lthough he labored like a giant, taking insane risks at
every opportunity, his life seemed charmed, and dawn found him
uninjured, although staggering from weakness. Women brought him hot
coffee and sandwiches, then when the fire was under control he returned
to his quarters, half naked, as he had set out. It had been one long
battle against the blind god luck and he had emerged unscathed. And yet
he had not lost, for no human body could withstand a strain like this;
his previous exposures had been as nothing compared with what he had
undergone these many hours. If this did not bring pneumonia nothing
could.

As he lurched up the frozen street men cheered him and something warm
awoke in his heart, but when he stumbled into DeVoe's room he found that
young man still in bed, his cheeks flushed and feverish. Henry was
coughing and groaning; he complained of pains in his head and chest.

An hour later a doctor pronounced it pneumonia, and when the patient
grew rapidly worse he was moved to the wretched excuse for a hospital.
Murray snatched a few hours' sleep that night as he sat by his friend's
bedside and the next day found him as fit as ever. But in spite of every
attention DeVoe's fever mounted, his lungs began to fill, and on the
second night he died.

The suddenness of this tragedy stunned Butler Murray and its mockery
enraged him. He had promised DeVoe, toward the last, to take his body
East, and now decided it was just as well to do so, for he had proven,
to his own satisfaction at least, that he could not catch pneumonia, no
matter how hard he tried. A few hours later, therefore, he was on the
overland train bound for New York.

He had wasted a month of valuable time, but as to relinquishing his
purpose, the idea never occurred to him.

II

The physical comfort of his club was most agreeable after his recent
ordeal, but he enjoyed it only a few days, then began to look about for
a suitable place in which to end his grim comedy. He selected the spot
with little delay--a sharp turn in a hillside road that wound down from
the heights near Spuyten Duyvil--he had often passed it in summer and
knew the danger well. If his automobile went over the edge, now that the
roads were icy, who could say it was not accidental?

He did not advise Muriel of his return, fearing to trust himself either
to write or to telephone, but spent much time in front of the morocco
case with its three photographs, longing desperat