lying
Corps, handing the ring across the table to the explorer.

"Why not?" asked Musard.

"Well, I wouldn't care to wear a ring found in a skeleton's head. I
should expect the old bus to flop to the ground while I was doing a
stunt, if I had a thing like that on my finger. Aren't you frightened of
being haunted by the original owner?"

"Oh, I don't know," replied Musard indifferently. "There's a horrible
history attached to most jewels, if it comes to that. I am not
superstitious." He replaced the ring on his finger, and added
thoughtfully: "I suppose many people would regard it in that light--as a
grim sort of relic. Certainly, I shall never forget the valley of rocks
where we found it. It was the strangest place I have ever seen--a 'waste
howling wilderness.' And sometimes I fancy I can still hear the cry
Doyne gave as he slipped or jumped from one of the black rocks into
space. I remember how it came ringing back from the cliffs a hundred
times repeated. It was--"

He broke off suddenly, as a scream pealed through the moat-house--a wild
shrill cry, which, coming from somewhere overhead, seemed to fill the
dining-room with the shuddering, despairing intensity of its appeal. It
was the shriek of a woman in terror.

The ladies at the dinner table regarded one another with frightened eyes
and blanched faces.

"What was that?" several of them whispered together.

"It came from Violet's room! My God, what has happened?" exclaimed Phil.
He sprang to his feet in agitation and pushed back his chair. His face
was white, his mouth drawn, and he fumbled at his throat with a shaking
hand, as though the pressure of his collar impeded his breathing. Musard
rose from the table and walked to where the young man was standing.

"Don't get upset needlessly, Phil," he said soothingly, placing a hand
on his shoulder.

Sir Philip had also risen from his seat, and for the briefest possible
space the three men stood thus, facing each other, as if uncertain how
to act. Then the tense silence of the dining-room was broken by the loud
report of a fire-arm.

"Let me go!" cried Phil shrilly, shaking off Musard's arm. He turned and
limped rapidly towards the door, and as he did so his infirmity of body
was apparent. One of his legs was several inches shorter than the other,
and he wore a high boot.

Musard reached the door before him in a few rapid strides, and Sir
Philip came hurrying after his son. The rest of the male guests
fol