The Professor, with Quest and Long Jim, suddenly appeared round the corner of the building. They walked towards Craig. He shrank back in his place.

"If these are your enemies," the girl cried fiercely, "remember that they cannot touch you here. I'll have the boys out in a minute, if they dare to try it."

Craig struggled to his feet. He made no answer. His eyes were fixed upon the Professor's. The girl passed her arm through his and dragged him into the saloon. They passed Jose in the doorway. He scoffed at them.

"Say, the boss will fire you, Marta, if you waste all your time with that Yankee," he muttered.

Marta drew the red rose from the bosom of her dress and placed it in Craig's buttonhole. Then she led him without a word to a seat.

"If these men try any tricks in here," she said, "there'll be trouble."

Almost at that moment they all three entered. Long Jim nodded to Craig in friendly fashion.

"It's all right, cookie," he told them. "Don't you look so scared. This is just a bit of parley-vous business, that's all."

The Professor held out a piece of paper. He handed it over to Craig.

"Craig," he announced, "this is a dispatch which I found in Allguez with my letters. It is addressed to you, but under the circumstances you will scarcely wonder that I opened it. You had better read it."

Craig accepted the cable-form and read it through slowly to himself:—

"To John Craig, c/o Professor Lord Ashleigh, Yonkers, New York:

"Your sister died to-day. Her daughter Mary sails on Tuesday to join you in New York. Please meet her.

"COMPTON, Solicitor, London."

Craig sat for a moment as though stunned. The girl leaned over towards him.

"Are they trying to take you on a warrant?" she whispered. "Remember you don't need to go unless you want to."

Craig shook his head.

"This is something quite different," he explained. "Leave me for a moment, Marta. I must talk to these people."

She slipped regretfully away from his side and out into the darkness. He sat with his eyes fixed upon the cablegram. Then he turned towards Quest.

"Fate seems to be too strong for me," he admitted. "Leave me alone and I promise you that I'll go at once to New York, settle Mary's future, and then make a full disclosure."

Jim touched him on the shoulder.

"Remember," he told him, "you ain't no call to leave here unless you want to. Those deputies don't go this side of the border. You're safe as long as you like to stay."

Craig nodded gratefully.

"All the same," he said, "I fear that I must go."

The Professor coughed.

"I am sure, Craig," he declared, "that you have decided wisely."

Craig looked gloomily away.

"There is nothing else for me to do," he said. "The child must be met and looked after. Besides, I am sick of it all. You may as well know the truth."

"Why not now?" Quest suggested softly.

"In New York," Craig replied, "and not before."

Quest and the Professor exchanged meaning glances.

"Very well," the former decided, turning away, "in a week from to-day, Craig, I shall expect you to report at the Professor's house."

They left the room together. Long Jim lingered by Craig's side.

"Those guys have been scaring you some, I guess," he remarked. "Forget 'em, cookie. They can't touch you here. Of course, if you go to New York it's your own show."

"I know that," Craig replied gloomily.

One of the girls passed her arm through Long Jim's.

"Just one dance," she whispered.

He hesitated, looking out of the window. Then he shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm tired of those guys," he remarked to Craig with a grin. "Guess I'll stay here for a bit."

Craig was left alone for a few minutes. Suddenly Marta glided in and sat by his side. Her eyes were flashing with anger.

"You know what they said, those two, as they passed out?" she whispered hoarsely. "I heard them. They are going to board the eight-thirty train to-morrow morning. The dark man turned and said to the other—'If he is not on that, we'll wait till we find him. Once we get him in New York, he's our man.'"

A little exclamation of anger broke from Craig's lips. The girl caught at his arm.

"Don't go," she begged. "Don't go. There are plenty of places near here where you can hide, where we could go together and live quite simply. I'd work for you. Take me away from this, somewhere over the hills. Don't go to New York. They are cruel, those men. They are hunting you—I can see it in their faces."

Craig shook his head sadly.

"Little girl," he said, "I should like to go with you along that valley and over the hills and forget that I had ever lived in any other world. But I can't do it. There's a child there now, on the ocean, nearer to New York every day, my sister's own child and no one to meet her. And—there are the other things. I have sinned and I must pay.... My God!"

The room suddenly rang with Marta's shriek. Through the open window by which they were sitting, an arm wrapped in a serape had suddenly hovered over them. Craig, in starting back, had just escaped the downward blow of the knife, which had buried itself in Marta's arm. She fell back, screaming.

"It's Jose!" she cried. "The brute! The beast!"

Craig swung to his feet, furious. Long Jim, cursing fiercely, drew his gun. At that moment the door of the saloon was thrown open. Jose came reeling in, his serape over his shoulder, a drunken grin on his face. He staggered towards them.

"Jose, you beast!" the girl called out, and fell back, fainting.

There was the sound of a revolver shot and Jose reeled backwards and fell with a cry across the sanded floor. Jim thrust his smoking gun into his belt and caught Craig by the arm.

"Say, we'd better get out of this, cookie!" he muttered.

They were hustled out. Apparently Jose was unpopular, for every one seemed only anxious to have them clear away.

"I'll get you into the camp quietly," Long Jim muttered. "You'll be safer there for the night. Then you can make that eighty-thirty in the morning."

* * * * *

Lenora, with her bed dragged to the opening of the tent, eagerly greeted the little party on their return. Quest at once came and sat by her side.

"Where's Laura," he asked, "and the Inspector?"

She smiled and pointed to the rising ground behind them. In the faint moonlight two forms were just visible.

"The Inspector isn't taking 'no' for an answer," Lenora remarked cheerfully, "and honestly, if you ask me, I believe that Laura is weakening a little. She pretended she didn't want to go out for a walk, and mumbled something about leaving me, but she soon changed her mind when the Inspector pressed her. They have been up there for an hour or more."

Quest smiled.

"French has got it bad," he declared, "almost as badly as I have, Lenora."

She laughed at him. Her face was a little drawn with pain but her eyes were very soft.

"I wonder if you have it very badly," she murmured.

He held her hand for a moment.

"I think you know," he said.

As they talked they heard the coyotes barking in the distance. Presently Laura and the Inspector returned.

"Nice sort of nurse I am," the former grumbled. "It's all the fault of this man. He would keep me out there talking rubbish."

"We were watching you, dear," Lenora said quietly. "Somehow it didn't seem to us that you were particularly anxious to get away."

The Inspector chuckled.

"That's one for Miss Laura," he declared, with an air of satisfaction. "Little bit hard on me generally."

"Oh! I'm all right if I'm left alone," Laura retorted, bustling around. "Come along, you folks, if we are going to have any supper to-night."

They sat round the opening before Lenora's tent till the moon was high in the heavens. Quest, who had been on the outside of the circle for some little time, suddenly rose to his feet and crossed over to the cook wagon. Long Jim, who was sitting on the steps, glanced up a little surlily.

"Who's inside there?" Quest asked.

Long Jim removed his pipe from his teeth.

"That don't sound none too civil a question for a guest," he remarked, "but if you want to know, our new Chinese cookie is there."

Quest nodded.

"Sorry if I seemed abrupt," he apologised. "You've been very good to us and I'm sure we are uncommonly obliged to you, Jim. The only reason I asked the question was that I saw a face in the door there and it gave me a start. For a moment I thought it was Craig back again."

"He's gone to New York, or going to-morrow morning," Jim replied. "I don't think he's so powerful fond of your company that he'd come round here looking for it."

Quest strolled off again and glanced at his watch as he rejoined the little group.

"Well," he said, "I think we'll turn in. Seven o'clock to-morrow morning, Inspector. Jim's sending one of the boys with us and we shall catch the Eastern Limited at the junction."

The Inspector yawned.

"This open-air life makes me sleepy," he confessed.

"To bed, all of us," Quest concluded, turning away.

3.

Quest awoke the next morning, stretched out his hand and glanced at the watch by the side of his bed. It was barely six o'clock. He turned over and dozed again, looked again at half-past six, and finally, at a few minutes to seven, rose and made a hasty toilet. Then, in the act of placing his watch in his waistcoat pocket, he gave a sudden start. By its side, half covered by the handkerchief which he had thrown upon the little table, stood a small black box! For a moment he was motionless. Then he stretched out his hand, removed the lid and drew out the usual neatly folded piece of paper:—

"Even time fights you. It loses that you may lose.

"THE HANDS."

Quest for a moment was puzzled. Then he hurried into the next tent, where the Professor was sleeping peacefully.

"Say, Professor, what's the time by your watch?" Quest asked, shaking him gently.

The Professor sat up and drew his chronometer from under his pillow.

"Seven o'clock," he replied, "five minutes past, maybe."

Quest nodded.

