* * * * * London Newspapers in their morning editions carried the story of two fires: the destruction of a three-story house, occupied by an eccentric Professor Pierre Soret, who had presumably compounded some dreadful chemical which had destroyed him and his house; the other, an account of a disaster, either an explosion or fire of unknown origin, that completely demolished the home of the Countess Donella Moonard, killing her and her staff of servants. Beyond this there was no thought of any connection between the two houses so far apart from each other. Carl smiled somewhat as he read: "Although the Countess Moonard has been known to certain London socialites, her ancestry was never certified; nor was the claim of Countess hers by any English right. It is generally believed that the Countess originally came from France. She was a woman of mystery and rare beauty; her age was unknown. She was a follower of some strange religious belief, probably of Egyptian origin." * * * * * There are women with snow-white hair and failing eyes, hobbling about their homes; women who were once glamorous beauties, noted for their coldness to all men, women whose beauty could have made them beloved. Old and lonely now, they shun the world, living within their homes, wondering when and what will be the end of their existence. Doctor Carl Fielding has not heard the voice of Pierre Soret for nearly a year now. Sometimes he thinks he hears the echo of that spirit who so strangely left this life. For a while there were moments when Carl felt an awful sense of fear, because the thoughts that were in his brain that night were the thoughts of the man who lived within the fire, but his wife's devotion has dispelled this gloomy fear and led him on to hope.