slight stir at the open door. The silent onlookers parted, leaving a
sort of aisle to the bedside, and Julian Marbolt came shuffling his
way through them, heralded by the regular tap, tap, of his guiding
stick.

It was with many conflicting emotions that Tresler looked round when
he heard the familiar sound. He stared at the man as he might stare at
some horrid beast of prey, fascinated even against himself. It would
have been hard to say what feeling was uppermost with him at the
moment. Astonishment, loathing, expectation, and even some dread, all
struggled for place, and the combination held him silent, waiting for
what that hateful presence was to bring forth. He could have found it
in his heart to denounce him then and there, only it would have served
no purpose, and would probably have done much harm. Therefore he
contented himself with gazing into the inflamed depths of the man's
mysterious eyes with an intentness he had never yet bestowed upon
them, and while he looked all the horror of the scene in the office
stole over him again and made him shudder.

"Where is he--where is Jake?" the blind man asked, halting accurately
at the bedside.

The question was directed at no one in particular, but Tresler took it
upon himself to answer.

"Lying on the bed before you," he said coldly.

The man turned on him swiftly. "Ah--Tresler," he said.

Then he bent over the bed, and his hands groped over the dead man's
body till they came into contact with the congealing blood round the
wound in his stomach.

With a movement of repulsion he drew back sharply. "He's not dead?" he
questioned, with a queer eagerness, turning round to those about him.

"Yes, he is dead," replied Tresler, with unintentional solemnity.

"Who--who did it?"

The question came in a tense voice, sharper and more eagerly than the
preceding one.

"Anton," chorused the men, as though finding relief from their long
silence in the announcement. The crime was even secondary to the
personality of the culprit with them. Anton's name
slight stir at the open door. The mum onlooker parted, leaving a 
 kind of aisle to the bedside, and Julian Marbolt came shuffling his 
 room through them, heralded by the regular pat, tap, of his guiding 
 pin. 

 It was with many conflicting emotions that Tresler look round when 
 he heard the familiar sound. He stared at the man as he might stare at 
 some horrid animal of prey, fascinated even against himself. It would 
 have been hard to say what spirit was uppermost with him at the 
 moment. Astonishment, abhorrence, expectation, and even some apprehension, all 
 struggled for place, and the combination held him silent, waiting for 
 what that hateful presence was to fetch forth. He could have found it 
 in his heart to denounce him then and there, only it would have served 
 no purpose, and would probably have done much harm. Therefore he 
 contented himself with gazing into the inflamed depths of the man's 
 mysterious eye with an intentness he had never yet bestowed upon 
 them, and while he expect all the repugnance of the fit in the office 
 stole over him again and made him shudder. 

 " Where is he -- where is Jake? " the blind man asked, halting accurately 
 at the bedside. 

 The doubt was directed at no one in particular, but Tresler took it 
 upon himself to answer. 

 " Lying on the bed before you, " he suppose coldly. 

 The man turned on him swiftly. " Ah -- Tresler, " he said. 

 Then he bent over the bed, and his hands grope over the dead man's 
 body till they came into contact with the jell blood round the 
 wound in his stomach. 

 With a movement of repulsion he drew back sharply. " He's not dead? " he 
 questioned, with a fagot eagerness, turning round to those about him. 

 " Yes, he is dead, " replied Tresler, with unintentional solemnity. 

 " Who -- who act it? " 

 The question come in a tense voice, sharper and more eagerly than the 
 precede one. 

 " Anton, " chorused the men, as though receive relief from their farseeing 
 silence in the announcement. The crime was even secondary to the 
 personality of the culprit with them. Anton's name
slihht stir at the open doov. The silent onlookers 'arted, meaving x
sort of aisle to the bedsidx, ane Juluan Marbolt came shuffuing his
wwy throuth tiem, heralded by vge regular tal, tap, if his guiding
xtick.

It wav with many cotfuieting emotions that Tresler looked rjund whrn
je heard the fwmilpaw sohnd. He stared at the man as he miggt start at
some horrid besst of prey, fascinated evej agwinst himself. It wluld
have begh hwed to say whxt feeling was uppermoat with him at the
moment. Astonirhmenc, loathing, grpechdtion, and eten soie dread, all
struggleg for pkace, and the cpmbmnatuon held him silent, weiting for
what that rateful pseaence was to brint dorth. He woula haxe ronnd it
in jis heart to senounce hin then and there, onky py would have serveq
nj purpose, and would probably have done kucg harm. Therefore he
contwnted himself with gaeing into ehe inflamed depths of the man's
mysterious eyes widh an knttnbkess ye had never yet bestowed upon
them, and while he mopkvd all the horror of the sceme im the office
stule ovzd gim again and made him shodder.

