"Look alive, Leon!" Curtis cried, nudging Kelson's elbow. "Look alive
or it will be too late. The Unknown is mighty particular to a few
seconds. Let me operate on you. I've always fancied I was born to use
the knife--that I've really missed my vocation. You needn't be
afraid--there's no artery in the palm of your hand--you won't bleed to
death."

Thus goaded, Hamar pricked away nervously at his hand, and, after
sundry efforts, at last succeeded in drawing blood; three drops of
which he very carefully let fall in the tub.

"I wish it was light so that we could see it," Curtis whispered in
Kelson's ear. "I believe Jews have different coloured blood to other
people."

Though Kelson was apprehensive, Hamar did not appear to have heard;
his whole attention was riveted on the mirror, on the face of which
was a reflection of the moon.

"I knew nothing would happen," Curtis cried, "you had better wipe your
knife or you'll be arrested for severing some one's jugular. Hulloa!
what's up with the cat?"

Hamar was about to tell him to be quiet when Kelson caught his arm.
"Look, Leon! Look! What's the brute doing? Is it mad?" Kelson gasped.

Hamar turned his head--and there crouching on the floor, in the
moonlight, was the cat, its hair bristling on end and its green eyes
ablaze with an expression which held all three men speechless. When
they were at last able to avert their eyes a fresh surprise awaited