still be here in the museum. Sharp thought it might be. He was looking for it.

"Through the box?" McCumber spoke. "I don't understand. How could anything come through it?"

"I don't understand either," the business manager answered. "I'm only telling you what Morton thought. He said the box might be a gateway between this world and a higher dimensional world. If the box is such a gateway, then something came through it. If it is not a gateway, then something came out of the box and escaped into the basement."

His eyes ran from face to face of his hearers.

"How do you know something came out?" McCumber persisted. He seemed to have taken over the questioning from Kennedy.

"Because I saw it," Sharp answered.

In the silence of the basement Rocks could hear several men breathing heavily.

"It lifted up, out of the box," Sharp continued. "It was a mass of grayish smoke, of shifting planes and impossible angles. It rose straight up and seemed to pause in the air. While it hung in the air--and I cannot begin to suggest an explanation for this--I suddenly seemed to lose my hearing. I couldn't hear a sound. There was utter, complete silence. It was the oddest sensation I have ever experienced."

Again the handkerchief wiped sweat from his face.

"Then--like a finger snap--the thing vanished. It disappeared into thin air. And when it vanished, I recovered from my deafness."

Rocks felt Penny's fingers searching for his hand. Her hand slid into his. She was trembling.

The detectives were pale, their faces bloodless. How much they had really understood of Sharp's description was open to doubt. Only a mathematical physicist could have grasped all the possibilities he had opened, and the cops weren't physicists. But they were alert. One had half-drawn his run. They were warily looking around the room.

"What did you do then?" McCumber persisted.

"We naturally spent some time searching the basement. When we found nothing, I began to suspect we were the victims of an illusion, that nothing had really come out of the box, that our imaginations were playing us tricks. Consequently, since it was already late in the afternoon, I departed. I thought nothing more of the matter until the police called me and told me that a man was dead here. Then I instantly realized that something had come out of the box, something utterly foreign to the science of our present day, something of which we have no knowledge, but which may be here now, watching us, waiting to pounce on its next victim--"

He subsided, and Kennedy, looking closely at him, shoved him a chair. "Here, sir. You had better sit down."

Sharp almost collapsed. "Thanks," he muttered.

"One further question," McCumber said. "Where was the box sitting when Morton opened it?"

"Why--" Sharp looked startled. "On that heavy table." He pointed to a table across the room.

"But it's on the scales now," McCumber said, nodding his head toward it.

"Yes, it is," Sharp answered. "Mr. Morton must have moved it after I left."

McCumber turned to the detectives. "Gentlemen, if I may suggest it, I think it would be wise to search the museum."

The detectives looked like they didn't enjoy the task, but they went about it efficiently, guns drawn. The others remained in the basement. Sharp kept up a running fire of nervous conversation, to which McCumber paid little attention. The old archeologist seemed to be lost in thought.

Kennedy returned. The detective was very pale. "We didn't find anything," he said. "We still don't know whether it's here or not. But we can't take a chance of that thing getting loose. We'll stay here, as a guard." He looked sharply at McCumber and the business manager. "If I may suggest it, this has been quite a strain on you. Perhaps it would be best if you went home and rested. However if someone who is familiar with the museum will stay--"

"I'll stay," said Rocks.

"No," Penny protested. "If that thing should attack you--"

Over her protests, Rocks stayed. However he walked out to the car with them. Sharp came out of the museum with them, but he had his own car, and drove off immediately.

McCumber settled himself in the seat, and Penny, still protesting, slid under the wheel.

"What do you think, sir?" Rocks queried. "Do you have any suggestions about looking for that--thing?"

"I'm afraid I don't, lad," the old man answered. "Nothing like it has ever been seen before." He reached into his pocket for his pipe. His questing fingers brought from the pocket not only the pipe but a spherical piece of glass that looked like a child's marble. He held it under the dash lamp. "A marble? Wonder where I picked that up?" Then he dropped it back into his pocket as he explored for his tobacco. "This much I can say, lad. Whatever it was that came out of that box, the museum, in a sense, is responsible. We brought the damned thing to this country. We've got to capture or destroy it before it does any more damage. If such a thing should escape into the city, the results might be terrible. I'll be down early in the morning, lad. I hate to go off like this, but the old body won't take punishment like it once would. You be careful."

"I will, sir."

"You darned well better be," said Penny, as she slipped the car into gear.

* * * * *

Rocks returned to the museum. With Kennedy and the other detectives he again made a complete search of the building. The museum was filled with nooks and crannies where anything might hide. They found nothing.

They were again in the basement when the telephone on the main floor started ringing.

Who would be calling at this time of the night, Rocks wondered as he raced upward to answer it. Very few people knew the number.

He jerked the phone from its hook, and the voice in his ears almost took his breath away. It was Penny. She was screaming.

"Rocks, please come quickly. That terrible thing is here. It's got grandfather. Hurry, please--"

He waited to hear no more.

"Come on," he yelled to the detectives. "That damned thing is loose again."

Sirens screamed in the night as the squad car raced to the home of Andreas McCumber. Rocks rode in the seat beside Kennedy, and urged the detective to drive faster.

"I'm doing seventy now," Kennedy grated.

"Then do eighty," Rocks answered. Blood was running down his chin where he had bitten his lips. In his mind was the single thought: has something happened to Penny?