ck the same way and entered the house, and at the
foot of the stairs he unwrapped the towel and held the thing only by
its hair as he climbed the steps. The last thing I saw or heard was
the blood dripping on each step as he ascended to the upper hall."

"My God!" I whispered in horror.

"But that's not the worst," Carse cried as he grabbed my arm. "When I
awakened the next morning it was late and the shrieks of the newsboys
stabbed into my ears. They were yelling about a cruel, brutal murder
which had been committed sometime during the night. I swung my feet
off the bed to arise, when my eyes fell upon the diary which rested on
my night-table. It was open to the confession of Number One as if I
had been reading it in my sleep. There was a strange and terrifying
dread in my soul as my feet struck the floor. I felt something wet and
sticky touch my toes; then I looked down. It was a woman's head
staring up at me.

"The room was smeared with blood from one end to the other, and there
was a gore-caked knife resting beside the head, and a crimson towel
lay across my bedpost. But there wasn't a drop of blood on my hands!

"I couldn't even attempt to explain it. I only knew that a woman had
been murdered and that her severed head was in my bedroom. I didn't
know what to do. I couldn't force myself into the belief that I was
the murderer, and I stood stunned with the weird horror of knowing
that Emil Drukker's Number One had been re-enacted and that I had
played his own role. Where could I turn? Whom could I ask for advice?
If I was mad they would commit me to an asylum; if I was not mad they
would hang me.

"I carried the head to the cellar and buried it; then I cleaned up the
blood and burned the towel. In my wardrobe I found a suit of clothes
smeared with fresh blood. I found my shoes and hat splattered with it,
and then I found my discarded gloves stained a violent crimson, with
each finger stiffened as the blood had coagulated about it. No wonder
there wasn't any blood on my hands!

"I went over the house from top to bottom and eradicated every stain
that might be evidence against me; then I sat down with the diary in
one hand and the morning newspaper in the other. I compared the two
crimes. They were identical, even to the burying of the heads. Emil
Drukker had done exactly the same as I had done: he carried the head
in a towel, he left it in his room overnight, he buried it in his
cellar, and he cleaned up the b