Except for a crumbly accumulation of bone dust, it was empty.

“So,” Saleh said with his cool smile, “the mystery is solved. Nothing very serious, it seems.”

Haddon’s bearded jaw had stiffened. “I consider it quite serious enough,” he said, looking directly at Jerry. “These specimens are housed here on the assumption that they be given proper care and protection. They have received that protection for some seventy years, but now it seems that some rather slipshod practices have been allowed to take hold.”

“I’ll look into the matter, sir,” Jerry said with that serenity that sometimes infuriated TJ, sometimes filled her with admiration, and never stopped amazing her. Even after living with him for twelve years. How did he do it? And he wasn’t even nursing an ulcer from suppressed emotions; he just didn’t give a damn. In his place, she thought, flames would be shooting out of her nose.

“I think we’d better look into it right now,” Haddon snapped, “while we still have the services of these good gentlemen.”

“I don’t know what-”

“How many more of our specimens have been made off with? Are any of them still in their boxes?”

The same question had occurred to TJ, but she had hoped to examine the rest of the collection with Jerry later on, without anybody-especially and above all others, Clifford Haddon-watching balefully over their shoulders, waiting to pounce.

“Well, let’s just see,” Jerry said amiably, and took the lid from 4370, the box that had been beneath 4360. It was full of old brown bones. So was 4340, 4350, and 4370. So were the other fifty-two boxes. Everything was as it should have been; only 4360 was not peacefully resting where it was supposed to be.

Gabra, who had opened cartons with the others-Saleh had stood watching, glancing occasionally at his watch- rubbed dust from his hands. “Very good. Merely an error of some untrue sort.”