IT had been a dispiriting evening — the game lagged, every one was out of sorts, and I, perhaps, was worst of all.

      Lawrence S——, my old-time crony, was the only one who seemed in any way contented or happy. But why should he not be happy? He was phenomenally lucky at cards, and, to disprove the truth of the old adage, equally lucky in love, of which fact I needed no further proof than the dull, aching throbs of my own sad heart whenever I thought of the woman he had won in perhaps the fairest and most important game that we two mortals had ever indulged in. Nothing had come to mar his pleasure in the four short years of his married life, while I — well, trouble, they say, never comes single-handed — was beginning to doubt if the sun ever shone.

      And to-night was no exception to previous ones, so far as Larry's good luck in the game was concerned. He had won a small fortune on three of a kind, added to it literally with a generous flush, and finally settled his record (at poker) for life by winning a jack-pot of ten thousand dollars.

      I was the heaviest loser to-night, and just once more, for the ten-millionth time, I found myself wondering why Larry should have all and I nothing, or nothing to speak of, in the game of existence.

      And at exactly that moment a gentleman arose from table and declared his opinion that Larry was cheating.

      From a friend, or an acquaintance, even, this might have been taken as a monstrous joke, for Larry was the soul of honor, as every one knew who had ever met him, but the man was a stranger — the only one at the table — a foreigner, whose letter of introduction from a mutual friend was the only claim upon our hospitality. I did not like him from the very first. There was an air of mystery about his small, sleek form, an expression of cunning on his swarthy features.

      For the moment following his remark Larry only stared at him in bewildered surprise, but as I sprang to my feet to resent the insult, he seemed suddenly to comprehend the full situation and immediately hot words were exchanged between them.

      Seeing that Larry's honor was considered by all present as their own, and that he had put himself in a dangerous position, the coward apologized for his accusation, but the look he gave Larry as he left the room would have filled a more timid man's soul with serious forebodings.

      He had lost a thousand dollars and lost it to Larry, but ours was a rich man's club; we were all well able lose heavily on occasions, and naturally we supposed he knew it.

      For myself, I had never counted a loss but once, that was when Larry had won my darling. Some way from that time I could feel no loss — I had no interest in either time or money.

      A few days after the event Larry told me that he had again encountered his insulter, but he assured me, with a degree of warmth, that we had all been mistaken in his nature, that he was really quite an agreeable fellow.

      "Winnie likes him immensely," he said in conclusion, and by that I knew he had been entertaining the stranger. But the fellow never came to the club-rooms again, and I — I could never bother to remember strange faces.

      At exactly midnight, just one month later, I passed the house in which Larry was living. There was nothing unusual about my passing, as I often returned that way from the club, but the earliness of the hour did seem remarkable, for it meant that I had left in the middle of a game of poker. Some way I had been nervous all the evening, and more than usually superstitious. It was just seven years ago that night since I met her first — she who was now the wife of another. My mind seemed reverting to her constantly, although at every raising of my brows I looked straight into the eyes of him who was my best friend and yet her husband.

      As for Larry, he seemed dazed and dull. There was a far-away look, in his eyes, and an automatic jerking in his movements that led me to look at him anxiously on more than one occasion during the evening. At first I thought that the turn of fortune had upset him, but Larry was always an easy loser; and then again I would catch him looking at me with such a troubled glance that instinctively I felt like reaching my hand to him across the table and assuring him that he could trust me — that even in my thoughts I would not wrong her.

      I was the seventh man at the table — a circumstance that I ordinarily considered a lucky omen, and sure enough, as money goes, my luck had changed decidedly for the better.

      I won the first pot of twenty dollars on three sevens, not needing the five and two, which, remaining in my hand, were significant once more of the lucky number. The second deal gave me only two small pairs and an ace, but in my peculiar mood I immediately discovered that added together they made twenty-one, another multiple of seven. Drawing on the third hand, I filled a straight flush, and the numbers five, six, seven, eight, nine added together made thirty-five, a third coincidence in my fortune. But this time I was decidedly nervous, and when once more I stood pat on four good sevens I was conscious of being more scared than pleased, for the thing seemed to me to be almost uncanny.

