evil.

In the morning Carse was up early, and moved back and forth in the
corridor with strange industry. He was crying, for his sobs came
disturbingly to my ears, and once I heard him descend into the cellar
and there was a faint digging sound as he performed some outlandish
task. Then I heard him in the hallway and on the stairs. I heard the
splashing of water and the sound of scrubbing.

I pounded on the door for him to let me out, but it was not until
nearly noon that he finished his chores and finally opened my door. He
was stooped and fatigued, and without bothering to return my
amenities, he turned away and went to his study.

~ ~ ~

I went into the hallway and noticed, as I had surmised, that the floor
showed signs of recent and vigorous cleaning. I walked down to his
room and looked in, not surprized to notice that here, too, was the
unmistakable evidence of scrubbing. I knew there was only one more
thing to do; I must go down to the cellar and unearth what he had
buried there!

The horrible truth had been dawning upon me for hours, and when I came
face to face with him in the kitchen at the head of the cellar stairs
I looked squarely into his eyes with the full realization that Jason
Carse was the Head-hunter.

I was not frightened--not for my personal safety, at any rate--but a
sensation of sickening horror went through me as I looked into his
tired face and understood that at last he had fallen into the cesspool
which had tormented him since early years. The words of the coroner
came back into my ears: "He is a madman of uncanny intelligence," and
I knew that he knew I recognized him for what he was.

The awful silence of our conflicting glances was unbroken for several
seconds, and then words came uncontrollably from my mouth and I
managed to snap that nerve-cracking tension.

"What's in the cellar?" I cried. "What have you buried there?"

"If anything happens to you," he returned, ignoring my questions, "I
am not to be blamed. I warned you in time to get away from this house.
What do _you_ think is in the cellar?"

"I dare to suggest there are six small graves."

An ugly smirk went across his face and he cast a glance at the cellar
door.

"You always were too smart for your own good," he said softly.
"Knowledge can be dangerous."

"How did you think you could get away with it?" I screamed, only too
well aware of his implication. "My God, Carse! Six human heads!"

His jaw h