wonder poor Robinson was
upset. Listen to this: 'God himself hates you.' After that there's a
three-weeks respite, for there's October twenty-second on this one,
Kirkby and Dunn's offering of five percent water bonds. 'The commission
has its spies watching you constantly.' Calculated to inspire confidence
in the most timid soul! Now we come to the soup course: Smith and
Perkins' Potted Chowder. Date of November third. Er--Bert--here's
something--er--really worth while, now. Hark to the song of the pin."

He read sonorously:

"Animula, vagula, Bandula,
Hospes, comesque corporis;
Quaenunc abibis in loca?"

"Hadrian, isn't it?" cried Bertram, in utter amazement. "Of course it
is! Hadrian's terrified invocation to his own parting spirit. 'Guest and
companion of my body; into what places will you now go?' Average, it's
uncanny! Into what place of darkness and dread is the Demon of the Pin
trying to drive poor Robinson's spirit?"

Average Jones shook his head. "'Pailidula, nudula, rigida,"' he
completed the quatrain. "'Ghostpale, stark, and rigid.' He's got a
grisly imagination, that pin-operator. I shouldn't care to have him on
my trail."

"But Robinson!" protested Bertram feebly. "What has a plump,
commonplace, twentieth-century, cutaway-wearing, flat-inhabiting
Robinson to do with a Roman emperor's soul-questionings?"

"Perhaps the last entry of the lot will tell us. Palmerto's Magazine's
feature announcement, received November ninth. No; it doesn't give any
clue to the Latinity. It isn't bad, though. 'The darkness falls.' That's
all there is to it. And enough."

"I should say the darkness did fall," confirmed Bertram. "It falls--and
remains."

Average Jones pushed the collection of advertisements aside and returned
to the opening phase of the problem, the fish-bait circular which
Robinson had mailed him. So long after, that Bertram hardly recognized
it as a response to his last remark, the investigator drawled out:

"Not such--er--impenetrable darkness. In fact,--er--Eureka, or words to
that effect. Bert, when does the bass season end?"

"November first, hereabouts, I believe."

"The postmark on the envelope that carried this advertisement to our
friend advises the use of the baits for 'these next two months.' Queer
time to be using bass-lures, after the season is closed. Bert, it's a
pity I can't waggle my ears."

"Waggle your ears! For heaven's sake, why?"

"Because then I'd be such a