rly. "It
is wrapped with strands of hair from the first mother of man."
Impressively then he offered the violin to Diotti.

"I dare not take it," said the perplexed musician; "it's from--"

"Yes, it is directly from there, but I brought it from heaven when I--I
left," said the fallen angel, with remorse in his voice. "It was my
constant companion there. But no one in my domain--not I, myself--can
play upon it now, for it will respond neither to our longing for pity,
hope, love, joy, nor even death," and sadly and retrospectively Satan
gazed into vacancy; then, after a long pause: "Try the instrument!"

Diotti placed the violin in position and drew the bow across the string
of joy, improvising on it. Almost instantly the birds of the forest
darted hither and thither, caroling forth in gladsome strains. The
devil alone was sad, and with emotion said:

"It is many, many years since I have heard that string."

Next the artist changed to the string of pity, and thoughts of the
world's sorrows came over him like a pall.

"Wonderful, most wonderful!" said the mystified violinist; "with this
instrument I can conquer the world!"

"Aye, more to you than the world," said the tempter, "a woman's love."

A woman's love--to the despairing suitor there was one and only one in
this wide, wide world, and her words, burning their way into his heart,
had made this temptation possible: "No drooping Clytie could be more
constant than I to him who strikes the chord that is responsive in my
soul."

Holding the violin aloft, he cried exultingly: "Henceforth thou art
mine, though death and oblivion lurk ever near thee!"

VII

Perkins, seated in his office, threw the morning paper aside. "It's no
use," he said, turning to the office boy, "I don't believe they ever
will find him, dead or alive. Whoever put up the job on Diotti was a
past grand master at that sort of thing. The silent assassin that lurks
in the shadow of the midnight moon is an explosion of dynamite compared
to the party that made way with Diotti. You ask, why should they kill
him? My boy, you don't know the world. They were jealous of his
enormous hit, of our dazzling success. Jealousy did it."

The "they" of Perkins comprised rival managers, rival artists,
newspaper critics and everybody at large who would not concede that the
attractions managed by Perkins were the "greatest on earth."

"We'll never see his like again--come in!" this last in answer to a
kno