knife and the revolver, close to the cold and motionless hand, appeared to fascinate her.
"No one," Garth whispered. "No evidence, beyond the knife, that any one has been here unlawfully."
He removed the cushions from a lounge and arranged them in a window recess. He seated himself with Nora there. He drew the curtains so that they would be thoroughly concealed from any one entering the room. Then he snapped off the light.
The vigil, Garth realized nearly at once, would not be comfortable. Nora's obvious tenseness encouraged him to morbid fancies, to formidable premonitions. The heavy black silence of the decaying house became more oppressive. The near presence of the soulless thing on the bed, which had yielded to him the puzzling note, seemed through the night capable of a malicious and unique activity. Garth, in spite of himself, became expectant of some abnormal and impossible movement in the room. Nora, he knew, listened with him. Once she whispered:
"Haven't you a feeling there is some one here who laughs at us?"
The old woman's atrocious mirth came back to him.
"Hush. It is better even not to whisper."
The minutes loitered. The silence grew thicker, the presence of Taylor's body more oppressive. Then suddenly through the night Garth became