      And so I had left them thus early in the evening, and lighting a cigar, strolled slowly homeward, my steps taking me involuntarily over the longer route, which led directly by Larry's dwelling.

      And now, as I slowly passed the house, I was conscious of a sudden shock — an intuition that something terrible was about to happen. Involuntarily I glanced up at the door. The number upon it was seventy-seven.

      Again there came that instinctive thrill — that warning of danger — not to myself, but — God forbid! — of danger to Winnie. I shuddered and caught my breath, then turned with an impulse I could not resist and retraced my steps by the silent house, looking up anxiously at the half-darkened windows, as if perchance I might read their secret.

      As I reached the steps a maid darted, bareheaded, from a lower door, wringing her hands as in mortal dread, while her face looked as white as the face of death in the passing glance that I caught in the darkness.

      Certain now that my instincts were true, that she, the beloved of my heart, was in danger, I turned, hot-headed, to rush up the steps, then stopped as quickly at the reaction of judgment. For how could I enter her house at this hour — I, her husband's best friend — the ex-suitor who loved her?

      For one moment I suffered the horrors of death, then my limbs growing weak, I must surely have fallen had not hope sprang anew as the door above me flew open.

      In an instant I recognized the old English butler, but so fearful was the excitement under which he was laboring, that for a moment I believed he had gone stark-staring crazy.

      There was horror in every line of his face — horror in his uprisen hair, and horror in his staring eye-balls. Down the steps he sprang, his face turned, as if by force, toward the open door, his arms extended, and his long, gaunt hands gesticulating wildly, as if warding off the unseen foe from which he was so swiftly flying.

      With one great effort of the will I bounded forward and seized his arm, and the shriek that he gave as he felt my clutch sent the blood from my heart in a moment's terror.

      "What is it, man? For God's sake what has happened?" shaking him like a reed. I asked him again and again the question, but whether the poor soul had lost his wits through fright or was laboring under some dire hallucination, he only muttered: "That face!" and breaking from my grasp, disappeared in the darkness.

      Once more my limbs grew weak and helpless. Here, then, was proof of love's intuition; she was in peril, I knew not of what, but I thought kind fate was to be the avenger.

      Almost certain that it was nothing less than murder, I sprang up the steps toward the open door with but the one thought to protect and save her. And as I reached the threshold another white-faced maid rushed past me.

      "Stop! Don't go in!" she wildly cautioned; then as I caught her tightly by the arm, she too emitted a fearful shriek as if she had felt the grasp of some hideous monster. As she struggled in my hold I asked her over and over my former question:

      "Is your mistress ill? Is she in danger?" But to every repetition she would only wail:

      "That face! That face!" just as the butler had before her.

      Tearing herself away at last, she sped down the street in a speechless flight, while I, now frantic from suspense, stood vaguely wondering what would follow.

      Then suddenly it occurred to me that an officer would be the proper person to call upon in this strange dilemma. That there was some foul thing abroad, some thief, perhaps, if not a murderer, I was certain by the repeated words which both the maid and man had uttered.

      I acted at once upon my own suggestion. Rushing three blocks away, I found my man and hurriedly told him the situation.

      "I dare not go in without her husband," I cried, "but you — you surely have the right to enter!"

      Without the least objection the officer of the law consented.

      "It may be only a servant's scare," he said, but I was sure of my intuitions.

      "Standing on the steps, I saw him enter — heard him as he called my friend by name, listened to his footsteps in the upper hall, then heard him utter a frightful howl and come striding headlong down the stairs, dropping his club in his rush of terror.

      I tried to clutch his arm as he came, but he brushed me aside as if I were a feather.

      "Don't go in there, man!" he cried, as he passed me. "Her face! It is something awful!"

      Once more I was alone with this unknown horror, the mystery of a "face" that I could not fathom.

      Wrought up by emotions I could not repress, I stood for a moment almost writhing in torture: Whose face did they mean? Was it some mocking fiend? I was fast losing my reason in this awful conjecture.

