be in order, and the needle had now almost reached the end of the record. But only a faint scratching was audible.
Markham stretched forth his hand to lift the sound-box. But his movement was never completed.
At that moment the little apartment was filled with several terrifying treble screams, followed by two shrill calls for help. A cold chill swept my body, and there was a tingling at the roots of my hair.
After a short silence, during which the three of us remained speechless, the same feminine voice said in a loud, distinct tone: "No; nothing is the matter. I'm sorry. . . . Everything is all right. . . . Please go home, and don't worry."
The needle had come to the end of the record. There was a slight click, and the automatic device shut off the motor. The almost terrifying silence that followed was broken by a sardonic chuckle from Vance.
"Well, old dear," he remarked languidly, as he strolled back into the living-room, "so much for your irrefutable facts!"
There came a loud knocking on the door, and the officer on duty outside looked in with a startled face.
"It's all right," Markham informed him in a husky voice. "I'll call you when I want you."
Vance lay down on the davenport and took out another cigarette. Having lighted it, he stretched his arms far over his head and extended his legs, like a man in whom a powerful physical tension had suddenly relaxed.
"'Pon my soul, Markham, we've all been babes in the woods," he drawled. "An incontrovertible alibi—
