d. He hesitated for a
moment, then he turned back and took it from the table. He could not
help seeing the dead thing. How still it was! How horribly white the
long hands looked! It was like a dreadful wax image.

Having locked the door behind him, he crept quietly downstairs. The
woodwork creaked and seemed to cry out as if in pain. He stopped
several times and waited. No: everything was still. It was merely
the sound of his own footsteps.

When he reached the library, he saw the bag and coat in the corner.
They must be hidden away somewhere. He unlocked a secret press that
was in the wainscoting, a press in which he kept his own curious
disguises, and put them into it. He could easily burn them afterwards.
Then he pulled out his watch. It was twenty minutes to two.

He sat down and began to think. Every year--every month, almost--men
were strangled in England for what he had done. There had been a
madness of murder in the air. Some red star had come too close to the
earth.... And yet, what evidence was there against him? Basil Hallward
had left the house at eleven. No one had seen him come in again. Most
of the servants were at Selby Royal. His valet had gone to bed....
Paris! Yes. It was to Paris that Basil had gone, and by the midnight
train, as he had intended. With his curious reserved habits, it would
be months before any suspicions would be roused. Months! Everything
could be destroyed long before then.

A sudden thought struck him. He put on his fur coat and hat and went
out into the hall. There he paused, hearing the slow heavy tread of
the policeman on the pavement outside and seeing the flash of the
bull's-eye reflected in the window. He waited and held his breath.

After a few moments he drew back the latch and slipped out, shutting
the door very gently behind him. Then he began ringing the bell. In
about five minutes his valet appeared, half-dressed and looking very
drowsy.

"I am sorry to have had to wake you up, Francis," he said, stepping in;
"but I had forgotten my latch-key. What time is it?"

"Ten minutes past two, sir," answered the man, looking at the clock and
blinking.

"Ten minutes past two? How horribly late! You must wake me at nine
to-morrow. I have some work to do."

"All right, sir."

"Did any one call this evening?"

"Mr. Hallward, sir. He stayed here till eleven, and then he went away
to catch his train."

"Oh! I am sorry I didn't see him.