“In a motor-car--funny story--tell you later--patience.” The voice sounded far away and faint. “Look to the girl, Kranz--not breathing properly--can’t speak--if--power--fails.” Kranz went to the sleeping girl. Her head had fallen forward and she was breathing stertorously. He rearranged the cushions, posed her head so that she once more breathed deeply and evenly. They waited in a tense silence. Then her lips moved again. “Listen--now! Take it down as I read it!” Karl’s voice rang with an unholy triumph. “Quick, Kranz!--Write!” commanded the old man. His subordinate leaped to the table, settled himself pen in hand. The girl’s lips trembled in the commencement of speech, opened. “Schedule of Sailings of American Army to Europe!” began the triumphant voice. There was a pause. “Yes--yes!” cried the old man impatiently. “Go on!” “Numbers for March”--Karl Wertheimer’s voice came with a curious deliberation as though he were memorizing figures. “--_Ahh!_” The voice broke in a wild, unearthly cry that froze the blood. They waited. There was no sound. They heard their hearts beat in a growing terror. Suddenly the old man spoke. “The girl!--Look, Kranz!--She does not breathe!” Kranz sprang to her, lifted her hand, bent suddenly down to her face. He looked up with the eyes of a baulked demon. “She is dead!” he said hoarsely. He turned to her again and, with a frenzied rage, tore away the clothes from her throat and chest. Just over her heart was a small round dark spot staining the unbroken skin. “Look!” he cried. The old man peered down at the mark, and then stared round the room. “What has happened?” The wild cry quavered with the terror of the Unseen. No answer came from the silence. NOTE