"That seems all right," he declared. "I'll explain later, Professor."

He hurried out into French's tent and found the Inspector just drawing on his shoes.

"French, what's the time?" he demanded.

"Three minutes past seven, or thereabouts," French replied, yawning. "I'm coming right along. We've lots of time. Three-quarters of an hour ought to do it, the boys say."

Quest held out a strip of paper.

"This gave me a turn," he said quietly. "I found it in a black box by the side of my bed."

French gazed at it in a puzzled manner. They walked outside to the camp, where the cowboys were finishing their breakfast.

"Say, boss," one of them called out, "you're not making that eight-thirty train to New York?"

"Why not?" Quest asked quickly. "It's only three quarters of an hour's ride, is it?"

"Maybe not," the other replied, "but as it's eight now, your chances ain't looking lively. Kind of overslept, haven't you?"

Both men glanced once more at their watches. Then Quest thrust his back with a little oath.

"Our watches have been set back!" he exclaimed. "The Hands again!"

For a moment they looked at one another, dumbfounded. Then Quest moved towards the corral.

"Say, is there any quicker way to the depot?" he enquired of the cowboys.

They heard his question indifferently.

"Fifty dollars," Quest continued, "to any one who can take me by a quicker route."

One of them rose slowly to his feet.

"Waal," he observed, "fifty dollars would come in kind of handy. Yes, I reckon I can cut off a mile or two for you."

"Fifty dollars for you, then," Quest replied, as they hurried towards the horses, "and an extra ten if we make the train."

They galloped off into the distance. The cowboys finished their breakfast and went off to their work. Laura stole out from her tent and started off in rather a shame-faced manner for a ride. Presently Lenora opened her eyes. She, too, stretched out her hand for her watch. Suddenly she sat up in bed with a little exclamation. On the table by her side was a small black box. She took off the lid with trembling fingers, drew out a scrap of paper and read:—

"Fools! Tongues of flame will cross Quest's path. He will never reach the depot alive."

Lenora glanced at Laura's empty bed. Then she staggered to the opening of the tent.

"Laura!" she cried.

There was no one there. The cowboys had all gone to their work, Laura had passed out of sight across the ridge in the distance. Lenora staggered to the cook wagon, where the Chinese cook was sitting cleaning plates.

"Listen!" she cried. "They are in danger, the three men who have gone off to the depot! If you'll ride after them, I will give you a hundred dollars. Give them this," she added, holding out the scrap of paper.

The Chinaman shook his head. He glanced at the slip of paper indifferently and went on with his work.

"No can ride, missee," he said.

Lenora looked around helplessly. The camp was empty. She staggered across towards her own horse.

"Come and help me," she ordered.

The Chinaman came unwillingly. They found her saddle but he only gazed at it in a stolid sort of fashion.

"No can fix," he said. "Missee no can ride. Better go back bed."

Lenora pushed him on one side. With a great effort she managed to reach her place in the saddle. Then she turned and, with her face to the depot, galloped away. The pain was excruciating. She could only keep herself in the saddle with an effort. Yet all the time that one sentence was ringing in her mind—"Tongues of flame!" She kept looking around anxiously. Suddenly the road dropped from a little decline. She was conscious of a wave of heat. In the distance she could see the smoke rolling across the open. She touched her horse with the quirt. The spot which she must pass to keep on the track to the depot was scarcely a hundred yards ahead, but already the fire seemed to be running like quicksilver across the ground licking up the dry greasewood with indeed a flaming tongue. She glanced once behind, warned by the heat. The fire was closing in upon her. A puff of smoke suddenly enveloped her. She coughed. Her head began to swim and a fit of giddiness assailed her. She rocked in her saddle and the pony came to a sudden standstill, faced by the mass of rolling smoke and flame.

"Sanford!" Lenora cried. "Save me!"

The pony reared. She slipped from the saddle and fell across the track.



CHAPTER XV

"A BOLT FROM THE BLUE"

1.

There was a peculiar, almost a foreboding silence about the camp that morning when Laura returned from her early ride. The only living person to be seen was the Chinaman, sitting on a stool in front of the wagon, with a dish of potatoes between his knees.

"Say, where's every one?" Laura sung out, after she had looked into Lenora's tent and found it empty.

The Chinaman continued to peel potatoes. He took no notice of the question. Laura touched her horse with the whip and cantered over to his side. At the last moment the animal swerved a little. The Chinaman, trying to draw back hastily, let the bowl slip between his knees. He gazed at the broken pieces of the dish in dismay.

"Never mind your silly potatoes!" Laura exclaimed. "Tell me where every one's gone to, can't you?"

The Chinaman looked up at her malevolently. He rose and made a stealthy movement forward. Laura backed her horse. The purpose which had gleamed for a moment in the man's narrowed eyes seemed to fade away.

"All gone," he announced. "Cowboy gone workee. Missee gone hurry up find Mr. Quest."

Laura hesitated, puzzled. Just then the Professor came cantering in with a bundle of grass in his hand. He glanced down at the Chinaman.

"Good morning, Miss Laura!" he said. "You don't seem to be getting on with our friend here," he added in an undertone. "If you would permit me to offer you just a word of advice, it really doesn't pay to annoy these Chinese too much. They never forget. I didn't like the way that fellow was looking at you. I was watching him all the way from the rise there."

"Pshaw!" she answered. "Who cares what a Chink thinks! The fellow's an idiot. I'm worried, Professor. Lenora's gone out after Mr. Quest and the Inspector. She wasn't fit to ride a horse. I can't make out why she's attempted it."

The Professor unslung some field-glasses from his shoulder and gazed steadily southward.

"It is just possible," he said softly, "that she may have received a warning of that."

He pointed with his forefinger, and Laura peered forward. Something which seemed to be just a faint cloud hung over the horizon. The Professor handed her his glasses.

"Why, it's a fire!" she cried.

The Professor nodded.

"Just a prairie fire," he replied,—"very dangerous, though, these dry seasons. The flames move so quickly that if you happen to be in a certain position you might easily get cut off."

Laura turned her horse round.

"Come on, Professor!" she exclaimed. "That's what it is. Lenora's gone to try and warn the others."

"She is a very brave young lady," the Professor declared, as he touched his pony with the spurs. "All the same, Miss Laura, you take my advice and leave that Chinaman alone."

They rode to the very edge of the tract of country which was temporarily enveloped with smoke and flame. Here they pulled in their horses, and the Professor looked thoughtfully through his field-glasses.

"The road straight on is the ordinary way to the depot," he said, "but, as you can see, at the bend there it is becoming almost impassable. The thing is, what did Lenora do? When she got as far as this, she must have seen that further progress was dangerous."

Laura gave a little cry and pointed with her riding-whip. About twenty yards further on, by the side of the road, was a small white object. She cantered on, swung herself from her horse and picked it up.

"Lenora's handkerchief!" she cried.

The Professor waved his arm westward.

"Here come Quest and the Inspector. They are making a circuit to avoid the fire. The cowboy with them must have shown them the way. We'd better hurry up and find out if they've seen anything of Miss Lenora."

They galloped across the rough country towards the little party, who were now clearly in sight.

"Lenora isn't with them," Laura declared anxiously, "and look—what's that?"

From the centre of one of the burning patches they saw a riderless horse gallop out, stop for a moment with his head almost between its fore-legs, shake himself furiously, and gallop blindly on again.

"It's Lenora's horse!" Laura cried. "She must have been thrown. Come!"

Laura would have turned her horse, but the Professor checked her.

"Let us wait for Quest," he advised. "They are close here."

The cowboy, riding a little behind the two others, had unlimbered his lariat, and, while they watched, swung it over his head and secured the runaway. Quest galloped up to where Laura and the Professor were waving frantically.

"Say, that's some fire!" Quest exclaimed. "Did you people come out to see it?"

"No, we came to find Lenora!" Laura answered breathlessly. "That's her horse. She started to meet you. She must be somewhere—"

"Lenora?" Quest interrupted fiercely. "What do you mean?"

"When I got back to the camp," Laura continued rapidly, "there wasn't a soul there except the Chinaman. He told me that Lenora had ridden off a few minutes before to find you. We came to look for her. We found her handkerchief on the road there, and that's her horse."

Quest did not wait for another word. He jumped a rough bush of scrub on the right-hand side, galloped over the ground, which was already hot with the coming fire, and followed along down the road by which Lenora had passed. When he came to the first bend, he could hear the roar of flames in the trees. A volume of smoke almost blinded him; his horse became wholly unmanageable. He slipped from the saddle and ran on, staggering from right to left like a drunken man. About forty yards along the road, Lenora was lying in the dust. A volume of smoke rushed over her. The tree under which she had collapsed was already afire. A twig fell from it as Quest staggered up, and her skirt began to smoulder. He tore off his coat, wrapped it around her, beat out the fire which was already blazing at her feet, and snatched her into his arms. She opened her eyes for a moment.

