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he swung it like a pendulum; and presently it was caught and held by someone hidden behind a window of the mosque. You will find, I think, that there is a still lighter line attached to the hooks. This enabled the Negro, having swung across from the mosque to the house, to haul the pendulum back until the box was safely disposed of. It was as he swung across in turn, that I got busy with the wire cutter.”
    He came clattering down, and:
    “Left!” he said urgently—“into the mosque.”
    I found myself proceeding along that narrow, mysterious passage.
    “Light out!”
    As I switched the torch off, he opened a door. I was looking along a flat roof, silvered by moonlight—the roof of the mosque.
    “I hit him just before he reached this door. There’s a bare chance he may have left a clue.”
    “A clue to what?”
    A considerable group of people had collected in the street, far below, including, I thought, Armenians from across the river, as many excited voices told me. But I was intent upon the strange business in hand; and:
    “The sound!” said Nayland Smith; “that damnable, howling sound which was their signal.”
    No torch was necessary now. The roof was whitely illuminated by the moon. And, stooping swiftly:
    “My one bit of luck tonight,” he exclaimed. “Look!”
    Triumphantly, for I could see his eyes gleaming, he held up an object which at first I was unable to identify, I suppose because it was something utterly unexpected. But presently recognition came. It was a bone... a human frontal bone!
    “I’m afraid,” I said stupidly, “that I don’t understand.”
    “A bull-roarer!” cried Nayland Smith. “Barton can probably throw light upon its particular history.”
    He laughed. A length of stout twine was attached to the bone, and twisting this about his fingers he swung the thing rapidly round and round at ever increasing speed.
    The result was uncanny.
    I heard again that awesome whining which had heralded the death of Van Berg, which I had thought to be the note of some supernatural nocturnal creature. It rose to a wail—to a sort of muted roar—and died away as the swing diminished…
    “One of the most ancient signaling devices in the world, Greville— probably prehistoric in origin. Listen!”
    I heard running footsteps, many running footsteps, in the street below—all receding into the distance...
    Sir Denis laughed again, shortly.
    “Our bull-roarer has successfully dispersed the curious natives!” he said.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE BLACK SHADOW
    D awn was very near when that odd party assembled in the room which we used as an office, the room in which Van Berg had died. Nayland Smith presided, looking haggardly tired after his exertions of the night. He paced up and down continuously. The chief stood near the door, shifting from foot to foot in his equally restless fashion. Rima sat in the one comfortable chair and I upon the arm of it.
    A Persian police officer who spoke perfect English completed the party.
    “Dr. Van Berg, as you know,” said Sir Denis, “died in this room. I have tried to explain how the murderer gained access. The room being higher than Sir Lionel’s, the line used was shorter, but the method was the same. I found fingerprints and footmarks on the roof of the mosque and also on the ledge below these shutters. A man stabbed as Van Berg was stabbed bleeds from the mouth; therefore I found no bloodstains. The Negro was swung across, not from the window, but from the roof of the mosque. He employed the same device, having quietly entered, of spraying the head of the sleeper with some drug which so far we haven’t been able to identify. It smells like mimosa. Fortunately, a portion remains in the spray upon the dead African, and analysis may enlighten us.”
    “But Dr. Van Berg was stabbed, as I remember?” said the Persian official.
    “Certainly!” Nayland Smith snapped. “He had a pair of Caspian kittens sleeping at the foot of his bed. The bed used to