oked fingers, stood panting and looking down at the distorted
face of the dead man.

For once in his life the Scotsman was sober, and turning to Dr. Kreener:

"I have waited seven long years for this," he said, "and I'll hang wi'
contentment."

I can never forget the ensuing moments, in which, amid a horrible
silence broken only by the ticking of a clock and the heavy breathing
of Colquhoun (so long known to us as Andrews) we stood watching the
contorted body on the settee.

And as we watched, slowly the rigid limbs began to relax, and Tcheriapin
slid gently on to the floor, collapsing there with a soft thud, where
he squatted like some hideous Buddha, resting back against the cushions,
one spectral yellow hand upraised, the fingers still clutching a big
gold tassel.

Andrews (for so I always think of him) was seized with a violent fit
of trembling, and he dropped into the chair, muttering to himself and
looking down wild-eyed at his twitching fingers. Then he began to laugh,
high-pitched laughter, in little short peals.

"Here!" cried the doctor sharply. "Drop that!"

Crossing to Andrews, he grasped him by the shoulders and shook him
roughly.

The laughter ceased, and:

"Send for the police," said Andrews in a queer, shaky voice. "Dinna fear
but I'm ready. I'm only sorry it happened here."

"You ought to be glad," said Dr. Kreener.

There was a covert meaning in the words--a fact which penetrated even to
the dulled intelligence of the Scotsman, for he glanced up haggardly at
his friend.

"You ought to be glad," repeated Dr. Kreener.

Turning, he walked to the laboratory door and locked it. He next lowered
all the blinds.

"I pray that we have not been observed," he said, "but we must chance
it."

He mixed a drink for Andrews and himself. His quiet, decisive manner had
had its effect, and Andrews was now more composed. Indeed, he seemed to
be in a half-dazed condition; but he persistently kept his back turned
to the crouching figure propped up against the settee.

"If you think you can follow me," said Dr. Kreener abruptly, "I will
show you the result of a recent experiment."

Unlocking a cupboard, he took out a tiny figure some two inches long by
one inch high, mounted upon a polished wooden pedestal. It was that of
a guinea-pig. The flaky fur gleamed like the finest silk, and one felt
that the coat of the minute creature would be as floss to the touch;
whereas in reality it possessed the rigidit