"Where are we?" she whispered. "The fire!"

"That's all right," Quest shouted. "We'll be out of it in a moment. Hold tight to my neck."

He braced himself for a supreme effort and ran along the pathway. His feet were blistered with the heat; there was a great burn on one of his arms. At last, however, he passed out of the danger zone and staggered up to where the Professor, the Inspector and Laura were waiting.

"Say, that was a close shave," he faltered, as he laid Lenora upon the ground. "Another five minutes—well, we won't talk about it. Let's lift her on to your horse, Laura, and get back to the camp."

2.

The Professor laid down his book and gazed with an amiable smile towards Quest and Lenora.

"I fear," he remarked dolefully, "that my little treatise on the fauna of the Northern Orinoco scarcely appeals to you, Mr. Quest."

Quest, whose arm was in a sling but who was otherwise none the worse for his recent adventure, pointed out of the tent.

"Don't you believe it, Professor," he begged. "I've been listening to every word. But say, Lenora, just look at Laura and French!"

They all three peered anxiously out of the opening of the tent. Laura and the Inspector were very slowly approaching the cook wagon. Laura was carrying a large bunch of wild flowers, one of which she was in the act of fastening in French's buttonhole.

"That fellow French has got grit," Quest declared. "He sticks to it all the time. He'll win out with Laura in the end, you mark my words."

"I hope he will," Lenora said. "She's a dear girl, although she has got an idea into her head that she hates men and love-making. I think the Inspector's just the man for her."

The two had paused outside the cook wagon. Laura held out the flowers to the Chinaman.

"Can't you find me a bowl for these?" she asked.

He looked slowly up at her.

"No bowlee for flowers," he answered. "All want for eatee."

Laura leaned over and shook him by the shoulder.

"Well, I'll eatee off the ground," she said. "Give me a bowl, you slant-eyed old idiot."

"Why don't you obey the lady?" French intervened.

Very slowly the Chinaman rose to his feet, disappeared inside the cook wagon and reappeared with a basin, which he handed to Laura. She thanked him carelessly, and they passed on. From where they stood, both Quest and Lenora saw the look which for a moment flashed from the Chinaman's eyes. Lenora shivered.

"I'll be glad when we get away from here," she declared, clinging to Quest's arm. "That Chinaman hates Laura like poison, and I'm afraid of him."

Quest nodded.

"She does seem to have put his back up," he agreed. "As to going on, I think we might just as well move tomorrow. My arm's all right."

"And I'm quite well," Lenora asserted eagerly.

"We've wired for them to meet Craig," Quest said. "I only hope they don't let him slip through their fingers. I haven't much faith in his promise to turn up at the Professor's. Let's see what Laura and French have to say."

"Can't see any sense in staying on here any longer," was French's immediate decision, "so long as you two invalids feel that you can stand the journey. Besides, we're using up these fellows' hospitality."

"We'll get everything in order to-night," Laura decided, "and start first thing to-morrow."

They busied themselves for the next hour or two in making preparations. After their evening meal, the two men walked with Lenora and Laura to their tent.

"I think you girls had better go to bed," Quest suggested. "Try and get a long night's sleep."

"That's all very well," French remarked, "but it's only eight o'clock. What about a stroll, Miss Laura, just up to the ridge?"

Laura hesitated for a moment and glanced towards Lenora.

"Please go," the latter begged. "I really don't feel like going to sleep just yet."

"I'll look after Lenora," Quest promised. "You have your walk. There's the Professor sitting outside his tent. Wouldn't you like to take him with you?"

Laura glanced indignantly at him as they strolled out, and Lenora laughed softly.

"How dared you suggest such a thing!" she murmured to Quest. "Do look at them. The Inspector wants her to take his watch, and she can't quite make up her mind about it. Why, Laura's getting positively frivolous."

"Guess we'd better not watch them any longer," Quest decided. "What about a game of bezique?"

"I should love it!" Lenora assented. "You'll find the cards in that satchel."

They sat and played for half an hour by the light of a lantern. Suddenly Quest paused in the act of dealing and glanced over his shoulder.

"What the mischief was that?" he muttered.

"Sounded as though the tent flapped," Lenora replied.

Quest rose, and with the lantern in his hand walked to the other side of the tent. The flap was open, but there was no sign of any one in sight. He looked around and came back.

"Queer thing!" he exclaimed. "It sounded just as though some one had pulled the flap of the tent back. The flap's open, but there isn't a soul in sight."

"I expect it was fancy," Lenora remarked. "Still, there isn't a breath of wind, is there?"

Quest returned to his place, and they recommenced the game. Just at that moment the entrance to the tent was lifted and Laura ran in. She plumped down upon her bed with her hands on either side of her.

"If that man—" she began.

Suddenly she sprang up with a little cry which turned almost into a scream. From a look of humorous indignation, her face suddenly assumed an expression of absolute terror. She shrank away.

"There's something soft in the bed!" she shrieked. "I felt it with my hand!"

They all looked towards the cot. Quest held up the lantern. They distinctly saw a movement under the bedclothes. The Inspector, stooping down, suddenly entered the tent.

"Say, what's wrong here?" he demanded.

"There's something in Laura's bed," Quest muttered. "Here, give me the camp-stool."

He stole towards the bed, gripping the camp-stool firmly with his right hand, and slowly turning down the bedclothes with the feet of the chair. Suddenly there was a piercing scream. A huge snake, coiled and quivering for the spring, lifted its head. Even Quest seemed for the moment nerveless. Then from the doorway came the sharp report of a revolver, and the snake fell, a limp, inert thing. They all looked at the Professor as though fascinated. He came a step farther into the tent, the revolver still smoking in his hand. Standing over the snake, he deliberately fired again and again into the body.

"I think," he remarked, in his usual calm tones, "that we may consider the creature now beyond any power of doing harm. You will be interested to hear," he continued, bending over the remains of the creature, "that this is an exceedingly rare species, a sort of second cousin to the rattlesnake found only in this part of the world and fatally poisonous."

"But how could it have got there?" Lenora faltered.

The Professor shook his head gravely.

"I am afraid," he said, "that there can be no doubt about that. I saw the Chinaman whom Laura is so fond of sneaking away from this tent a few minutes ago, and I suspected some devilry. That is why I went and fetched my revolver."

There was a roar of anger from French. He snatched the weapon from the Professor's hand.

"I'll kill that yellow dog!" he shouted. "Where is he?"

He dashed across the open space towards the camp wagon. His teeth were set, and there was murder in his blazing eyes.

"Where's that Chinaman?" he yelled at the top of his voice.

The cowboys struggled to their feet. The Chinaman, who was sitting inside the cook wagon, poring over a book by the light of a lantern, recognised the note of fury in French's tone and raised his head, startled. A paroxysm of fear seized him. The very moment that French threw open the door of the wagon, he kicked the lantern across the floor and plunged at the canvas sides of the vehicle, slipping underneath until he reached the ground. French, left in darkness, groped around for a moment and then emerged. The cowboys had gathered together outside.

"Say, Mr. Inspector French," one of them demanded, "what's wrong with John Chinaman? You folks seem to have a sort of grudge against our cooks. What's the Oriental been doing, eh?"

"Tried to commit a filthy murder," French shouted. "Brought a snake and put it into the bed of one of the young women."

They hesitated no longer.

"Come on, boys," one of them cried. "We'll have to see this matter through."

They found the spot where the Chinaman had escaped from the wagon, but even at that moment they heard the sound of a horse's hoofs and saw a flying figure in the distance.

"Said he couldn't ride!" French shouted. "Told the young lady so when she wanted him to go and warn us of the fire. Look at him now!"

"Come on, all of you," one of the cowboys yelled, as they rushed for the horse. "Bring your lariats. We'll have him, sure."

French, with his start, was the first to reach a horse. The cowboys galloped off through the shadows. Dimly visible, they now and then caught a glimpse of their quarry; sometimes he faded out of sight altogether.

"We'll have him through that patch of brush," Long Jim shouted. "He won't dare to ride the pace there."

They saw him for a moment bending low over his horse, but they did not see him slip easily from its back, roll over into the brushwood, and lie there concealed. They heard the thunder of hoofs ahead, and they galloped by. When they were out of sight, the Chinaman stole away into the darkness. Nearly an hour later, the little party caught up with the riderless horse. The language of the cowboys was picturesque.

