her head, but Deborah pressed it closer to her
breast. "Don't, my pretty--don't," she whispered harshly.

"I must--I--ah!" the girl freed her head from those kind arms with a
wrench, and looked at the gruesome sight. She staggered forward a few
steps, and then fell back. Deborah received her in her arms, and,
thankful that Sylvia had fainted, carried her up the stairs to lay the
unconscious girl on her own bed. Then she descended rapidly, locked the
door leading from the shop to the stairs, and again looked at the body.
The time she had been away was about seven or eight minutes, and the
body still remained with the one open eye staring meaninglessly at the
ceiling. Deborah, drawn by fascination like a bird by a serpent, crept
forward and touched the head. It moved, and she again tried to lift it.
This time she found she could do so. The head she lifted against her
breast, and then laid it down with horror when she found the bosom of
her nightgown was stained with blood. Pulling her wits together, for she
felt that she needed them every one, she examined the head and neck. To
her horror she found round the throat a strong thin copper wire, which
disappeared through a hole in the floor. Apparently this had been pulled
so tightly as to keep the head down and to choke the old man, and so
cruelly as to cut deeply into the flesh. With a moan of horror Deborah
dropped the head and ran to the trap-door in the corner. If anywhere,
those who had murdered Aaron Norman were lurking in the cellar. But the
trap-door would not open, and then she remembered that it was closed by
a bolt underneath. She could not reach the midnight assassin that way.

"The front door," she gasped, and ran to unbolt it. The bolts were
easily removed, but the door was also locked, and Aaron usually had the
key deposited nightly in the cellar by Bart. Repugnant as it was for her
to approach the dead body, Deborah again went forward and felt in the
pockets and loose clothing. The man was completely dressed, even to an
overcoat which he wore. But she could not find the key and wondered what
she was to do. Probably the key had been hung up in the cellar as usual.
Necessity being the mother of invention, she remembered that the
window-glass was fragile, and ran up in the hope of breaking through.
But the stout shutters were up, so Deborah found that she was sealed in
the house. Almost in a state of distraction, for by this time her nerve
had given way, she unl