on the other side
of a pine door, is quite another. But I took away the chair and turned
the knob.

The man's face was almost as hard to recognize as his voice. It was
Wilkson, beyond possibility of doubt, but he was no longer the tranquil,
genial serving-man. His face had the strangest gray hue pen ever tried
to describe. I could see the whites of his eyes, his lips were rounded,
he was almost unconscious from sheer terror.

At that moment I began to strive hard to remember certain truths--one of
them being that little things, laughed away by an Anglo-Saxon, have been
known to instill the most unfathomable depths of fear into an unlettered
southern negro. What seemed terrible to him might be only laughable to
me. I thought of these things in order to brace myself for what he had
to tell.

At that moment I knew the inroads that the events of the last two nights
had made upon me--likely upon every man and woman in the house. I could
have met that gray face much more bravely the night previous, and would
have likely been largely unmoved by it two nights before. But mystery,
the lack of sleep, the terrible possibilities to which both crimes had
pointed, had over-stretched the nerves and taken the pith from the
thews. The sight of that terrified face sent a sharp chill of fear
through every avenue of my nerves. I felt its icy touch in my veins.
Kastle Krags was getting to me--denial of that fact was impossible even
to myself.

"Iscuse me, Boss," he said humbly, pathetically, if I had ever known
what pathos was. In his terror he wanted to propitiate the whole world,
and was begging my indulgence of his intrusion. "Boss, is Majo' Del in
yo' room?"

"No." I didn't reprove him for failing to notice that my light was out.
"Where is he?"

"Boss, he am gone. He's gone just like them other two am gone." His
voice died and a low moan escaped his lips. "Boss, who'll they be takin'
nex'? Gawd, who'll they be takin' nex'----?"

I seized his arm, trying to steady him. "Listen, Wilkson," I commanded.
"How do you know he's gone----"

"Telephone message come for him, Boss. Telegram, from Ochakee. And he
ain't here to get it. He's gone--just like dem oder two men has gone
befo' him."

CHAPTER XX

It wasn't easy to steady Wilkson so that he could tell an intelligent
story. His own dark superstitions had hold of him, and his shambling
search through the darkened corridors had stretched his nerves to the
absolute breakin