"Spread out, boys. We'll round him up going back, if we can," Long Jim directed. "If he was spilled off, we'll get him, sure. But if the dirty coyote has tricked us and slipped off into the brush, it's good night. We'll never find him."

French's hand tightened upon his revolver, and his eyes pierced the darkness to right and to left as he rode slowly back.

"There'll be no trial if I can get the drop on him," he muttered.

Away in the distance, John Chinaman was reaching Allguez, and the little party of cowboys rode into the camp without having seen a sign of him. French was narrating his failure to the three others, when Quest in silence handed him a cablegram, a messenger had just brought.

To Inspector French, Allguez, N.M.

Very sorry. Craig gave us slip after leaving depot. Niece disappeared from address given. No clues at present. When are you returning?

French swore softly for a moment. Then he dropped into a chair, exhausted.

"This," he declared, "is our unlucky evening."

3.

The woman who had just laid the cloth for a homely evening meal, smiled across at the girl who stood at the window.

"It's all ready now directly your uncle comes home," she announced. "Say, you never seem to tire of looking out of that window."

The girl turned around with a smile. She was very young and dressed in deep mourning.

"I've never seen anything like it before, Mrs. Malony," she said. "It was quite quiet where we lived in London, and here, with the street cars and the elevated railways and the clanging of bells, there never seems to be a moment's peace."

Mrs. Malony came to the girl's side.

"Your poor uncle looks as though a little peace would do him good," she remarked.

The girl sighed.

"If only I could do something for him!" she murmured.

"He's in some kind of trouble, I think," Mrs. Malony observed. "He is not what you might call a communicative person, but it's easy to see that he is far from being happy in himself. You'll ring when you're ready, Miss Mary?"

The door was suddenly opened, and Craig entered. He was very pale and a little out of breath. Before he closed the door, he listened for a moment.

"Just as we were speaking about you, Mr. Craig," the landlady continued. "I was saying to the young lady that there was only one thing I could wish for you both, and that was that you weren't quite so worried like."

Craig seemed scarcely to hear her.

"Look across the road," he begged. "Tell me if there is a man in a blue serge suit and a bowler hat, smoking a cigar, looking across here."

Mrs. Malony and the girl both obeyed. The girl was the first to speak.

"Yes!" she announced. "He is looking straight at these windows."

Craig groaned and sank down upon a chair.

"Leave us, if you please, Mrs. Malony," he ordered. "I'll ring when I'm ready."

Mrs. Malony hesitated with the door-knob in her hand.

"I'm not wishing to say anything that might sound offensive," she observed slowly, "but if it's a case of trouble of any sort with the police, Mr. Craig—"

"That will do," Craig interrupted. "It isn't anything of the sort you think. You are not likely to suffer by having me here, Mrs. Malony, or by looking after my niece when I have gone."

The landlady left the room silently. The girl came over to her uncle and threw her arm around his neck.

"Please don't talk about going away, uncle," she pleaded. "I have been so happy since I have been with you."

He patted her head, felt in his pocket, and drew out a little paper bag, from which he shook a bunch of violets. The girl pinned them to her frock with a little cry of pleasure.

"How kind you are to me!" she exclaimed. "You think of everything!"

He sighed.

"If I had had you for a little longer, Mary," he said, "perhaps I should have been a better man. Go to the window, please, and tell me if that man is still there."

She crossed the room with light footsteps. Presently she returned.

"He is just crossing the street," she announced. "I think that he seems to be coming here."

Craig took the girl for a minute into his arms.

"Good-bye, dear," he said. "I want you to take this paper and keep it carefully. You will be cared for always, but I must go."

"But where must you go?" she asked bewildered.

"I have an appointment at Professor Ashleigh's," he told her. "I cannot tell you anything more than that. Good-bye!"

He kissed her for a moment passionately. Then suddenly he tore himself away. She heard him run lightly down the stairs. Some instinct led her to the back window. She saw him emerge from the house and pass down the yard. Then she went to the front. The man in the blue serge suit was talking to the landlady below. She sank into a chair, puzzled and unhappy. Then she heard heavy footsteps. The door was opened. The man in the blue serge suit entered, followed by the protesting landlady.

"There's no sense in coming here to worry the young lady," Mrs. Malony declared irritably. "As for Mr. Craig, I told you that he'd gone out."

"Gone out, eh?" the man repeated, speaking in a thick, disagreeable tone. "Why, I watched him in here not ten minutes ago. Now then, young lady, guess you'd better cough up the truth. Where's this precious uncle of yours?"

"My uncle has gone out," the girl replied, drawing herself up. "He left five minutes ago."

"Sneaked out by the back way, maybe," the man sneered.

"If there was any fear of your stopping to speak to him, I should think he would," the girl retorted boldly. "My uncle is rather particular about his acquaintances."

The man laughed.

"What's that in your hand?" he demanded.

"Something my uncle gave me before he went out," the girl replied. "I haven't looked at it yet myself."

"Give it here," he ordered.

She spread it out upon the table.

"You may look at it if you choose," she agreed. "My uncle did not tell me not to show it to any one."

They read it together. The few lines seemed to be written with great care. They took, indeed, the form of a legal document, to which was affixed the seal of a notary and the name of a witness.—

I, John Craig, being about to receive the just punishment for all my sins, hereby bequeath to my niece, Mary Carlton, all monies and property belonging to me, a list of which she will find at this address. I make one condition only of my bequest and I beg my niece to fervently respect it. It is that she never of her own consent or knowledge speak to any one of the name of Ashleigh, or associate with any of that name.

JOHN CRAIG.

The man folded up the paper.

"I'll take care of this," he said. "It's yours, right enough. We'll just need to borrow it for a time. Go and get your hat and coat on, miss."

"I shall not," the girl objected. "My uncle told me, if anything happened to him, that I was to remain here."

"And remain here she shall, so long as she likes," Mrs. Malony insisted. "I've given my promise, too, to look after her, and Mr. Craig knows that I am an honest woman."

"You may be that," the man replied, "but it's just as well for you both to understand this. I'm from the police, and what I say goes. No harm will come to the girl, Mrs. Malony, and she shall come back here, but for the present she is going to accompany me to headquarters. If you make any trouble, I only have to blow my whistle and I can fill your house with policemen."

"I'll go," the girl whispered.

In silence she put on her hat and coat, in silence she drove with him to the police-station, where she was shown at once into an inspector's office. The man who had brought her whispered for a moment or two with his chief and handed him the paper. Inspector French read it and whistled softly. He took up the telephone by his side.

"Say, you've something of a find here," he remarked to the plain-clothes man. "Put me through to Mr. Quest, please," he added, speaking into the receiver.

The two men whispered together. The girl stole from her place and turned over rapidly the pages of a directory which was on the round table before her. She found the "A's" quickly. Her eye fell upon the name of Ashleigh. She repeated the address to herself and glanced around. The two men were still whispering. For the moment she was forgotten. She stole on tiptoe across the room, ran down the stone steps, and hastened into the street.

4.

The Professor, who was comfortably seated in Quest's favourite easy-chair, glanced at his watch and shook his head.

"I am afraid, my friend," he said, "that Craig's nerve has failed him. A voluntary surrender was perhaps too much to hope for."

Quest smoked for a moment in silence.

"Can't understand those fellows letting him give them the slip," he muttered. "He ought to have been under close surveillance from the moment he set foot in New York. What's that?" he added, turning to the door.

His servant entered, bearing a note.

"This was left a few minutes ago, sir," he announced, "by a messenger boy. There was no answer required."

The man retired and Quest unfolded the sheet of paper. His expression suddenly changed.

"Listen!" he exclaimed.

To Sanford Quest.

Gather your people in Professor Ashleigh's library at ten o'clock to-night. I will be there and tell you my whole story.

JOHN CRAIG.

The Professor sat for a moment speechless.

"Then he meant it, after all!" he exclaimed at last.

"Seems like it," Quest admitted. "I'll just telephone to French."

The Professor rose to his feet, knocked the ash from his cigar, struggled into his coat, and took up his hat. Then he waited until Quest had completed his conversation. The latter's face had grown grave and puzzled. It was obvious that he was receiving information of some importance. He put down the instrument at last with a curt word of farewell.

"Let me send a couple of men up with you, Professor," he begged. "You don't want to run any risk of having Craig there before we arrive."

The Professor smiled.

"My friend," he said, "it is seldom in my life that I have had to have recourse to physical violence, but I flatter myself that there is no man who would do me any harm. We will meet, then, at my house. You will bring the young ladies?"

"Sure!" Quest replied. "I am just sending word up to them now."

The Professor moved towards the door.

"If only this may prove to be the end!" he sighed.

