They had led Lady Ashleigh from the room. The Professor and Quest stood
face to face. The former's expression, however, had lost all his amiable
serenity. His face was white and pinched. He looked shrivelled up. It was
as though some physical stroke had fallen upon him.

"Quest! Quest!" he almost sobbed. "My brother!--George, whom I loved like
nobody else on earth! Is he really dead?"

"Absolutely!"

The Professor gripped the oak pillar of the bedstead. He seemed on the
point of collapse.

"The mark of the Hands is upon his throat," Quest pointed out.

"The Hands! Oh, my God!" the Professor groaned.

"We must not eat or drink or sleep," Quest declared fiercely, "until we
have brought this matter to an end. Craig must be found. This is the
supreme horror of all. Pull yourself together, Mr. Ashleigh. We shall need
every particle of intelligence we possess. I begin to think that we are
fighting against something superhuman."

The butler made an apologetic appearance. He spoke in a hushed whisper.

"You are wanted downstairs, gentlemen. Middleton, the head-keeper, is
there."

As though inspired with a common idea, both Quest and the Professor
hurried out of the room and down the broad stairs. Their inspiration was a