he was pinned with the most disabling grip known in the
science of combat, a strangle-hold with the assailant's wrist clamped
in below and behind the ear. Average Jones lifted his voice and the name
that came to his lips was the name that had lurked subconsciously, in
his heart, for days.

"Sylvia!" he cried. "The fourth floor! Come!"

There was a stir and a cry from two floors below. Sylvia Graham had
broken from the grasp of her terrified aunt, and now came up the sharp
ascent like a deer, her eyes blazing with resolve and courage.

"The mirror," said Average Jones. "Push it aside. Pull it down. Get
behind it somehow. Lie quiet, Ackroyd or I'll have to choke your
worthless head off."

With an effort of nervous strength, the girl lifted aside the big glass.
Behind it a hundred scarlet banded insects swarmed and scampered.

"It's a panel. Open it."

She tugged at the woodwork with quick, clever fingers. A section
loosened and fell outward with a bang. The red-and-black beetles fled in
all directions. And now, judge Ackroyd found his voice.

"Help!" he roared. "Murder!"

The sinewy pressure of Average Jones' wrist smothered further attempts
at vocality to a gurgle. He looked up into Sylvia Graham's tense, face,
and jerked his head toward the opening.

"Unless my little detectives have deceived me," he said, "you'll find
the body in there."

She groped, and drew forth a large box. In it was packed the body of
Peter Paul. There was a cord about the fat neck.

"Strangled," whispered the girl. "Poor old doggie!" Then she whirled
upon the prostrate man. "You murderer!" she said very low.

"It's not murder to put a dying brute out of the way," said the shaken
man sullenly.

"But it's fraud, in this case," retorted Average Jones. "A fraud of
which you're self-convicted. Get up." He himself rose and stepped back,
but his eye was intent, and his muscles were in readiness.

There was no more fight in judge "Oily" Ackroyd. He slunk to the stairs
and limped heavily down to his frightened and sobbing wife. Miss Graham
leaned against the wall, white and spent. Average Jones, his heart in
his eyes, took a step forward.

"No!" she said peremptorily. "Don't touch me. I shall be all right."

"Do you mind my saying," said he, very low, "that you are the bravest
and finest human being I've met in a--a somewhat varied career."

The girl shuddered. "I could have stood it all," she said, "but for
those awful, crawling, red