In the bedroom he saw his father stretched face-up along the bed. He saw a pile of rope at his father's feet. "Tie me to the bedposts, Arthur," came the command. "Tie both my hands and both my feet." Arthur stood gaping. "Do as I tell you!" "Dad, what hor----" "Don't be a fool! You read that book! You know what relation you are to me! I'd always hoped it was Cecilia, but now I know it's you. I should have known it on that night twenty years ago when you complained of a headache and nightmares.... Quickly, my head rocks with pain. _Tie me!_" Speechless, his own pain piercing him with agony, Arthur fell to that grisly task. Both hands he tied--and both feet ... tied them so firmly to the iron posts that his father could not lift himself an inch off the bed. Then he blew out the lamps, and without a further glance at that Prometheus, he reascended the stairs to his room, and slammed and locked his door behind him. He looked once at the breech of his gun, and set it against a chair by his bed. He flung off his robe and slippers, and within five minutes he was senseless in slumber. 4 He slept late, and when he awakened his muscles were as stiff as boards, and the lingering visions of a nightmare clung before his eyes. He pushed his way out of bed, stood dazedly on the floor. A dull, numbing cruciation circulated through his head. He felt bloated ... coarse and running with internal mucus. His mouth was dry, his gums sore and stinging. He tightened his hands as he lunged for the door. "Dad," he cried, and he heard his voice breaking in his throat. Sunlight filtered through the window at the top of the stairs. The air was hot and dry, and carried in it a mild odor of decay. Arthur suddenly drew back at that odor--drew back with a gasp of awful fear. For he recognized it--that stench, the heaviness of his blood, the rawness of his tongue and gums.... Age-long it seemed, yet rising like a spirit in his memory. All of these things he had known and felt before. He leaned against the banister, and half slid, half stumbled down the stairs.... His father had died during the night. He lay like a waxen figure tied to his bed, his face done up in knots. [Illustration: "He lay like a waxen figure tied to his bed."] Arthur stood dumbly at the foot of the bed for only a few seconds; then he went back upstairs to his room. Almost immediately he emptied both barrels of the shotgun into his head. * * * * * The tragedy at Timber Lake was discovered accidentally three days later. A party of fishermen, upon finding the two bodies, notified state authorities, and an investigation was directly under way. Arthur Duryea had undoubtedly met death at his own hands. The condition of his wounds, and the manner with which he held the lethal weapon, at once foreclosed the suspicion of any foul play.