"Silver," repeated Newboldt. Then, in an awed tone: "A silver coffin. The
coffin of Temujin!"
Matthew didn't understand.
"Temujin!" repeated Newboldt, with a shudder. "The true name of Genghis
Khan, the great war lord of the Middle Ages, who ruled half the world with his
powerful Mongol hordes!"
The reference struck home to Matthew.
"Say!" exclaimed the customs inspector. "If you're right, Mr. Newboldt,
this thing should have come from Asia, not from Africa."
"It did come from Asia," insisted Newboldt, as he polished the decorations
on the coffin's lid. "Observe these engraved designs; the curve of the coffin's
lid. They match the description given by the Belgian missionaries who saw the
coffin of Temujin in the region of the Ordos Desert, half a century ago."
Matthew had stooped to examine fastenings of the coffin, which reminded
him of a low, elongated trunk. The casket appeared to be hermetically sealed.
"What's in the thing?" he inquired. "Bones?"
"The remains of Temujin," replied Newboldt, solemnly. "Whether they are
bones, or ashes, inspection alone can prove. When last reported, the coffin of
Temujin was on the move. Its guardians, descendants of Mongols appointed
centuries ago, were anxious to prevent its capture by invading Japanese."
"Why so?"
"Because they feared that ownership of the coffin would allow the Japanese
to appoint a puppet emperor for Mongolia; a man who could claim himself the
legitimate successor of Temujin, the Kha Khan, or great ruler -"
Newboldt stopped himself with a gulp. His stooped frame shivered. Gripping
Matthew by the shoulders, he drew the astonished fellow to the door, where Kent
stepped back, inspired with the same alarm.
"This is beyond us, Matthew!" voiced Newboldt, in tremolo. "I have just
remembered that there is a man who calls himself Kha Khan. His name is Shiwan
Khan; he seeks to rule all the world."
"You mean he must have grabbed this coffin?" queried Matthew. "That he
shipped it here by way of Egypt?"
"Undoubtedly," quavered Newboldt. "From his hidden kingdom of Xanadu,
somewhere in Sinkiang, which is west of Mongolia, and therefore on the route
that the coffin must have followed."
Pointing to the door of the exhibit room, Newboldt told Kent to lock it
and bring the keys to the office. Gripping Matthew by the arm, Newboldt started
for the office, dragging the customs inspector along.
As they went through the mummy room, the curator was babbling
incoherently; tiled walls echoed his words, voicing them back, as though the
dried tongues of long-dead mummies were joining in the chatter.
By the time they reached the office, Matthew was convinced that Newboldt
was crazy, but he wasn't sure enough of his own sanity to do anything about it.
Then, Newboldt was fumbling with the telephone dial, saying that if he could
reach a man named Lamont Cranston, everything would be all right. Matthew
decided to let him go ahead.
Both had forgotten Kent.
BACK at the door of the little exhibit room, the drab attendant was
