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that no one leaves this house until I grant permission. Mr. Tarneverro, will you kindly accompany me?”

He walked with the fortune-teller in silence across the lawn, white now under the rising moon. Chan went up the steps first, and unlocked the door. With marked reluctance, Tarneverro followed.

Charlie went over and dropped down on one knee beside Shelah Fane. Slowly he looked from her to the fortune-teller. “Long time I have been in present business,” he said softly, “but rough blunt feelings do not come natural to me yet. I am sorry for this lady. Never before this moment have I seen her—yet I am so very sorry.” He stood up. “The black camel has knelt at plenty famous gate to-night,” he added.

Tarneverro remained some distance from the body. He seemed to control himself with an effort. “Poor Shelah!” he muttered. “Life was very sweet to her.”

“It is sweet to all of us,” Charlie nodded. “Even the beggar hesitates to cross a rotting bridge.”

“I can never forgive myself,” the other continued. “What you see here began this morning in my apartment.”

“What is to be, will be,” Chan comforted. “We will not move unfortunate one until arrival of coroner. I have already telephoned the station. But we will look about, Mr. Tarneverro. Do not forget—you are to help.” He knelt again, and lifted Shelah Fane’s left arm. “Here is already some evidence. There has been a struggle, and wrist-watch was smashed in process. Crystal is broken, and”—he placed the watch to his ear—“the working of the timepiece immediately ceased to function. The hands remain stationary at two minutes past eight. So soon, without an effort, we