n the same walls,
though out of sight of a man who commands a circumscribed field of
vision. Shortly he left that position and lurked for a time among the
flowers and shrubbery that lined the stone wall of the yard.

From here he saw Conscience move into the zone of light framed by the
window. Her hair had been loosened from its coils and fell in a heavy
cascade of darkness over shoulders that were bare.

She seemed to wear a dainty negligee of ribboned silk, and as he watched
she began slowly braiding her hair into two dusky ropes. After a little
time she disappeared again from view.

The lunatic, now thoroughly frenzied, and imbued with the phantasy of
suspicion, went back again to the higher ground and, after a time, saw
her open the door of her room and disappear into the hall. That hall was
the road that led to Stuart Farquaharson's room--and perdition!

Once more he, too, went to the rear of the house. There lay the best
chance of viewing the next and most ominous scene of this drama of
infamy and unfaithfulness.

But the hall at that angle was dark and told him nothing. Something else
however told him everything--at least he so believed. The window of
Stuart Farquaharson's room was no longer black but a frame of light.

Eben stood for a space with breath that came in hurried and panting
excitement while the madness mounted in his veins and burned fiercely in
his eyes.

Then, against the illuminated background he saw Stuart, the man whom
God meant him to kill.

He was wrapped in a bathrobe and was calmly raising a match to his
pipe-bowl.

The averted face was looking, Eben bitterly told himself, at the door
which he could not see; was watching it open to admit Conscience
Tollman.

Now was the appointed time! Now were the judgments loosened! Hastening
his steps into an awkward trot, Tollman went around to the front door,
his fingers trembling so that he had to stop and make an effort at
calming himself before he could manage the key in the lock.

When at last it was fitted and stealthily turned with an attempt at
noiselessness, the door refused to yield. That, he told himself
furiously, he might have expected. For all their seeming sense of
security they had reenforced it by shooting the bolt on the inside so
that no one could enter without sending an alarm ahead of his coming. It
was only one proof more of guilty concealment within. But it was far
past time for needing such corroboration. He had seen