* * * * *

Quest spent the next hour or so in restless deliberations. There were still many things which puzzled him. At about a quarter past nine Lenora and Laura arrived, dressed for their expedition. Quest threw open the window and looked out across the city. A yellowish haze which, accompanied by a sulphurous heat, had been brooding over the city all day long, had suddenly increased in density. The air was stifling.

"I'm afraid we are in for a bad thunderstorm, girls," Quest remarked.

Laura laughed.

"Who cares? The automobile's there, Mr. Quest."

"Let's go, then," he replied.

They descended into the street and drove to the Professor's house in silence. Even Laura was feeling the strain of these last hours of anxiety. On the way they picked up French and a plain-clothes man, and the whole party arrived at their destination just as the storm broke. The Professor met them in the hall. He, too, seemed to have lost to some extent his customary equanimity.

"Come this way, my friends," he invited. "If Craig keeps his word, he will be here now within a few minutes. This way."

They followed him into the library. Chairs were arranged around the table in the middle of the room, and they all sat down. The Professor took out his watch. It was five minutes to ten.

"In a few minutes," he continued solemnly, "this weight is to be lifted from the minds of all of us. I have come to the conclusion that on this occasion Craig will keep his word. I am not sure, mind, but I believe that he is in the house at this present moment. I have heard movements in the room which belonged to him. I have not interfered. I have been content to wait."

"At least he has not tried to escape," Quest remarked. "French here brought news of him. He has been living with his niece very quietly, but without any particular attempt at concealment or any signs of wishing to leave the city."

"I had that girl brought to my office," French remarked, "barely an hour ago, but she slipped away while we were talking. Say, what's that?"

They all rose quickly to their feet. In a momentary lull of the storm, they could hear distinctly a girl's shrill call from outside, followed by the clamour of angry voices.

"I bet that's the girl," French exclaimed. "She's been looking up the Professor's address in a directory."

They all hurried out into the hall. The plain-clothes man whom they had left on guard was standing there with his hand upon Craig's collar. The girl, sobbing bitterly, was clinging to his arm. Craig was making desperate efforts to escape. Directly he saw the little party issue from the library, however, the strength seemed to pass from his limbs. He remained in the clutches of his captor, limp and helpless.

"I caught the girl trying to make her way into the house," the latter explained. "She called out, and this man came running down-stairs, right into my arms."

"It is quite all right," the Professor said, in a dignified tone. "You may release them both. Craig was on his way to keep an appointment here at ten o'clock. Quest, will you and the Inspector bring him in? Let us resume our places at the table."

The little procession made its way down the hall. The girl was still clinging to her uncle.

"What are they going to do to you, these people?" she sobbed. "They shan't hurt you! They shan't!"

Lenora passed her arm around the girl.

"Of course not, dear," she said soothingly. "Your uncle has come of his own free will to answer a few questions, only I think it would be better if you would let me—"

Lenora never finished her sentence. They had reached the entrance now to the library. The Professor was standing in the doorway with extended hand, motioning them to take their places at the table. Then, with no form of warning, the room seemed suddenly filled with a blaze of blue light. It came at first in a thin flash from the window to the table, became immediately multiplied a thousand times, and played round the table in sparks which suddenly expanded to sheets of leaping, curling flame. The roar of thunder shook the very foundations of the house—and then silence. For several seconds not one of them seemed to have the power of speech. An amazing thing had happened. The oak table in the middle of the room was a charred fragment, the chairs were every one blackened remnants.

"A thunderbolt!" French gasped at last.

Quest was the first to cross the room. From the table to the outside window was one charred, black line which had burnt its way through the carpet. He threw open the window. The wire whose course he had followed ended there with a little lump of queer substance. He broke it off from the end of the wire, which was absolutely brittle, and brought it into the room.

"What is it?" Lenora faltered.

"What have you got there?" French echoed.

Quest examined the strange-looking lump of metal steadily. The most curious thing about it seemed to be that it was absolutely sound and showed no signs of damage. He turned to the Professor.

"I think you are the only one who will be able to appreciate this, Professor," he remarked. "Look! It is a fragment of opotan—a distinct and wonderful specimen of opotan."

Every one looked puzzled.

"But what," Lenora enquired, "is opotan?"

"It is a new metal," Quest explained gravely, "towards which scientists have been directing a great deal of attention lately. It has the power of collecting all the electricity from the air around us. There are a dozen people, at the present moment, conducting experiments with it for the purpose of cheapening electric lights. If we had been in the room ten seconds sooner—"

He paused significantly. Then he swung round on his heel. Craig, a now pitiful object, his hands nervously twitching, his face ghastly, was cowering in the background.

"Your last little effort, Craig?" he demanded sternly.

Craig made no reply. The Professor, who had disappeared for a moment, came back to them.

"There is a smaller room across the hall," he said, "which will do for our purpose."

Craig suddenly turned and faced them.

"I have changed my mind," he said. "I have nothing to tell you. Do what you will with me. Take me to the Tombs, deal with me any way you choose, but I have nothing to say."

French smiled a little grimly.

"We may make you change your mind when we get you there," he remarked.

"No one will ever make me change my mind," the man replied. "This is my last word."

Quest pointed a threatening finger at him.

"Your last voluntary word, perhaps," he said, "but science is still your master, Craig. Science has brought many criminals to their doom. It shall take its turn with you. Bring him along, French, to my study. There is a way of dealing with him."

* * * * *

Quest felt his forehead and found it damp. There were dark rims under his eyes. Before him was Craig, with a little band around his forehead and the mirror where they could all see it. The Professor stood a little in the background. Laura and French were side by side, gazing with distended eyes at the blank mirror, and Lenora was doing her best to soothe the terrified niece. Twice Quest's teeth came together and once he almost reeled.

"It's the fight of his life," he muttered at last, "but I've got him."

Almost as he spoke, they could see Craig's resistance begin to weaken. The tenseness of his form relaxed; Quest's will was triumphing. Slowly in the mirror they saw a little picture creeping from outline into definite form, a picture of the Professor's library. Craig himself was there with mortar and trowel, and a black box in his hand.

"It's coming!" Lenora moaned.

Quest stood perfectly tense. The picture suddenly flashed into brilliant clearness. They saw Craig's features with almost lifelike detail. From the corner of that room where the Professor was standing, came a smothered groan. It was a terrifying, a paralysing moment. Even the silence seemed charged with awful things. Then suddenly, without any warning, the picture faded completely away. A cry which was almost a howl of anger broke from Quest's lips. Craig had fallen sideways from his chair. There was an ominous change in his face. Something seemed to have passed from the atmosphere of the room, some tense and nameless quality. Quest moved forward and laid his hand on Craig's heart. The girl was on her knees, crying.

"Take her away," Quest whispered to Lenora.

"What about him?" French demanded, as Lenora led the girl from the room.

"He fought too hard," Quest said gravely. "He is dead. Professor,—"

They all looked around. The spot where he had been standing was empty. The Professor had gone.



CHAPTER XVI

JUSTICE CHEATED

The first shock was over. Craig's body had been removed, and the girls had taken Mary, half stunned with grief, to their room. French and Quest were left alone.

"This is some disappointment," the former remarked gloomily.

"It is a disappointment," Quest said slowly, "which may clear the way to bigger things."

"What's in your mind now?" French enquired.

Quest shook his head.

"A turmoil. First of all, where is the Professor?"

"Must have scooted right away home," French suggested. "He was looking pretty sick all the time. Guess it must have been a powerful shock for him, and he isn't so young as he used to be."

"Give me that paper of Craig's again," Quest asked, stretching out his hand.

The Inspector produced the document from his inner pocket, and Quest, stretching it out upon his knee, read it word for word.

"Never to communicate or to have anything to do with any one of the name of Ashleigh, eh?" he remarked, as he handed it back again. "Rather a queer provision, that, French."

"I've been thinking that myself," the Inspector admitted. "Seems to be rather reversing the positions, doesn't it?"

Quest glanced at the clock.

"Well," he said, "if you're ready, Inspector, we'll be getting along."

"Where to?" French demanded.

Quest looked for a moment surprised. Just then Lenora entered the room.

"Are you going out?" she asked Quest.

He nodded.

"The Inspector and I are going to have a look for that black box," he told her.

"Won't you want me?"

He shook his head.

"I think you girls have had as much as is good for you of this sort of business," he declared grimly.

"But it's all over now," Lenora protested.

Quest buttoned up his coat and motioned to French to follow him.

"I'm not so sure," he said. "I'll 'phone if we want you, Lenora. We shall be at the Professor's."

The two men drove to the outskirts of the city almost in silence, while several of the officers followed in another taxi. The Professor's house seemed more than ever deserted as they drew up at the front door. They entered without ringing and crossed the hall towards the library. On the threshold Quest paused and held up his finger.

