an old woman who's just received a threatening letter, she thought
ironically--ah, here was something new in a black-bordered box
on the front page--a statement by the paper.

She read it aloud. "'We must cease combing the criminal world for
the Bat and look higher. He may be a merchant--a lawyer--a Doctor
--honored in his community by day and at night a bloodthirsty
assassin--'" The print blurred before her eyes, she could read no
more for the moment. She thought of the revolver in the drawer of
the table close at hand and felt glad that it was there, loaded.

"I'm going to take the butcher knife to bed with me!" Lizzie was
saying.

Miss Cornelia touched the ouija-board. "That thing certainly
spelled Bat," she remarked. "I wish I were a man. I'd like to see
any lawyer, Doctor, or merchant of my acquaintance leading a double
life without my suspecting it."

"Every man leads a double life and some more than that," Lizzie
observed. "I guess it rests them, like it does me to take off my
corset."

Miss Cornelia opened her mouth to rebuke her but just at that moment
there, was a clink of ice from the hall, and Billy, the Japanese,
entered carrying a tray with a pitcher of water and some glasses on
it. Miss Cornelia watched his impassive progress, wondering if the
Oriental races ever felt terror--she could not imagine all Lizzie's
banshees and kelpies producing a single shiver from Billy. He set
down the tray and was about to go as silently as he had come when