and the bed-frame at the base, with its enamelled iron feet,
The sheets hung straight, as though the bed had not been occupied; but,
though there was no sound, I knew Jacqueline was at the back of the
curtains.

The oppressive stillness was not that of solitude. She must be awake;
she must be listening in terror.

I went toward the curtains, and when I spoke I heard the words come
through my lips in a voice that I could not recognize as mine.

"Jacqueline!" I whispered, "it is Paul. Paul, your friend. Are you
safe, Jacqueline?"

Now I saw, under the curtains, what looked like the body of a very
small animal. It might have been a woolly dog, or a black lambkin, and
it was lying perfectly still.

I pulled aside the curtains and stood between them, and the scene
stamped itself upon my brain, as clear as a photographic print, for
ever.

The woolly beast was the fur cap of a dead man who lay across the floor
of the little room. One foot was extended underneath the bed, and the
head reached to the bottom of the wall on the other side of the room.
He lay upon his back, his eyes open and staring, his hands clenched,
and his features twisted into a sneering smile.

His fur overcoat, unbuttoned, disclosed a warm knit waistcoat of a
gaudy pattern, across which ran the heavy links of a gold chain. There
was a tiny hole in his breast, over the heart, from which a little
blood had flowed. The wound had pierced the heart, and death had
evidently been instantaneous.

It was the man whom I had seen staring at us across Herald Square.

Beside the window Jacqueline crouched, and at her feet lay the Eskimo
dog, watching me silently. In her hand she held a tiny, dagger-like
knife, with a thin, red-stained blade. Her grey eyes, black in the
gas-light, stared into mine, and there was neither fear nor recognition
in them. She was fully dressed, and the bed had not been occupied.

I flung myself at her feet. I took the weapon from her hand.
"Jacqueline!" I cried in terror. I raised her hands to my lips and
caressed them.

She seemed quite unresponsive.

I laid them against my cheek. I called her by her name imploringly; I
spoke to her, but she only looked at me and made no answer. Still it
was evident to me that she heard and understood, for she looked at me
in a puzzled way, as if I were a complete stranger. She did not seem
to resent my presence there, and she did not seem afraid of the dead
man. She seemed, i