It is not worth while describing the next few days. They were quite or almost colourless. Once each four and twenty hours, Belleville, taking sound precautions, released me for a short while from my prison chair to let me stretch my limbs and in the interests of keeping me alive for his own purposes. We had very little conversation, for he had fallen into a morose and gloomy mood, the result of an attack of insomnia. In answer to direct questions I learned that Sir Robert Ottley's funeral had passed without incident, but that Miss Ottley's violent grief had been succeeded by a long stupor. She was being nursed by a creature of Belleville's, an old Frenchwoman named Elise Lorraine in whom he evidently reposed a deal of confidence. Belleville spent most of his time at work in the laboratory, but what he did I could not see, for he conducted his labours behind my chair. On one occasion he gave way to a savage fit of passion, and without any cause whatever that I could perceive, he broke a number of glass implements upon the floor. Another time, having cut his hand in some experiment, he revenged himself by flogging me with a piece of whalebone until my flesh wherever he could reach it was covered with weals and blisters. He was not a nice man to live with and my hatred of him grew daily more intense. But perforce I was civil to him. On the eighth day he entered the room with a chalk-white face. I knew at once that something had happened; but I was not to learn what it was immediately. He disappeared forthwith behind my chair and for ten minutes stamped about swearing like a pagan. Then the lights went out of a sudden and he departed in the dark. He returned about four hours later, but I did not see him enter, although he put on the lights immediately. I heard him pass my chair; that was all. But a few seconds later a sharp and most acridly irritating odour filled the room, and soon afterwards he came forward and sank into his accustomed chair, opposite to mine. He looked positively ghastly. "To-morrow morning England will mourn the loss of her greatest physician," he announced in quivering tones. "Sir Philip Lang has just committed suicide."

"What!" I cried in deep astonishment. "Sir Philip Lang!"

He bared his teeth. "The world will think so," he snarled. "But in reality—but there, you shall judge. This afternoon without giving me notice the fool came to this house, forced his way into the sick room and had a long private conversation with May Ottley. I do not know to what conclusion he came, but she must have persuaded him of her sanity, for he ordered Elise to take her out for a walk; and if it had not been that Elise refused to obey him pending my arrival there would have been a pretty kettle of fish for me to fry. However, he won't trouble me again."

"You murdered him!" I gasped.

"Like an artist," said Belleville. "I stole upon him while he sat in his private sitting-room at supper and, standing opposite to him unseen, I reached out and poured some aconite into his wine. He was dead inside a quarter hour, and I took care that he made no outcry. The verdict should be suicide, I think. Don't you?"

With that he got up and left me.

That night while I slept he dosed me with chloroform, and while I was senseless he drew over my clothes a suit of rubber overalls. He also did whatever was necessary to render me invisible, and he gagged me with a piece of steel thrust under my tongue and secured around my throat and neck with fine wire that bit deep in the flesh. I awoke groaning with agony to find that I was stretched out on the naked framework of an iron bed.

Belleville stood over me grasping Miss Ottley by the hand. When I saw her I stopped groaning as if by instinct. I knew at once that she did not see anything except the bed. She looked well, but tragically sorrowful and wild. She was staring as it were through me.

"You see nothing," said Belleville's hollow voice, "but his spirit lies there for all that. It is in my power and cannot escape without I set it free. You know my price. It is for you to rule his fate, through me if so you wish.

"What!" he continued, "do you not believe—well, then, look now!"

Of a sudden he flashed a blue lighted lanthorn into my face and he did something else which sent a thousand stinging currents of electric anguish quivering along my nerves. I uttered a shriek, but the gag stifled it to a hissing wail, and then I fell to breathing groans. Hell can have no worse torments than that villain had devised for my undoing. Had my mouth been unfettered I should have besought the woman I adored for death at any price for rest of pain. As it was I prayed her with my eyes—and she saw and took a message.

"Let him go!" she sobbed, "and I will marry you. Oh, this is horrible!"

On instant the blue light faded out and a blessed heaven of diminished torture gave me peace.

Belleville took from his breast a naked dagger which he put into the girl's hand. "Strike, then!" he said, "Strike here," and he put his finger on my breast.

The devil proposed to make his innocent victim a murderess. I saw his purpose, and with every atom of my strength I groaned. It was the only warning I could send.

But I had played right into Belleville's hands.

"Hear him implore you!" cried Belleville.

"Oh! I can't, I can't," she wailed.

"'Tis only a spirit—and it's the only way," he protested warmly.