"Some one is in there," he whispered, stepping quickly forward. "Come!"

He threw open the door. The room was empty, yet both Quest and French were conscious of a curious conviction that it had been occupied within the last few seconds. French even shook out the curtains and swung open the doors of a bureau. There was no sign of anybody, however, nor any evidence as to how they could have left the room.

"Queer, but it seemed to me I heard some one," French muttered.

"I was sure of it," Quest replied, shaking the curtains at the back of the door.

They stood still for a moment and listened. The silence in the empty house was almost unnatural. Quest turned away with a shrug of the shoulders.

"At any rate," he said, "Craig's dying thoughts must have been truthful. Come."

He led the way to the fireplace, went down on his knees and passed his hands over the bricks. The third one he touched, shook. He tapped it—without a doubt it was hollow. With his penknife he loosened the mortar a little and drew it out easily. The back was open. Inside was the black box.

"Craig's secret at last!" French muttered hoarsely. "Bring it to the light, quick!"

They were unemotional men but the moment was supreme. The key to the mystery of these tragical weeks was there in their hands! Their eyes almost devoured those few hastily scrawled words buried with so much care:

See page 62, January number, American Medical Journal 1905.

They looked at one another. They repeated vaguely this most commonplace of messages. As the final result of their strenuous enterprise, these cryptic words seemed pitifully inadequate. Quest's face darkened. He crumpled the paper in his fingers.

"There must be some meaning in this," he muttered. "It can't be altogether a fool's game we're on. Wait."

He moved towards a table which usually stood against the wall, but which had obviously been dragged out recently into the middle of the room. It was covered with bound volumes. Quest glanced at one and exclaimed softly.

"American Medical Journal, 1905! French, there's something in this message, after all."

He turned over the pages rapidly. Then he came to a stop. Page 60 was there; page 62 had been neatly removed with a pair of scissors.

"The Professor!" he cried. "The Professor's been at work here!"

The two men stood looking at one another across the table. Strange thoughts were framing themselves in the brains of both of them. Then there came a startling and in its way a dramatic interlude. Through the empty house came the ringing of the electric bell from the front door, shrill and insistent. Without a moment's hesitation, Quest hurried out, and French followed him. On the door-step was another surprise. Lenora and Laura were there, the former carrying a small, black-bound volume.

"Don't be cross," she begged quickly. "We just had to come. Look! We picked this up underneath the chair where Craig was sitting. It must have slipped from his pocket. You see what is written on it? DIARY OF JOHN CRAIG."

Quest took it in his hand.

"This ought to be interesting," he remarked. "Come along in."

They passed into the library. French lingered behind for a moment and caught up with them just as they were opening the book underneath the electric lamp.

"See what I've found!" he exclaimed. "It was just by the side of the wall there. Where's that journal?"

He spread out the piece of paper—it fitted exactly into the empty space. They all read together:

"Professor Ashleigh, after being bitten by the anthropoid, rapidly developed hydrophobia of a serious nature. After treatment with a new serum the patient was relieved of the hydrophobic symptoms, but to my horror this mild-mannered, humane man seems possessed at times of all the characteristics of the brutal anthropoid—cunning, thievery, brutality. I do not know what may come of this. I hesitate to put even these words on to paper. I am doubtful as to what course, in the interests of humanity, I ought to take.

(Signed) "JAMES MERRILL, M.D.

"Editor's Note. Just as we go to press, a cable announces the terrible death of Doctor Merrill, the writer of the above notes. He was attacked by wild animals while alone in a South American jungle, and torn to pieces."

There was a queer little silence among the company. No one seemed inclined for speech. They looked at one another in dumb, wondering horror. Then Quest drew a penknife from his pocket and with a turn of his wrist forced the lock of the diary. They all watched him with fascinated eyes. It was something to escape from their thoughts. They leaned over as he spread the book out before him. Those first two sentences were almost in the light of a dedication:

"For ten years I have protected my master, Professor Edgar Ashleigh, at the cost of my peace of mind, my happiness, my reputation. This book, even though it be too late to help me, shall clear my reputation."

Quest closed the volume.

"French," he decided, "we must find the Professor. Will you have your men search the house and grounds immediately?"

The Inspector left the room like a dazed man. They could hear him giving orders outside.

"The next page," Lenora begged. "Just one page more!"

Quest hesitated for a moment. Then he turned it over. All three read again:

"Ten years of horror, struggling all the while to keep him from that other self, that thing of bestiality, to keep his horrible secret from the world, to cover up his crimes, even though their shadow should rest upon me. Now Sanford Quest has come. Will this mean discovery?"

"Another page," Lenora faltered.

"No more," Quest said. "Don't you see where it is leading us? We have the truth here. Wait!"

He strode hastily to the door. French and one of the plain-clothes men were descending the stairs.

"Well?" Quest asked breathlessly.

"The Professor is not in the house," French reported. "We are going to search the grounds."

Quest returned to the library. Lenora clung to his arm. The diary lay still upon the table.

Quest opened the volume slowly. Again they all read together:

"The evil nature is growing stronger every day. He is developing a sort of ferocious cunning to help him in his crimes. He wanders about in the dark, wearing a black velvet suit with holes for his eyes, and leaving only his hands exposed. I have watched him come into a half-darkened room and one can see nothing but the hands and the eyes; sometimes if he closes his eyes, only the hands."

"Mrs. Rheinholdt!" Quest muttered. "Wait. I know where that suit is."

He hastened to a cupboard at the farther end of the room, snatched some garments from it and vanished into the hall.

"One moment, girls," he said. "I see now how he did it. Wait. I'll show you."

They stood quite still, a little terrified. In a moment or two the door reopened. A finger turned out all the electric lights but one. Then there was nothing to be seen but a pair of white hands, which seemed to come floating towards them through the darkness—a pair of white hands and a pair of gleaming eyes. Lenora screamed wildly. Even Laura was unnerved.

"Stop that!" she cried out. "Who are you, anyway?"

The lights were suddenly turned on. Quest threw off his disguise.

"There you are," he exclaimed triumphantly. "Ingenious, but one ought to have seen through it long ago. The stroke of genius about it was that as soon as he had used a dodge once or twice and set you thinking about it, he dropped it."

The door was suddenly opened and French entered.

"Beaten!" he exclaimed tersely.

"You haven't found him?" Quest asked.

French shook his head.

"We've searched every room, every cupboard, every scrap of the cellar in the house," he announced. "We've been into every corner of the grounds, searched all the place inside and out. There's no sign of the Professor."

Quest pocketed the diary.

"You're perfectly certain that he is not in this house or anywhere upon the premises?"

"Certain sure!" French replied.

Quest shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, we'd better get back," he said. "You come, too, French. We'll sit down and figure out some scheme for finding him."

They made their way to the front door and crowded into the autos. The two men left with marked reluctance. The two girls had but one idea in their heads—to get away, and get away quickly.

"Do start, please," Lenora begged. "There's just one thing in life I want, and that is to be in my own room, to feel myself away from his world of horrible, unnatural mysteries."

"The kid has the right idea," Laura agreed. "I've had enough myself."

They were on the point of starting, the chauffeur with his hand upon the starting handle, French with the steering wheel of the police car already in his hand. And then the little party seemed suddenly turned to stone. For a few breathless seconds not one of them moved. Out into the clammy night air came the echoes of a hideous, inhuman, blood-curdling scream. Quest was the first to recover himself. He leaped from his seat and rushed back across the empty hall into the study, followed a little way behind by French and the others. An unsuspected panel door which led into the garden, stood slightly ajar. The Professor, with his hand on the back of a chair, was staring at the fireplace, shaking as though with some horrible ague, his face distorted, his body curiously hunched-up. He seemed suddenly to have dropped his humanity, to have fallen back into the world of some strange creatures. He heard their footsteps, but he did not turn his head. His hands were stretched out in front of him as though to keep away from his sight some hateful object.

"Stop him!" he cried. "Take him away! It's Craig—his spirit! He came to me in the garage, he followed me through the grounds, he mocked at me when I hid in the tree. He's there now, kneeling before the fireplace. Why can't I kill him! He is coming! Stop him, some one!"

No one spoke or moved; no one, indeed, had the power. Then at last Quest found words.

"There is no one in the room, Professor," he said, "except us."

The sound of a human voice seemed to produce a strange effect. The Professor straightened himself, shook his head, his hands dropped to his side. He turned around and faced them. He was ghastly pale, but his smile was once more the smile of the amiable naturalist.

"My friends," he said, "forgive me. I am very old, and the events of these last few hours have unnerved me. Forgive me."

