ep further that experiment into
the anatomy of your brain with which he has already trifled."

Mr. Dunster's face was suddenly ghastly. His reserve of strength seemed
to ebb away. The memory of some horrible moment seemed to hold him in
its clutches.

"For God's sake, leave me alone!" he moaned. "Let me get away, that's
all; let me crawl away!"

"Ah!" Mr. Fentolin murmured. "That sounds much more reasonable. When you
talk like that, my friend. I feel indeed that there is hope for you.
Let us abandon this subject for the present. Have you solved the puzzle
yet?" he asked Meekins.

Meekins was standing below the closed trap-door. He had already dragged
up a wooden case underneath and was piling it with various articles of
furniture.

"Not yet, sir," he replied. "When I have made this steadier, I am just
going to see what pressure I can bring to bear on the trap-door."

"I heard the bolts go," Doctor Sarson remarked uneasily.

"In that case," Mr. Fentolin declared, "it will indeed be an interesting
test of our friend Meekins' boasted strength. Meekins holds his place--a
very desirable place, too--chiefly for two reasons: first his discretion
and secondly his muscles. He has never before had a real opportunity of
testing the latter. We shall see."

Doctor Sarson came slowly and gravely to the bedside. He looked down
upon his patient. Mr. Dunster shivered.

"I am not sure, sir," he said very softly, "that Mr. Dunster, in his
present state of mind, is a very safe person to be allowed his freedom.
It is true that we have kept him here for his own sake, because of his
fits of mental wandering. Our statements, however, may be doubted.
An apparent return to sanity on his part may lend colour to his
accusations, especially if permanent. Perhaps it would be as well to
pursue that investigation a shade further. A touch more to the left and
I do not think that Mr. Dunster will remember much in this world likely
to affect us."

Mr. Dunster's face was like marble. There were beads of perspiration
upon his forehead, his eyes were filled with reminiscent horror. Mr.
Fentolin bent over him with genuine interest.

"What a picture he would make!" he murmured. "What a drama! Do you know,
I am half inclined to agree with you, Sarson. The only trouble is that
you have not your instruments here."

"I could improvise something that would do the trick," the doctor said
thoughtfully. "It really isn't a complicated affair. It seems t