shaft of light, undisturbed
in their silver frames and in their place of honor, he saw three
photographs of himself. The tears came to his eyes. Then Jeanne had not
cast him utterly into outer darkness. She still remembered him kindly,
still held for him a feeling of good will. Jimmie sighed gratefully. The
sacrifice he had made for the happiness of Jeanne and Maddox now seemed
easier to bear. And that happiness must not be jeopardized.

More than ever before the fact that he, a dead man, must not be seen,
impressed him deeply. At the slightest sound, at even the suggestion of
an alarm, he must fly. The will might take care of itself. In case he
were interrupted, where he dropped it there must it lie. The fact of
supreme importance was that unrecognized he should escape.

The walls of the dining-room were covered with panels of oak, and built
into the jog of the fireplace and concealed by a movable panel was the
safe. In front of it Jimmie sank to his knees and pushed back the
panel. Propped upon a chair behind him, the electric torch threw its
shaft of light full upon the combination lock. On the floor, ready to
his hand, lay the will.

The combination was not difficult. It required two turns left, three
right, and in conjunction two numerals. While so intent upon his work
that he scarcely breathed, Jimmie spun the knob. Then he tugged gently,
and the steel door swung toward him.

At the same moment, from behind him, a metallic click gave an instant's
warning, and then the room was flooded with light.

From his knees, in one bound, Jimmie flung himself toward his avenue of
escape.

It was blocked by the bulky form of Preston, the butler.

Jimmie turned and doubled back to the door of the living-room. He found
himself confronted by his wife.

The sleeve of her night-dress had fallen to her shoulder and showed her
white arm extended toward him. In her hand, pointing, was an automatic
pistol.

Already dead, Jimmie feared nothing but discovery.

The door to the living-room was wide enough for two. With his head down
he sprang toward it. There was a report that seemed to shake the walls,
and something like the blow of a nightstick knocked his leg from under
him and threw him on his back. The next instant Preston had landed with
both knees on his lower ribs and was squeezing his windpipe.

Jimmie felt he was drowning. Around him millions of stars danced. And
then from another world, in a howl of terror, the voi