He groped for a moment and sank into a chair. Quest fetched a decanter and a glass from the sideboard, poured out some wine and held it to his lips. The Professor drank it eagerly.

"My dear friend," he exclaimed, "you have saved me! I have something to tell you, something I must tell you at once, but not here. I loathe this place. Let me come with you to your rooms."

"As you please," Quest answered calmly.

The Professor rose hastily to his feet. As he turned around, he saw French concealing something in his hands. He shivered.

"I don't need those!" he cried. "What are they? Handcuffs? Ah, no! I am only too anxious to tell you all that I know. Take care of me, Mr. Quest. Take me with you."

He gripped Quest's arm. In silence they passed from the room, in silence they took their places once more in the automobiles, in silence they drove without a pause to Quest's rooms. The Professor seemed to breathe more freely as they left the neighbourhood of his house behind. He walked up the stairs to Quest's library almost blithely. If he was aware of it, he took no notice of French and the two plain-clothes men behind. As he stepped into the room, he drew a long sigh of relief. He made his way at once to his favourite easy-chair, threw off his overcoat and leaned back.

"Quest," he pronounced, "you are the best friend I have in my life! It is you who have rid me of my great burden. Tell me—help me a little with my story—have you read that page from the Medical Journal which Craig has kept locked up all these years?"

"We have all read it," Quest replied.

"It was forged," the Professor declared firmly, "forged by Craig. All the years since, he has blackmailed me. I have been his servant and his tool. I have been afraid to speak. At last I am free of him. Thank God!"

"Craig, after all," French muttered.

The Professor sat with a faint, wistful smile upon the corners of his lips, looking around at all of them. His face had become like the face of a child, eager for sympathy and kindness.

"You will trust me, I know," he continued. "You will believe me. All my life I have laboured for science. I have never been selfish. I have laid up no store of gold or treasure. Knowledge has been my mistress, knowledge has been my heaven. If I had been a wise man, I would have ridden myself of this hideous burden, but I was foolish and afraid. I wanted to pursue my studies, I wanted to be left in peace, so I let that fiend prey upon my fears. But now—now I feel that the burden has rolled away. I shall tell you my story, and afterwards I will do great things yet, great things for science, great things for the world."

They listened to him, spellbound. Only Lenora stood a little apart with a faint frown upon her forehead. She touched Quest on the shoulder.

"Mr. Quest," she murmured, "he is lying!"

Quest turned his head. His lips scarcely moved.

"What do you mean?" he whispered.

"He is lying!" Lenora insisted. "I tell you there's another creature there, something we don't understand. Let me bring the Electro-thought transference apparatus; let us read his mind. If I am wrong, I will go down on my knees and beg for forgiveness."

Quest nodded. Lenora hastened to the further end of the room, snatched the cloth from the instrument and wheeled down the little mirror with its coils and levers. The Professor watched her. Slowly his face changed. The benevolence faded away, his teeth for a moment showed in something which was almost a snarl.

"You believe me?" he cried, turning to Quest. "You are not going to try that horrible thing on me—Professor Lord Ashleigh? I am all broken up. I am not fit for it. Look at my hands, how they shake."

"Professor," Quest said sternly, "we are surrounded by the shadow of some terrible deeds for which as yet there is no explanation. I do not say that we mistrust you, but I ask you to submit to this test."

"I refuse!" the Professor replied harshly.

"And I insist," Quest muttered.

The Professor drew a little breath. He sat back in his chair. His face became still, his lips were drawn closely together. Lenora wheeled up the machine and with deft fingers adjusted the fittings on one side. Quest himself connected it up on the other. The Professor sat there like a figure of stone. The silence in the room was so intense that the ticking of the small clock upon the mantelpiece was clearly audible. The silent battle of wills seemed like a live and visible struggle. The very atmosphere seemed charged with the thrill and wonder of it. Never before had Quest met with resistance so complete and immovable. For the first time the thought of failure oppressed him. Even that slight slackening of his rigid concentration brought relief to the Professor. Without any knowledge as to the source of their conviction, the two girls who watched felt that the Professor was becoming dominant. And then there came a sudden queer change. The intangible triumph of the Professor's stony poise seemed to fade away. His eyes had sought the corner of the room, his lips quivered. The horror was there again, the horror they had seen before. He crouched a little back. His hands were uplifted as though to keep off some evil thing.

"Craig!" Lenora whispered. "He thinks he sees Craig again!"

Quest held up his hand. He realised that this was his moment. He leaned a little farther forward. Sternly he concentrated the whole of his will power upon his task. Almost at once there was a change. The Professor fell back in the chair. The tense self-control had passed from his features, his lips twitched. Simultaneously, the mirror for a moment was clouded,—then slowly a picture upon it gathered outline and substance. There was a jungle, strange, tall trees, and brushwood so thick that it reached to the waists of the two men who were slowly making their way through it. One was the Professor, clearly recognisable under his white sun helmet; the other a stranger to all of them. Suddenly they stopped. The latter had crept a yard or so ahead, his gun raised to his shoulder, his eyes fixed upon some possible object of pursuit. There was a sudden change in the Professor. They saw him seize his gun by the barrel and whirl it above his head. He seemed suddenly to lose his whole identity. He crouched on his haunches, almost like an animal, and sprang at the other's throat. They could almost hear the snarl from his lips as the two men went down together into the undergrowth. The picture faded away.

"Dr. Merrill!" Lenora faltered. "Then it was not wild beasts which killed him."

Almost immediately figures again appeared in the mirror. This time they saw the Professor in bed in a tent, Craig sitting by him, a violin in his hand. A native servant entered with food, which he placed by the bedside with a low obeisance. Slowly the Professor raised himself in bed. His face was distorted, his mouth curved into strange lines. With a sudden spring he seized the native servant by the throat and bore him back upon the floor. Craig passed his arm through his master's and, exerting all his strength, dragged him away. They saw the man run terrified from the room, they saw Craig soothe the Professor and finally get him back to bed. Then he seized the violin and bent a little forward, playing softly. Slowly the Professor relapsed into what seemed to be a sleep. The scene faded away, to be replaced almost immediately by another. There was a small passage which seemed to lead from the back entrance of a house; the Professor with a black mantle, Craig following him, pleading, expostulating. They saw the conservatory for a minute, and then blackness. The Professor was leaning against a marble basin. There was nothing to be seen of him but his eyes and hands. They saw him listen, for a moment or two in cold, unresponsive silence, then stretch out his hand and push Craig away. The picture glowed and faded and glowed again. Then they saw through the gloom the figure of a woman approach, a diamond necklace around her neck. They saw the hands steal out and encircle her throat—and then more darkness, silence, obscurity. The mirror was empty once more.

"Mrs. Rheinholdt's jewels!" Lenora cried. "What next? Oh! my God, what next?"

Their eyes ached with the strain but there was not one of them who could even glance away from the mirror. It was Quest's study which slowly appeared then. The Salvation Army girl was there, talking to the Professor. They saw him leave her, they saw him look back from the door, a strange, evil glance. Then the secretary entered and spoke to her. Once more the door opened. The hands were there, stretching and reaching, a paper-weight gripped in the right-hand fingers. They saw it raised above the secretary's head, they saw the other hand take the girl by the throat and push her towards the table. A wild scream broke from Lenora's lips. Quest wavered for a moment. The picture faded out.

"Oh, stop it!" Lenora begged. "Haven't we seen enough? We know the truth now. Stop!"

The criminologist made no reply. His eyes were still fixed upon the Professor, who showed some signs of returning consciousness. He was gripping at his collar. He seemed to have difficulty with his breathing. Quest suddenly braced himself. He pushed Lenora back.

"One more," he muttered. "There's something growing in his mind. I can feel it. Wait!"

Again they all turned towards the mirror. They saw the hallway of Ashleigh House, the pictures upon the walls, they could almost feel the quiet silence of night. They saw the Professor come stealing down the stairs. He was wearing the black velvet suit with the cowl in his hand. They watched him pause before a certain door, draw on the cowl and disappear. Through the opening they could see Lord Ashleigh asleep in bed, the moonlight streaming through the open window across the counterpane. They saw the Professor turn with a strange, horrible look in his face and close the door. Lenora burst into sobs.

"No more!" she begged. "No more, please!"

Suddenly, without any warning, Laura also began to sob hysterically. French mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. His face was unrecognisable. He had lost all his healthy colour, and his lips were twitching. Quest himself was as pale as death, and there were black rims under his eyes.

"We've had enough," he admitted, swaying a little on his feet. "Undo the other band, if you can, Lenora."

He leaned forward and released their victim. The whole atmosphere of the place seemed immediately to change. Lenora drew a long, convulsive breath and sank into a chair. The Professor sat up, and gazed at them all with the air of a man who had just awakened from a dream. His features relapsed, his mouth once more resolved itself into pleasant and natural lines. He smiled at them cordially.

