his face, his chest,
and, last, his eyes. I wondered if it were possible to conceive a more
dreadful torture than that endured by a mind which so witnessed the
dying of one organ after another of its own body, shut up, as it were,
in the fulness of life, within a corpse.

I looked in bewilderment at the scratch on his face. "How did he do it?"
I asked.

Carefully Craig drew off the azure ring and examined it. In that part
which surrounded the blue lapis lazuli, he indicated a hollow point,
concealed. It worked with a spring and communicated with a little
receptacle behind, in such a way that the murderer could give the fatal
scratch while shaking hands with his victim.

I shuddered, for my hand had once been clasped by the one wearing
that poison ring, which had sent Templeton, and his fiancee and now
Vanderdyke himself, to their deaths.

VIII. "Spontaneous Combustion"

Kennedy and I had risen early, for we were hustling to get off for a
week-end at Atlantic City. Kennedy was tugging at the straps of his grip
and remonstrating with it under his breath, when the door opened and a
messenger-boy stuck his head in.

"Does Mr. Kennedy live here?" he asked.

Craig impatiently seized the pencil, signed his name in the book, and
tore open a night letter. From the prolonged silence that followed I
felt a sense of misgiving. I, at least, had set my heart on the Atlantic
City outing, but with the appearance of the messenger-boy I intuitively
felt that the board walk would not see us that week.

"I'm afraid the Atlantic City trip is off, Walter," remarked Craig
seriously. "You remember Tom Langley in our class at the university?
Well, read that."

I laid down my safety razor and took the message. Tom had not spared
words, and I could see at a glance at the mere length of the thing that
it must be important. It was from Camp Hang-out in the Adirondacks.

"Dear old K.," it began, regardless of expense, "can you arrange to come
up here by next train after you receive this? Uncle Lewis is dead. Most
mysterious. Last night after we retired noticed peculiar odour about
house. Didn't pay much attention. This morning found him lying on floor
of living-room, head and chest literally burned to ashes, but lower part
of body and arms untouched. Room shows no evidence of fire, but full of
sort of oily soot. Otherwise nothing unusual. On table near body siphon
of seltzer, bottle of imported limes, and glass for rickeys. Have