"I may escape yet, in spite of you." "Oh, will you?" scoffed Dentham. "I daresay you're a juggler, ain't you? Perhaps you can get through the keyhole, but all your juggles won't get you out of this mess, unless you pay me well," and with this parting shot Dentham took his departure and closed the door after him. Left alone in the dirty, ill-lighted little room, Adrian walked up and down, pondering over the situation. He saw plainly he was in Dentham's power, and if he refused to accede to his demand, he would be at once arrested, tried--in the person of Dr. Roversmire--for the murder of Adrian Lancaster, and as the proofs were so strong against him, ultimately hanged. But it was not this prospect that made him shudder; no, it was something far more terrible, for he knew that his own body, being to all intents and purposes dead, would be duly buried, and then--Oh, God, how terrible!--when he was hanged as Dr. Roversmire, his soul would have to go back to find its original body, and find it!--where?--in the darkness of the coffin. He would be lying under the earth a living man, and would die by that most terrible of all deaths--suffocation. The bare idea of such an appalling death made a cold sweat break out on his forehead, and leaning his arms on the mantelpiece he groaned with anguish. He would die two horrible deaths, first on the gallows, as Dr. Roversmire, and then in the narrowness of the coffin, as Adrian Lancaster. What was he to do--consent to Dentham's offer and be saved, or give himself up and try to explain the whole affair? Alas, he knew that if he did so he would be looked upon as a madman, and even if his life was spared, he would be put in a lunatic asylum. Sooner or later the life of Dr. Roversmire's body would end, and then he would most certainly, by returning to his own, die a terrible death in the grave. On the other hand he recognised fully the treacherous nature of Dentham, and foresaw that even if he did pay him what he asked, the valet would first make certain of his money by cashing the cheque, and then betray him into the hands of the police in the hope of further reward. There seemed no escape--on all sides he was hemmed in by perils, and he was the helpless sport of circumstances. He raised his head from his arms and stared steadily at the old wrinkled face that looked at him from the dimness of the mirror. As Adrian Lancaster he had been accused of murder, and hidden his personality in the body of Michael Roversmire to escape, but now he was accused of murder as Michael Roversmire, and where could he hide now--where? Like a flash of light a solution of the problem broke on his bewildered brain. The old man whose personality he had assumed had told him that if the body of Dr. Roversmire died by accident or suicide, the soul would have to go back to its own body. Well, he would do so--he would kill himself in the body of Dr. Roversmire and wake as from a trance in the body of Adrian Lancaster.