A baffled roar went up from the mob. Men surged forward and hands were laid upon the rope—too late. The noose was off—and Sammy Parr standing over the doctor and the distracted girl, had a revolver in his hand. “Come on!” he yelled. “Come on, you dirty cowards! You swine! You damned Huns! Come on and get a man-sized pill!” From all sides boomed the shouts and curses of a quickly revived purpose. “Rush ’em!” “Kill the—” “Beat their heads off!” “Get him! Get him!” “String him up!” Suddenly a strange voice rose above the clamor. A voice that seemed to come from nowhere and yet was everywhere—the like of which no man there had ever heard before. Rich, full, vibrant, it fell upon puzzled ears and once again there was pause. The keyless chorus of execrations ceased abruptly, as if a mighty hand were clapped upon a hundred mouths. All eyes were upon the owner of this wondrous, clarion voice. A startling figure she was, standing erect upon the front seat of Lansing’s car. Magically tall and mysterious as she towered above and out of the path of light thrown by the car behind. “Men of Rumley! Hold! Hold, I command you! Is there one among you who has not heard of the gypsy’s prophecy of thirty years ago? Let him speak who will, and let him speak for all.” A score of voices answered. “Aye!” she went on. “You all have heard it. It is as familiar to you, old and young, as the story of the Crucifixion. There are old men among you. Men who were here when that truthful prophecy was uttered thirty years ago. You old men heard of the gypsy’s prophecy within twenty-four hours after it was spoken in the house you have ravished to-night. You heard it word for word, faithfully repeated by men and women who were present and who have never forgotten what she said. I ask one of you—any one of you—to stand forth and tell the rest of this craven mob what the gypsy fortune-teller said on that wild and stormy night.” Two or three men stepped forward as if fascinated. “She said the baby son of Oliver Baxter would be hung for murder before he was thirty years old,” bawled one of them. “He killed his father. He ought to be hung. The gypsy was right,” shouted another. “And what else did she say?” rang out the voice of Josephine Judge. “Oh, a lot of things that don’t matter now,” yelled a man back in the crowd. “Get busy, boys. We can’t—” “Stop! Wait, and I will tell you what she said. She said one thing that all of you old men ought to remember. It was the most important thing of all, the most horrible. I was there. This man of God, my husband, was there. Other honest people, friends of yours, were there. They heard her words and they repeated them to you the next day. Silence! Listen to me, varlets! You believe she spoke the truth when she uttered that prophecy? Answer!” “Yes!” came from a hundred throats. “Then, in God’s name, =why are you murdering oliver october baxter?=”