      Suddenly there came to me with overwhelming force the thought that my idol had become disfigured.

      An injury, an accident, perhaps, and no one at hand to help her bear it!

      Frantically I turned away, and rushed full speed to find a doctor. Explaining the circumstances as best could, while he hurriedly dressed, the physician was soon in possession of my story.

      "Is her husband at home?" he asked at last, and then only did I discover the length and breadth of my stupid excitement. I should have sent for him at once, but my wits seemed dull in the hour of peril. I stopped at the nearest station and wired to the club where I had left him engaged in playing.

      Lingering by the still wide open door, I watched once more while the physician entered. At last I felt sure of some reward — I would at least find out if she were dead or living.

      And then, after a grievous wait, in which my heart seemed dead within me, I again heard the footsteps in the upper hall, the voice of the physician calling upon his host or hostess, and then — then there came a fearful groan, and the sound of a heavy body falling.

      For just one moment the silence of death seemed to swallow the echoes he awoke in falling, then white as a sheet and trembling as in ague, the physician raised himself from the rug at the foot of the stairs, and brushing past me through the door, was gone as if the demons pursued him. Not a word to tell me of her fate — not a syllable in explanation of this horrid matter. Only another pale face and staring gaze as the terrified physician, muttering those same strange words, fled past me and disappeared around the nearest corner.

      Shaking with the very gravest apprehension, I could only clutch the cold gray stones as I crouched upon them in weak-kneed terror. Would I never know what this dread thing was — this mystery of a face that was so alarming? Would I never learn if my darling was alive or dead? Great Heaven! the very thought was awful! Dead! Dead! My dumb lips could hardly pronounce the word, but the agony of the thought restored my reason.

      In another moment I had controlled my will and was hurrying in search of a coroner's office. She was dead, I was sure, by some cruel hand, and it was her pale, drawn face, perhaps gashed and bleeding, that had so alarmed these timid mortals. But, no! I was wrong, it could not be! Death had no terror for that brave physician.

      Yet I must do my duty in case of doubt, and at last I found the man I wished — a night bell brought him to my assistance. Explaining the matter as best I could, we hurried back and the good man entered. But once more the results were just the same — the horrors within found a ready victim.

      After an even longer wait, I heard the former scenes enacted. There, white with terror and speechless with dismay, my man flew past me down the stairs and the words "That face! That fearful face!" came to me in a mocking whisper.

      Almost at my wit's end, I crept back slowly to the street, my brain half dazed by my strange position. These men were cowards, each and all, else why would they desert a woman?

      It was only the consciousness of my love that kept me from entering the sacred presence. Did I know for certain that she was ill, no power on earth could keep me from her, but not knowing, the sense of loyalty to her husband, as well as the respect due her, must keep me in suspense a little longer. Inwardly I vowed it should be but little longer — for even now my brain seemed bursting.

      At last Larry came — my despatch had brought him. I grasped his hand as he descended from the cab — it was wringing wet and cold and clammy.

      "Something awful has happened!" I said at once. "Pray God you have come in time to save her!"

      Then I told him with my trembling lips the awful scenes that I had witnessed.

      With a languor (born of fright, I thought) he wrung my hand without an answer.

      At last, then, help had come to her — I almost laughed in the reaction.

      Standing now boldly in the open door, I watched him mount the stairs, then turn in the direction of his fair wife's chamber.

      Was that a shadow that I saw above him? There was something or some one on the upper landing!

      One, two, almost three moments passed — my heart grew lighter in my bosom then suddenly there came a piercing shriek as if the strong man's very soul had been rent in twain by some awful vision. Breathless, white and staring, he came, his lips contorted in a spasm of pain, his eyes protruding in a sightless gaze and his every feature drawn with horror.

      Like one benumbed I stood and stared, the one thought uppermost in my mind was that he too had thus forsaken her.

      Down the steps and out into the night he went, his dumb lips forming voiceless words, his glassy eyes still set with terror, but as he went his white face turned my way, as if his gaze was drawn irresistibly backward toward the door which yawned between him and that awful vision. At last, then, I was free to enter — the man, her husband, had deserted her, and to her aid must fly the one who long and patiently had hushed his love for her.

