on, and hit upon a plan. He and the
dead man were about of the same build, practically of the same height,
and superficially they had a similarity of appearance, and he was
dressed in his coat and hat. The latter he grasped firmly and pulled
well down over his face. The coat and hat were the only conspicuous
things about him.

Just now there was a sudden terrible clangor in the castle.

"Sounds like somebody was discharging the cook," he remarked with
whimsical humor, "and that she was throwing the hardware around."

This tumult, as the reader well knows, was our esteemed friend, James,
falling downstairs in his full suit of armor, which was sufficient to
account for the racket. It did not take Berwick long after that to get
ready, and you would have been certain that it was none other than the
dead detective come to life, as he stooped hurriedly across the lawn. He
did not try any roundabout way of making entrance into the castle, but
ran directly to the massive front doors, hoping to find them unlocked,
but in this he was doomed to disappointment.

CHAPTER XXIV

A REINCARNATION

It was no time to waste any precious moments on ceremony; he must act,
and act immediately. There were on either side of the main door long
panels of glass. John Berwick made use of the stout stick, his only
weapon, which he had picked up from the midst of the copse, and broke
the long panel glass into smithereens.

Under ordinary conditions the noise would have been sufficient to
attract the attention of anyone in the banquet hall, in spite of the
heavy doors and their equally heavy hangings of cloth of purple, but at
this precise moment the parties therein were so intent on the tragedy
that was about to be consummated there, that they would not have been
diverted by even a much louder noise than that caused by the breaking of
that slender panel of glass.

John Berwick was of slight and wiry figure, and was able to shove his
way through, a feat that would have been impossible for Jim, even with
the most determined intentions in the world. Within a half minute
Berwick stood crouching in the hall, and then he crossed the space
swiftly, through the open door, the purple curtains parted, and there
advanced into the center of the banquet hall, the gray-clad figure
seemingly of the dead detective.

The deadly dagger which the Mexican Dwarf poised to transfix his victim
was never flung, but dropped with a metallic clatter from his