a moment,
apparently wholly absorbed. Then he slipped it upon the _middle finger
of his right hand_!

The ring seemed to fit perfectly. He turned the hand over and back a
number of times, inspecting the ornament from different angles of
vision. After which, seemingly satisfied with his critical survey, he
removed it from the finger and returned it to his pocket.

I studied the young man in perplexity. Here I had two rings on two
different right hands: what was I to conclude from--

But events were moving swiftly, almost to the verge of confusion.

"We, the jury," read the foreman, with the tremulous, irresolute air of
a man unaccustomed to forensic exercises, "find that Felix Page came to
his death from a blow on the head, administered with some blunt
instrument in the hands of--"

He got no further. At that instant a piercing feminine shriek rose in
some remote part of the house. Coming as it did at such a juncture,
when all present were hanging in suspense upon the words as they fell
from the foreman's lips, it produced much the same effect as might have
followed the explosion of a bomb in the company's midst. Miss Fluette
gasped, and her face went as white as ashes. Maillot and Fluette were
both instantly upon their feet, startled and tense.

The scream was a thrilling, prolonged note of horror. For one electric
second my blood seemed to chill in my veins. The cry swelled in a
quavering crescendo, lingered with the persistence of terror, then
abruptly ceased, like the cutting off of a shrieking steam-jet.

For one awful moment everybody sat or stood as if petrified. If a bomb
had exploded it might have passed unnoticed. Then, with a wild,
unnerving recollection of Genevieve, I rushed to the door.

"Don't let a soul stir from this room!" I hoarsely shouted to Dr. De
Breen.

In the next instant I had plunged into the hall, brushed aside the
stupefied policeman there, and was taking the stairs four at a time.

CHAPTER XVI

THE FACE IN THE ALCOVE

The first thing I noticed as I sped up the stairs was the absence of
Stodger from his post in the upper hall, where I had last seen him.
Only a few minutes previously I had peeped into the lower hall to
satisfy myself that everything was right; at that time he was leaning
on the balustrade, engaged in a desultory conversation with Officer
Morrison, stationed below. But in a moment I understood.

The bath room door stood wide open, and on the f