ut calm and peaceful as in sleep--almost smiling. With
wet eyes and contracted throat, I covered the face again, turned out
the lights, and left the room. Parks met me in the hall, carrying a
cot, which he placed close across the doorway.

"There," he said; "nobody will get into that room without my knowing
it."

"No," I agreed; and then a sudden thought occurred to me. "Parks," I
said, "is it true that there is a burglar-alarm on all the windows?"

"Yes, sir. It rings a bell in Mr. Vantine's bedroom, and another in
mine, and sends in a call to the police."

"Is it working?"

"Yes, sir; Mr. Vantine himself tested it this evening just before
dinner."

"Then why didn't it work when I opened those windows just now?" I
demanded.

Parks laughed.

"Because I threw off the switch, sir," he explained, "when I came out
to get the shutters. The switch is in a little iron box on the wall
just back of the stairs, sir. It's one of my duties to turn it on
every night before I go to bed."

I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Is it on again, now?"

"It certainly is, sir. After what you told me, I'd not be likely to
forget it."

"You'd better have a weapon handy, too," I suggested.

"I have a revolver, sir."

"That's good. And don't hesitate to use it. I'm going home--I'm dead
tired."

"Shall I call a cab, sir?"

"No, the walk will do me good. I'll see you to-morrow."

Parks helped me into my coat and opened the door for me. Glancing
back, after a moment, I saw that he was standing on the steps gazing
after me. I could understand his reluctance to go back into that
death-haunted house; and I found myself breathing deeply with the
relief of getting out of it.

CHAPTER IX

GUESSES AT THE RIDDLE

The walk uptown did me good. The rain had ceased, and the air felt
clean and fresh as though it had been washed. I took deep breaths of
it, and the feeling of fatigue and depression which had weighed upon
me gradually vanished. I was in no hurry--went out of my way a
little, indeed, to walk out into Madison Square and look back at the
towering mass of the Flatiron building, creamy and delicate as carved
ivory under the rays of the moon--and it was long past midnight when
I finally turned in at the Marathon. Higgins, the janitor, was just
closing the outer doors, and he joined me in the elevator a moment
later.

"There's a gentleman waiting to see you, sir," he said, as the car
started upward. "Mr. Godfrey, sir. H