LITMIR.BIZ

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      The chime being completed: ONE! boomed the clock; TWO!... THREE! ...

      FOUR!...

      The light in the entrance-hall went out!

      FIVE! boomed Big Ben;--SIX!... SEVEN!...

      A hand, of old ivory hue, a long, yellow, clawish hand, with part of a

      sinewy forearm, crept in from the black lobby through the study doorway

      and touched the electric switch!

      EIGHT!...

      The study was plunged in darkness!

      Uttering a sob--a cry of agony and horror that came from her very

      soul--the woman stood upright and turned to face toward the door,

      clutching the sheet of paper in one rigid hand.

      Through the leaded panes of the window above the writing-table swept

      a silvern beam of moonlight. It poured, searchingly, upon the fur-clad

      figure swaying by the table; cutting through the darkness of the room

      like some huge scimitar, to end in a pallid pool about the woman's

      shadow on the center of the Persian carpet.

      Coincident with her sobbing cry--NINE! boomed Big Ben; TEN!...

      Two hands--with outstretched, crooked, clutching fingers--leapt from the

      darkness into the light of the moonbeam.

      “God! Oh, God!” came a frenzied, rasping shriek--“MR. KING!”

      Straight at the bare throat leapt the yellow hands; a gurgling cry

      rose--fell--and died away.

      Gently, noiselessly, the lady of the civet fur sank upon the carpet by

      the table; as she fell, a dim black figure bent over her. The tearing

      of paper told of the note being snatched from her frozen grip; but never

      for a moment did the face or the form of her assailant encroach upon the

      moonbeam.

      Batlike, this second and terrible visitant avoided the light.

      The deed had occupied so brief a time that but one note of the great

      bell had accompanied it.

      TWELVE! rang out the final stroke from the clock-tower. A low, eerie

      whistle, minor, rising in three irregular notes and falling in weird,

      unusual cadence to silence again, came from somewhere outside the room.

      Then darkness--stillness--with the moon a witness of one more ghastly

      crime.

      Presently, confused and intermingled voices from above proclaimed the

      return of Leroux with the doctor. They were talking in an excited

      key, the voice of Leroux, especially, sounding almost hysterical. They

      created such a disturbance that they attracted the attention of Mr. John

      Exel, M. P., occupant of the flat below, who at that very moment had

      returned from the House and was about to insert the key in the lock of

      his door. He looked up the stairway, but, all being in darkness, was

      unable to detect anything. Therefore he called out:--

      “Is that you, Leroux? Is anything the matter?”

      “Matter, Exel!” cried Leroux; “there's a devil of a business! For

      mercy's sake, come up!”

      His curiosity greatly excited, Mr. Exel mounted the stairs, entering

      the lobby of Leroux's flat immediately behind the owner and Dr.

      Cumberly--who, like Leroux, was arrayed in a dressing-gown; for he had

      been in bed when summoned by his friend.

      “You are all in the dark, here,” muttered Dr. Cumberly, fumbling for the

      switch.

      “Some one has turned the light out!” whispered Leroux, nervously; “I

      left it on.”

      Dr. Cumberly pressed the switch, turning up the lobby light as Exel

      entered from the landing. Then Leroux, entering the study first of the

      three, switched on the light there, also.

      One glance he threw about the room, then started back like a man

      physically stricken.

      “Cumberly!” he gasped, “Cumberly”--and he pointed to the furry heap by

      the writing-table.

      “You said she lay on the chesterfield,” muttered Cumberly.

      “I left her there.”...

      Dr. Cumberly crossed the room and dropped upon his knees. He turned the

      white face toward the light, gently parted the civet fur, and pressed

      his ear to the silken covering of the breast. He started slightly and

      looked into the glazing eyes.

      Replacing the fur which he had disarranged, the physician stood up and

      fixed a keen gaze upon the face of Henry Leroux. The latter swallowed

      noisily, moistening his parched lips.

      “Is she”... he muttered; “is she”...

      “God's mercy, Leroux!” whispered Mr. Exel--“what does this mean?”

      “The woman is dead,” said Dr. Cumberly.

      In common with all medical men, Dr. Cumberly was a physiognomist; he was

      a great physician and a proportionately great physiognomist. Therefore,

      when he looked into Henry Leroux's eyes, he saw there, and recognized,

      horror and consternation. With no further evidence than that furnished

      by his own powers of perception, he knew that the mystery of this

      woman's death was as inexplicable to Henry Leroux as it was inexplicable

      to himself.

      He was a masterful man, with the gray eyes of a diplomat, and he knew

      Leroux as did few men. He laid both hands upon the novelist's shoulders.

      “Brace up, old chap!” he said; “you will want all your wits about you.”

      “I left her,” began Leroux, hesitatingly--“I left”...

      “We know all about where you left her, Leroux,” interrupted Cumberly;

      “but what we want to get at is this: what occurred between the time you

      left her, and the time of our return?”

      Exel, who had walked across to the table, and with a horror-stricken

      face was gingerly examining the victim, now exclaimed:--

      “Why! Leroux! she is--she is... UNDRESSED!”

      Leroux clutched at his dishevelled hair with both hands.

      “My dear Exel!” he cried--“my dear, good man! Why do you use that

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