ed nerves, after
closing his house on West Fifty-first Street, had sailed in his own
yacht. The same issue carried a few lines about the "freak ads." which
had so sensationally blazed and so suddenly waned from the "yellows."
The opinion was offered that they represented the exploitation of
some new brand of whisky which would announce itself later. But that
announcement never came, and President Colwell sailed to far seas, and
Mr. Curtis Fleming came to New York, keen for explanations, for he,
too, had seen the "fudge" and marveled. Hence, Average Jones had him,
together with young Mr. Dorr, at a private room luncheon at the Cosmic
Club, where he offered an explanation and elucidation.

"The whole affair," he said, "was a problem in the connecting up of
loose ends. At the New York terminus we had two deaths in the office of
a man with powerful and subtle enemies, that office being practically
sealed against intrusion except for a very large keyhole. Some deadly
thing is introduced through that keyhole; so much is practically proven
by the breaking out of the chewing gum with which I coated it. Probably
the scheme was carried out in the evening when the building was nearly
deserted. The killing influence reaches a corner far out of the direct
line of the keyhole. Being near the radiator, that corner represents the
attraction of warmth. Therefore, the invading force was some sentient
creature."

Dorr shuddered. "Some kind of venomous snake," he surmised.

"Not a bad guess. But a snake, however small, would have been instantly
noticed by the dogs. Now, let's look at the Bridgeport end. Here, again,
we have a deadly influence loosed; this time by accident. A scientific
experimentalist is the innocent cause of the disaster. Here, too, the
peril is somewhat dependent upon warmth, since we know, from Professor
Moseley's agonized eagerness for a frost, that cold weather would have
put an end to it. The cold weather fails to come. Dogs are killed.
Finally a child falls victim, and on that child is found a circular
mark, similar to the mark on Mr. Dorr's dog's lip. You see the striking
points of analogy?"

"Do you mean us to believe poor old Moseley a cold-blooded murderer?"
demanded Mr. Curtis Fleming.

"Far from it. At worst an unhappy victim of his own carelessness in
loosing a peril upon his neighborhood. You're forgetting a connecting
link; the secretive red-dot communications from New York City addressed
by Moseley t