this “no man’s land” where mystery, like a cloaked figure, moved among the shadows of tragedy. How much was here? How much of it was his own fancy? Who was the real Millicent, the man within the man who had been afraid before he died? How and why did Millicent die? Did evil take on an embodiment and, emerging like an apparition from the unknown, butcher him where he sat? Derrick pictured him, shrinking back into his chair with starting eyes while something moved closer, closer. And then—

A knock sounded at the door.

“If you please, sir, the inventory men would like to come in for a moment.” The impassive mask had fallen over her face again.

“Eh! I thought they had finished.” He spoke jerkily, aware that the study had suddenly become void and silent. “All right, they may come.”

A shuffle of footsteps in the hall, and Mr. Jarrad entered deferentially, hat in hand. He was followed by Dawkins. The younger man looked amused, and a trifle superior.

“I beg pardon for disturbing you like this, sir, but on looking over our notes I find that my colleague has omitted to make an entry concerning this desk.”

“Anything the matter with the desk?” asked Derrick curiously.

“No, sir, it’s merely the point of its physical condition, which would naturally affect any possible question of dilapidations. When I examined it I noticed a large stain on the leather, quite faint and dull. It’s the sort of thing one generally finds on desks of this character, especially when there happen to be young people in the family. I did not detect it till for some reason I made a second inspection. Now it seems that either I did not mention this for record or, if I did, my colleague failed to make the entry. So with your permission I’ll show it to him.”

Derrick felt no surprise. “Certainly,” he said mechanically. “Do you need more light?”

Mr. Jarrad shook his head, advanced to the desk, reverentially moved a sheaf of manuscript, put on his glasses, and bent low over the glossy surface. Dawkins stood at his elbow looking openly incredulous.

“I can’t see anything, just the same,” said the latter, “and a stain is a stain.”

Mr. Jarrad shifted the lamp and peered hard. “Curious,” he murmured to himself. “How very curious! I could have sworn that—ah—there, my friend,” he nodded with satisfaction, “you can 

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