A frightened cry rang out, and Billy Merton half-rose in his chair. It was a woman’s cry: probably the Thing had touched her. The bumping had ceased, he noticed: another noise had taken its place—a slight gurgling sound, accompanied by a quick beating on the floor, as if someone was drumming with their feet on the carpet. And after a while that ceased also. Silence, absolute and complete, reigned in the room for ten minutes or a quarter of an hour. The Thing had gone. At length the Professor spoke. "Are you still there?" There was no sound in answer. "Manifest yourself now if you are; otherwise the light will be turned up." Still there was no sound, though the Professor waited a full minute before speaking again. "Will you, please, turn up the light, Mr. Harker?" "Certainly." Paul Harker’s cheerful voice came from the other side of the room, as he rose to comply with the request. For a moment or two he fumbled with the switch; then the room was once more flooded with light. "A most satisfactory manifestation," began the Professor, only to stop with a look of dawning horror on his face. Scattered around Mrs. Harker’s chair were scores of wonderful pearls. Sprawling over the arm of the chair was the unfortunate woman herself. For a moment there was a stunned silence in the room; then with a cry Paul Harker sprang forward. "She’s fainted. I’ll get brandy." He dashed from the room, as two of the women, reassured by the words, went over to Mrs. Harker. "I knew it was risky wearing those pearls," whispered Iris Sala in Billy’s ear, but he hardly heard what she said. He was staring at the limp form of Iris hostess through narrowed lids, and suddenly he turned to the girl beside him. "It’s a doctor that’s wanted, not brandy," he said, abruptly. "Where’s the telephone?" "In the hall," answered the girl. He ran downstairs, passing Paul Harker on the way. For what seemed an eternity he stood by the instrument before he could get through. Then he returned to the room above. "A doctor’s coming at once," he announced breathlessly, and then he stopped dead—just inside the door. Muddled together in a group at the end of the room were all the women—all save Iris Sala. She was standing by Mrs. Harker’s chair, with Paul Harker on the other side. "There is no need for a doctor, Mr. Merton," said Harker, in a terrible voice. "My wife is dead. And my wife has been murdered!" "Murdered!" gasped Billy, mechanically. "Murdered," repeated Harker. "Come and see." Dazedly Billy walked towards him, to stop and stare foolishly at the woman in the chair. For they had propped her up and laid her head back, and on her throat distinct and clear were the marks of a hand. The four fingers on one side, the thumb on the other, showed up red and angry in the bright light.