fringed softness. He hung up the feather by a thread and watched it hop back and forth in the center of the room.

Peter awakened and saw Mirestone sitting by the fire noting every movement of the feather. "What are you doing, heh?"

Mirestone swung around and glared at the bleary eyed Dutchman. "Sit down," he commanded. "Sit down and watch the feather turn red."

Peter didn't need to be told that it was his feather. He knew by the merciless eyes of Mirestone that everything was over. "So, you were determined to find out what would happen if the hex were tried on a man?"

Peter was surprised at how easily he took his fate. There was no need of excitement—this was his end and there was no changing it.

"Yes, I had to know, for I can't leave until I have a complete record of all the results." Mirestone certainly was not cocky now. He looked almost ashamed of himself as he sat there nervously watching a man's fate swing by a silken thread. "I'm sorry, Peter, my friend, but that is how it must be. You are a stepping stone to a glorious reckoning that will soon take place. The hex of the white feather—I can hardly believe that I have at last tracked it down. And you, Peter, are the last witness, the last link in the chain of those who know the secret, and how can it better end than by your becoming a part of the secret?"

Peter realized that he had not much longer to live and nothing he could do to Mirestone would change his fate. Perhaps he could save others, though.

"What is this glorious reckoning you were speaking about?"

"As soon as I see how your case ends, I'll be able to go ahead and release my vengeance on those stupid, bungling fools who have thwarted my progress in the black arts. They claim to speak in the name of humanity, no less!"

"In that case," exclaimed Peter, "I won't let myself be a foothold for your damned work—it is of the devil and I'll have no part of it."

"Shut up, fool. You are a part of it already."

"Not if my body is destroyed before you can get hold of it."

Peter played his trump card. He quickly sprang back and slipped out the door into the storm. Mirestone jumped up after him, but it was too late. He peered out into the raging tempest making out the figure of Peter 

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