      In an instant I had passed the door and was mounting to my idol's chamber.

      Halfway up the stairs I met a man whose features seemed to be familiar, but the fellow, either through fright or weakness, tipped forward suddenly and rested his hands upon my shoulders. I would have spoken to him then and there, but for a moment my senses failed me. A numbness seemed to seize my members, an unaccountable dullness crossed my brain, but as the fellow stumbled by me down the stairs I awoke to the awful situation with the eagerness to fulfil my errand, increased tenfold from that moment's vagueness.

      Sickness or death could not deter me — disfiguration or disgrace could not remove my longing for her. Fearlessly, my heart aflame, I reached her door and boldly entered.

      Standing back towards me by an open hearth, I saw her in a posture of dejection. Her head was bowed upon her hands, the fine, full glory of her hair, now all uncoiled, concealed her features.

      One stride and I was at her side, one loving word and her face turned towards me.

      My God! Why was I not stricken blind? Why did I not succumb at once to this most awful revelation? One moment only I was forced to gaze, then reeling as from some fell stroke, I fainted before that sight of horror.

THE burly proprietor of a flourishing "Tenderloin" saloon, passed to and fro before the table at which his patron was seated, and even coughed loudly, in the hopes of attracting his attention. Finding that hints were useless in this case, he stopped and spoke apologetically to the stranger:

      "Sorry to hurry a good customer, sir, very sorry, but it's nigh on two o'clock, and we're obliged to close at twelve sharp Saturday nights. It's the law in New York now."

      He paused and waited fully a minute, but the stranger, if he heard, vouchsafed no answer.

      The proprietor coughed again louder than ever, and mentally deciding that the gentleman was deaf, bent forward a little, tapping him on the shoulder.

      In an instant his hand recoiled from the contact, while hair fairly stood on end from the peculiar sensation that had spread over his body. It was as if he had touched a galvanic battery, whose every cell was in furious action.

      After a little the stinging passed away, and with his hands held carefully behind him, the bewildered man stooped even lower and peered at his guest with what was beginning to be a feeling of terror.

      He was only a slight, sinewy creature, with the swarthy skin and beady eyes so common to Oriental countries, but so deep was the trance into which he had fallen, and so alarming the unseen force with which he had apparently surrounded himself, that for, perhaps, the first time in the whole course of his disreputable career the keeper of various notorious "Dives" was filled with a sense of awe and timidity before one who was physically, at least, very his inferior.

      What should he do? Another glance at the clock showed him that he must hesitate no longer. The bartenders were gone, the waiters were gone, and he must empty the place if he wished to keep within the law and save the bother of being arrested.

      He dared not close with the fellow inside; he had done that several times in his younger days, and once it had cost him thirty days on the "island." His guest had missed his watch and ring just after he was aroused and allowed to go in the early morning.

      He dared not take that chance again, although the stranger wore a tempting chain and the pin in his scarf was a remarkably good one.

      His host smiled grimly as he took a hasty inventory of these things, but he would as soon have tried to rob a red-hot stove as to touch again that living battery.

      Keeping one eye on the silent form, he shuffled noiselessly across the floor and looked out in the street in search of assistance. He hardly knew whether to call an officer or send to the telegraph company and get a "lineman"; but while he stood with one hand on the door and the other upon his left hip-pocket, the stranger suddenly sprang to his feet and began jerking his body in the most extraordinary manner.

      At moment two policemen entered, or rather a "Roundsman" and an officer. The "Roundsman" was strong and vigorous, but the other, when the light in the saloon fell upon him, seemed strangely pale, and his eyes gleamed wildly.

      "Give me a bit of whisky, Lannon," the stalwart Roundsman began imperiously, but in another instant his attention was attracted to the scene before him.

      Like one in the throes of some mighty passion, the stranger was twisting and contorting his person, now flinging out his arms as if warding off some evil thing, and now snapping his fingers vigorously in the air, while his eyes seemed fixed in a sightless vision.

