ill him. Thank God, as my fingers twisted toward the back
of his throat, that mad desire suddenly left me. I stood still, while
the old fellow, still unsuspecting, shuffled, away into the darkness.
Then, dropping my hands with a sob of helplessness, I went forward
again.

* * * * *

And so I reached Mate Lane, and the huge gray house that awaited me.
This time, as I mounted the stone steps, the old house seemed even more
repulsive and horrible. I dreaded to see that door open, but I could not
retreat.

I dropped the knocker heavily. A moment passed: and then, precisely as
before, the huge door swung inward. Michael Strange stood before me.

He did not speak. Perhaps, if he had spoken, that fiendish spell would
have been broken, and I should have returned, even then, to my own
peaceful little rooms in Cheney Lane. No--he merely held the door for
me to enter, and as I passed him he stood there, watching me with a
significant smile.

Straight to that familiar room at the end of the hall I went, with
Strange behind me. When we had entered, he closed the door cautiously.
For a moment he faced me without speaking.

"You came very close to committing a murder on your way here, did you
not, Dale?"

I stared at him. How, in God's name, could this man read my thoughts so
completely?

"You would have completed the murder," he said softly, "had I wished it.
I did not wish it!"

I did not answer. There was no reply to such a mad declaration. As for
my companion, he watched me for an instant and then laughed. He was not
mad. I am doctor enough to know that.

But the laugh was not long in duration. He stepped forward suddenly and
took my arm in a steel grip, dragging me toward the half hidden door at
the farther end of the room.

"I shall not keep you long, Dale," he said harshly. "I could have killed
you--could have made you kill yourself, and in fact, I intended to do
so--but after all, you are merely a poor stumbling fool who has meddled
in things too deep for you."

* * * * *

He pulled open the door and pushed me forward. The room was dark, and
not until he had closed the door again and switched on a dim light,
could I see its contents.

Even then I saw nothing. At least, nothing of importance to an
unscientific mind. There was a low table against the wall, with a
profusion of tiny wires emanating from it. I was aware that a cup shaped
microphone--o