g he would have felt in
the same degree if his quarry had been a deer in some green cover of the
hills. Still without a sound he felt his way to the door of Teevan's
room. The door was open and light from it glowed dimly into the hall. He
paused within the shadow and peered into the room. He could see the desk
but not the man who sat before it. Of him he could see only an arm and
hand--writing at the moment. Presently the hand dropped its pen and took
up a tall glass that stood near. The glass ascended and passed beyond
the watcher's range of vision. The hand brought it back, empty, a moment
later, and resumed the pen once more.

He took a step forward and brought the room into view. Teevan sat at the
desk, his head bent and half turned away. Ewing coolly noted his
position. He seemed smaller than ever, smaller and older. But now no
time must be wasted.

Ewing stepped through the doorway with noiseless tread and took one long
step toward the desk. Teevan turned his head and looked up. His eyes
rested on Ewing, at first vacantly, his mind still busied with the
matter of his writing. Ewing thrilled with a sudden alertness, his
purpose growing in his eyes, his hands tensely closing and unclosing.
Teevan started back from the desk, conscious now of the intruder's
menace. Yet such was the cool fixedness of Ewing's gaze, the hypnotic
tenseness of his crouch, that the little man made no sound; only stared
as one under a spell, the pen still held in his poised hand.

Only when the crouching figure leaped toward him did his lips open. But
then, what would have been a cry of terror became a mere gurgling
snarl, for Ewing's hands had met about his throat with unerring
deftness. Teevan was half-raised from the chair, his head was forced
back, and for an instant his eyes met Ewing's in full consciousness.
Then his mouth opened wide, but not for speech, and his eyes rolled in
the agony of that choking grip. Ewing felt the thing writhe in his
clutch, then felt a sudden terrible relaxation, and his pressure ceased
in unthinking response to this. He stood a moment, holding the limp
form, then dropped it in the chair, feeling himself sicken at the sheer
physical horror of what he was doing. There was no pity for Teevan--only
for the animal that suffered. He had had to kill a dog once and his
loathing of that deed was like this. Teevan's head lay over on his
shoulder, his face distorted and purple, his eyes upturned and fixed in
a hide