"Have I, by any chance, slept?" he asked. "Or—"

He never finished his sentence. His eyes fell upon the mirror, the metal band lying by his side. He read the truth in the faces still turned towards him. He rose to his feet. There was another and equally sudden change in his demeanour and tone. He carried himself with the calm dignity of the scientist.

"The end of our struggle, I presume?" he said to Quest, pointing to the metal band. "You will at least admit that I have shown you fine sport?"

No one answered him. Even Quest had barely yet recovered himself. The Professor shrugged his shoulders.

"I recognise, of course," he said gravely, "that this is the end. A person in extremis has privileges. Will you allow me to write just a matter of twenty lines at your desk?"

Silently Quest assented. The Professor seated himself in the swing chair, drew a sheet of paper towards him, dipped the pen in the ink and began to write. Then he turned round and reached for his own small black bag which lay upon the table. Quest caught him by the wrist.

"What do you want out of that, Professor?" he enquired.

"Merely my own pen and ink," the Professor expostulated. "If there is anything I detest in the world, it is violet ink. And your pen, too, is execrable. As these are to be the last words I shall leave to a sorrowing world, I should like to write them in my own fashion. Open the bag for yourself, if you will. You can pass me the things out."

Quest opened the bag, took out a pen and a small glass bottle of ink. He handed them to the Professor, who started once more to write. Quest watched him for a moment and then turned away to French. The Professor looked over his shoulder and suddenly bared his wrist. Lenora seized her employer by the arm.

"Look!" she cried. "What is he going to do?"

Quest swung round, but he was too late. The Professor had dug the pen into his arm. He sat in his chair and laughed as they all hurried towards him. Then suddenly he sprang to his feet. Again the change came into his face which they had seen in the mirror. French dashed forward towards him. The Professor snarled, seemed about to spring, then suddenly once more stretched out his hands to show that he was helpless and handed to Quest the paper upon which he had been writing.

"You have nothing to fear from me," he exclaimed. "Here is my last message to you, Sanford Quest. Read it—read it aloud. Always remember that this was not your triumph but mine."

Quest held up the paper. They all read. The Professor's letters were carefully formed, his handwriting perfectly legible.

"You have been a clever opponent, Sanford Quest, but even now you are to be cheated. The wisdom of the ages outreaches yours, outreaches it and triumphs."

Quest looked up quickly.

"What the devil does he mean?" he muttered.

The Professor's arms shot suddenly above his head. Again that strange, animal look convulsed his features. He burst into a loud, unnatural laugh.

"Mean, you fool?" he cried, holding out his wrist, which was slowly turning black. "Poisoned! That is what it means!"

They all stared at him. Quest seized the ink bottle, revealed the false top and laid it down again with a little exclamation. Then, before they could realize it, the end came. The Professor lay, a crumpled-up heap, upon the floor. The last change of all had taken place in his face. His arms were outstretched, his face deathly white, his lips faintly curved in the half amiable, half supercilious smile of the savant who sees beyond. Quest stooped over him.

"He is dead," he declared.

* * * * *

Quest swung round in his chair as French entered the room, and held out his left hand.

"Glad to see you, French. Help yourself to a cigar."

"I don't know as I want to smoke this morning just at present, thank you," French replied.

Quest laid down his pen and looked up. French was fidgeting about with his hat in his hand. He was dressed more carefully than usual, but he was obviously ill at ease.

"Nothing wrong, eh?"

"No, there's nothing wrong," French admitted. "I just looked in—"

Quest waited for a moment. Then he crossed his legs and assumed a patient attitude.

"What the dickens did you look in for?" he asked.

"The fact of it is," French explained, "I should like a few words with Miss Laura."

Quest laughed shortly.

"Why on earth couldn't you say so?" he observed. "Never knew you bashful before, Inspector. She's up in the laboratory. I'll ring for some one to show you the way."

Quest touched the bell and his new secretary entered almost at once.

"Take Inspector French up into the laboratory," Quest directed. "See you later, French."

"Yes—perhaps—I hope so," the Inspector replied nervously.

Quest watched him disappear, with a puzzled smile.

Then he sat down at his desk, drew a sheet of paper towards him and began to write:

"My dear Inspector,

"I am taking this opportunity of letting you know that out of deference to the wishes of the woman I hope soon to marry, I am abandoning the hazardous and nerve-racking profession of criminology for a safer and happier career. You will have, therefore, to find help elsewhere in the future.

"With best wishes,

"Yours,

"SANFORD QUEST."

He left the sheet of paper upon the desk and, ringing the bell, sent for Lenora. She appeared in a few moments and came over to his side.

"What is it, Mr. Quest?" she asked.

He gave her the letter without remark. She read it through and, turning slowly around, looked at him expectantly.

"How's that seem to you?" he asked, reaching out his hand for a cigar.

"Very sensible indeed," she replied.

"It's no sort of life, this, for a married man," Quest declared. "You agree with me there, don't you, Lenora?"

"Yes!" she admitted, a little faintly.

Quest lit his cigar deliberately. Then he enclosed the letter in an envelope and addressed it to Inspector French.

"You'd better deliver this to the Inspector," he said, "in case he doesn't call round here on his way out."

He handed her the note. For a moment she looked at him, then she turned quickly away.

"He shall have it at once," she said in a low tone.

Quest watched her cross the room. She opened the door and passed out without a backward glance. Then he shrugged his shoulders, hesitated for a moment, and followed her. He heard the door of her apartment on the next floor close, however, and made his way to the laboratory. He entered the room softly and paused upon the threshold. His presence was altogether unobserved by the two people who were standing at the other end of the apartment.

"I say, Miss Laura," the Inspector was saying, "this has got to come sometime or other. Why don't you make up your mind to it? I'm no great hand at love-making, but I'm the right sort of man for you and I think you know it."

"This," Quest murmured to himself, "is where Laura boxes the Inspector's ears!"

Nothing of the sort happened, however. There was a queer, a mystifying change in Laura's expression. She was looking down at the floor. Suddenly her face was hidden in her hands. The Inspector threw his arms around her.

"That's all the answer I want," he declared.

Quest stole softly away. As he regained the door of his study, Lenora, dressed for the street, hurried out. She tried to pass him but he laid his hand upon her shoulder.

"I was just going round to Mr. French's office," she explained.

"That's all right," Quest replied. "The Inspector's here. You can leave the note upon the table. Hi, Parkins," he called out to his secretary in the next room, "get my hat and coat. Come back a moment, Lenora."

She turned into the room a little unwillingly and leaned against the table. Quest stood by her side.

"Lenora," he said quietly, "that was kind of a brutal note I told you to give to French, but I thought you'd understand."

She raised her eyes suddenly to his.

"Understand what?" she whispered.

The secretary entered the room, helped Quest on with his coat and handed him his hat.

"If you are quite ready, Lenora."

"Ready?" she exclaimed. "Where are we going?"

Quest sighed.

"Fancy having to explain all these things!" he said, taking her arm. "I just want you to understand, Lenora, that I've waited—quite long enough. Parkins," he added, turning to his secretary, "if any one calls, just say that my wife and I will be back early in the afternoon. And you'd better step upstairs to the laboratory and give my compliments to Inspector French, and say that I hope he and Miss Laura will join us at Delmonico's for luncheon at one o'clock."

"Very good, sir," the man replied.

Lenora's face was suddenly transformed. She passed her arm through Quest's. He stooped and kissed her as he led her towards the door.

"You understand now, don't you?" he whispered, smiling down at her.

"I think so," she admitted, with a little sigh of content.

THE END

* * * * *



JOHN FOX, JR'S.

STORIES OF THE KENTUCKY MOUNTAINS

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.

THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE.

Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.



The "lonesome pine" from which the story takes its name was a tall tree that stood in solitary splendor on a mountain top. The fame of the pine lured a young engineer through Kentucky to catch the trail, and when he finally climbed to its shelter he found not only the pine but the foot-prints of a girl. And the girl proved to be lovely, piquant, and the trail of these girlish foot-prints led the young engineer a madder chase than "the trail of the lonesome pine."

THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME.

Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.

This is a story of Kentucky, in a settlement known as "Kingdom Come." It is a life rude, semi-barbarous; but natural and honest, from which often springs the flower of civilization.

"Chad," the "little shepherd" did not know who he was nor whence he came—he had just wandered from door to door since early childhood, seeking shelter with kindly mountaineers who gladly fathered and mothered this waif about whom there was such a mystery—a charming waif, by the way, who could play the banjo better that anyone else in the mountains.