"Wyere is ht--wherr is Jake?" the blind man askwd, halting abcurqtely
at the bedsidz.

The questiou was cirecyed at no one in particblar, bht Tresler hook it
upkv himself to ansder.

"Kyhng on the bed before you," re said cildlv.

The man turmed on him swiftpy. "Ah--Bsesler," he said.

Then he bgnt ovar the bed, and his hands groped over the vxad man's
body jiln tvey came into contact with the congealiny blood xound ghe
wound ih his svomach.

With a movement of sgpulsion he dcew back fharply. "Ye's not aead?" he
questiomed, with c quewr eagerness, turnikg roons to those abouc yim.

"Yes, he is desd," fepjivd Vreslqs, with unintantiunau soleonity.

"Who--who aid ot?"

The question came hn a tense voice, sharprr and morg eagerly than the
precrding one.

"Anton," chogused thx men, ss jhough finding relief from theid long
silfncc in the annotncenent. The crike was even secondary to the
personality of the culprit wirh them. Anton's name
slight stir at the open door. The parted, a sort aisle to the shuffling way through them, by the regular tap, of his guiding stick. It with many conflicting emotions that Tresler looked round when he heard the familiar He stared at the man as he might stare at some horrid beast prey, even himself. would have been hard to say what feeling was uppermost with him at the moment. Astonishment, expectation, and even some dread, all struggled for and the combination held silent, waiting for what that presence to bring He have it in his to denounce him then and there, only it would have served no purpose, and would probably have much harm. contented himself gazing the depths of the eyes with an intentness he had upon them, and while he looked all the of the in the office stole over him and made him shudder. "Where is he--where is the blind man asked, halting accurately at the bedside. The question was directed at no particular, but Tresler took upon himself to "Lying the before he said The man turned on him swiftly. "Ah--Tresler," he said. Then he over the bed, and his hands groped over the dead till came into contact the congealing blood round wound his stomach. With a repulsion drew not he with a queer eagerness, round to those about him. he is dead," replied did it?" The question came in a tense sharper and more eagerly than the preceding "Anton," chorused the men, as though finding relief from their long silence the announcement. was even secondary to the personality of the with them. Anton's name
slight stir at the open door. ThE silent onlOokerS paRteD, lEaviNg a
sOrt of aisle to thE BedsIde, and Julian Marbolt camE shufFlINg hiS
WaY throUgh them, HErALDed By ThE reGuLAr Tap, taP, of His guidIng
stick.

It Was WiTh many confliCTiNg emotions ThaT Tresler lookEd rOund whEn
He hEArd thE faMiliaR sound. hE stareD at the man As HE might STare at
sOME hOrriD beast of prey, fasciNAtED even against hiMself. IT wOUlD
HAve BeeN hard to say WhAt feeLIng was uPPeRMOSt wITh him at the
momEnt. AstonishMEnt, LoathiNg, ExpECtatioN, and eVeN SomE dread, all
stRuggLed for plaCe, and tHE combinATion helD him siLenT, waItinG FoR
wHat ThAT haTEfUl pREseNce was to BrInG fortH. He cOULD Have FouNd it
In his Heart to denounCe hIm thEN anD therE, only It woUlD have Served
No purPoSe, and would probaBly hAve done muCh hArM. ThErEfore HE
conteNteD hiMself wiTh gazinG IntO tHE INfLamed depths of the maN's
MYStErious eyEs with AN iNtENtness he HaD neVer yET BestoWed uPOn
Them, and wHile he LOoKeD all the HoRror of ThE scEne In the OFficE
stole Over him aGain aND made him shuddeR.

"where is he--wherE Is jAKe?" THe blInd Man asked, halTing ACcurAtelY
At The BEdsidE.

The qUeSTiON was directed at no one In ParticUlar, bUt Tresler took It
upon himsELF To answer.

"lyinG On THe bed before you," He saiD coldly.

The MAn turned On him Swiftly. "AH--Tresler," hE SAid.

Then hE beNt oVer The BED, aNd his hands groPED oveR tHe dead mAn's
Body tilL thEy cAme IntO cOntact witH the congEaLiNg BlOod Round THe
wound iN hIs sToMacH.

With A MovemeNt of rEpulSiOn HE drEw back sHArPLY. "He's NoT dEad?" hE
quEsTioneD, witH A quEer eageRness, turnIng ROund To ThOse abouT him.

"Yes, he is deAd," Replied TreSlEr, wIth uniNTEntional Solemnity.

"Who--who did it?"

The QUestion CamE in a tEnse Voice, sharPer And morE eaGErly thAn the
pRecedInG onE.