      With a sudden accidental movement, the proprietor knocked a large glass pitcher from the bar and the crash it made seemed to calm the fellow. With one long shiver he sat down again. His arms hung limply by his sides; but the light of reason seemed restored once more to the glassy eyeballs.

      Almost simultaneous with the change the ailing policeman suddenly revived, and a look of consciousness crept back to his ashen features.

      He looked inquiringly into his companion's face, then, as the stranger walked swiftly by him on his way to the door, he shuddered as if from some inward horror and sat down upon the nearest chair.

      "I found him at one o'clock in this curious fix," the Roundsman explained, as he received the whisky. "He was never off his beat before, so I'm sure that something uncommon has happened."

      The sick man evidently understood, for he nodded his head in an affirmative manner.

      "I was called by some fellow to a house," he began weakly, "where there was either a murder or some stealin' bein' done; I remember goin' in and goin' up the stairs, but after I had got to the second floor I seemed to get as cold as a dead man, and when I turned the handle of the only door that showed a light inside I came slam-bang upon a woman's shape, but, God in heaven, she had the face of the devil!"

      He shuddered again and great drops of moisture gathered on his forehead as he slowly reached that dreadful vision.

      With a gulp he swallowed the whisky and attempted to rise.

      "Help me get rid of this thing," he begged, "for so long as that cursed face is before me I'll never be able to go back on duty!"

      Together they finally left the place and with a sigh of relief, largely mixed with terror, the proprietor promptly put up his shutters.

      The cool night air seemed to revive the officer and at last, with the instinct of his class, he longed to grapple with the mystery.

      He was going over the details once more as they walked along, but half-way across the square his curious story was interrupted. They had come suddenly upon a peculiar figure — a gentleman evidently, in evening dress, but bare-headed and with a look in his face that warned. them at once he had lost his reason.

      "Take her away!" he screamed to them shrilly as they reached his side. "Take her away or her face will kill me!"

      Then as both men held him by the arms, trying, if possible, to learn from his speech some clue to his identity, he rambled on in an excited way that was almost terrible to his listeners.

      "What did they do to change her so? She was once so beautiful — so beautiful! My God! Is this the wife of my heart? No! It is a fiend! An inhuman monster! Take her away, I say, or I will never enter my home again! You were my friend. Why did you tell me to go in there?"

      With troubled glances, the two men looked at each other.

      "Here seems to be another victim of that awful something," the Roundsman said in an anxious manner. "Do try, Dave, to think what's happened, You were probably drugged or knocked out in some way, but if you try ——"

      "No, no! It's no use!" the other said sadly. "I can't think of anything but the face of that woman!"

      And then the man between them demanded their attention, for he reeled suddenly forward and would have fallen had not the policemen grabbed him. The strength of both his mind and body seemed about departing in the hour of rescue. "There's a light in this doctor's office," the Roundsman said quickly. "Let's take him in there till we can call the wagon!"

      But repeated ringing of the bell brought them no answer. A few steps farther down the block there was another sign and here there was not only a light but they were amazed to find the front door open. As they carried their burden up the step a voice in the hall made them stop and listen.

      "You have had a terrible fright," the physician from up the block was saying, "but with rest and quiet you will probably be all right in the morning."

      Then he came out and met the trio on the steps, but a few words sufficed for explanation.

      "Take him back to my office," he said at once. "My friend, Dr. S., is ill this evening."

      Strangely enough not a paper could be found on the sick man's person whereby to identify him or locate his residence, although the evening dress may have accounted for it — there was nothing in his pockets but a pack of cards, two poker chips and a little money.

      In his watch was the picture of a beautiful woman — no one once seeing could forget those fair features.

      After the ambulance had relieved him of his patient, and the officers returned to their respective duties, Dr. Williams, a clever clairvoyant, sat down to try and test his skill in the curious mystery that had come before him.

      Trial after trial resulted in failure; his power of "second sight" seemed strangely weak this morning. He glanced at the clock — it was half-past three — perhaps an hour's sleep would restore his vision.

