ed at me in a dazed sort of way, as though astonishment had left
him unable to articulate. But I had become tired of his violence and
his shouts and yells; so I asked Jones for his handkerchief, and, before
Quint knew what I was up to I had tied it over his mouth.

He became a brilliant purple, but all he could utter was a furious
humming, buzzing noise.

Meanwhile, Jones had opened the door; the little caterpillar, followed by
Mildred and myself, continued to hustle along as though he knew quite
well where he was going.

Down the hallway he went in undulating haste, past my door, we all
following in silent excitement as we discovered that, parallel to the
caterpillar's course, ran a gruesome trail of blood drops.

And when the little creature turned and made straight for the door
of Professor Farrago, our revered chief, the excitement among us was
terrific.

The caterpillar halted; I gently tried the door; it was open.

Instantly the caterpillar crossed the threshold, wriggling forward at top
speed. We followed, peering fearfully around us. Nobody was visible.

Could Quint have dragged his victim here? By Heaven, he had! For the
caterpillar was travelling straight under the lounge upon which Professor
Farrago was accustomed to repose after luncheon, and, dropping on one
knee, I saw a fat foot partly protruding from under the shirred edges of
the fringed drapery.

"He's there!" I whispered, in an awed voice to the others.

"Courage, Miss Case! Try not to faint."

Jones turned and looked at her with that same odd expression; then he
went over to where she stood and coolly passed one arm around her waist.

"Try not to faint, Mildred," he said. "It might muss your hair."

It was a strange thing to say, but I had no time then to analyze it, for
I had seized the fat foot which partly protruded from under the sofa,
clad in a low-cut congress gaiter and a white sock.

And then _I_ nearly fainted, for instead of the dreadful, inert
resistance of lifeless clay, the foot wriggled and tried to kick at me.

"Help!" came a thin but muffled voice. "Help! Help, in the name of
Heaven!"

"Boomly!" I cried, scarcely believing my ears.

"Take that man away, Smith!" whimpered Boomly. "He's a devil! He'll
murder me! He made my nose bleed all over everything!"

"Boomly! You're _not_ dead!"

"Yes, I am!" he whined. "I'm dead enough to suit me. Keep that little
lunatic off--that's all I ask. He can have his Carnegie medal