y in the
doctor's tracks he saw his wide eyes staring.

"Jim, he has...."

His head dropped forward on his breast and the doctor lowered him slowly
to the pillow.

"What is it, John? Speak to me, old man...."

"I'm afraid there is nothing to be done," said the doctor as he drew up
the bedclothes.

"Is he dead?" whispered the lawyer fearfully.

"No--but----"

He beckoned the other into the big room and, after a glance at the
motionless figure, Kitson followed.

"There's something very strange--who is that?"

He pointed through the open window at the clumsy figure of a man who was
blundering wildly down the slope which led to the plantation.

Kitson recognized the man immediately. It was the uninvited visitor whom
he had met in the plantation. But there was something in the haste of
the shabby man, a hint of terror in the wide-thrown arms, that made the
lawyer forget his tragic environment.

"Where has he been?" he asked.

"Who is he?"

The doctor's face was white and drawn as though he, too, sensed some
horror in that frantic flight.

Kitson walked back to the room where the dying man lay, but was frozen
stiff upon the threshold.

"Doctor--doctor!"

The doctor followed the eyes of the other. Something was dripping from
the bed to the floor--something red and horrible. Kitson set his teeth
and, stepping to the bedside, pulled down the covers.

He stepped back with a cry, for from the side of John Millinborn
protruded the ivory handle of a knife.

CHAPTER II

THE DRUNKEN MR. BEALE

Dr. van Heerden's surgery occupied one of the four shops which formed
the ground floor of the Krooman Chambers. This edifice had been erected
by a wealthy philanthropist to provide small model flats for the
professional classes who needed limited accommodation and a good address
(they were in the vicinity of Oxford Street) at a moderate rental. Like
many philanthropists, the owner had wearied of his hobby and had sold
the block to a syndicate, whose management on more occasions than one
had been the subject of police inquiry.

They had then fallen into the hands of an intelligent woman, who had
turned out the undesirable tenants, furnished the flats plainly, but
comfortably, and had let them to tenants who might be described as
solvent, but honest. Krooman Chambers had gradually rehabilitated itself
in the eyes of the neighbourhood.

Dr. van Heerden had had his surgery in the building for six years.
During