e, and probably
would scarcely be noticed from the exterior. One thing he observed
concerning it, namely, that it had been made for a man somewhat taller
than himself; he was obliged to stand on tiptoe in order to get his eye
in the correct position. He remembered that both Jules and Rocco were
distinctly above the average height; also that they were both thin
men, and could have descended the well with comparative ease. Theodore
Racksole, though not stout, was a well-set man with large bones.

These things flashed through his mind as he gazed, spellbound, at the
mysterious movements of Rocco. The door between the bathroom and the
bedroom was wide open, and his own situation was such that his view
embraced a considerable portion of the bedroom, including the whole of
the immense and gorgeously-upholstered bedstead, but not including the
whole of the marble washstand. He could see only half of the washstand,
and at intervals Rocco passed out of sight as his lithe hands moved over
the object which lay on the marble. At first Theodore Racksole could
not decide what this object was, but after a time, as his eyes grew
accustomed to the position and the light, he made it out.

It was the body of a man. Or, rather, to be more exact, Racksole could
discern the legs of a man on that half of the table which was visible
to him. Involuntarily he shuddered, as the conviction forced itself upon
him that Rocco had some unconscious human being helpless on that cold
marble surface. The legs never moved. Therefore, the hapless creature
was either asleep or under the influence of an anaesthetic--or (horrible
thought!) dead.

Racksole wanted to call out, to stop by some means or other the dreadful
midnight activity which was proceeding before his astonished eyes; but
fortunately he restrained himself.

On the washstand he could see certain strangely-shaped utensils and
instruments which Rocco used from time to time. The work seemed to
Racksole to continue for interminable hours, and then at last Rocco
ceased, gave a sign of satisfaction, whistled several bars from
'Cavalleria Rusticana', and came into the bath-room, where he took off
his coat, and very quietly washed his hands. As he stood calmly and
leisurely wiping those long fingers of his, he was less than four feet
from Racksole, and the cooped-up millionaire trembled, holding his
breath, lest Rocco should detect his presence behind the woodwork. But
nothing happened, and Rocco re