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“Ah, there he is.” Craig was listening with intense excitement now. “Our intruder has entered the art-gallery. He is flashing his electric light cane about at various objects, reconnoitring. No doubt if I were expert enough and had had time to study it, I could tell you by the sound just what he is looking at.”

“Craig,” I interrupted, this time very excited myself, “the buzzing from the high-frequency current is getting lower and lower.”

“By George, then, there is another of them,” he replied. “I’m not surprised. Keep a sharp watch. Tell me the moment the buzzing increases again.”

Spencer could scarcely control his impatience. It had been a long time since he had been a mere spectator, and he did not seem to relish being held in check by anybody.

“Now that you are sure the vandal is there,” he cut in, his cigar out in his excitement, “can’t we make a dash over there and get him before he has a chance to do any more damage? He might be destroying thousands of dollars’ worth of stuff while we are waiting here.”

“And he could destroy the whole collection, building and all, including ourselves into the bargain, if he heard so much as a whisper from us,” added Kennedy firmly.

“That second person has left the storeroom, Craig,” I put in. “The buzzing has returned again full force.”

Kennedy tore the wireless receiver from his ear. “Here, Walter, never mind about that electric detective any more, then. Take the optophone. Describe minutely to me just exactly what you hear.”

He had taken from his pocket a small metal ball. I seized the receiver from him and fitted it to my ear. It took me several instants to accustom my ears to the new sounds, but they were plain enough, and I shouted my impressions of their variations. Kennedy was busy at the window over the heavy package, from which he had torn the wrapping. His back was toward us, and we could not see what he was doing.

A terrific din sounded in my ears, almost splitting my ear-drums. It was as though I had been suddenly hurled into a magnified cave of the winds and a cataract mightier than Niagara was thundering at me. It was so painful that I cried out in surprise and involuntarily dropped the receiver to the floor.

“It was the switching on of the full glare of the electric lights in the art-gallery,” Craig shouted. “The other person must have got up to the room quicker than I expected. Here goes.”

A loud explosion took place, apparently on the very window-sill of our room. Almost at the same instant there was a crash of glass from the museum.

We sprang to the window, I expecting to see Kennedy injured, Spencer expecting to see his costly museum a mass of smoking ruins. Instead we saw nothing of the sort. On the window-ledge was a peculiar little instrument that looked like a miniature field- gun with an elaborate system of springs and levers to break the recoil.

Craig had turned from it so suddenly that he actually ran full tilt into us. “Come on,” he cried breathlessly, bolting from the room, and seizing Dr. Lith by the arm as he did so. “Dr. Lith, the keys to the museum, quick! We must get there before the fumes clear away.”

He was taking the stairs two at a time, dragging the dignified curator with him.

In fewer seconds than I can tell it we were in the museum and mounting the broad staircase to the art-gallery. An overpowering gas seemed to permeate everything.

“Stand back a moment,” cautioned Kennedy as we neared the door. “I have just shot in here one of those asphyxiating bombs which the Paris police invented to war against the Apaches and the motor-car bandits. Open all the windows back here and let the air clear. Walter, breathe as little of it as you can–but–come here–do you see?–over there, near the other door–a figure lying on the floor? Make a dash in after me and carry it out. There is just one thing more. If I am not back in a minute come in and try to get me.”