he didn't turn in my direction, he turned and
looked right behind him--where there was no one--nothing. His cries
were frightful." Burke's voice broke, and he shuddered feverishly.
"Then he made a rush for the front door. It seemed as though he had
not seen me. He stood there screaming; but, before I could reach him,
he fell...."

Nayland Smith fixed a piercing gaze upon Burke.

"Is that all you know?" he demanded slowly.

"As God is my judge, sir, that's all I know, and all I saw. There was
no living thing near him when he met his death."

"We shall see," muttered Smith. He turned to me. "What killed him,
Petrie?" he asked shortly.

"Apparently something which occasioned a minute wound on the left
wrist," I replied, and, stooping, I raised the already cold hand in
mine.

A tiny, inflamed wound showed on the wrist; and a certain puffiness
was becoming observable in the injured hand and arm. Smith bent down
and drew a quick, sibilant breath.

"You know what this is, Petrie?" he cried.

"Certainly. It was too late to employ a ligature and useless to
inject ammonia. Death was practically instantaneous. His heart...."

There came a loud knocking and ringing.

"Carter!" cried Smith, turning to the detective, "open that door to no
one--no one. Explain who I am--"

"But if it is the inspector--?"

"I said, open the door to _no one_!" snapped Smith. "Burke, stand
exactly where you are! Carter, you can speak to whoever knocks through
the letter-box. Petrie, don't move for your life! It may be here, in
the hall way!..."

CHAPTER IX

THE CLIMBER

Our search of the house of Abel Slattin ceased only with the coming of
the dawn and yielded nothing but disappointment. Failure followed upon
failure; for, in the grey light of the morning, our own quest
concluded, Inspector Weymouth returned to report that the girl,
Karamaneh, had thrown him off the scent.

Again he stood before me, the big, burly friend of old and dreadful
days: a little greyer above the temples, which I set down for a record
of former horrors; but deliberate, stoical, thorough, as ever. His
blue eyes melted in the old generous way as he saw me, and he gripped
my hand in greeting.

"Once again," he said, "your dark-eyed friend has been too clever for
me, doctor. But the track, as far as I could follow, leads to the old
spot. In fact"--he turned to Smith, who, grim-faced and haggard,
looked thoroughly ill in that grey light--"I believe Fu