s a carbon
copy, with figures on it.

"Bostiff...."

On the rear terrace the legless giant stirred at the call. He moved on
huge arms to the door and into the library....

* * * * *

In his tower suite, Keane paced back and forth with his hands clasped
behind him. Beatrice Dale watched him with quiet, intelligent eyes. He
was talking, not to her, but to himself; listing aloud the points
uncovered since his arrival here.

"A few seconds after talking with Madame Sin, Weems was stricken. Also,
the lady with the odd name was seen coming from the roulette room at
about the time when a party entered and found the croupier and eight
guests turned from people into statues. But she was nowhere around when
Wilson died in the conference room."

He frowned. "The watches were taken from all the sufferers from this
strange paralysis, save Weems. By whom? Madame Sin? Weems' watch is
absolutely in good order, but it won't run. The ball on the roulette
wheels stays on a slant instead of rolling down into a slot as it should
when the wheel is motionless. But the wheel doesn't seem to be quite
motionless. It apparently moved a fraction of an inch in the forty-five
minutes or so that I was in the room."

"You're sure you didn't touch it, and set it moving?" said Beatrice.
"Those wheels are delicately balanced."

"Not that delicately! I barely brushed it with my fingers as I examined
the ivory ball. No, I didn't move it. But I'm sure it did move...."

There was a tap at the door. He went to it. Gest was in the corridor.

"Here's the master key," he said, extending a key to Keane. "I got it
from the manager. But--you're sure it is necessary to enter Madame Sin's
rooms?"

"Very," said Keane.

"She is in now," said the president. "Could you--just to avoid possible
scandal--inasmuch as you don't intend to knock before entering----"

He glanced at Beatrice. Keane smiled.

"I'll have Miss Dale go in first. If Madame Sin is undressed
or--entertaining--Miss Dale can apologize and retreat. But I am sure
Madame Sin will be unaware of intrusion. In spite of the conviction of
your key clerk that she is in, I am quite sure that, at least
figuratively, she is out."

"_Figuratively_ out?" echoed Gest. "I don't understand."

"You will later--unless this is my fated time to lose in the fight I
have made against the devil who calls himself Doctor Satan. Are
Chichester and Kroner in the hotel?"

Gest shoo