Duryea. "My soul is sick with dread.
Tomorrow we're going back to New York. I'm going to get the first boat
to open sea.... Please come down here." He turned about and descended
the stairs to his room.

Arthur choked back the words which had lumped in his mouth. Half dazed,
he followed....

In the bedroom he saw his father stretched face-up along the bed. He saw
a pile of rope at his father's feet.

"Tie me to the bedposts, Arthur," came the command. "Tie both my hands
and both my feet."

Arthur stood gaping.

"Do as I tell you!"

"Dad, what hor----"

"Don't be a fool! You read that book! You know what relation you are to
me! I'd always hoped it was Cecilia, but now I know it's you. I should
have known it on that night twenty years ago when you complained of a
headache and nightmares.... Quickly, my head rocks with pain. _Tie me!_"

Speechless, his own pain piercing him with agony, Arthur fell to that
grisly task. Both hands he tied--and both feet ... tied them so firmly
to the iron posts that his father could not lift himself an inch off the
bed.

Then he blew out the lamps, and without a further glance at that
Prometheus, he reascended the stairs to his room, and slammed and locked
his door behind him.

He looked once at the breech of his gun, and set it against a chair by
his bed. He flung off his robe and slippers, and within five minutes he
was senseless in slumber.

4

He slept late, and when he awakened his muscles were as stiff as boards,
and the lingering visions of a nightmare clung before his eyes. He
pushed his way out of bed, stood dazedly on the floor.

A dull, numbing cruciation circulated through his head. He felt
bloated ... coarse and running with internal mucus. His mouth was dry,
his gums sore and stinging.

He tightened his hands as he lunged for the door. "Dad," he cried, and
he heard his voice breaking in his throat.

Sunlight filtered through the window at the top of the stairs. The air
was hot and dry, and carried in it a mild odor of decay.

Arthur suddenly drew back at that odor--drew back with a gasp of awful
fear. For he recognized it--that stench, the heaviness of his blood, the
rawness of his tongue and gums.... Age-long it seemed, yet rising like a
spirit in his memory. All of these things he had known and felt before.

He leaned against the banister, and half slid, half stumbled down the
stairs....

His father had died during the night. He lay like a wax