tening letters had been written, the black sealing
wax, used in making the death's-head seals, the paper employed by the
writer. None of these things was in evidence; there was no typewriter,
the table contained a small bottle of ink, a couple of pens, and some
cheap envelopes and a writing tablet of linen paper quite different from
that upon which the warning letters had been written. There was nothing,
absolutely nothing, in the place to connect its occupant with the
sending of the letters, except the room's location, in such close
proximity to that of Ruth Morton, and the photograph of the woman of the
cab, hanging upon the wall.

Duvall, greatly disappointed, was about to take his departure, when he
observed at the far end of the room a door. Whether it led to another
room, or to a bathroom, or merely to a closet, he did not, of course,
know. There was danger, he fully realized, that Marcia Ford might return
at any moment. There was equal danger that, upon opening the door, he
might find himself in another room, possibly an occupied one. He thought
at one time that he heard sounds on the far side of the door, but when
he paused and stood listening he could distinguish nothing, and
concluded that he had been mistaken. Shutting off the light of his
pocket torch for the moment, in order that, should the entrance lead to
another room, its rays might not betray his presence, Duvall grabbed the
door knob, and, turning it softly, opened the door.

For a moment he had a glimpse of a black cavern, and then, with
incredible swiftness, something struck him a heavy blow in the face.
What it was he was too much surprised and stunned to realize. His
electric lamp fell from his hand, and clattered to the floor.

Realizing his helplessness in the almost total darkness, he bent down,
groping about in an unsuccessful effort to recover the searchlight. And
then, with a loud cry, a heavy body projected itself upon him, grasping
wildly at his hair. An arm, clothed in some silken material, encircled
his throat. He felt himself choking. And at the same moment a strange
and irrational terror seized him. He seemed in the grasp of something
uncanny, something inhuman, in spite of its very human cries. With a
shudder he sprang to his feet, unable to locate the missing electric
torch, and shaking the shrieking figure from him, plunged toward the
window by which he had entered. It was not alone the surprise, the
nameless terror of the thing,