      He awoke at five, in profuse perspiration. Already the unseen power was controlling his will and a subtle influence at work in his brain was leading him on to forbidden pastures.

      He felt at the very first a presence near him of a contending spirit — it was as if some evil fiend was trying to overcome his mediumistic prowess.

      He battled manfully against the influence, grappling with it in a menial struggle, and throwing it from him, after a bitter fight, solely by the awful strength of his noble nature.

      It was such a dwarfed and uncanny thing — such a dark and loathsome spirit that defied his wisdom. He recognized from the first its extraordinary power, its perfect knowledge of diabolical magic, but feeling sure that it was this unclean thing that had crept abroad, and that had cast the spell upon his friend, the doctor, he wrestled with it in the vistas of darkness, then trampled it in the mire as he emerged upon a fairer prospect.

      The lights were dull before his eyes at first — deep, solemn grays that melted into purple. Around him rose the mists of uncertainty, but as he sank deeper and deeper into that death-like trance, fine golden rays began traversing the horizon, and soon, in the full scope of his wondrous sight, burst forth the glorious light of heaven.

      First there came a woman's face, pale, starry-eyed, and of charming contour. She was bred in wealth and surrounded by love, but, alas, to her home had crept the serpent — that reptile he had met at first and trampled upon ere his trance became perfect. It had come in the form of a human being, a small, dark man of Oriental features, cunning and affable in speech, but capable of an undying malice.

      To him base gold was the breath of life; woe to the man who should deprive him of it!

      In panorama, as clear as day, the sleeper saw him at a table with the fair one's husband; cards were in progress; the game was poker — the husband won and the black fiend cursed him. But the curses were hidden by a smile, and the hand of the serpent was outstretched and cordial.

      A dark, dank vapor crossed his sky — was it possible that he had not killed the creature?

      Now he saw woe and horror on the fair young face, and woe and grief for those who loved her. The vision of an open door, lowering like portals of the dark unknown, was looming up on his brain's horizon; mortals with white, frightened faces and uplifted hands seemed constantly passing and repassing the threshold.

      As each entered they, wore hopeful looks, and the steps of each were light and buoyant, but as they passed out after an interval of time, there were only blanched cheeks and distorted lips, and the cry of them all was of some fearful vision.

      He awoke with the horror of it still upon him. He had learned nothing tangible from his sleep and the disappointment was overpowering.

      When the sun rose he went out again and visited his friend the doctor.

      "I tell you, the thing was a woman's face!" he repeated, over and over.

      Leaving the house with determined steps, he started forth on a strange undertaking.

      The picture of an open door, flung wide upon darkness and desolate space, seemed firmly imprinted upon his memory. Block after block he walked, gazing right and left the massive doors that bore silent witness to costly dwellings.

      Why did he pause at this special street? Was it a human voice that so softly called him?

      Half-way down the block he found it, an open door that he would not have noticed had not the vision of his trance been so plainly before him.

      He stood and gazed until his sight grew dim — he was conscious of feeling himself a conqueror.

      Why were those blinds so tightly drawn? Were they mocking his efforts to see beyond them??

      He called a policeman from the nearest post and together they returned to the house and entered.

      Not a soul could be found on the lower floors, the servants even, had all deserted.

      Over and over the searchers grew sick and faint. It seemed as if the air was tainted with noxious vapors.

      Upstairs they passed in silent haste, entering and inspecting each empty chamber.

      And at last they came upon the crime they sought — a man lying dead upon his mistress' carpet — at least, this was what they thought at first, but they found him breathing when they examined him more closely.

      It was not a servant, as they supposed, but a gentleman in full evening dress. They found a card from his club in his pocket.

      A trifling search disclosed the name of his host, and on an easel before them was the life-sized portrait of that beautiful woman whose face, in miniature, the doctor had gazed upon early that morning.

      But the fair young hostess could not be found, and not a soul was left in the place to explain the secret of her disappearance.

      Carefully and with the greatest skill, the almost dying man was restored to consciousness. There was a look of horror in his eyes when he opened them at last, and gazed, slowly around upon his strange surroundings.

