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There was a stifled groan and the horrible sound of some one

choking with blood. Three times the outstretched arms shot up

convulsively, waving grotesque, stiff-fingered hands in the air.

He stabbed him twice more, but the man did not move. Something

began to trickle on the floor. He waited for a moment, still

pressing the head down. Then he threw the knife on the table, and

listened.

He could hear nothing, but the drip, drip on the threadbare

carpet. He opened the door and went out on the landing. The house

was absolutely quiet. No one was about. For a few seconds he

stood bending over the balustrade and peering down into the black

seething well of darkness. Then he took out the key and returned

to the room, locking himself in as he did so.