lear. No white precipitin, as it is called, would form. But let human
blood, ever so diluted, be added to the serum of the inoculated rabbit,
and the test is absolute."

A death-like silence seemed to pervade the room. Kennedy slowly and
deliberately began to test the contents of the glasses. Dropping into
each, as he broke the seal, some of the serum of the rabbit, he waited a
moment to see if any change occurred.

It was thrilling. I think no one could have gone through that fifteen
minutes without having it indelibly impressed on his memory. I recall
thinking as Kennedy took each glass, "Which is it to be, guilt or
innocence, life or death?" Could it be possible that a man's life might
hang on such a slender thread? I knew Kennedy was too accurate and
serious to deceive us. It was not only possible, it was actually a fact.

The first glass showed no reaction. Someone had been vindicated.

The second was neutral likewise--another person in the room had been
proved innocent.

The third--no change. Science had released a third.

The fourth--

Almost it seemed as if the record in my pocket burned--spontaneously--so
intense was my feeling. There in the glass was that fatal, telltale
white precipitate.

"My God, it's the milk ring!" whispered Tom close to my ear.

Hastily Kennedy dropped the serum into the fifth. It remained as clear
as crystal.

My hand trembled as it touched the envelope containing my record of the
names.

"The person who wore the coat with that blood-stain on it," declared
Kennedy solemnly, "was the person who struck Lewis Langley down, who
choked him and then dragged his scarcely dead body across the floor
and obliterated the marks of violence in the blazing log fire. Jameson,
whose name is opposite the sign on this glass?"

I could scarcely tear the seal to look at the paper in the envelope. At
last I unfolded it, and my eye fell on the name opposite the fatal sign.
But my mouth was dry, and my tongue refused to move. It was too much
like reading a death-sentence. With my finger on the name I faltered an
instant.

Tom leaned over my shoulder and read it to himself. "For Heaven's sake,
Jameson," he cried, "let the ladies retire before you read the name."

"It's not necessary," said a thick voice. "We quarrelled over the
estate. My share's mortgaged up to the limit, and Lewis refused to lend
me more even until I could get Isabelle happily married. Now Lewis's
goes to an outsider--Harri