under my hands, that she knew now; she knew; but she had to have me tell her, too.
"The automatic airplane," I said. "Surely you've seen it."
"Seen it? Of course, I have. He was perfecting it to give to the government, he told me." She repeated, hollowly, "he told me. He put me in the seat; he runs it under a figure of me."
"Yes," I said.
"You've seen it, then? I mean, the figure of me."
"I've seen the figure of you. Logan, you understand, at first thought it was you who smashed him down."
The grey eyes gazed into mine but no longer followed my thought; "He made it," she said to me. "He made it of me, himself, of wax and wood. He's a sort of an artist, you see." And my hands became helpless to quiet her quivering.
"He's been using it—me—to kill four men."
I only held her firmly.
"Why? What's he doing? What's he—planning?" She gasped at me; and I saw,
