sort of thing. I want to confront him with the result of his crime."

The Professor stopped short. His eyes were half-closed.

"It is too horrible!" he muttered.

"Nothing could be too horrible for an inhuman being like this," Quest
answered tersely. "I want to see whether he'll commit himself."

They passed into the bedchamber. Quest signed to the keeper to bring Craig
to the side of the four-poster. Then he drew down the sheet.

"Is that your work?" he asked sternly.

Craig, up till then, had spoken no word. He had shambled to the bedside, a
broken, yet in a sense, a stolid figure. The sight of the dead man,
however, seemed to galvanise him into sudden and awful vitality. He threw
up his arms. His eyes were horrible as they glared at those small black
marks. His lips moved, helplessly at first. Then at last he spoke.

"Strangled!" he cried. "One more!"

"That is your work," the criminologist said firmly.

Craig collapsed. He would have fallen bodily to the ground if Middleton's
grip had not kept him up. Quest bent over him. It was clear that he had
fainted. They led him from the room.

"We'd better lock him up until the police arrive," Quest suggested. "I
suppose there is a safe place somewhere?"