Listening for soft footsteps, he seemed to hear them time and again--and time and again not to hear them! People nowadays, he finally decided, do not want to take other people's lives--only their money. Whereupon he once more grew calm--and intensely curious! He had not one cent of money on his person. He had left it at home intentionally. Presently he thought he heard sounds--faint musical murmurings in the air about him, low wailings of violins, scarcely more than Æolian harpings, and pipings as of tiny flutes--almost indistinguishable. Then a delicate swish-swish, as of silken garments. Also, there came to him a subtle fragrance that turned first into an odorous sigh and then into a summer breath of sweet peas; and he imagined--he must have imagined--hearing, “I do love you!” ah, so softly! He smelled now the odor of sweet peas, which stirred sleeping memories without fully awakening them, as all flower odors do by what the psychologists call association. He heard, “I do love you!”--and then the Dispeller of Darkness was taken from his outstretched hand. He stood there, his muscles tense, braced for a shock, ready for a life struggle, perhaps half a minute before the sound of footsteps retreating in the hall outside recalled to him his instructions. He vehemently desired to follow and see who it was that had taken the Dispeller of Darkness; but he had pledged his word not to. He hesitated. The odor of sweet peas was flooding him as with waves. And he heard, “I do love you!”--heard it again and again with the inner ear of his soul, the listener of delights. He thrilled at the thought of being loved. It made him incredibly happy. He felt unbelievably young! Suddenly it occurred to him that he had not counted a hundred as he had promised, though he must have spent more than a minute wool-gathering. He counted a hundred as fast as he could and then hastened from the room. It was plain that Tom Merriwether was already doing incredible things or, at least, failing to do the obvious. Great is the power of suggestion on an imaginative mind! He flashed his electric torch. He was in a bare room with a dusty hardwood floor, ivory-tinted wainscoting, and a Colonial mantel. The hall was empty. He walked down the stairs, his steps raising disquieting echoes and creepy creakings. Mindful of his waiting friend outside, he quickly walked out of the gloom into which he had carried the Dispeller of Darkness of Apollonius of Tyana, the cross of the seven emeralds. Huntington Andrews saw him coming and crossed over to meet him. “How did you make out, Tom?” “I'm a damned fool, Huntington; and so are you! And so is everybody!” “Right-O!” agreed Andrews, who was inveterately amiable and, moreover, loved Tom. “It's the most diabolical--” Tom paused. “Yes, it is,” agreed Huntington Andrews, so obviously anxious to dispel his friend's ill temper that Tom laughed and said, cheerfully: