the garden. The three
officers of the Blue Bay Company sat in here, and in their faces was
frenzy.

"What in the world are we going to do?" bleated Chichester, thin,
nervous, dry-skinned, secretary and treasurer of the company. "Weems is
the biggest stockholder. He is nationally famous. His attack of illness
here on the very night of opening will give us publicity so unfavorable
that it might put Blue Bay in the red for months. You know how a
disaster can sometimes kill a place."

"Most unfortunate," sighed heavy-set, paunchy Martin Gest, gnawing his
lip. Gest was president of the company.

"Unfortunate, hell!" snapped Kroner, vice president. Kroner was a
self-made man, slightly overcolored, rather loud, with dinner clothes
cut a little too modishly. "It's curtains if anything more should
happen."

"Hasn't the doctor found out yet what's the matter with Weems?" quavered
Chichester.

Kroner swore. "You heard the last report, same as the rest of us. Doctor
Grays has never seen anything like it. Weems seems to be paralyzed; yet
there are none of the symptoms of paralysis save lack of movement. There
is no perceptible heart-beat--yet he certainly isn't dead; the complete
absence of rigor mortis and the fact that there is a trace of blood
circulation prove that. He simply stays in that same position. When you
move arm or hand, it moves slowly back to the same position again on
being released. He has no reflex response, doesn't apparently hear or
feel or see."

"Like catalepsy," sighed Gest.

Kroner nodded and moistened his feverish lips.

"Just like catalepsy. Only it isn't. Grays swears to that. But what it
is, he can't say."

Chichester fumbled in his pocket.

"You two laughed at me this evening when I got worried about getting
that note. You talked me down again a few minutes ago. But I'm telling
you once more, I believe there's a connection. I believe whoever wrote
the note really has made Weems like he is--not that the note was penned
by a crank and that Weems' illness is coincidence."

"Nonsense!" said Gest. "The note was either written by a madman, or by
some crook who adopted a crazy, melodramatic name."

"But he predicted what happened to Weems," faltered Chichester. "And he
says there will be more--much more--enough to ruin Blue Bay for ever if
we don't meet his demands----"

"Nuts!" said Kroner bluntly. "Weems just got sick, that's all. Something
so rare that most doctors can't spot it, but norma