the door of the Assyrian gallery.

Along its ghostly aisles he passed, and before the door which gave
admittance to the Burton Room paused, fumbling a moment for the
key.

Inside the room something was moving!

Mostyn was keenly alarmed; he knew that he must enter at once or
never. He inserted the key in the lock, swung open the heavy door,
stepped through and closed it behind him. He was a man of
tremendous moral courage, for now,--alone in the apartment which
harboured the uncanny relic, alone in the discharge of his duty,
he stood with his back to the door trembling slightly, but with
the idea of retreat finding no place in his mind.

One side of the room lay in blackest darkness; through the
furthermost window of the other a faint yellowed luminance (the
moonlight through the blind) spread upon the polished parquet
flooring. But that which held the curator spell-bound--that which
momentarily quickened into life the latent superstition, common to
all mankind, was a beam of cold light which poured its effulgence
fully upon the case containing the Prophet's slipper! Where the
other exhibits lay either in utter darkness or semi-darkness this
one it seemed was supernaturally picked out by this lunar
searchlight!

It was ghostly-unnerving; but, the first dread of it passed, Mostyn
recalled how during the day a hole inexplicably had been cut in
that blind; he recalled that it had not been mended, but that the