As to Mr. Trelawny he seemed less changed than any. Perhaps this was
only natural, as he had had in his mind the intention for so many years
of doing that in which we were tonight engaged, that any event
connected with it could only seem to him as an episode, a step to the
end. His was that commanding nature which looks so to the end of an
undertaking that all else is of secondary importance. Even now, though
his terrible sternness relaxed under the relief from the strain, he
never flagged nor faltered for a moment in his purpose. He asked us
men to come with him; and going to the hall we presently managed to
lower into the cave an oak table, fairly long and not too wide, which
stood against the wall in the hall. This we placed under the strong
cluster of electric lights in the middle of the cave. Margaret looked
on for a while; then all at once her face blanched, and in an agitated
voice she said:

“What are you going to do, Father?”

“To unroll the mummy of the cat! Queen Tera will not need her Familiar
tonight. If she should want him, it might be dangerous to us; so we
shall make him safe. You are not alarmed, dear?”

“Oh no!” she answered quickly. “But I was thinking of my Silvio, and
how I should feel if he had been the mummy that was to be unswathed!”

Mr. Trelawny got knives and scissors ready, and placed the cat on the
table. It was a grim beginning to our work; and it made my heart sink
when I thought of what might happen in that lonely house in the
mid-gloom of the night. The sense of loneliness and isolation from the
world was increased by the moaning of the wind which had now risen
ominously, and by the beating of waves on the rocks below. But we had
too grave a task before us to be swayed by external manifestations:
the unrolling of the mummy began. There was an incredible number of bandages; and the tearing sound—they
being stuck fast to each other by bitumen and gums and spices—and the
little cloud of red pungent dust that arose, pressed on the senses of
all of us. As the last wrappings came away, we saw the animal seated
before us. He was all hunkered up; his hair and teeth and claws were
complete. The eyes were closed, but the eyelids had not the fierce
look which I expected. The whiskers had been pressed down on the side
of the face by the bandaging; but when the pressure was taken away they
stood out, just as they would have done in life. He was a magnificent
creature, a tiger-cat of great size. But as we looked at him, our
first glance of admiration changed to one of fear, and a shudder ran
through each one of us; for here was a confirmation of the fears which
we had endured. His mouth and his claws were smeared with the dry, red stains of recent
blood! Doctor Winchester was the first to recover; blood in itself had small
disturbing quality for him. He had taken out his magnifying-glass and
was examining the stains on the cat’s mouth. Mr. Trelawny breathed
loudly, as though a strain had been taken from him. “It is as I expected,” he said. “This promises well for what is to
follow.”

By this time Doctor Winchester was looking at the red stained paws. “As I expected!” he said. “He has seven claws, too!”  Opening his
pocket-book, he took out the piece of blotting-paper marked by Silvio’s
claws, on which was also marked in pencil a diagram of the cuts made on
Mr. Trelawny’s wrist. He placed the paper under the mummy cat’s paw. The marks fitted exactly. When we had carefully examined the cat, finding, however, nothing
strange about it but its wonderful preservation, Mr. Trelawny lifted it
from the table. Margaret started forward, crying out:

“Take care, Father! Take care! He may injure you!”

“Not now, my dear!” he answered as he moved towards the stairway. Her
face fell. “Where are you going?” she asked in a faint voice. “To the kitchen,” he answered. “Fire will take away all danger for the
future; even an astral body cannot materialise from ashes!”  He signed
to us to follow him. Margaret turned away with a sob. I went to her;
but she motioned me back and whispered:

“No, no! Go with the others. Father may want you. Oh! it seems like
murder! The poor Queen’s pet...!”  The tears were dropping from under
the fingers that covered her eyes. In the kitchen was a fire of wood ready laid. To this Mr. Trelawny
applied a match; in a few seconds the kindling had caught and the
flames leaped. When the fire was solidly ablaze, he threw the body of
the cat into it. For a few seconds it lay a dark mass amidst the
flames, and the room was rank with the smell of burning hair. Then the
dry body caught fire too. The inflammable substances used in embalming
became new fuel, and the flames roared. A few minutes of fierce
conflagration; and then we breathed freely. Queen Tera’s Familiar was
no more! When we went back to the cave we found Margaret sitting in the dark. She had switched off the electric light, and only a faint glow of the
evening light came through the narrow openings. Her father went
quickly over to her and put his arms round her in a loving protective
way. She laid her head on his shoulder for a minute and seemed
comforted. Presently she called to me:

“Malcolm, turn up the light!”  I carried out her orders, and could see
that, though she had been crying, her eyes were now dry. Her father
saw it too and looked glad. He said to us in a grave tone:

“Now we had better prepare for our great work. It will not do to leave
anything to the last!”  Margaret must have had a suspicion of what was
coming, for it was with a sinking voice that she asked:

“What are you going to do now?”  Mr. Trelawny too must have had a
suspicion of her feelings, for he answered in a low tone:

“To unroll the mummy of Queen Tera!”  She came close to him and said
pleadingly in a whisper:

“Father, you are not going to unswathe her! All you men...! And in
the glare of light!”

“But why not, my dear?”

“Just think, Father, a woman! All alone! In such a way! In such a
place! Oh! it’s cruel, cruel!”  She was manifestly much overcome. Her
cheeks were flaming red, and her eyes were full of indignant tears. Her father saw her distress; and, sympathising with it, began to
comfort her. I was moving off; but he signed to me to stay. I took it
that after the usual manner of men he wanted help on such an occasion,
and man-like wished to throw on someone else the task of dealing with a
woman in indignant distress. However, he began to appeal first to her
reason:

“Not a woman, dear; a mummy! She has been dead nearly five thousand
years!”

“What does that matter? Sex is not a matter of years! A woman is a
woman, if she had been dead five thousand centuries! And you expect
her to arise out of that long sleep! It could not be real death, if
she is to rise out of it! You have led me to believe that she will
come alive when the Coffer is opened!”

“I did, my dear; and I believe it! But if it isn’t death that has been
the matter with her all these years, it is something uncommonly like
it.