This is the third installment of a fascinating book-length serial story by Arlton Eadie, a British master of weird fiction, whose skill in building up eery plots and gripping suspense is rapidly winning him a well-deserved fame and making new friends for his stories. If you have not yet read the preceding installments of this thrilling weird mystery novel, then you should begin reading it with this issue, for otherwise you will be missing a real treat. For your convenience we preface this installment of "The Trail of the Cloven Hoof" with a synopsis of the chapters which have gone before.dent of Hugh's, is called in to attend to Silas Marle's injuries, and one night Ronnie and Hugh are astonished by the arrival of a strange girl, Joan Endean, apparently half dead with cold and exhaustion. She recovers with suspicious suddenness the moment she is alone with Hugh, and to his unbounded amazement informs him that she has just made her escape from Professor Felger's institution, which is really a private mental hospital. So convinced is Hugh of her sanity that when Dawker arrives to take her back, he resolutely refuses to give her up.
The police have been notified, however, and when Sergeant Jopling arrives he finds that Joan has gone, but lying on the bed is the body of Silas Marle, stabbed to the heart with a dagger whose hilt is shaped like a cloven hoof. Later that night the body is found to be missing, and the only clue to its disappearance is a trail of cloven hoofs beneath the bedroom window.
Andrew Shale, Marle's lawyer, requests an interview with Hugh, and informs him that Marle has signed a letter of attorney, giving Hugh the benefit of his fortune, conditional on his giving a solemn undertaking to use his utmost endeavor to destroy the supernatural monster which is referred to as "The Terror of the Moor."
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There was a long pause after the lawyer had made his startling announcement. He carefully folded the document, laid it on the pile by his side, then once more leant forward on his desk, his chin resting on his interlocked fingers, his shrewd eyes fixed on the young man's face.
Hugh Trenchard, on his part, found himself utterly at a loss for words. The news of the unexpected legacy—for legacy it was, in spite of the lawyer's respect for legal nicety of expression—followed so swiftly by the fantastic, knight-errant task on which it was conditional, filled him with an amazement too deep to be expressed by the usual commonplaces of speech. His mind groped in vain for a rational explanation. Was it the mere desire for revenge that had induced Silas Marle to offer his fortune as a reward for the destruction of the mysterious thing that had caused his death? Or was there another, a deeper motive?
"Well, Doctor Trenchard," the voice of the lawyer snapped his train of thought. "I suppose you would like a little time in which to think over things, before coming to a decision?"
"It certainly seems to call for a little serious thought," Hugh answered with a smile.
The smile was reflected on Shale's features as he shrugged his shoulders.
"I should imagine that the answer to that depends on your own belief in matters supernatural. If you are convinced