      To him the details of the past night were perfectly clear, the shock had not dethroned his reason.

      As his strength came back, he told them briefly of that vision of a face, that awful sight he had so suddenly encountered, and which seemed to him to be a hideous dream, from which he with difficulty had awakened.

      "She was the wife of my friend," he told them weakly, "I had been playing cards with him all the evening. As I passed the house on my way home I became suddenly convinced that something was wrong, and of course I did my best in the matter.

      "I dared not go in until I was sure I was needed, for I was both her own and her husband's friend, and the world would doubtless have misconstrued it.

      "I waited on the steps until one after another of her intended rescuers had deserted her, but with her husband's weak and hurried flight I put aside all scruples and boldly went to her assistance.

      "The house was dark and silent as the grave, but all the air seemed permeated by some subtle odor, some strangely soporific scent that made me almost immediately drowsy. Half-way up the stairs a small, dark fellow touched my shoulder, and at his touch my limbs refused to act, and for a moment I was in serious danger of falling.

      "How I reached her door I do not know, but once inside, I saw her graceful form, noticed, even in my anxiety, the red lights glinting in her hair, then as she turned I thought I was going mad, for her perfect face had become a demon's.

      "From a purple putrifying mass of flesh one dull red eye glared at me fiercely. There were tears of blood dripping down her cheeks — her lips were blue and her fangs were terrible.

      "It was a vision of corruption surrounded by grace — the face of a ghoul on the shoulders of a woman.

      "There was rapacious fury in the horrible eye and those blue lips leered at me with such lecherous intent that my blood turned to ice in the fear that she would touch me.

      "Only a monster could conjure that face, for its expression was the embodiment of every known evil.

      "There were flashes of fire before my eyes and a horrible stench oppressed my nostrils, I felt that I was in the grasp of death — then I fell before her in senseless horror."

      Dr. Williams, listened but did not speak — he was mentally solving this hideous problem.

      The officer's report to the sergeant at the station had been preceded by a somewhat rambling one from the lips of his still dazed brother officer, and slowly, as the facts leaked out, the wheels of the law were set in motion.

      Dr. Williams supplied what information he could, but wisely refrained from submitting his mental evidence.

      Law is not governed by "second sight" and the visions of a clairvoyant, no matter how thrilling, would not be accepted in the courts of justice.

      They must take their ways and he would his — perhaps the results would be mutually gratifying.

      The owner of the fated house was quickly found, they were caring for him at the hospital still, for he was none other than the unfortunate man whom the officers had found in the early morning.

      Days passed before he entirely recovered, but at last his reason returned again and the cause of his condition seemed to be swallowed up in the fearful uncertainty of his wife's existence.

      But where was the fair young mistress of the house? There were scores of people searching for her.

      The days passed by and still no news; was she living or dead? No one could answer.

      Dr. Williams tried daily to pierce the veil, but each time when he ventured to scan the future some fiendish spirit seemed to thwart his purpose.

      "The knave is strong in magic, but weak in flesh — I will wear him out some day," he argued.

      And three weeks later something happened which proved convincingly his mastery of this occult practice.

      Sitting at his desk he heard his office door open, and without even rising or turning his head he knew that he was in the actual, bodily presence of that evil spirit which had hitherto crossed his path only in the mazes of his mental wanderings.

      He felt the dull, sickening sense of contact with a noxious object, but immediately rallying from the feeling, he rose and went forward to receive his visitor.

      It was a small, dark, sinister-looking face that was turned toward him in the act of greeting, and below the face there was a wasted form that told of dread disease and approaching dissolution.

      The man was well dressed and affable in manner — it was evident that he recognized no antagonistic presence.

      On the contrary, he had come for aid to the very man who, of all the world, possessed the power to encompass his ruin.

      Flushing with victory, yet acting with the utmost caution, the clever physician proceeded to entrap his victim. During the examination that followed he probed his will and sounded resolutely his occult knowledge, then before the intensity of his own desires could arouse the suspicion of his patient, he brought the full force of his concentrated power upon him, and was more than gratified at the result which followed.

