'Theirs,' he said gravely, 'was the real dance. You have been fortunate, young man. Your journey from Europe has been worth while, after all. You have seen the Hamlin Trio in their Jugglers' Dance, and you have seen here in the sunshine, under the green trees, with all the dramatic environment possible, the greatest dance of all--the dance of death.' Lavendale felt the blood once more flowing freely in his veins. He turned almost fiercely upon his companion as he pushed his way through the gathering crowd. 'You don't mean that they are really dead?' he cried. 'Even your wonderful friend Bowden,' Mr. Moreton assured him sweetly, 'could never wake a single beat in their hearts again.' An ambulance had just glided up. A man who seemed to be a doctor rose to his feet, shaking the dust from his knees. 'These three people are dead,' he pronounced sombrely. 'The symptoms are inexplicable.' He suddenly recognized Moreton, who held out his hand genially towards him. 'Dr. Praxton, is it not?' he remarked. 'It is very fortunate that I should have so reliable a witness upon the spot. I shall be obliged, doctor, if you will take the bodies of these fortunate people into your keeping and prepare a careful examination of their condition.' 'Do you know anything about their death?' the doctor asked. The great inventor smiled in a superior fashion. 'Why, my dear fellow, yes!' he assented. 'I killed them. You see that little skein of what seems to be white silk? If a million people had trodden upon it, one after the other, or if I in my car had been twenty miles away, with my instrument properly regulated, there would still be a million dead lying here. I am Moreton--Ned Moreton, the inventor, you know, doctor. I can strip the universe of life, if I choose. I should have liked,' he added, glancing a little peevishly over his shoulder, 'the young lady to have seen this. I shall make a point of her coming on to the hospital.' The doctor glanced meaningly at the two or three policemen who had forced their way to the front. They led Mr. Moreton back to the car, and a few minutes later he was driven off, seated between them, smoking a cigar, the picture of amiability. Suzanne and Lavendale found a taxicab and left the park by another exit. She sat close to him, clinging to his arm. 'Suzanne,' he whispered, 'can you be a woman now for the sake of the great things?' She sat up by his side. Her face was marble white, but some latent force seemed to have asserted itself. She answered him steadily. 'Go on, Ambrose,' she begged. 'I can listen. Do not be afraid.' 'I have told this man,' he continued, 'to drive to the docks. The _Marabic_ is sailing at five o'clock.' She looked at him for a moment as though she failed to understand. His arm tightened around her. 'I have the instruments and a skein of the thread in my pocket,' he whispered.