g sound, I had detected
the words: "Cutting ... telephone ... wires...."

I replaced the receiver. My hand was shaking wildly.

"Gatton!" I said, "do you understand? _It_ has turned its attention
to Miss Merlin!" Then, raising my voice: "Coates!" I cried, "Coates!
run for the car! Hurry, man! Some one's life depends on your speed!"

Inspector Gatton grabbed the telephone directory.

"I will instruct the local police," he muttered. "Give me the exact
address, Mr. Addison, and go and see the cab that's outside. If it's a
good one we'll take it instead of waiting."

Out I dashed, spurred by a sickly terror, crying Mrs. Wentworth's
address as I ran. And of the ensuing five minutes I retain nothing but
chaotic memories: the bewildered cabman; the police bending over the
gaunt form on my study floor; Gatton's voice shouting orders. Then, we
had jumped into the cab and enjoining the man to drive like fury, were
speeding off through the busy London streets. Leaving the quietude of
one suburb for the maelstrom of central London, we presently emerged
into an equally quiet backwater upon the Northerly outskirts.

It was a nightmare journey, but when at last we approached the house
for which we were bound my apprehension and excitement grew even
keener. It was infinitely more isolated and lonely than I had ever
realized, behind its high brick walls.

Of the local police there was no sign. And without hesitation we ran
in at the open gate and up the path towards the porch. Every window in
the house was brightly illuminated, testifying to the greatness of the
occupant's fear. Gaining the porch, we stopped, as if prompted by some
mutual thought, and listened.

There was the remote murmuring of busy London, but here surrounding us
was a stillness as great as that which prevailed in my own
neighborhood; and as we stood there, keenly alert--distinctly we both
heard the howling of dogs!

"You hear it?" rapped Gatton.

"I do!" I replied.

Grasping the bell-knob, I executed a vigorous peal upon the bell.
There was a light in the hallway but my ringing elicited no response,
until:

"My God, look!" cried Gatton.

He pulled me backward out of the porch, looking upward to the window
of a room on the first floor.

A silhouette appeared there--undoubtedly that of Isobel. She seemed to
be endeavoring to pull the curtain aside ... when the shadow of a long
arm reached out to her, and she was plucked irresistibly back. The
sound o