"I know; it's utterly preposterous, of course. But I had to confide in
somebody. I'll shift off now, Sime."

Sime nodded, staring from the open window. As Cairn was about to close
the outer door:

"Cairn," cried Sime, "since you are now a man of letters and leisure,
you might drop in and borrow Wilson's brains for me."

"All right," shouted Cairn.

Down in the quadrangle he stood for a moment, reflecting; then, acting
upon a sudden resolution, he strode over towards the gate and ascended
Ferrara's stair.

For some time he knocked at the door in vain, but he persisted in his
clamouring, arousing the ancient echoes. Finally, the door was opened.

Antony Ferrara faced him. He wore a silver-grey dressing gown, trimmed
with white swansdown, above which his ivory throat rose statuesque.
The almond-shaped eyes, black as night, gleamed strangely beneath the
low, smooth brow. The lank black hair appeared lustreless by
comparison. His lips were very red. In his whole appearance there was
something repellently effeminate.

"Can I come in?" demanded Cairn abruptly.

"Is it--something important?" Ferrara's voice was husky but not
unmusical.

"Why, are you busy?"

"Well--er--" Ferrara smiled oddly.

"Oh, a visitor?" snapped Cairn.

"Not at all."

"Accounts for your delay in opening," said Cairn, and turned on his
heel. "Mistook me for the proctor, in person, I suppose. Good-night."

Ferrara made no reply. But, although he never once glanced back, Cairn
knew that Ferrara, leaning over the rail, above, was looking after
him; it was as though elemental heat were beating down upon his head.

CHAPTER II

THE PHANTOM HANDS

A week later Robert Cairn quitted Oxford to take up the newspaper
appointment offered to him in London. It may have been due to some
mysterious design of a hidden providence that Sime 'phoned him early
in the week about an unusual case in one of the hospitals.

"Walton is junior house-surgeon there," he said, "and he can arrange
for you to see the case. She (the patient) undoubtedly died from some
rare nervous affection. I have a theory," etc.; the conversation
became technical.

Cairn went to the hospital, and by courtesy of Walton, whom he had
known at Oxford, was permitted to view the body.

"The symptoms which Sime has got to hear about," explained the
surgeon, raising the sheet from the dead woman's face, "are--"

He broke off. Cairn had suddenly exhibited a ghastly pallor; he