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earnest.”
    I could imagine that. Anyone would be quite earnest knowing the Scrolls of Hazaa had not only been unearthed but had fallen into the hands of a skilled occultist like myself. I forced a laugh. “This is ridiculous,” I said. “If I did have the scrolls, what would I be doing in New York?”
    â€œAkkadian is a tricky language. Outside of you, myself, and Charles, there are maybe a handful of people alive who could decipher it. One of them is Professor Tappani at Columbia. My guess is you’ve come here for his help.”
    â€œNo, Roger, I’m not here to see Professor Tappani. I’m here to rest a bit and take advantage of Christmastime in New York. Nothing more.”
    His eyes bored into me as he edged closer. He said, “Look, Jack, I can help you with the scrolls. The nuances of Akkadian are immense, but together we could translate them without error. There’s no reason the two of us couldn’t enter the Hall of Hazaa. As one man, you’d have to solve all thirteen locks by yourself. Why not do it together? Both of us could have what the scrolls promise. Immortality. Agelessness. Virility of a god. Why not, Jack?”
    It was pitiful watching him demean himself like this. Why share something that I could have all to myself? Especially since he failed to mention the most treasured of the rewards for solving the thirteen locks. The eternal services of the Furies. I would be like a god. And share them with this whining, wretched excuse of a man? Was he insane?
    â€œNo, Roger,” I said, struggling to keep the pity from my voice, “I don’t have the scrolls. And I am not here in New York to see any professor from Columbia.”
    I looked away and drank my scotch. From the corner of my eye, I could see his round face deflate like a punctured tire. He stood up, placed some money on the table for the drinks, then nodded toward me and, with his shoulders slumping, trudged off to an empty table.
    Of course, while Hormsley had been right about the scrolls, he had no clue as to why I was in New York. It wasn’t to see Professor Tappani or anyone else. I was quite confident in my own translation of the scrolls. But my reason for being here—as bizarre as it may sound—was that the Hall of Hazaa was right here in Manhattan. As the full moon reached its highest ascendancy, and if I were standing in the prescribed spot, the gate would become visible for a mere few seconds. After that it would be another seven years before entrance to the hall would be possible. According to my calculations, the gate would be able to be seen at exactly two thirty-one this morning, giving me a little over three hours to wait. I had gone over the scrolls a hundred times, and I was sure of this—as sure as I was of anything. After I gained entrance to the hall, I would have twenty-four hours to solve the thirteen locks. If I failed, well, I didn’t want to think about the consequences. All I could do was trust that I wouldn’t. The rewards were too great to do anything else. Anyway, while the scrolls didn’t spell out how to solve the locks, they hinted that if I asked I would be told. Whom I would ask, I didn’t have a clue, but I would cross that bridge when I got to it.
    I ordered another drink, and after finishing it looked over and saw that Hormsley had left. He had to have known I wouldn’t share the scrolls with him, but I guess desperation can make men do foolish things. Or maybe he was simply trying to get a read on me, to see whether or nor Lutton hadn’t lost his mind and that I actually had the scrolls in my possession.
    I ordered dinner and black coffee. The next twenty-four hours were going to be long ones. After I finished eating, I hung around until twenty past one. The location of the Hall of Hazaa was no more than an hour by foot, and I wanted to get there close to the time that the gate would show itself. I didn’t want to