ed to read it backward, then sat down to give it a
careful analysis.

I copied the column carefully, then tried to rearrange the letters to
make sense. But no such simple treatment was availing. The fourth,
ninth, tenth, and last words, for instance, were made up entirely of
consonants, and no word of any language, known to me, entirely omits
vowels. Four of the remaining seven words contained but one vowel.

But I was in no mood to go further to-night. The events of the past few
hours had been a mighty strain on the entire nervous system, and my mind
could not cope with the problem. I spread the original parchment on the
little table in the center of the room, then quickly undressed, turned
out my lights, and went to bed.

Sleep came at once, heavy and dreamless. I barely remember the welcome
chill that the pre-dawn hours brought to the room. But it wasn't written
that there should be many hours of refreshing sleep for me that night.

In hardly a moment, it seemed to me, I came to myself with a start.
Wakefulness shot through me as if by an electric shock. It was that
fast-flying hour just before dawn: the cool caress of the wind against
my face and the pale-blue quality of the darkness on the window-pane
told that fact with entire plainness. It had been wakened by a hushed
sound from across the room.

It was useless to try to tell myself that the sound was a dream only, an
imagined voice that had no basis in reality. For all that it was
subdued, the sound was entirely sharp and clear, impossible to mistake.
And instantly I knew its source.

Some one had opened my door. There was no other possible explanation.
Nor had it been merely the harmless mistake of one of the guests,
confusing my room with his own. I heard the door open, but I did not
hear it close. Nor did I hear departing steps along the corridor.

My nightly visitor had come in stealth, and there was nothing to believe
but at that instant he was waiting in the darkness on the other side of
the room.

It isn't easy to decide what to do at a time like this. I was perfectly
willing to simulate slumber if by so doing I could increase my own
safety. Florey's affair was still fresh in my mind. A cruel and
cold-blooded murder had been committed at Kastle Krags earlier this
same night: this tip-toeing visitor in my room was in all likelihood a
desperate man, willing to repeat his crime if his own safety demanded
it. My possessions were few: it was better to