"This box is unopenable by ordinary means! I shall have to smash
it!"

At his words, I joined him where he knelt on the floor.
Mysteriously, the chest had defied all his efforts.

"There's a pick-axe in the garden," volunteered Lester. "Shall I
bring it?"

"Yes."

The man ran off.

"I see the key is safe," said Bristol. "Possibly the letter may
throw some light upon all this."

"Let us hope so," I replied. "You might read it."

He took the letter from my hand, stepped up to the table, and by
the light of the lamp read as follows--

My Dear Cavanagh,--

It has now become apparent to me that my life is in imminent danger.
You know of the inexplicable outrages which marked my homeward
journey, and if this letter come to your hand it will be because
these have culminated in my death.

The idea of a pursuing scimitar is not new to me. This phenomenon,
which I have now witnessed three times, is fairly easy of