f it
was no more than a kind of hypnotism, but there were other branches.
Our most learned modern works are as children's nursery rhymes beside
such a writing as the Egyptian _Ritual of the Dead_! God forgive me!
What have I done!"

"You cannot reproach yourself in any way, sir!"

"Can I not?" said Dr. Cairn hoarsely. "Ah, Rob, you don't know!"

There came a rap on the door, and a local practitioner entered.

"This is a singular case, Dr. Cairn," he began diffidently. "An
autopsy--"

"Nonsense!" cried Dr. Cairn. "Sir Elwin Groves had foreseen it--so had
I!"

"But there are distinct marks of pressure on either side of the
windpipe--"

"Certainly. These marks are not uncommon in such cases. Sir Michael
had resided in the East and had contracted a form of plague. Virtually
he died from it. The thing is highly contagious, and it is almost
impossible to rid the system of it. A girl died in one of the
hospitals this week, having identical marks on the throat." He turned
to his son. "You saw her, Rob?"

Robert Cairn nodded, and finally the local man withdrew, highly
mystified, but unable to contradict so celebrated a physician as Dr.
Bruce Cairn.

The latter seated himself in an armchair, and rested his chin in the
palm of his left hand. Robert Cairn paced restlessly about the
library. Both were waiting, expectantly. At half-past two Felton
brought in a tray of refreshments, but neither of the men attempted
to avail themselves of the hospitality.

"Miss Duquesne?" asked the younger.

"She has just gone to sleep, sir."

"Good," muttered Dr. Cairn. "Blessed is youth."

Silence fell again, upon the man's departure, to be broken but rarely,
despite the tumultuous thoughts of those two minds, until, at about a
quarter to three, the faint sound of a throbbing motor brought Dr.
Cairn sharply to his feet. He looked towards the window. Dawn was
breaking. The car came roaring along the avenue and stopped outside
the house.

Dr. Cairn and his son glanced at one another. A brief tumult and
hurried exchange of words sounded in the hall; footsteps were heard
ascending the stairs, then came silence. The two stood side by side in
front of the empty hearth, a haggard pair, fitly set in that desolate
room, with the yellowing rays of the lamps shrinking before the first
spears of dawn.

Then, without warning, the door opened slowly and deliberately, and
Antony Ferrara came in.

His face was expressionless, ivory; his red