n
application of the brakes, came to a sharp stop. Bentley noticed that
they were at the intersection of Twenty-second Street and Fifth
Avenue. The lights were still green, but nevertheless all traffic was
halted.

And for a strange reason.

From the west door of the Flatiron Building emerged a grim apparition
of a man. His body was scored by countless bleeding wounds which
looked as though they had been made by the fingernails of a giant. The
man wore no article of clothing except his shoes. Apparently, his
clothing had been ripped from his body by the same instrument which
had turned his body into a raw, dripping horror.

The man staggered, half-running, at times all but falling, toward the
traffic officer at the intersection.

As he ran he screamed, horrible, babbling screams. His lips worked
crazily, his eyes rolled. He was frightened beyond the comprehension
of ordinary mortals. His screams began and ended on the high shrill
notes of utter dementia, and as he ran he pawed the air with his
bleeding hands as though he fought out on all sides against invisible
demons seeking to drag him down.

"Oh, my God!" said Ellen. "Even here!"

What had caused her to speak the last two words? Did she also have a
premonition of grim disaster? Did she also feel, deep down inside her,
as Bentley did, that the nightmare through which they had passed was
not yet ended?

Bentley now sat unmoving, his eyes unblinking, as he saw the naked man
stagger over to the traffic officer. The color drained from his face.

He looked at his watch. It was exactly noon.

Even without further consideration Bentley knew that this gruesome
apparition had some direct connection with the newspaper story he had
just read.

- - -

Unobtrusively, trying to make it seem a preoccupied action, he folded
the newspaper again and thrust it down at the end of the seat cushion.
But Ellen was watching him, a haunting fear gradually coming into her
eyes.

She quickly reached past him and snatched the paper before he realized
her intent. The item he had read came instantly under her eyes because
of the way he had automatically folded the paper. She read it with
staring eyes.

"So, Lee," she said, "you think there's a connection with--with--well,
with _us_?"

"Absurd!" he said heartily, too heartily. "Caleb Barter is dead."

"But I have never been sure," insisted Ellen. "Oh, Lee, let's get away
from here! Let's take the first boat for B