"Oh, yes," said Laurance indifferently, "I managed to learn a good deal about these anarchistic beasts and it's set all out in print. But that's not what I meant," he fumbled in his pockets. "Hang it, I haven't brought a paper, and I meant to. There's a death chronicled this morning." Dan sat up and shivered. "Another of the murders?" "Yes. Marcus Penn this time." "Penn!" Halliday dropped his pipe, "the devil," he picked it up again, "I wonder why they killed him?" "He told you too much, maybe," said Laurance drily; "anyhow, the gang has got rid of him by drowning him in an ornamental pond in Curberry's grounds." "He might have fallen in," suggested Dan uneasily, "or he might have committed suicide out of sheer terror." "Well, he might have," admitted Freddy, thoughtfully, "but from what I saw of the man I should think he was too great a coward to commit suicide." Dan smoked in a meditative manner. "I suppose she killed him, or had him killed," he said aloud, after a pause. "She? Who?" "The she-devil who presides over the Society of Flies. Queen Beelzebub." Laurance dropped his knife and fork to stare hard at his friend. "So you have learned something since I have been away?" "Several things. Wait a moment." Dan rose and retired to his bedroom, while Freddy pushed away the breakfast things as he did not wish to eat further in the face of Halliday's hint which had taken away his appetite. In a few minutes Dan came back to the sitting-room carrying the clothes he had worn on the night of his kidnapping, which still retained a faint odor of the fatal scent belonging to the gang. "Smell that," said Dan, placing the clothes on his friend's knee. Laurance sniffed. "Is this the Sumatra scent?" he asked; "h'm, quite a tropical fragrance. But I thought you proved to your satisfaction that there was nothing in this perfume business?" "I always had my doubts," said Halliday drily, "they were lulled by Penn's lies and reawakened when I found the scent at Mrs. Jarsell's. Now I know all about the matter. I place my life in your hands by telling you." "Is it as serious as that?" asked Laurance uneasily. "Yes. Serious to me and to Lillian also. Read that." The journalist scanned the crimson typewriting, and his eyes opened larger and larger as he grasped the meaning of the message. "Where the deuce did you get this?" he demanded hurriedly. "I found it in my pocket when I got back the other night." "Where from?" "From the headquarters of the Society of Flies." "There is a gang then?" asked Laurance, starting. "Yes. A very well-organized gang, presided over by Queen Beelzebub, the consort of the gentleman of that name, who is the god of Flies." "Where are the headquarters?" "I don't know." "We may be able to trace the gang by this," said Freddy, examining the typewritten paper. "If Inspector Tenson----"