room on the ground floor of his house in Georgia Square, and looked out
into the snow-white street. Then he turned around and addressed the figure
lying as though asleep upon the sofa by the fire.

"Lenora," he said, "I am going out. Stay here, if you please, until I
return."

He left the room. For a few moments there was a profound silence. Then a
white face was pressed against the window. There was a crash of glass. A
man, covered with snow, sprang into the apartment. He moved swiftly to the
sofa, and something black and ugly swayed in his hand.

"So you've deceived me, have you?" he panted. "Handed over the jewels,
chucked me, and given me the double cross! Anything to say?"

A piece of coal fell on to the grate. Not a sound came from the sofa.
Macdougal leaned forward, his white face distorted with passion. The
life-preserver bent and quivered behind him, cut the air with a swish and
crashed full upon the head.

The man staggered back. The weapon fell from his fingers. For a moment he
was paralysed. There was no blood upon his hand, no cry--silence inhuman,
unnatural! He looked again. Then the lights flashed out all around him.
There were two detectives in the doorway, their revolvers covering
him,--Sanford Quest, with Lenora in the background. In the sudden
illumination, Macdougal's horror turned almost to hysterical rage. He had
wasted his fury upon a dummy! It was sawdust, not blood, which littered
the couch!

"Take him, men," Quest ordered. "Hands up, Macdougal. Your number's up.