at the extreme end
of the back row, and, quite unintentionally, he began to listen to the
conversation of two men, who, standing just inside the entrance door and
immediately behind him to the right, were talking in subdued voices.

"There are thousands of Kings in London," said one...

Soames slowly lowered his hands to the chair-arms on either side of him
and clutched them tightly. Every nerve in his body seemed to be strung
up to the ultimate pitch of tensity. He was listening, now, as a man
arraigned might listen for the pronouncement of a judgment.

"That's the trouble," replied a second voice; "but you know Max's
ideas on the subject? He has his own way of going to work; but my idea,
Sowerby, is that if we can find the one Mr. Soames--and I am open to bet
he hasn't left London--we shall find the right Mr. King."

The comedian finished, and the orchestra noisily chorded him off.
Soames, his forehead wet with perspiration, began to turn his head, inch
by inch. The lights in the auditorium were partially lowered, and he
prayed, devoutly, that they would remain so; for now, glancing out of
the corner of his right eye, he saw the speakers.

The taller of the two, a man wearing a glistening brown overall and
rain-drenched tweed cap, was the detective who had been in Leroux's
study and who had ordered him to his room on the night of the murder!

Then commenced for Soames such an ordeal as all his previous life had
not offered him; an ordeal beside which even the interview with Mr.
King sank into insignificance. His one hope was in the cunning of Said's
disguise; but he knew that Scotland Yard men judged likenesses, not by
complexions, which are alterable, not by the color of the hair, which
can be dyed, but by certain features which are measurable, and which may
be memorized because nature has fashioned them immutable.

What should he do?--What should he do? In the silence:

"No good stopping any longer," came the whispered voice of the shorter
detective; "I have had a good look around the house, and there is nobody
here."...

Soames literally held his breath.

"We'll get along down to the Dock Gate," was the almost inaudible reply;
"I am meeting Stringer there at nine o'clock."

Walking softly, the Scotland Yard men passed out of the theater.

XIX

THE LIVING DEAD

The night held yet another adventure in store for Soames. His encounter
with the two Scotland Yard men had finally expelled all thou