      Too late the wretched culprit awoke to the knowledge of his helplessness. As his eyelids drooped in answer to the commanding will he struggled valiantly to throw off the fetters, but the bodily weakness (which the physician depended upon to aid him) proved a stumbling-block too cumbersome to be resisted.

      Gradually he dropped into a fitful sleep that deepened as the spell fell heavier upon him. The close-drawn veil of his soul was rent and the foul, black depths of his hideous nature lay bare before the physician's eyes. He saw it all now, the horror of that dreadful night, but to learn the full details from his victim's lips was the sole ambition of his weeks of labor.

      Sternly he commanded the wretch to speak, then prepared himself to watch and listen.

      Then came the story of that poker game, and the loss of a sum that was to him a fortune. The curse on his lips had been stopped solely by a coward's fear of his opponent, but the vow for vengeance sank deep in his soul and, taking firm root, developed swiftly.

      Cunning and affability were his weapons, and the incredulity of an honest man the field for his eager, hellish labor.

      He had met the wife of the man who won his money, and through her he now determined to wreak his vengeance.

      She was proof against flattery, so he, perforce, employed one by one his tricks of magic. Like a child she yielded to his power, and the husband also became an easy victim.

      Powders and brews of his native land added strength to his own mesmeric prowess, and the night upon which he had determined to abduct her from her lovely home he had come well supplied with these deadly mixtures.

      In the midst of his efforts to control her will, servant after servant had come to her assistance, and acting with the ferocity and fiendishness of his class, he had cast upon each a mesmeric spell that forced them to obey his slightest wishes.

      They saw as he saw and heard as he heard, and when finally they glanced at their mistress' face, the sight sent them flying on wings of terror.

      For with fiendish imagination he had conjured a face which was as hideous as his diabolical brain could conceive, and then, while they were under his hateful spell, he thrust it before them as the face of their mistress.

      Blind to the features that were actually before them, they could only see the conjured vision without understanding or even questioning.

      It was the supreme conquest of a mesmerist's will — the astounding success of a magician's prowess.

      Over and over he had been forced to resort to this power, for it seemed as if there were no end to the interruptions in his evening's programme. Men had entered the house at unthought-of hours, but the poisons with which he had tainted the air made them all easy prey to the craft of his magic.

      Advancing up the stairs a subtle aroma would fill their brains — queer, sleepy sensations would creep over their members, and with the expertness and swiftness of his devilish skill he would promptly overcome and control their senses.

      Thus had he led her from her husband's home, and thus had he avenged his imagined wrong at the hands of the man who had won his money.

      Leaving her in a cab in a darkened street, he had fled to a saloon to revive his members, but the worn-out nerves would not respond and, forgetting her entirely, he had fallen into slumber.

      With the last words of his confession the fiend's jaw. fell and his face took on a deathly pallor.

      "Awake! You shall not escape me thus!" the physician shouted as he grasped his shoulder.

      "You, who have done this fearful wrong, do you think that death shall save you from punishment? Awake to your poor, vile self once more! I demand the fate of your innocent victim!"

      But the cunning of Satan had fled from his eyes, and they only remained wide open and staring.

      The powerful will that had controlled men's minds was powerless to restore his own base instincts. The lines of his face became drawn and tense — the blue veins swelled with a sudden horror.

      Before his dying gaze there had come a vision that froze the blood in his guilty heart.

      Was it the conjured vision of that fearful face with which he had tortured his fellow mortals?

      Dr. Williams stood silent in baffled rage — death, cold and voiceless, had prevented his victory.

      But, no, there came a peal at the bell — the hand of the law had kept pace with his visions.

      Two detectives entered in search of their prey, but stopped when they saw that death was before them.

      "We have found her," they said, more softly, when they saw the dead face. "It seems that the villain was trying to abduct her. The driver suspected some evil, he says, so as quick as this little black wretch left the cab, he drove her, like mad to the home of his mother.

      "She is safe with her husband," they added, "and now we'll send word for the morgue man to come and relieve you."