h mechanism had been
hidden. It could, as I had suspected, be worked from without. The
victim, once seated there, had no chance whatever of escape.

In the light of day, the room--that fatal apartment wherein more than
one innocent man had, no doubt, met with a horrible end--looked very
shabby and dingy. The furniture was cheap and tawdry, and the carpet
very dirty.

There, upon the card-table, stood the ink, while the pen used by
Reckitt lay upon the floor. My wallet lay open near by. I took it up
quickly to glance through its contents. As far as I could discover,
nothing had been taken except the cheque I had written out, believing
I was to assist Jack Marlowe.

Eagerly I glanced at my watch, and found it was already a quarter past
ten.

The scoundrels had, no doubt, already been to the bank, cashed my
cheque, and were by this time clear away!

Remembering Sylvia, I drew my revolver, which still remained in my
hip-pocket, and, finding the door unlocked, went forth to search for
her. The fact that the door was now unlocked showed that some one had
entered there during my unconsciousness, and released me. From the
appearance of the snake, it seemed to have been killed by a sharp blow
across its back.

Some one had rescued me just in the nick of time.

I entered the front room on the same floor, the room whence those
woman's screams had emanated. It was a big bare drawing-room,
furnished in the ugly Early Victorian style, musty-smelling and
moth-eaten. The dirty holland blinds fitted badly and had holes in
them; therefore sufficient light was admitted to afford me a good view
of the large apartment.

There was nothing unusual there, save upon a small work-table lay some
embroidery work, where apparently it had been put down. An open novel
lay near, while close by was a big bowl filled with yellow roses. Yet
the apartment seemed to have been long closed and neglected, while the
atmosphere had a musty odour which was not dispelled by the sweet
perfume of the flowers.

Had Sylvia been in this room when she had shrieked?

I saw something upon the floor, and picked it up. It proved to be a
narrow band of turquoise-blue velvet, the ornament from a woman's
hair. Did it belong to her?

In vain I looked around for a candle--for evidences of the same
mediaeval torture to which I had been submitted, but there were none.

In fear and trepidation I entered yet another room on the same floor,
but it was dusty and negl