Midnight rang out from a church clock somewhere, but there had been no sign of him. Dick must, I knew, have grown tired of waiting, and, thinking me lost in the fog, would slowly creep homeward. The ever-watchful vigil I was keeping in that terrible atmosphere fagged me. I became numbed with cold, and very hungry. Yet I dare not leave the spot lest Kirk should come forth, so I stood leaning against the railings in patience, full of wonder and apprehension. More than once I feared that the "dealer in secrets" might notice me from within if he chanced to look out. Hence from time to time I changed my position. My impression was that he had entered with a latch-key, for scarce had he reached the top of the steps when he was inside, with the door closed behind him; either that, or else someone was waiting there to admit him. Another hour had nearly passed, when suddenly I was startled by a loud scream--a woman's piercing scream--which appeared to come from the first of the houses which lay in the darkness. Twice was that cry repeated, and I sped to the house whence it emanated. The place was in complete darkness. No light shone from any window of the gloomy, dismal house. A third time was the shriek repeated, coming from the room behind the railing on a level with the door. As I stood upon the pavement I was only a few feet from the window. "Help! Help! For God's sake, help! You brute! I thought I had escaped you. No! Ah! Don't! I beg--I implore you! Ah!" shrieked a refined voice, the voice of a young woman. And then, in despairing tones that grew fainter with every syllable, I heard the words long drawn out. "Ah! You--you've--killed--me! Killed me!--just as you killed my--dear--father!" I stood listening to that dying appeal, bewildered, utterly staggered. What could I think? Place yourself in my position and ask yourself what you, in those circumstances, would have thought? CHAPTER SEVEN. ANOTHER PERSON BECOMES INQUISITIVE. I was uncertain what to do. Was it best to ascend the steps, knock boldly at the door, and inquire the reason of that frantic appeal? Or should I remain silent and watch? If Kirk had caused the Professor's death, then why had he enlisted my aid? But was I not a complete novice, in the detection of crime, and might not all his protestations of friendship be a mere blind, a clever ruse to cover the truth? I stood on the pavement, my ears strained to catch any sound within. But all was silent again. Those final words of the woman's desperate appeal for help rang in my ears: "_You've killed me, just as you killed my dear father_!" The woman who had shrieked could surely have no connection with the tragedy in Sussex Place, for, alas! Ethelwynn Greer was dead. I had, with my own eyes, seen her stiff and stark. Then what did it all mean? Was this an additional phase of the already inscrutable problem?