come to life a new man with strange new impulses.
The light of faith that once illumined his soul had suddenly gone out
and a new sense of brutal power quivered in every nerve and muscle.

He felt at last his kinship to the torn bleeding bundle of despair he
saw dying on the pavement in Union Square.

The music, soft, sweet and sensuous, seemed to fill every nook and
corner of the great palace with its low penetrating notes. He felt that
he was suffocating. He tore his collar apart to give himself room to
breathe. He thrust his hand into the hip pocket of his dress suit where
he usually carried a handkerchief and felt something hard and cold.

It was a revolver he had been accustomed to carry of late in his rounds
through the dangerous quarters of the city. Without thinking when he
dressed, he had transferred it to his evening suit. His hand closed
over the ivory handle with a sudden fierce joy. And in a moment the
beast that sleeps beneath the skin of religion and culture was in the
saddle.

"Yes, I'll kill him in his magnificent ball room--to the strains of his
own music!" he said half aloud. "I'll give a fit climax to his dance of
Death and the Worm."

He drew the revolver from his pocket, broke it, examined the shells,
snapped them in place and thrust the deadly thing in the inner pocket
of his coat. He could draw it from there without attracting the
attention of his victim.

He quickly descended the stairs and saw Bivens talking to his wife. He
didn't wish to kill him in her presence and as he passed a look of
hatred flashed from the little black eyes of the millionaire.

The doctor answered with a smile that roused the master of the house to
a pitch of incontrollable fury. He left his wife's side, stepped
quickly in front of Woodman, hesitated as he was about to utter an
oath, changed his mind and resumed his role of host:

"If I can show you any of the treasures of the house, I'll be glad to
act as your guide, Woodman!" he said with an effort at laughter.

"Thank you. I've just seen some very interesting pictures."

"Surely you have not finished with my masterpieces so soon?" he said,
with mocking protest.

The doctor had made up his mind to kill him at the moment the dance was
at the highest pitch of gaiety and he wanted to get him as near the
great arch as possible.

His answer was given so politely and evenly the financier was puzzled.

"No, Bivens," he said in a matter-of-fact voice, "the pict