time. Without questioning the reason, Marc began to run frantically, dodging this way and that, to avoid ... he didn't know what. Then, with horror, he realized that, in his confusion, he had run in the wrong direction, for the black fog was directly in front of him, reaching toward him. Marc turned, but too late. Already, it was shutting out the soft light of the valley. "Run! Run!" the voice continued weirdly. "In the runner, there was a tear, lady," a strange voice was saying, "and he musta caught his toe in it. Anyway, we found him at the foot of the stairs. That's all I know about it." "Well, thank you very much for bringing him," Julie's voice answered. "I'm sure he'll be very grateful to you when he wakes up." There followed the sound of retreating footsteps and a door closing. Marc kept his eyes closed, and listened, until he heard Julie returning. Slowly, he opened his eyes and was glad to find that he was propped up in a chair in his own living room. "Well!" Julie exclaimed annoyedly, seeing that his eyes were open. "So you decided to wake up after all, did you? The men that just dragged you in here said that you'd fallen down a flight of stairs. What a laugh that is! Dead drunk, and out cold would be more like it!" "But I did fall down," Marc protested feebly. "It's a wonder they didn't come hauling that vile little redhead in with you!" Julie said icily. "Where did she collapse?" "But you don't understand about her," Marc said desperately. "Hah!" snorted Julie, and the laugh that followed the inelegant exclamation was frozen solid around the edges. "But Julie," Marc pleaded wretchedly. "I...." "There's a gentleman waiting to see you, ma'am," Marie, the maid, interrupted. "His name is Mr. Dembert." "Send him in here," Julie said, a grim smile forming on her lips. "If it's someone to see you," Marc said apologetically, starting to rise, "I'll just go to my room." "Oh, no!" Julie cried. "This ought to be of great interest to you. I really wouldn't want you to miss it."
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