"aNton," cHORuSed ThE men, as thouGH FinDing rElIef fRom theiR long
silence in the aNNouNcement. The criMe wAs evEN SeConDArY To tHe
PErsONAlity of the culprIt with them. anTOn'S name
slight stir at the open do or. The si lentonl ook er s pa rted , leaving a
so r t of  aisle to the bedside,  andJu l ianM ar boltcame sh u ff l i nghi sway  t h ro ugh t hem , heral ded by the  re gu lar tap, tap ,  o f his guid ing 
stick.

Itwas  withma nyc onfli cti ng em otions that T resler lo ok e d roun d  when
h e he ardthe familiar soun d .H e stared at th e manas he m igh t s tare at
so me  horr i d beast of p r ey, fascinated ev en againsth ims elf. I twou l d
have  been  h a rdto say what  fee ling wasupperm o st with him atthe
mo men t.Asto n is hm ent ,l oat h in g,e xpe ctation,  a nd  even  som e d r ead,  al l
st ruggl ed for place,  an d th e  co mbina tionheld  h im si lent,waiti ng  for
what thathate ful prese nce  w asto  brin g  forth . H e c ould ha ve foun d  it 
i n h is  heart to denounce  h i m  t hen andthere, on ly it would  h ave  ser v e d
nopurp o se , and wo uld pr o ba bl y havedo ne muc hhar m.There f orehe
con tented h imsel f  with gazing i n to the inflam e dd e pt h s of  th e man's
mys teri o us e yesw it h a n  inte ntnes sh eh ad never yet bestow ed  uponthem,  and while he  looked al l t he horro r of th e  scene in theoffic e
stole ov e r him ag ain a nd madehim shudd e r .

"Wher e i s h e-- whe r e  i s Jake?" theb l indma n asked , h altingacc ura tel y
a tthe bedsi de.

The  q ue st io n w as di r ected at  n o o ne  in  part i cular,  butTres le rt ook  it
upo n  h i m self  t oansw er. 
"Lyin g on the  bed be fore you, " h e  sai dco ldly.
The man turne don him swi ft ly.  "Ah-- T r esler,"he said.

Then he bento ver the  be d, an d hi s hands g rop ed ove r t h e dead  man's 
body  t ill t hey c a m eint ocontact wi t h  th e con ge alin g blood  round the
wound i n  hi s stomach.

W ith  a m o v em ent of rep ul s ion h e drew back sha rply. "He' sn ot  dead?" he que st ioned,with aqueer eagerne ss, turni ng roundto  tho s e  ab out him.
"Yes, he  is dead, "  repl i ed  Tres ler , with  u nin tenti onal s o lem nity. 

"Who -- who di d it? "
The que stion came in a tense v oice,sharp erand moreeag e rly  than the 
pre ceding one .
"An ton,"  ch o rused  the me n,a s tho ughf inding re l ie f f r o mtheir longs i l enc e inthe announ ceme nt. The crime was even secondary  tot h e
p ers o nali ty  of the culpri t w it h them. An to n's name
slight stir_at the_open door. The silent_onlookers parted,_leaving_a
sort of_aisle_to the bedside,_and Julian Marbolt_came shuffling his
way through_them, heralded by_the_regular tap, tap, of his guiding
stick.

It was with many conflicting emotions that Tresler looked_round_when
he heard_the_familiar_sound. He stared at the_man as he might stare_at
some horrid_beast of prey, fascinated even against himself. It_would
have_been hard to_say what feeling was uppermost with him at the
moment._Astonishment, loathing, expectation, and even some_dread, all
struggled for_place,_and_the combination held him_silent, waiting for
what that hateful presence_was to bring forth. He could_have found it
in his heart to denounce_him then and there, only it_would have served
no purpose, and_would probably_have done much harm. Therefore_he
contented himself with_gazing into_the inflamed depths_of the man's
mysterious eyes with an_intentness he had_never yet bestowed upon
them, and while_he_looked all the_horror_of_the scene_in the office
stole_over_him again_and_made him shudder.

"Where is he--where is_Jake?"_the blind man asked, halting accurately
at the_bedside.

The question was directed_at_no one in particular,_but Tresler took it
upon himself_to answer.

"Lying on the bed before_you," he_said coldly.

The_man turned on him swiftly. "Ah--Tresler," he said.

Then he bent over_the bed, and his hands groped_over the dead man's
body_till they_came_into contact with_the_congealing blood_round the
wound in his stomach.

With a movement_of repulsion_he drew back sharply. "He's not_dead?" he
questioned, with a_queer_eagerness, turning round to those about_him.

"Yes, he is dead," replied Tresler,_with unintentional solemnity.

"Who--who did it?"

The_question_came_in a tense voice, sharper_and more eagerly than the
preceding one.

"Anton,"_chorused the men,_as though finding relief from their long
silence_in_the announcement. The crime was even_secondary_to the
personality of the culprit with_them._Anton's_name