Miss Ottley swung around suddenly and drove the dagger at his heart, but he had been expecting it. He caught her wrist and laughed. Then all my anguish recommenced. In the midst of it, made desperate, the girl leaned right across the bed and struck. The blade glanced down upon a rib and deeply pierced my side. Providence, surely, had directed the blow. She withdrew the dagger, then screamed aloud to see it dripping with blood. Belleville caught her in his arms and bore her roughly back. He bent her body on a table until she was as helpless as a dove, then took the blade and drew the horrid thing across her lips; so they were carmined with my blood.

"By this and this you'll remember you are mine," he said, and kissed her lips till his were bloody, too. Then the two stared deep into each other's eyes.

"I've killed his body; you, his soul," said Belleville. "We're well mated, you and I. There—I've no longer any fear you'll hurt yourself. You'll be henceforth too much afraid of him to die."

He let her go, and stood away from her. She swayed erect, then came forward till she stood beside me. I held my very breath for fear that she would hear. I don't know why.

"It is all a trick—a cruel, devilish trick. There's nothing there!" said the girl, her bosom heaving as she spoke.

Belleville laughed like a hyena. "Feel—if you dare!" he cried.

But she took him at his word. Her hands went out and, guided by a dark blotch which, as afterwards I learned she saw, she put them on my wound and drew them swiftly back ensanguined. Then horror settled on her like a black cloud on a mountain top. She turned about with one loud gasping sigh and sank down in a lifeless heap at Belleville's feet.

Soon afterwards I swooned, too, from pain and loss of blood. When I awoke my wound was neatly bandaged, and I was once more seated in my chair.

Belleville sat opposite smoking a cigar. He was dressed very smartly in a frock suit and a tall hat was set jauntily on his brow. He wore a geranium in his buttonhole. His face was wreathed in smiles. A bottle of champagne was set before him on a table and he sipped at a glass with an air of triumphant good-humour.

I found that I could speak; my gag had been removed.

"Water!" I implored him.

He started, then pressed forward with his glass. "Where the devil is your mouth?" he said.

He could not see me, that was plain.

"Here!" said I. "Water."

"It is my wedding morn—and you shall toast me in wine or go thirsting," he rapped out.

Then he found my lips and I drank life into my veins. I have never tasted draught one-half so glorious.

"I was married less than an hour ago," he said, "at a registrar's office. She's no longer Miss Ottley, Pinsent."

I was silent.

"Do you hear me, man?" he demanded.

"I hear," I answered.

He nodded his head and smiled. "I suppose you are wondering why you're still alive, eh?"

"You'll die when I die," I muttered wearily. "You are afraid to kill me, that is why."

"Bosh!" he flashed back. "I have a better reason far. To-morrow she will be my wife indeed—a maid no longer—Pinsent. It was worth keeping you alive to gloat on that."

"Oh! I see."

"But you don't see everything, Pinsent. She insists upon seeing your body to-day in order to be sure that you are dead."

"Ah!"

"She still has a lingering doubt that I have tricked her, and she has sworn on the cross that unless I produce your corpse for her inspection she will take her own life rather than—you can guess what, Pinsent."

"Yes—I can guess."

"So you see the time draws nigh for you to die."

"God only knows."

The villain frowned. "But before you go you must do something for me."

"And that?"

"You must write her a letter telling her that your only hope of soul resurrection and salvation lies in her obeying me. She now considers me a dangerous magician, but I want her to regard me as a sort of deity."

"I will not do it, Belleville. You ought to know me better by this."

"I think you will," said he. "That is if you really care for her. You see it will save her a lot of—let's call it inconvenience. With such a weapon as your message I can rule her kindly. But rule her in any case I shall. If you deny me I'll gag you this moment so you can't make a sound, then I'll bring her here and beat her as I would a dog. How will you like that?"

"I'll write the letter," I said huskily.

A few minutes later the thing was done, and I had signed my name to the atrocious expressions of his demand. To transcribe them I am too ashamed.

"What now?" I asked.

"The last scene in the last act," said he, as he put the letter in his pocket. "I may tell you that I intend always to keep your body by me—for her to look at—if she ever shows a mind to mutiny."

"In spirits?" I questioned.

"The embalming oil of the princes of old Egypt. I found the receipt in Ptahmes' tomb," he answered. "I propose to convert you into a mummy."

With that he took off his hat and coat, rolled up his sleeves and put on a huge oil-skin apron. "I'll not kill you till the last moment necessary," he observed. "In fact, you'll be half-mummy before you die; I have a curiosity to discover if the process of substitution is painful. I rather think it must be."

