They found, however, a furrier's shop, and this they entered eagerly.

From rusted metal hooks a few warped fragments of skins still hung,
moth-eaten, riddled with holes, ready to crumble at the merest touch.

"There's nothing in any of these to help us," judged Stern. "But maybe
we might find something else in here."

Carefully they searched the littered place, all dust and horrible
disarray, which made sad mockery of the gold-leaf sign still visible
on the window: "Lange, Importer. All the Latest Novelties."

On the floor Stern discovered three more of those little dust-middens
which meant human bodies, pitiful remnants of an extinct race, of
unknown people in the long ago. What had he now in common with them?
The remains did not even inspire repugnance in him. All at once
Beatrice uttered a cry of startled gladness. "Look here! A storage
chest!"

True enough, there stood a cedar box, all seamed and cracked and
bulging, yet still retaining a semblance of its original shape.

The copper bindings and the lock were still quite plainly to be seen,
as the engineer held the torch close, though green and corroded with
incredible age.

One effort of Stern's powerful arms sufficed to tip the chest quite
over. As it fell it burst. Down in a mass of pulverized, worm-eaten
splinters it disintegrated.