his failure to find Skip
Handlon. He went on to acquaint his Chief with the facts of all that had
occured while he had been at the Professor's house.

The fiery old fellow listened grimly. When Jimmie came to the story of
the corpse and the cask the editor breathed one word, "Manion!"

Jimmie nodded sadly. All eyes turned to the dejected huddle on the floor
that was Professor Kell. Finally Bland could wait no longer, but fixed a
terrible eye on the murderer and demanded harshly, "Where's Handlon?"

Now the Professor burst into a fit of insane laughter, laughter that
curdled the blood of the listeners.

"You ask me that! It's almost too good. Hee-hee! You sent your two
precious reporters out to my house to pry into my secrets, and thought
to display my name all over your yellow sheet; but you forgot that you
were dealing with Professor Anton Kell, didn't you?" The last he fairly
shrieked. "A lot of people have tried to intrude upon me before, but
none ever escaped me!"

"We know that," cut in Jimmie, for he was getting impatient and the old
man's boastings seemed out of place. "You are slated for the rope
anyway, after what I discovered down cellar." He jerked his eyes in the
direction of the door significantly. "Now we propose to find Handlon,
and the better it will be for you if you tell us what you have done with
him. Otherwise...."

"You can go to hell!" screamed the maniac. "If you are so clever, find
out for yourselves. He isn't so far away that you couldn't touch him by
reaching out your hand. In fact, he's been with you quite a while.
Hee-hee-hee! Well, if you must know--there he is!" With an insane
chuckle he pointed at Horace Perry. And Perry did a strange thing.

"Yes, you fiend, here I am!" Whose voice was that? Was it Perry
speaking, or was it Skip Handlon? Most assuredly Perry stood before
them, but the voice, in a subtle manner, reminded the group strongly of
poor old Skip.

* * * * *

As he spoke Perry had launched himself at the Professor's throat and had
to be restrained by the others. Savagely he fought them but slowly and
surely they overcame his struggles and placed him, writhing, in a
chair.

Of a sudden Bland leaned forward and scrutinized Perry's face sharply.
Had the reporter gone insane too? The pupils of the eyes had taken on a
sort of queer contraction, a fixed quality that was almost ludicrous. He
looked like a man under hypnosis. He had gone limp i