hours. "There's a chance, you know, that he might be gone--just a bare
chance. And be sure you close the door into the hall behind you," he
added as if by an afterthought. "You left it ajar once--this light might
show through the window draperies."

At his bidding she rose more willingly than at any time before. To reach
the door she passed within a foot of the end of the couch, and watching
over her shoulder at his hunched-up back she paused there for the
smallest fraction of time. The damaged picture hat slid off on the floor
with a soft little thud, but he never turned around.

The instant, though, that the hall door closed behind her the man's
hands became briskly active. He fumbled in an inner pocket of his
unbuttoned waistcoat; then his right hand, holding a small cylindrical
vial of a colorless liquid, passed swiftly over one of the two glasses
of slaking champagne and hovered there a second. A few tiny globules
fell dimpling into the top of the yellow wine, then vanished; a heavy
reek, like the smell of crushed peach kernels, spread through the whole
room. In the same motion almost he recorked the little bottle, stowed it
out of sight, and with a quick, wrenching thrust that bent the small
blade of his penknife in its socket he split the peach seed in two
lengthwise and with his thumb-nail bruised the small brown kernel lying
snugly within. He dropped the knife and the halved seed and began
sipping at the undoctored glass of champagne, not forgetting even then
to wave his fingers above it to keep the winged green tormentors out.

The door at the front reopened and the woman came in. Her thoughts were
not upon smells, but instinctively she sniffed at the thick scent on the
poisoned air.

"I accidentally split this peach seed open," he said quickly, with an
elaborate explanatory air. "Stenches up the whole place, don't it? Come,
take that other glass of champagne--it will do you good to----"

Perhaps it was some subtle sixth sense that warned him; perhaps the
lightning-quick realization that she had moved right alongside him,
poised and set to strike. At any rate he started to fling up his
head--too late! The needle point of the jet-headed hatpin entered
exactly at the outer corner of his right eye and passed backward for
nearly its full length into his brain--smoothly, painlessly, swiftly. He
gave a little surprised gasp, almost like a sob, and lolled his head
back against the chair rest, like a man who has g