nscious of
a fear which acted like a temporary anesthesia. For a few seconds he
stood staring, until the match which he held burned out and scorched the
flesh of his fingers. His jaw dropped, his eyes widened. He opened his
lips and tried to speak, but closed them again without having uttered a
sound save a choking gasp. He tried again, feeling an urge for
speech--something, anything, to make him believe that he was here,
alive--that the horror within the cab was real. This time he uttered an
"Oh, my God!"

The words seemed to vitalize him. He fumbled for another match, found it,
and lighted it within the cab. It seemed to have the radiance of an
incandescent.

Spike had hoped that his first impression would prove to be a mere
figment of his imagination; but now there was no doubting. There,
sprawled in an ugly, inhuman heap on the floor, head resting against the
cushioned seat of the cab, was the figure of a man. There was no doubt
that he was dead. Even Spike, young, optimistic, and unversed in the ways
of death as he was, knew that he was alone with a corpse.

And as he gazed, a strange courage came to him. He found himself
emboldened to investigate. He was shivering while he did so, shivering
with fear and with the terrific cold of the night. He could not quite
bring himself to touch the body, but he did not need to move it to see
that murder had been done.

The clothes told him instantly that the man was of high social station.
They were obviously expensive clothes, probably tailor-made. The big
coat, open at the top, was flung back. Beneath, Spike discerned a gray
tweed--and on the breast of the gray tweed was a splotch, a dark, ugly
thing which appeared black and was not black. Spike shuddered. He had
never liked the sight of blood.

The match spluttered and went out. Spike looked around. He felt
hopelessly alone. Not a pedestrian; not a light. The houses, set well
back from the street, were dark, forbiddingly dark.

He saw a street-car rattle past, bound on the final run of the night for
the car-sheds at East End. Then he was alone again--alone and frightened.

He felt the necessity for action. He must do something--something, but
what? What was there to do?

A great fear gripped him. He was with the body. The body was in his cab.
He would be arrested for the murder of the man!

Of course he knew he didn't do it. The woman had committed the murder.

Spike swore. He had almost forgotten the woman. Whe