PLAN OF ADA’S BEDROOM.

      Vance, who had paused by the mantel to inspect the hand-carving of the quadræ, now turned and approached the bed.

      “Sergeant,” he said, “if you don’t mind, let me talk to Miss Greene first.”

      Heath realized, I think, that the situation called for tact and delicacy; and it was typical of the man’s fundamental bigness that he at once stepped aside.

      “Miss Greene,” said Vance, in a quiet, genial voice, drawing up a small chair beside the bed, “we’re very anxious to clear up the mystery about last night’s tragedy; and, as you are the only person who is in a position to help us, we want you to recall for us, as nearly as you can, just what happened.”

      The girl took a deep breath.

      “It—it was awful,” she said weakly, looking straight ahead. “After I had gone to sleep—I don’t know just what time—something woke me up. I can’t tell you what it was; but all of a sudden I was wide awake, and the strangest feeling came over me. . . .” She closed her eyes, and an involuntary shudder swept her body. “It was as though some one were in the room, threatening me. . . .” Her voice faded away into an awed silence.

      “Was the room dark?” Vance asked gently.

      “Pitch-dark.” Slowly she turned her eyes to him. “That’s why I was so frightened. I couldn’t see anything, and I imagined there was a ghost—or evil spirit—near me. I tried to call out, but I couldn’t make a sound. My throat felt dry and—and stiff.”

      “Typical constriction due to fright, Ada,” explained Von Blon. “Many people can’t speak when they’re frightened.—Then what happened?”

      “I lay trembling for a few minutes, but not a sound came from anywhere in the room. Yet I knew—I knew—somebody, or something, that meant to harm me was here. . . . At last I forced myself to get up—very quietly. I wanted to turn on the lights—the darkness frightened me so. And after a while I was standing up beside the bed here. Then, for the first time, I could see the dim light of the windows; and it made things seem more real somehow. So I began to grope my way toward the electric switch there by the door. I had only gone a little way when . . . a hand . . . touched me. . . .”

      Her lips were trembling, and a look of horror came into her wide-open eyes.

      “I—I was so stunned,” she struggled on, “I hardly know what I did. Again I tried to scream, but I couldn’t even open my lips. And then I turned and ran away from the—the thing—toward the window. I had almost reached it when I heard some one coming after me—a queer, shuffling sound—and I knew it was the end. . . . There was an awful noise, and something hot struck the back of my shoulder. I was suddenly nauseated; the light of the window disappeared, and I felt myself sinking down—deep. . . .”

      When she ceased speaking a tense silence fell on the room. Her account, for all its simplicity, had been tremendously graphic. Like a great actress she had managed to convey to her listeners the very emotional essence of her story.

      Vance waited several moments before speaking.

      “It was a frightful experience!” he murmured sympathetically. “I wish it wasn’t necess’ry to worry you about details, but there are several points I’d like to go over with you.”

      She smiled faintly in appreciation of his considerateness, and waited.

      “If you tried hard, do you think you could recall what wakened you?” he asked.

      “No—there wasn’t any sound that I can remember.”

      “Did you leave your door unlocked last night?”

      “I think so. I don’t generally lock it.”

      “And you heard no door open or close—anywhere?”

      “No; none. Everything in the house was perfectly still.”

      “And yet you knew that some one was in the room. How was that?” Vance’s voice, though gentle, was persistent.

      “I—don’t know . . . and yet there must have been something that told me.”

      “Exactly! Now try to think.” Vance bent a little nearer to the troubled girl. “A soft breathing, perhaps—a slight gust of air as the person moved by your bed—a faint odor of perfume. . .?”

      She frowned painfully, as if trying to recall the elusive cause of her dread.

      “I can’t think—I can’t remember.” Her voice was scarcely audible. “I was so terribly frightened.”

      “If only we could trace the source!” Vance glanced at the doctor, who nodded understandingly, and said:

      “Obviously some association whose stimulus went unrecognized.”

      “Did you feel, Miss Greene, that you knew the person who was here?” continued Vance. “That is to say, was it a familiar presence?”

      “I don’t know exactly. I only know I was afraid of it.”

      “But you heard it move toward you after you had risen and fled toward the window. Was there any familiarity in the sound?”

      “No!” For the first time she spoke with emphasis. “It was just footsteps—soft, sliding footsteps.”

      “Of course, any one might have walked that way in the dark, or a person in bedroom slippers. . . .”

      “It was only a few steps—and then came the awful noise and burning.”

      Vance waited a moment.

      “Try very hard to recall those steps—or rather your impression