aces of to-night's happenings? There is a way." He
looked significantly at the others.

* * * * *

"You mean--" began Perry.

"That we destroy all traces of Professor Kell's villainy. Although he is
no more, still someone might notice that _his body actively remains_.
And no one wants to do any explaining."

"It's the only way we can protect Handlon," one of the sleuths
ruminated, half to himself. "No judge would ever believe a word about
this de-astralization business. The chances are we would all go to the
booby hatch and Handlon would go to prison for Kell's crimes."

"There were four of us that witnessed the fact of the--the soul
transfusion, though," Perry objected. "Wouldn't that be enough to clear
Skip? Besides, wouldn't it be possible for us to lead a jury out here
and duplicate the experiment?"

"Too much undesirable publicity," growled Bland, who for once in his
life had found reason to keep something good out of the headlines. "What
do you say, people?"

"I move we move," from the detective who had had the uncomfortable job
of attending to Norma Manion.

"Gentleman, I believe we understand each other," said Jimmie quietly.
"Now I am going into the barn"--significantly--"to see if everything's
all right. While I am there something _might_ happen. You understand?"

The others nodded silent assent.

* * * * *

In the snug seat of Jimmie's speedster Norma Manion shivered as she
followed the direction indicated by her companion's finger. It was that
darkest hour which comes just before the dawn.

To the westward could be perceived a dull, red glow, which, even as they
watched with fascinated eyes, developed into an intense glare. Gradually
the fading stars became eclipsed in the greater glory.

Three cars, motors throbbing as if eager to be gone, stood a space apart
on the main road. The car behind O'Hara's was the Manion machine, now
occupied by Bland and Riley. The remaining one was a touring car and
contained the balance of the party. Perry was at the wheel, and beside
him sat the Handlon-Kell-Saunders combination.

"Thus passes a den of horror," whispered Jimmie to his companion.

"It is the funeral pyre of my father," the girl answered simply. She had
long since recovered from her initial outburst of grief at her loss, and
now watched the progress of the conflagration dry-eyed. At length Jimmie
slipped an arm protectingly about th