akening suggestive of some murderous assault by the crazed
Paul?

Absorbed in other emotions, Pierre had given no heed to these weighty
problems. Powerless to enforce counsels of his own experienced craft,
Pierre now and then lapsed into vaguely sentimental moods.

Slowly withdrawing that benumbed arm, Pierre noiselessly arises from the
cot. He examines the dagger and mutters: "It is new and of English make!
There is no other clew. Has some additional danger been incurred?"

Pierre can but wait, powerless to avert or modify any impending crisis.
It will avail nothing to catechise the secretive Paul, who is garrulous
upon irrelevant hallucinations only.

During that day and the following night Paul slept, waking only once,
about nine o'clock in the evening. This was his usual hour for trip up
the Thames. Paul stared around sleepily, looked at his watch, dubiously
scanned the new dagger, slowly sank back and slept on until morning.

At seven Paul awoke with ravenous appetite. Pierre had prepared a
substantial meal. This the hungry youth devoured with relish.

After breakfast Paul listlessly moved about the room. Spying in a small
mirror his dirty, blood-besmeared face and matted hair, Paul starts
backward, grasps the new weapon, stabs at that mirrored reflection,
stares about wildly, and with maniacal yell bolts for the basement door.

To intercept this rash break, Pierre grasps his son about the waist,
throwing him heavily upon the stone floor. Paul's writhing twists cannot
loosen that hold. His muttering threats and curses move not Pierre's
stern resolve. Frothing at the lips, Paul struggles desperately. He
attempts to yell, but his voice weakens into gurglings. The neck relaxes
and he sinks back unconscious.

Pierre loosens his hold. Bending over, he feels the pulse. Pressing his
ear upon Paul's breast, he listens for heartbeats. Such look of blank
despair and awful groan!

There is a noise on the stairs. Pierre heeds it not. He gazes at his
son, his sight darkens, and bewildering rumblings are heard. Pierre
gropes about blindly, stumbling across Paul's unconscious form.

The knocking grows louder, then the catch is forced, and five uniformed
officials crowd through that cellar door.

CHAPTER XXII

SIR DONALD'S "FIND"

All seems calm at Northfield. Frictionless domestic appointments hint
not the sentient pulsing of care.

Surrounded by every comfort, the idolized recipient of fatherly and
broth