Supreme silence reigned over the house. Even the elevator had ceased to
run. Ernest's brain was all ear. He heard Reginald walking up and down
in the studio. Not the smallest movement escaped his attention. Thus
hours passed. When the clock struck twelve, he was still walking up and
down, down and up, up and down.

One o'clock.

Still the measured beat of his footfall had not ceased. There was
something hypnotic in the regular tread. Nature at last exacted its toll
from the boy. He fell asleep.

Hardly had he closed his eyes when again that horrible nightmare--no
longer a nightmare--tormented him. Again he felt the pointed delicate
fingers carefully feeling their way along the innumerable tangled
threads of nerve-matter that lead to the innermost recesses of self....

A subconscious something strove to arouse him, and he felt the fingers
softly withdrawn.

He could have sworn that he heard the scurrying of feet in the room.
Bathed in perspiration he made a leap for the electric light.

But there was no sign of any human presence. The barricade at the door
was undisturbed. But fear like a great wind filled the wings of his
soul.

Yet there was nothing, nothing to warrant his conviction that Reginald
Clarke had been with him only a few moments ago, plying his horrible