He moved over as he spoke to the sarcophagus and began to shift the objects that sealed up the mouth. It took him some minutes to do so, and as he put down the couch, last of all, one of the castors crashed upon his toe. He cursed the misfortune like a madman and danced about the floor on one foot like a dervish, winding up by striking me brutally with closed fist on the lips. That gave him back his self-control.

"I'll teach you to laugh at me," he growled. Then he returned to his work and stooping over the great coffin he hauled out the lifeless mummy that had rested there so long. For an instant I glimpsed the strange dead features of the dust of Ptahmes which so strikingly resembled the effigy carven on the lid of the sarcophagus and also the Arab who had twice in Egypt attempted to destroy me. Then Belleville carelessly threw the thing upon the couch; and traversed the room to where stood three glass jars filled with a dark viscous fluid. One by one he rolled these on end across the floor till all three stood beside the coffin. Afterwards he disappeared behind my chair, returning soon, his head covered with a long breathing mask. I watched him—one may guess with what passionate attention. He unscrewed the stopper of the nearest jar, seized the thing bodily in his arms and poured out the contents into the sarcophagus. A curious cloud-like steam arose that hazed the prospect, but soon it dissipated. The air was filled with the perfume I had first smelt in the cave temple of the Hill of Rakh. But it was not altogether overpowering. It made my pulses throb and brought a great rush of blood to my head and hands and feet much as would the scent of amyl nitrate. But it did not take away my senses. Belleville, protected by his mask, was in no way affected. He quickly unstoppered the second jar, and added its contents to the first. Then he turned and approached me, taking off his helmet as he came. The action apprised me that the wonderful perfume had almost died away. There was now a healthy and stimulating odour in the room that resembled boiling tar. Evidently the two jars had contained different chemicals. A loud, seething, bubbling sound was plainly to be heard; it came from the sarcophagus.

Belleville sat down and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. "We must give the stuff ten minutes to mix," he said and, taking out his watch, he glanced at the time. "It's twenty past eleven," he remarked. "You'll begin to mummify at the half hour precisely, Pinsent, so if you are a religious man you'd best compose your soul in prayer."

I am not ashamed to say that I followed his advice. I closed my eyes and asked the Omnipotent for remission of my sins. And since it seemed to me that my hour had come, I resolutely put aside my detestation of the monster who designed to murder me, and I even asked for his forgiveness, too. Then a great, deep, splendid peace mantled over me, and for the first time in my life I truly realised the littleness of man's existence and the majesty of resignation. It was almost worth while to go through all I had been compelled to endure to experience at the end that mood of grand, calm dignity. I felt almost sublimely detached from my surroundings. I opened my eyes at last and said with perfect calm:

"I am ready, Belleville."

He stood up and stretched out his arms, yawning widely. Then of a sudden everything was dark.

"What in Hell——?" shouted Belleville. I heard him rush forward cursing angrily, then he stumbled and fell headlong to the floor amidst a crash of glass. In the same instant unseen hands fumbled over me. My bonds suddenly relaxed and I was free. I stood up, stiff but quivering in every nerve. There followed a rasping sound, a match flickered into light, and I saw Belleville rising from the ruins of a broken jar. He held the lucifer above his head, and it showed standing at an angle between us the tall frame of the Arab of the cave temple at Rakh.

Belleville ripped out an oath. There came a blinding flash of light and the deafening report of a revolver. I staggered from the chair to the wall and leaned against it, helpless as a babe. The echoes were still thundering in rolling waves of brain-dazing sound from wall to wall when the pitch blackness of the room was again relieved by the glare of electricity. Belleville had succeeded in turning on the lights. He stood by the door peering all about him. For a moment I thought all was up. I was free, certainly, but my muscles were so cramped and tautened that I could hardly move a finger. I was not fit to contend against a breath of wind, let alone a burly ruffian like the Doctor. But the next instant I remembered I was still invisible. I could not see my own hand held before me, and I had immediate proof that he was unable to perceive me.

"Where are you, Pinsent? are you hurt?" he cried.

I did not answer, but, following his glance, I looked at the couch and there I saw what utterly astounded me. The mummy of Ptahmes lay upon the couch in exactly the same attitude as when Belleville had flung it there aside from the sarcophagus. Who, then, or what, had set me free? I examined the apartment eagerly, but saw nothing living save Belleville, who with cocked revolver thrust out before him now stepped forward cautiously into the room, waving his arms about him as he walked, and muttering, as he walked, through clenched teeth a string of angry blasphemies.