The two men became silent. The candles had burned down. One of them sputtered excitedly for a moment and then faded out. De Medici’s eyes watched the growing flicker of the three lights. Darkness would come.... His heart chilled. Florence, crazed and standing dagger in hand before her father.... Victor Ballau staring aghast at the horrible-eyed woman who wore the body of his daughter but in whose soul leaped the awful desires of a demoniacal stranger ... the lady of the dagger. “Nothing is explained,” he mused as the second candle drifted away. The darkness stepped closer to the two men. “The beard ... the thing he clutched....” “I follow your thoughts,” murmured Dr. Lytton from behind his hand. “The false Vandyke....” “Yes,” De Medici said. The two remaining candles were dying. A terror swept him. Darkness ... it would grow black. There were candles in the table drawer. His hands crept slowly forward and stopped. An inanition held them. He sat riveted, unable to stir. Terror exploded a Roman candle in his head.... “Ah,” he breathed, a sweat covering him. Darkness! A black room. His throat framed a cry.... “Ah,” he moaned. Hands were pressing him down, holding him against the chair. Something was at his throat. No, inside his throat, crawling into his mouth. Suddenly his arms flung themselves against the air. He plunged to his feet, beating at the blackness. “Lights ... lights!” came in a scream from his throat. The doctor’s voice roared a command. “Stand still!” The figure of De Medici spun crazily in the darkness and crashed into the velvet-covered wall. It sank without sound to the floor. The doctor groped toward the table. “Julien!” he cried. His thick fingers were fumbling with a match box. He held a quickly lighted candle aloft. The curtained room swayed and danced in the shadows.... A figure lay, face down, arms outstretched and fingers spread against the gigantic-seeming drape. The telephone was ringing. Its bell tinkled eerily in the dark. Dr. Lytton stood listening. A voice was waiting for him. He stepped forward and lifted the receiver from its hook. “Is this Mr. De Medici?” a voice asked. “Yes,” the doctor answered. “This is Lieutenant Norton on the wire, Mr. De Medici. Can you come over to my office at once?” [Illustration: {uncaptioned}] “What is it?” “I haven’t time to go into any detail over the phone,” the voice answered. “But I would like to see you as soon as possible. We’ve found the murderer of Mr. Ballau.” CHAPTER VIII DENOUEMENT NO. 1 In which Nemesis babbles cheerfully—In which the Dead Flower adopts new petals—Postmarks and timetables and a false beard that sneers mischievously—Also a scrawl of vengeance, enigmatic ashes and a half signature. The cab rolled through the dark streets. Dr. Lytton’s hand rested on the knee of his companion. “All right now?” he asked. De Medici nodded.