Cursing savagely, Milestone trudged back through the rain to the house. He slammed the door shut and threw his cloak on Peter's bed. There was one more bottle on the shelf; he smashed the neck and poured a glass. If one could see him bent over the table sending silent curses into his wine, he could readily imagine the feeling of defeat that had spread over Mirestone's countenance. The idiot of a Dutchman who had to play the hero's part and save other lives by ending his own made Mirestone fairly sick. However, all was not over. So the Dutchman had died; the hex had worked--a lot sooner than he had expected though. Now he certainly would be delayed in his progress, for he had counted on examining the body for any traces left that would suggest something out of the ordinary. One thing, however, he had learned was that the hex at least worked on humans. The mangled body that was being washed over the rocks would be enough proof on that score. Mirestone poured another drink. He leaned back in the chair and placed the glass to his lips. He was tilted so far back that as he raised the wine to a drinking position, it blocked his view of the room. As he slowly sipped it, however, the room began to come into view--the ceiling first and slowly the wall. His eyes focused on a piece of thread hanging from the ceiling, and as the wine sank lower and lower in the glass, the thread grew longer and longer until in one last swallow he was able to see the end of the line. Mirestone's hand went stiff as he looked at the thread, for on the end of it was a pure white feather. * * * * * In an instant Mirestone realized that the hex had not worked. Peter's death at the bridge had been a grotesque coincidence. Had the untimely plunge in the rapids been the result of the hex the feather would have long since been red, therefore, the tragedy was no more than an accident and Mirestone's hands were innocent of the Dutchman's blood. That realization, of course, didn't bother him, for he was not concerned whether or not he was responsible for Peter's death, but he was genuinely worried in the failure of the hex. He wondered if he had done something wrong. If he had, the last link, that could have corrected him was broken. From here on in he was on his own. He calmed himself and began to think. He retraced everything that he had done to see if he couldn't have found some margin in which error could have crept in. He remembered how carefully he had bent over the feather reciting the exact words taught him by Peter. He especially remembered that part of the hex, for hadn't the feather been ruffled by his breath when he spoke....