There is here much ground for conjecture and for experiment; for
as yet the scientists have not thoroughly differentiated the kinds, and
powers, and degrees of light. Without analysing various rays we may, I
think, take it for granted that there are different qualities and
powers of light; and this great field of scientific investigation is
almost virgin soil. We know as yet so little of natural forces, that
imagination need set no bounds to its flights in considering the
possibilities of the future. Within but a few years we have made such
discoveries as two centuries ago would have sent the discoverers to
the flames. The liquefaction of oxygen; the existence of radium, of
helium, of polonium, of argon; the different powers of Roentgen and
Cathode and Bequerel rays. And as we may finally prove that there are
different kinds and qualities of light, so we may find that combustion
may have its own powers of differentiation; that there are qualities in
some flames non-existent in others. It may be that some of the
essential conditions of substance are continuous, even in the
destruction of their bases. Last night I was thinking of this, and
reasoning that as there are certain qualities in some oils which are
not in others, so there may be certain similar or corresponding
qualities or powers in the combinations of each. I suppose we have all
noticed some time or other that the light of colza oil is not quite the
same as that of paraffin, or that the flames of coal gas and whale oil
are different. They find it so in the light-houses! All at once it
occurred to me that there might be some special virtue in the oil which
had been found in the jars when Queen Tera’s tomb was opened. These
had not been used to preserve the intestines as usual, so they must
have been placed there for some other purpose. I remembered that in
Van Huyn’s narrative he had commented on the way the jars were sealed. This was lightly, though effectually; they could be opened without
force. The jars were themselves preserved in a sarcophagus which,
though of immense strength and hermetically sealed, could be opened
easily. Accordingly, I went at once to examine the jars. A little—a
very little of the oil still remained, but it had grown thick in the
two and a half centuries in which the jars had been open. Still, it
was not rancid; and on examining it I found it was cedar oil, and that
it still exhaled something of its original aroma. This gave me the idea
that it was to be used to fill the lamps. Whoever had placed the oil
in the jars, and the jars in the sarcophagus, knew that there might be
shrinkage in process of time, even in vases of alabaster, and fully
allowed for it; for each of the jars would have filled the lamps half a
dozen times. With part of the oil remaining I made some experiments,
therefore, which may give useful results. You know, Doctor, that cedar
oil, which was much used in the preparation and ceremonials of the
Egyptian dead, has a certain refractive power which we do not find in
other oils. For instance, we use it on the lenses of our microscopes
to give additional clearness of vision. Last night I put some in one
of the lamps, and placed it near a translucent part of the Magic
Coffer. The effect was very great; the glow of light within was fuller
and more intense than I could have imagined, where an electric light
similarly placed had little, if any, effect. I should have tried
others of the seven lamps, but that my supply of oil ran out. This,
however, is on the road to rectification. I have sent for more cedar
oil, and expect to have before long an ample supply. Whatever may
happen from other causes, our experiment shall not, at all events, fail
from this. We shall see! We shall see!”

Doctor Winchester had evidently been following the logical process of
the other’s mind, for his comment was:

“I do hope that when the light is effective in opening the box, the
mechanism will not be impaired or destroyed.”

His doubt as to this gave anxious thought to some of us. Chapter XVI

The Cavern


In the evening Mr. Trelawny took again the whole party into the study. When we were all attention he began to unfold his plans:

“I have come to the conclusion that for the proper carrying out of what
we will call our Great Experiment we must have absolute and complete
isolation. Isolation not merely for a day or two, but for as long as
we may require. Here such a thing would be impossible; the needs and
habits of a great city with its ingrained possibilities of
interruption, would, or might, quite upset us. Telegrams, registered
letters, or express messengers would alone be sufficient; but the great
army of those who want to get something would make disaster certain. In addition, the occurrences of the last week have drawn police
attention to this house. Even if special instructions to keep an eye
on it have not been issued from Scotland Yard or the District Station,
you may be sure that the individual policeman on his rounds will keep
it well under observation. Besides, the servants who have discharged
themselves will before long begin to talk. They must; for they have,
for the sake of their own characters, to give some reason for the
termination of a service which has I should say a position in the
neighbourhood. The servants of the neighbours will begin to talk, and,
perhaps the neighbours themselves. Then the active and intelligent
Press will, with its usual zeal for the enlightenment of the public and
its eye to increase of circulation, get hold of the matter. When the
reporter is after us we shall not have much chance of privacy. Even if
we were to bar ourselves in, we should not be free from interruption,
possibly from intrusion. Either would ruin our plans, and so we must
take measures to effect a retreat, carrying all our impedimenta with
us. For this I am prepared. For a long time past I have foreseen such
a possibility, and have made preparation for it. Of course, I had no
foreknowledge of what has happened; but I knew something would, or
might, happen. For more than two years past my house in Cornwall has
been made ready to receive all the curios which are preserved here. When Corbeck went off on his search for the lamps I had the old house
at Kyllion made ready; it is fitted with electric light all over, and
all the appliances for manufacture of the light are complete. I had
perhaps better tell you, for none of you, not even Margaret, knows
anything of it, that the house is absolutely shut out from public
access or even from view. It stands on a little rocky promontory
behind a steep hill, and except from the sea cannot be seen. Of old it
was fenced in by a high stone wall, for the house which it succeeded
was built by an ancestor of mine in the days when a great house far
away from a centre had to be prepared to defend itself. Here, then, is
a place so well adapted to our needs that it might have been prepared
on purpose. I shall explain it to you when we are all there.